Category: Sci Fi Stories

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Emilia tries to use her new sight to find Antonio

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The View from the Wall

Part I

BY SHANEL WILSON

Emilia placed a delicate kiss on Valentine’s lips in the early morning mist. She stepped aboard the skiv with the Shadow Walker assigned to pilot her to Whitehall as Bianca joined Valentine’s side. Emilia watched the sisters on the shore as the skiv pulled away from the dock. This was the first time since their meeting that Emilia would be apart from Valentine for more than just a couple of hours. Her heart ached to leave, but the excitement she felt helped soothe that. She touched the medallion Valentine fixed to be their secret way to communicate while Emilia was gone. She slipped the chain it was attached to into her dress and turned to face the mist they were gliding through.

Going to Whitehall was very risky, but Emilia knew it was the best way she could help to rescue Antonio, Bianca’s fiancé, who was wrongly imprisoned in Whitehall’s jail. She could use her status as a Westminster Bride to gain access to parts of the city that Valentine and Bianca could not. That would be extremely valuable if they stood any chance to help Antonio. She kept reminding herself of this whenever doubt crept into her mind.

The skiv swerved out of the peacefulness of the Newlondon fog. Suddenly they were surrounded by barges, skivs and all manner of vessels that filled the waterway. As they cruised further up the river, Emilia expected the crowd to thin. Though, as the day wore on, the crowds only got worse. Even though the Polity had arrived a week ago now, people from all over the Globe were still swarming to get to Whitehall.

“If I pull any closer, it might cause suspicion.” The Shadow Walker skillfully piloted through the commotion and found a small bank to pull onto.

“It is no problem. I can walk the rest of the way in. Thank you for the safe passage.” Emilia stepped off the skiv onto the sandy shore.

The Shadow Walker nodded and reversed the skiv off of the bank. Emilia watched for a moment before he disappeared into the crowd on the river. She smoothed the wrinkles in her dress. She placed her hand on the spot the medallion rested beneath her dress, next to her heart. She said a silent prayer and walked toward the city gate.

Loud shouts filled the stagnant air in the archway of Whitehall’s main gate. Emilia’s knuckles were white as she tightened her grip on the small bag she carried with a few essentials. It was easier than lugging her grav-lift trunk through the crowd. It stayed in Newlondon in Valentine’s room along with the glass Mary’s Iris she had given Valentine and the cloak Valentine had given her. Pungent smells of soil and sweat assaulted her nose as she squeezed through the group of Finsbers pushing their way to the front of the line. She desperately longed for the sense of security the cloak gave her, but she knew it would be suspicious for a Westie to be seen wearing such a thing. 

Emilia forced herself to remember the tips Valentine and Bianca gave her to help blend in. They decided on two things that Emilia needed to remember at all times, innocence and flattery. Bianca explained that maintaining an innocent facade could gain her sympathy and trust from even the most jaded of people. Valentine agreed with her sister, but insisted that flattery would be key to disarming any egotistical Haller. Innocence and flattery. It played over and over in Emilia’s mind like a mantra. She swallowed hard as she finally reached one of the kiosks set up to filter the newcomers to their desired destinations within the city. 

Photo by Darshan Gajara.

“State your name and business in Whitehall.” The Haller guard did not look up from their comm tablet resting on the pedestal separating them.

“Emilia of Westminster. I am reporting as a new Bride.” Emilia sweetly batted her eyelashes.

“Ah, yes. Of course, you are.” The guard’s own brown eyes widened when they glimpsed the deep violet of Emilia’s irises. “Let me check.”

Emilia nodded and waited patiently. She looked around, painting an awestruck look on her face while she took the opportunity to get a closer look at the extra security Whitehall installed since the Polity arrived. Through the network of Shadow Walkers, Valentine learned that the gate was being monitored more closely for entry than usual, but the details were vague. From where she stood now, she could see four entrance kiosks and only one exit. The exit seemed quiet. The guard manning that station using some sort of handheld device ignoring most of the people milling through the exit.

“You’re overdue! Over a week late!” The guard’s nose scrunched, and their brow narrowed.

“I do apologize. With the rocket and the Polity, I’ve been a bit… lost.” Emilia bit her lip and looked down sheepishly.

“I’ll call for your escort now.” They frustratingly jabbed at the comm tablet.

“Oh, thank you. I heard the people of Whitehall were exceptionally kind. What a marvelous city this truly is!” Emilia smiled sweetly.

The guard flushed and nearly knocked the comm tablet off the pedestal when they caught Emilia’s gaze.

“Ah… my pleasure, miss. Whitehall is a treasure, isn’t it?” The guard’s chest puffed up with Haller pride.

“Oh truly. And you are the first gem I have met here.” Emilia let a blush paint her cheeks, happy that Bianca and Valentine’s tips were paying off.

The guard beamed at Emilia, failing to see the tall, elegant woman who approached the kiosk. Emilia admired the lilac shawl draped over her sleeveless white gown. The woman cleared her throat to break the guard’s reverie.

“Angelica will escort you now.” The guard’s goofy grin disappeared, and they motioned to the woman.

“Thank you again for your kindness.” Emilia gave the guard a slight bow and turned to Angelica, “Pleased to meet you. I am ready to see my temporary quarters.”

