Short Bits, Volume 2: Short Bits, #2

By Belinda Crawford

Five original science fiction & fantasy stories.

 

Short Bits is an eclectic mix of messy literary explosions, from fantasy to LitRPG and science fiction, each one exploring a new world. They're written for the fun of it and published here because otherwise they'll sit in a drawer, and where's the fun in that?

 

Short Bits Volume 2 includes five original stories, including 'Woman In White', an ethereal xianxia tale about a mysterious, dangerous woman found in the snow. In 'This Is Darkness', two superheroes go head-to-head in a titanic battle between light and dark, while 'Don't Die' and 'Spirit in the Sky' take you into the world of virtual gaming where death is just the beginning. The collections ends with The Echo short story, 'Brother', a no-holds-barred space opera that will leave you wondering who the real monsters are.

 

Every story is introduced by the author, taking you behind-the-scenes and providing insight into the inspiration and writing process behind each one.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Belinda Crawford
• Release date: Oct 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9780648874560

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Details can be found at the end of Short Bits, Volume 2.

Introduction

In the introduction for Short Bits, Volume 1 there was a universal acknowledgement that I suck at keeping stories short. It's still true, as demonstrated by all of the shorties in this collection, but two especially that form the beginning of a book (or series, or series of series) told through short story*.

I'm getting over the whole keeping shorties short thing though. More than that, I'm enjoying letting my brain loose to explore new ideas and genres, such as LitRPG, martial arts fantasy and superheroes, all of which you'll find in this collection. All with my own spin, of course.

As always, if there's a story you need more of in this collection, let me know! I'm keeping an unofficial scoreboard of the shorties you like the most, and when there's one that enough of you are clamouring for, I'm going to turn it into a book (or series, or series of series). So, don't be shy and vote for your favourites!

Until next time.

Happy reading,

Belinda

*Who knows how well that's going to work out, but I'm excited to try.

Introduction

Confession time, I'm more than slightly obsessed with east Asian television shows – Korean, Chinese, Japanese, Taiwanese, the list goes on. In particular, I love the martial arts fantasy genre, called xianxia (wuxia is also awesome). There's something about all that flowing fabric, fantastical kung-fu and drama (soooo much drama!) that sucks me in, every time.

As with most things I'm obsessed with, I'm driven to write it. This drive tends to present itself as an uncomfortable, edgy sensation in my gut that makes it impossible to sit down and read, or watch anything until I get the idea down on paper. In the case of 'Woman in White', this is my second attempt at doing so, the first… We shall not speak of the first.

I hope you enjoy this second version.

Learn more about the writing of 'Woman in White'.

Scan the QR code for the behind-the-scenes audio commentary.

WOMAN IN WHITE

The rustle of wings and the harsh, alien craw of an unseen bird had drawn him into the ancient Snow Forest. Its shadow led him through the green of the outer forest – the maples a riot of colour against the green stalwart pines, their leaves turning red then yellow as winter marched toward the mountains. The bird's call had continued as the mountain trees thinned before the giant black pillars marking the edge of the inner forest. Its caw caw caw had rung off the slabs of granite, tall as two men and twice as thick, untouched by either the bleak mountain winters or time, marked only by the spells carved into their glossy surfaces.

He had hesitated before he crossed that threshold. Stood with his hands clasped tight within the billowing sleeves of his dark blue outer robe while the sharp sting of fate tip-toed up his spine. Then the bird had cawed once more and some shadow had moved in the snow-covered forest, a flutter of wings within bare, twisted branches. That tug, the sharp sting of fate, had moved him forward.

There had been no gradual change from the delicate touch of natural winter to the glacial white of the land beyond the pillars. There was the green meadow and then there was snow, divided as if a sword had fallen from the heavens and driven the two forests apart. And where, in the outer forest, the rich scent of earth and loam rose with every footfall, and the sweet trill of larks graced the ear, here only the soft shush of his robes and the beckoning caw accompanied his feet.

He walked until the bright green and autumn colours of the outer forest were far behind, until the cold had crept through the seams of his boots and frost clung to the dark hem of his robe. He walked until the bare, ancient branches of the forest where a cage above and the breeze was thick with the sighs of long-dead souls. He walked, led by the shadow of the unseen bird, its harsh cry ringing like the clash of swords and the screams of men. He walked until he came upon a clearing, the branches above giving way to a small circle of open sky, the sun harsh, the air cold enough to frost his breath.

In that clearing, a woman lay in a puddle of white, her robes and skin a few shades darker than the snow. Foreign not just to the forest, but the realm, her face a study in stark, square lines and the heavy folds of her clothes unlike any he had seen – the fabric plain and unadorned, bound at the waist by a delicate cord of silver. Nevertheless, the snow cradled her like something precious, the soft drift a pillow on which she slept, her dark lashes resting on bloodless cheeks, her hair a shadow against the brightness. 

If not for that dark walnut spill, he would not have seen her, so well did she blend into the snow-shrouded forest. The relentless sun and harsh moon had long since bleached the ancient trees, leaving the trunks a million shades of grey and white. No blooms softened the stark grey-white with a soft blush of pink, no leaves graced the delicate branches or sighed in the icy wind. No birds sang, no rabbits foraged, no wolves stalked. No life trod here, not since the war a millennia ago.

Not even the unseen bird, with its eerie cry.

Nothing save the woman, her chest rising and falling in slow, gentle movements, sleeping where she did not belong.

The forest was a place… not of death, because if one unsheathed their eyes and looked below the surface, they could see life pulse deep in its heart. Slow, languid, as close to death as sleep could take it but still there, still… waiting. 

He looked at the way the woman nestled into the land.

Waiting and perhaps finding.

The thought chilled his blood.

He stopped, the hem of his silk robes flirting with the white, woollen spill of hers, and