“Oh no, my dear child. We are going straight to the surgical suite.” Angelica turned, leading Emilia through the crowd milling around the grand entrance plaza. Tall spires of glass and reflection pools were decoratively arranged to highlight Whitehall’s grand tower in the city center.

“But my father said we are given an orientation prior to surgery.” Emilia struggled to keep up with Angelica’s long strides as real panic set in.

“That is how we normally proceed, but with your extremely late arrival and the Polity arriving, the schedule is, I guess you can say, condensed.”

Emilia’s mouth went dry. Her mind raced as fast as her feet. She pressed her chest, activating the medallion under her gown.

“So, I will be undergoing my surgery now?” She said loudly enough for the medallion to catch her voice. She couldn’t risk checking to see if the violet eye of the eel lit to confirm the message was transmitted.

“Have I not made myself clear? Straight to surgery and recovery. After that you will be sent for assessment and training. Do you understand?” Angelica wheeled around and glowered over Emilia.

“Yes ma’am. Please forgive me. This is my first trip away from home, and with the Polity arriving,” Emilia paused. She let tears well up in her eyes and gave an exaggerated sniff, “I’m nervous to be on my own.”

“There, there. You have nothing to fear here. We take excellent care of our Brides and the Polity, we are assured by the Governor, will not be a threat to us.” She gave Emilia a motherly pat on her shoulder.

“Thank you. All of you Whitehallers are so kindhearted.” Emilia pulled a handkerchief from her bag to blot her eyes.

“Come, no time to lose.” Angelica gave a small smile before returning to her original snobbish expression.

Emilia took a deep breath and followed Angelica into the tallest tower. Nerves tugged at the edges of her stomach, but she was prepared. We’re coming for you, Antonio, she thought as she boarded the lift behind Angelica.

Tall spires of glass and reflection pools were decoratively arranged to highlight Whitehall’s grand tower in the city center.
Photo by Maxim Melnikov.

Emilia sleepily stretched and blinked her eyes open slowly. A soft haze clouded her vision leaving her surroundings a blurry mix of shapes and shadows. Emilia’s hands felt the velvety blanket wrapped around her as she pushed herself up from where she had been laying. She winced as pressure began to pulse behind her eyes. Instinctually she tried to rub them but found a pair of protective goggles covering them.

“My Shadow?” Emilia murmured groggily, half expecting to find Valentine by her bedside. 

Photo by Bram Van Oost.

“Take it slow. Seeing some shadows is normal at this point. I’m happy to report that your surgery was successful,” said a calm voice.

Emilia yelped. She jolted upright, disconcerted by the unexpected voice. Her hand flew to where the medallion hung from her neck.

“Who’s there? Am I in recovery?” Emilia tossed her head around to look around the room but still couldn’t see anything clearly.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, Emilia. Yes, you are in recovery. Your eyes will continue to adjust for another hour or so. Till then, just rest.” A small hand patted Emilia’s shoulder.

Emilia’s mind raced instead. Her pulse thumped in her temples like a hammer breaking apart the plans she so carefully made to help Valentine and Bianca free Antonio. Emilia gulped in air in short ragged breaths. Why had she agreed to do this? It was too important and she was already ruining everything. She tried to stand but wobbled back against the bed.

“Not so fast there. Just take it easy,” said the voice. 

“This is too much! I can’t do this.” Emilia wrapped her arms tightly around herself. 

“Hey, hey. It’s okay! Wow, you must be really sensitive to that sedative the chemist gave you for surgery.” A pair of petite arms enclosed Emilia’s shoulders giving a comforting squeeze. 

Emilia’s breathing slowed as the warmth of the person holding her radiated like a familiar Westie sunrise. A beautiful aroma filled her nostrils, sending her back to the small garden her mother worked so hard to tend in the harsh sand near their home. 

“Is that Mary’s Iris I smell?” Emilia sniffed.

“It’s my perfume. I hope it’s not too strong for you.” The person let go and stepped away.

“Not at all! It reminds me of home. That is a comfort now that I am so far away from it.” Emilia smiled wistfully. “I didn’t know they sold such fragrances here in Whitehall.”

“They don’t. It was a gift from my father before I left,” the voice responded quietly.

“So, you are from Westminster? Are you a Bride?” Emilia kept trying to discern which shadow was the one speaking.

“Yes, I have been assigned as your trainer while you are here in Whitehall. I like to be here when the Brides first wake from their surgery so they aren’t alone.”

“That is very thoughtful of you. You have given me a great gift of comfort. I’m sorry, I still don’t know your name,” said Emilia, remembering her mantra, innocence and flattery. 

“My name is Cleopatra, but you can call me Cleo.”

“Cleo is a beautiful name. I know you already know, but I am Emilia. It is a pleasure to meet you.” Emilia stretched out her hand in the direction she thought Cleo was standing.

“Pleased to meet you too.” Cleo shook Emilia’s hand. “I’ll guide you to your temporary quarters now and I’ll come fetch you in a few hours. It’s best just to try and sleep. You don’t want to strain your eyes.”

Cleo gently helped Emilia stand. Emilia leaned in, taking another deep breath. As they had spoken, Emilia found herself regaining her composure. If she had convinced Valentine to believe in her, she needed to find a way to convince herself she was ready to do this mission. Emilia reminded herself that plans change at a moment’s notice, just like with Valentine on that Westminster dock not long ago. She took a hold of Cleo’s hand and let her lead the way.

Emilia paced the small quarters Cleo brought her to. Emilia felt her nerves roll around in the pit of her stomach, anxious to get the mission back on track. She was also growing tired of being stuck in rooms by herself. At home in Westminster, waiting for Valentine when she first arrived in Newlondon and now here, in Whitehall, waiting for Cleo.

Not long after Cleo left her to rest, Emilia felt her vision clear. She took off the protective goggles and gently gave her eyes a rub. She smiled when she felt no pain. She didn’t notice a huge change in her vision except the glow she usually saw around lights, like the ones in the ceiling above her, was brighter and was more violet colored than before.

“This will come in handy.” She smirked to herself.

Photo by Shahadat Rahman.

Emilia reached for the chain around her neck and pulled out the medallion. The violet eye blinked slowly, notifying of a waiting message. She pressed the eye and listened. The automated voice relayed Valentine’s message.

“Got ping. Hope you’re OK. Send ping when you can.”

Even though it wasn’t Valentine’s actual voice, Emilia hugged the medallion knowing Valentine was out there waiting for her. She pressed the medallion and spoke:

“I’m OK. Mission is on, my Shadow.”

The violet crystal glowed steadily as the message was transmitted then went dark. Emilia slipped the medallion back under her dress to keep it hidden. She spent the next bit of time studying her room. Valentine taught her to observe all she could. “You never know what you can use to your advantage,” she had said to Emilia. She noted that the small bed had a small space between the mattress and the platform, perfect for stashing something small if the need arose. There were four lights overhead, but she saw no controls for them. She tried saying a voice command to turn them off, but they didn’t respond. There were no windows and only one door. The door handle was locked. She hoped that was just so she wouldn’t wander out while her eyes were recovering and not as a form of confinement while she was in training.

Finally, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.” Emilia sat on the bed to appear she was resting all the while.

Emilia heard a click and Cleo appeared in the doorway.

“Glad to see you are resting, Emilia. Are you ready for your placement testing?” Cleo folded her hands in front of her. Emilia could finally see Cleo’s short, bouncy hair which framed her chin. Her eyes were violet like Emilia’s, but Cleo had freckles that dotted the apples of her cheeks. A fitted vest complimented her petite frame, and she wore loose fitting cloth pants with utility pockets and a few tools hung from a leather belt slung around her hips.

“As ready as I’ll ever be. I don’t think I’ll make a very good Artemis or Vestra to be honest.” Emilia stood while she nervously played with the seams of her dress.

“Something tells me you’ll do just fine, wherever you end up.” Cleo tilted her head back, appraising Emilia.

“I don’t remember you saying which kind you are.” Emilia followed Cleo out of the room and down the hallway.

 “You are right. I didn’t. It’s a bit complicated when it comes to my designation. I am a quick study and I breezed through the mechanical specs they train the Vestras on. But I have a background in creatures because of my father which made me just as suited as an Artemis.” Cleo’s hands balled into fists.

Another lesson Emilia learned from Valentine, during their trek through the savagelands, was the virtue of waiting to ask questions, so she let the echo of their footsteps fill the silence. Cleo stretched out her fingers and took a breath.

Emilia followed Cleo out of the room and down the hallway.
Photo by David Dvořáček.

“Because my aptitude was split, I was trained in both skill sets. The Hallers that run the Bride program chose to keep me rather than allowing me to be assigned. I can teach you all you need to know to be the most skilled beast-tracking Artemis or mechanically savvy Vestra.” Cleo pressed a button to summon the lift.

“Something tells me that wasn’t what you had hoped for.” Emilia studied Cleo’s tight jaw as they waited.

“My father is a technician in Wildcat Fields. He would let me sneak out with him on night trips into the Fields and we’d watch for creatures together. With my violet eyes, it was only a matter of time before I was sent here. I thought for sure I’d be assigned as an Artemis, and I’d get to be out in the wilds with the creatures.” Cleo’s eyes narrowed.

“You must be so brave to wish for that! Something attacked my Sha-, my guide and I during my trip here.” Emilia shuddered at the memory of the growling beast and Valentine’s blade slicing through the air.

“My father taught me from a young age to admire their beauty despite their vicious nature.  He’d always say that if people would only give them a chance, we could live harmoniously, together.” Cleo stepped into the lift as the doors opened.

“Well, I do remember a school friend that kept a kittercat as a pet.” Emilia followed Cleo into the lift once the doors opened.

“Those furballs are harmless, but most of the creatures of the Globe aren’t nearly as scary as they seem. They are just looking for food and shelter, just as we do. We just get in each other’s way sometimes,” Cleo said.

“I never thought about it like that before.” Emilia’s eyebrows knitted together.

If you enjoyed Shanel’s story, please make sure and share some kind comments below. If you would like to see how this story began, read Shanel’s “Shadow of the Dunes,” which kicked off the Westminster stories in the Globe Folio series.

Check back on Friday, when we reveal the conclusion to “The View from the Wall.”

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

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Another great story ending from a December finalist

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Illustration by Joe Cross. Copyright 2021.

I’m sharing the finalist stories from the December Contest. Here’s my favorite ending among the finalists by Jeremy Wilson.

You may recall that Jeremy was the April Contest winner. As one of my 2021 Champions, he could not win the contest again in 2021. But this is definitely an award-winning story ending with breath-taking moments and as many twists and turns as the switchbacks of the . . .

Mountains of Clouds

BY JEREMY WILSON AND MATTHEW CROSS

Wearing my bright red coat, I scout the trail ahead of the Faustus clan.

They’ve spent six months in a hidden orbit elsewhere in the system, waiting on a clear-weather window for a landing on Y-12, the only designation for our secret planet. Three days ago, we got word of the landing site and I raced over the mountain ranges to meet them. Those were happy days, running in the sunlight over tricky terrain, the harsh wind rustling my fur. On days like this, I don’t miss being human at all.

Photo by Benjamin Voros.

They were late, of course, but it was a solid landing. The weather on Y-12 is querulous. Anything other than a crash is considered a success. Decades ago, the City itself crash landed here before burrowing itself deep into its hidden valley. The damage set back the Deliverable by at least six months. Secrecy has its price.

Even two days after the landing, the weather continues to hold. A rare, cheery, yellow sun begins to rise over the nearest peaks. I turn to return to the camp to wake Dr. Faustus, Dr. Faustus, and their three children. They brought five hovers with built-in skis and each hover tows a hover-lifted trailer. Landings are so rare that every new recruit to the City must not only bring their own gear but also whatever crucial supplies are most needed in the City. Every micron of space in the hovers is carefully scrutinized by committee before a landing.

But Dr. Faustus is the real prize. She and her wife, a respected experimental physicist in her own right, have defected from the Republic. Rumor in the City goes that after the carefully planned defection, their ship came directly to Y-12, only diverting course now and then to shake any possible pursuing Republic spacecraft. A calculated risk. And an indication of how urgently the Deliverable is needed in the war with the Republic.

As I turn, a cold wind blows down from the highest peaks. It ruffles the fur on my back and my hackles rise. The cold does not create this reaction. My thick fur is made to handle the worst of Y-12’s winter storms. No, it’s a scent carried on the wind that my fox body reacts to. An oily, metallic smell.

Nothing on Y-12 smells like that. Nothing outside the City anyways, and the City is still two days’ travel away. The City is the only human habitation on the planet. A planet hidden inside a nebula treacherous to cross. A nebula guarded by a fleet of Polity stealth ships. So there is no way a human, or any human smell, made its way to the wilds of Y-12 by accident.

A rare, cheery, yellow sun begins to rise over the nearest peaks. Photo by Luke Richards.

I have to assume a Republic Special Forces team has somehow followed the Drs. Faustus to Y-12 and landed during the same clear-weather window. The RSF always work in teams of three. If I’m lucky, at least one of them has been injured or killed in the landing. As no enemy ships were detected by the City or our secret guardians in space, it’s likely the RSF attempted to brave the upper atmosphere in individual landing suits instead of a ship. It’s just the sort of foolhardy mission the RSF are famed for.

But if even one team member survived the landing, the Republic had pulled off an impressive feat. So far, their only mistake had been their failure to account for me and the smells they gave off. But that’s not surprising. No one off planet even knows about Dr. Amdo Basnet’s arctic fox project.

The good news is that they haven’t found us yet. If the RSF knew where we were, we’d all be dead already. Another frison sweeps through my hackles. The Faustuses were safely sleeping in camp when I left, but that was a couple hours ago. I have to get back!

Careful, I warn myself. Play it smart.

I scamper into the underbrush and shake myself from head to tail. As I shake, the bright red and white hairs shift, turning into mottled greens and browns to match my surroundings in the lowland evergreen forest.

I carefully and quietly tread a circuitous route under the cover of the trees back to the camp. I wake only Dr. Faustus. I don’t have time for a lot of questions. Speaking through the amulet around my neck, I tell her the RSF have followed her to Y-12. To her credit, she only nods tightly, but I see tears in the corners of her eyes glimmer in the early morning light.

She and her wife each have a basic blaster for the trek through the wilderness, but they stand no chance against even a single RSF. I tell her that her only hope of surviving–and saving her family–is to hide. I’m the scout. It’s my job to dispatch the RSF team or reach the City and send help. Under the dark-green shadows of the trees, I see dark despair shade her eyes. Good, at least she knows what we face. Perhaps she’ll follow my directions to the letter.

Abandoning their gear, the Faustus family follows me into the forest carrying only an inflatable snow shelter and cold tack for two days. Encased beneath a mound of shaded snow, they’ll need to wait until help returns. My amulet has no beacon or tracker to make me untraceable. The shelter has an emergency beacon, but that will alert the RSF. Everything depends on me.

I head towards the mountain range again. If I can make it unseen to the top peaks, I can approach the first RSF, the one I smelled, from a direction that gives no clue of the direction of the City or the Faustus family. I bound from rock to rock and criss-cross cold mountain streams several times, making my back trail impossible to follow, even for a wolf or an arctic fox. The sun disappears as I make my climb through the cloud cover. My human mind, the overlaid copy of the mind once belonging to Dr. Amdo Basnet, begins to formulate a plan. 

I bound from rock to rock and crisscross cold mountain streams. Photo by Steve Carter.

Military strategy is difficult. Like all foxes in the project, my mind is a scan of Dr. Basnet’s brain overlaid onto that of a native arctic fox pup. There’s not a lot of extra room in a fox’s gray matter, so I only have Amdo’s core memories and personality, just enough to make me entirely loyal to the Polity and the Deliverable, and knowledge of human speech. I have survival training, a basic skill for all guides, but no tactical training. Scouts rely on orders, personal experience in the wilds and instinct. Planning does not come naturally.

Like Amdo, I retreat into logic. I have no weapons. I assess the tools I do have. I have the collar and amulet, which allows me to speak. I have my color-shifting fur. I have speed and guile. And I have superior knowledge of the terrain.

Perhaps I can distract them until the normal weather of Y-12 reasserts itself. I hit the first patch of snow on the mountainside. Without thinking, I shake myself and my coat shifts to white. Not long after, I catch a break. I wander across the footprints of the first RSF!

Republic Special Forces are like wolves. In the first few moments of contact, the important thing is to move quickly, draw attention, and count on their predatory nature to drive them to follow. But unlike wolves, the RSF can attack unseen from a long distance. And though they travel as a pack, they spread wide to encircle their foe. They won’t risk propellant weapons because the sound would give away their position. So the greatest danger is a long-distance laser pulse. Silent. Deadly.

I follow his trail along the ridgeline and spy him easily. He has set up a sniper post behind a spill of rocks. He wears the charging pack for his laser rifle on his back, ready to move as soon as he fires a shot. When firing at full range, it takes several mins to recharge. 

I slowly climb over the ridgeline to approach him from the back. Down the far side of the range is a river of clouds that give the Mountains of Clouds their name. The clouds are hiding the steep drop off on this side of the mountain. That gives me an idea.

A layer of clouds floats between mountain peaks on the left and the right.
Down the far side of the range is a river of clouds that give the Mountains of Clouds their name. Photo by Samuel Ferrara.

“Hey,” I call. What do I say next? I did not think this through. Before I can think of anything else to say, the RSF leaps silently and cleanly over the ridge. He lands and spots me immediately. He has the rifle in one hand and a long, black knife in the other.

The look on his face says he did not expect to see a fox. In a flash, he scans the expanse of spotless white snow, and seeing no other enemy, raises his rifle. I allow my deepest fox instincts to take control. In the flick of an eyelash, I bound down the mountainside.

In front of me, I see a puff of steam from vaporized snow and hear the peculiar whooshing sound that frozen water makes when a long tunnel of it instantly boils to gas and emerges from a pinpoint hole. He took his first shot. That leaves the knife and maybe a sidearm blaster. Blasters are notoriously clumsy shots, but up close one can vaporize my entire body.

I disappear into the cloud bank. He follows but stops when he’s completely surrounded by mist. He speaks softly, probably on a comm to his teammates. If he waits until reinforcements arrive, I’ll lose my advantage. 

I give him a little incentive. With a swish of my tail, it turns red. I wave it like a red flag and run right along the nearly invisible clifftop. The RSF leaps. And falls.

Falling through the fog, he spins and fires a blaster from his hip. The green blast expands rapidly into a cone, wiping away the swirls of fog in its path. But the shot is wild and I merely flinch. The RSF does not scream and I do not hear the impact. It’s kloms down, so that’s no surprise. The wind rises and the whirling vapor closes the hole left by the blaster.

One down. Two to go.

Knowing the RSF team has my coordinates, I bound back to the mountaintop and head down the valley side of the mountain range to the most dangerous area I know. It’s well known for crevasses and avalanches. When I can, I stick to cloud cover, which neutralizes their long-range weapons. I reach the hazardous area undetected.

 When I meet the next RSF, we are both shocked. I’m headed down the mountain on the crusty snow as he heads up. We lock eyes and I freeze. An odd smile crosses his face and he scans the pristine, white mountainside for other threats. He does not raise his weapon. That’s when I realize they still have not learned the secret of Dr. Basnet’s foxes. He thinks I’m part of the natural wildlife. And, I am, sort of.

The wind shifts and the river of clouds below moves more swiftly. I scamper up the layers of crusty snow and cracked ice. To my fur-covered paws, the footing feels secure, but I know the innocent-looking layer of snow hides unknown dangers with every step. I have no particular plan in mind except to outlast the RSF on this treacherous terrain. I’m betting my life that I know this terrain better than a trained RSF. Betting my natural instincts against his lifetime of rigorous training. But I’m also betting on something else more basic: Gravity.

I’m not light as a bird, but I don’t weigh much. This muscle-bound RSF is loaded down with a backpack full of gear and laser batteries. As long as I can keep him on this precarious shelf of ice–and avoid getting shot–I think I can last longer. But in the wilderness, there’s always an element of chance thrown in to keep things interesting.

The cloud river below ripples and parts, revealing the dark, evergreen trees in the valley. I’m losing my cover from the third RSF hiding in the valley. I need to speed things up.

“Follow me,” I call softly. A visor hides his eyes, but I can see his relaxed stance tighten. He realizes I’m more than I first appear.

The RSF snaps his rifle to his shoulder and I scamper further upwards. I sneak a look back, but he has lowered the rifle. Either the wisps of fog between us or my zig-zag pattern must make the shot look risky. He whips a blaster from his hip and fires a shot. The blast melts a large section of snow between us, but I’m out of blaster range by that time. Chunks of ice and melted snow begin to slide down the mountain towards the RSF. From the corner of my eye, I also see trickles of powdered snow dusting down from above me. The force of that blast unsettled the entire mountainside.

I turn and head neither up nor down the mountain but sideways, towards more secure footing. The RSF does the same. The wedge of ice, slush and water rushing down on him widens. It’s hardly an avalanche, but it places him in more immediate peril than me. I can focus on getting to safer ground, but I keep him in my peripheral vision as I scamper across now-looser footing.

The RSF is heading along a path parallel to my own. A river of ice melt swirls around his knees. He leaps and comes down hard. No! No, he disappears completely beneath the white torrent. And then the mountainside is still again.

There’s only one reason for the tall RSF to have disappeared like that. A crevasse. Sometimes you can defy Mother Nature, but you can’t beat gravity.

Two down. One to go.

With the second RSF safely entombed, I continue across the snowpack until the snow thins and I reach the boulder field. The sound of the snowslide must have alerted the last RSF, so I quickly duck underneath the nearest outcrop and stop to plan my next move.

The unexpected stench of decay catches my nose. I slink from shadow to shadow, following the smell. Rounding a corner, I come face to face with the third RSF. I panic and try to shake my coat to gray to match the surrounding stone, but it’s too late. The RSF is staring straight at me.

I shut my eyes and brace for pain. My heart hammers in my chest. The world stops. I breathe once . . . then again . . . . An eternity passes.

Confused, I dare to look. The RSF is still staring at me but hasn’t moved. With disbelief I realize the third RSF is dead. Something must have gone wrong during entry, and he landed on the jagged rocks and died. I nearly faint with relief.

I wind my way down the rest of the mountain to the river and then follow it towards the forest. With the RSF dispatched, I head directly back to the shelter to collect Dr. Faustus and her family. We must get to the City.

A twig snaps and pain lances through my back leg. I yelp and tumble end over end. Disoriented, I lay staring up at the darkening sky. In my peripheral, a shadow emerges from behind a tree.

A fourth RSF! The Republic must be desperate.

The RSF steps forward and removes her knife. I struggle to get to my feet, my back leg unusable. The RSF grabs me by the tail.

“What sort of abomination are you? It seems the Polity has been busy.” She sneers and lifts me into the air. Pain shoots through my tail and my fox brain takes over. I snap at the RSF and swipe with my claws. The RSF laughs and punches my soft underbelly, wrenching the breath from my lungs. In desperation, I go limp and feign being unconscious. The RSF lifts me up higher so we’re face to face and leans in to deliver some final reproach.

I lash out, trying to clamp my jaws around her neck. She squeals in surprise, dropping her knife to the ground. The cowl of her armor saves her and she’s able to pry my jaws apart. I fall to the ground and land on the knife. Pain sears my shoulder and warmth begins pooling beneath me. The RSF retrieves her knife and stands over me. My vision darkens as she raises the knife, her eyes full of hate.

A green flash blinds us both and the upper half of the RSF disappears into ash. Behind her, Dr. Faustus stands with her blaster raised, hands shaking. I can feel the last rays of sun, but I can no longer see them. The wind ruffles through my fur as the world fades.

I hope you enjoyed this piece of flash fiction that Jeremy Wilson and I wrote together. He’s one of my favorite collaboration writers.

If you enjoyed Jeremy Wilson’s prize-winning ending, please make sure and share some kind comments below.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. If you enjoy Jeremy’s writing style and story-telling ability, you’ll definitely want to read these other story endings he wrote for previous contests and one he wrote as a collaboration with other Champions:

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The governor interrupts Cordelia’s song of madness

  By ,

Song of Thieves

by Frasier Armitage

Cordelia’s chains rattled against the prison wall, the only music she’d heard in years. Memories of old shanties came to her in quiet hours between the rising of the moons, and she whistled them when she closed her eyes. But the curl of the ocean’s waves cresting on the shore was no more than a forgotten dream.

How many cycles had she spent inside this cell? And for what? A single moment of foolishness. Her best cycles gone, never to be recovered, and no one to mourn for them. She clanged her chains against the stone that held her irons and played a dirge that only she could hear.

“Inmate,” a voice echoed through the dark. “Why do you make such a racket?”

Cordelia stopped clattering her chains, and sang towards the voice, combing her fingers through wiry strands of black, matted hair.

There once was a maiden put to sea,

Of gentle face and soul was she,
‘Til the day that she became a thief,
And the jailer threw away the key.

She stopped, and raised her hands to her mouth, her fingers dancing as she blew.

“What are you doing?” the voice asked.

“Playing the tune on my piccolo,” Cordelia replied, her head swaying in the silence.

“Well, I hope it’s a short tune. We have important matters to discuss.”

Cordelia straightened. If this wasn’t a guard, then who? No visitor had ever bothered to trudge the dungeons of the brig for her sake.

How many cycles had she spent inside this cell? Photo by Mike Hindle.

She peered through the dark. But the figure to whom the voice belonged remained an outline, a silhouette without features.

“Forgive me, sir,” Cordelia said. “But I receive so little company. Won’t you come in and sit down?” She gestured to the middle of the cell.

The figure didn’t so much as flinch, choosing to remain in shadow. “I heard a story about you.”

“Is that so?” she asked.

“That you were caught stealing a pendant from the wife of a Newlondon Guild member.”

Cordelia scowled, her cheeks reddening as the blue of her eyes turned to ice. “Is that such a crime to deserve banishment? Is it fair? Me. Banished. For what? I warned her that she had no right to that pendant. It belonged to another. And when I hatched a plot to return it to its rightful owner, I was the one punished. If you came to see a thief, you’ll be disappointed. Better for you to make an appointment with the Guild. All you see here is a self-righteous fool.” She stomped across her cell, hands on hips.

“You have no love for Newlondon’s Guild?”

“And I told them so. It’s why I’m here, isn’t it? Locked up like an animal all these years in a Haller cell.”

The figure shifted, and a shaft of light exposed the fringe of their cape. “It’s a shame you’re not a thief. I was rather hoping I might find one in these parts.” They turned to leave, and footsteps faded into the distance.

“Wait!” Cordelia cried. “Sir, I beg you. Don’t go. Let me steal a word with you.”

“Ah, so you would steal from me after all?”

“If you wish it, sir. You have a very fine cape. A Whitehall garment. And I detect the aroma of influence in the scent you wear.” Cordelia squinted, yearning to snatch a glimpse of the man. “Why would a man of influence visit a lowly woman such as me?”

The figure crept closer. “I see that nothing in this darkness is hidden from you. Not so mad as you would have me believe, are you?”

Cordelia brushed frayed ends of hair behind her ear. “It passes the time, to play the fool.”

“Then let us stop speaking foolishly. For there is already so little time. Do you know of the Polity?”

“Only from old fishermen’s tales.”

“Then you do not know that they are here? On the Globe as we speak?”

Cordelia shook her head violently, as though someone had tossed her overboard. “I get it. You’re here to mock the mad girl who dared speak her mind. Very well. I beseech you, sir, tell me your best stories. I shall believe them all.”

“It’s true.” From his palm, an image glowed. A ship bigger than any hovercraft Cordelia had ever seen illuminated from the orb he carried.

The hologram danced over Cordelia’s eyes. “Is that real?”

“It rests on sand no more than a klom beyond that wall.” The figure zoomed in to the hull, where a dozen smaller vessels attached to the larger craft. He let the image linger on the small, one-person flier, and then extinguished the projection.

“And why would you show this to me?” Cordelia crossed her arms.

“I heard another story about you.”

“Oh, really?”

“That you were the finest pilot in all Newlondon.”

Cordelia’s lips curled. “You’re a well-informed man.”

“I heard that you could pilot anything.”

“Anything that moves,” Cordelia bragged.

“Could you pilot one of those ships? The solo-fliers?” The figure stepped towards the bars of the cell, his body rigid. The air between them sparked with a restless electricity.

Would you rather stay where you are? Photo by R.D. Smith.

Cordelia shrugged. “Like I said. Anything that moves.”

The figure’s shoulders eased, and he reached into his robe. “Then I wish to make a trade with you.”

It had been so long since Cordelia had traded anything but her memories. Blood surged through her veins with more force than the ocean’s waves. “State your terms,” she said.

“You’ll play the thief, and steal a ship. You’ll take it from the surface and fly beyond the sky to dock with the good ship Shakespeare. Once aboard, you’ll find a command console and program a specific series of instructions into it, and unless you hear from me otherwise, you’ll leave before the Shakespeare comes crashing down on our Polity friends.”

Cordelia’s laughter skittered through the cell. And people thought she was mad! “A hover can only reach thirty metes above the surface,” she said. “Even children know as much. But a craft that can sail above the sky? Impossible.”

“And yet, there it is.” The figure lit the projection once more.

Cordelia stared at it, analyzing the design. The closer she surveyed it, the quicker she lost her smile. “I’ve never seen technology like this before.”

“But you can fly it?”

“Over land. Sure. But into the heavens? I haven’t been free of this cell for many cycles. And you ask me to rise above the surface of the Globe?”

“Would you rather stay where you are?”

Cordelia folded her arms, and rubbed her chin. “I know the Shakespeare remains in the sky. You can make it out glowing as a speck in the heavens. Newlondoners use it to guide them when the light fades. But you wish me to actually go there? To cross that distance?”

“A feat no other Glober has ever performed.”

Cordelia shook her head. “And what would you trade for these services?”

The figure slipped his hand from his robe and dangled a key from a chain. “Once your task is complete, you’ll be free.”

The figure dangled a key from a chain. Photo by Ainur Iman.

Cordelia’s eyes locked on the key, transfixed by it. But her instincts prevented her from snatching it. She knew better than to make a deal without knowing all the angles. “Just tell me one thing, sir — what are these commands you wish for me to give the Shakespeare?”

The figure snarled below his breath, his hands clenched into fists. “The Polity have us in their palm. They rule from on high. Another ship lurks above us in the sky. They call it—the Pacifica. I’ve tracked this vessel using sensors on the Shakespeare—”

“Wait,” Cordelia interjected. “You can communicate with the Shakespeare?”

The figure straightened the collar of his cape. “There are certain men in Whitehall who hold such power.”

Cordelia nodded. “Then you truly are a man of influence. If you can communicate with the ship, why not give it your instructions from here? Why do you need me?”

“We receive telemetry, meteorological data, topographical charts from the Shakespeare. Things like these. But we cannot broadcast messages. When our ancestors traveled across the heavens and settled here, they landed in transport ships, and left the great engine which had carried them in the sky.”

“The Shakespeare. I know my history.”

“Then you know it is much more than just an engine. It is a city. But a city that the Polity believe is dead. I intend to bring it to life.”

Cordelia’s eyes frosted over once more. “You’re going to turn it into a weapon, aren’t you?”

“There is a city in the sky which belongs to the Polity. They look down on us as insects. Unless they can believe that we are every bit as human as them, they will not hesitate to crush us.”

Cordelia stroked her chin. “So you wish to destroy them first? What of peace?”

“There can be no peace without talk. I don’t intend to use the Shakespeare without reason. I shall try to persuade them in negotiations. But there is no harm in securing a little leverage. Once you reach the Shakespeare, if I succeed in convincing the Polity of our independence, then I shall contact you with the abort codes. Look out for my signal by scanning the rooftop of Whitehall’s tallest tower. But if you do not receive my signal, then we must strike first, or not at all.”

Cordelia considered his words, and raised her arm towards the bars of her cell. “Then I believe we have reached an accord.”

The figure inserted the key into the lock, dispelling the electric charge running through the bars. He twisted the latch and flung the door open. His cape followed behind him as he strode across the cell and shook her arm, before he unfastened her chains.

Cordelia’s eyes widened as the insignia of his cape fluttered in the light. “Why, Governor, I didn’t realise I was in such distinguished company.” She bowed to him.

The Governor of Whitehall put his hands on her arms, straightened her upright, and smiled. “Needless to say, if anyone finds out about our agreement, then you won’t be returning here. There’s a spot outside the city you’ll end up in. Where the Mirrim roam.”

“Governor, you need not threaten me. Once we have reached an accord, there is no question of my loyalty. I may be a thief, but I’m no liar.”

The Governor nodded. “Now, pay attention while I teach you the commands I wish for you to input.”

“Very well.”

He smiled. “And then all you have to do is figure out how to steal a Polity flier.”

Music spilled from the tavern in Newlondon, flooding the dock with its cheer. A Polity officer stumbled from the bar, his boots staggering across the cobbles as he swayed to the tune. The stench of ale on his breath clouded the air around him.

“Hey, handsome,” Cordelia called from an alleyway.

Music spilled from the tavern in Newlondon, flooding the dock with its cheer. Photo by Giuseppe Famiani.

The officer turned on the spot, and through bleary eyes, toured the contours of her body, before coming to rest on those blue irises, almost glowing in the darkness. He flashed his best Polity smile and stumbled towards the alley. “You talking to me?” he slurred.

“I don’t see any other handsome men around here. Do you?”

He turned left and right, but the harbor was empty, save for the slosh of waves and the odd fishing net. “What’s a lady such as you doing alone on a night like this?”

Cordelia backed into the alleyway. “How would you like to remedy that?” she whispered as she slunk into the shadows.

His eyes bulged as he wobbled closer, striking blind into the narrow alley. Darkness consumed him, and he reached through it for the promise of the maiden’s lips. A pinprick jabbed his neck, and he swatted it away, thinking it no more than an insect bite.

“Come to me, my pretty Glober. And let me show you what the Polity can do.” He tumbled into the wall. His head swam. From the bite on his neck, heat spread down his back. His vision clouded and he lost his footing, collapsing in a heap as the black fog of unconsciousness overwhelmed him.

Cordelia backed into the alleyway. Photo by Darwin Vegher.

Cordelia pocketed the syringe, offering a silent thanks to the Finsber who’d mixed the sleeping cocktail. She stooped to the officer and searched his pockets until she found his ident-strip.

She flicked her wrist, and a drone whirled down from where it had hovered overhead.

“Copy the data,” she instructed it. The drone emitted a green strobing beam as it scanned the ident-strip, duplicating the information into its storage banks. The beam vanished.

Cordelia replaced the item on the officer and left him sleeping. “Sweet dreams,” she whispered. Then she turned to the drone. “Inform the Governor that we move at dawn, and return to the meeting point.”

The drone thrummed skyward, vanishing from sight.

She turned to the officer and blew him a kiss. “Better luck next time,” she said, leaving him to sleep off his stupor as she disappeared into the night.

The engine of the Governor’s hovercraft rattled, skirting the desert. Strapped below the underside of the craft, Cordelia clung to the frame. Sand kicked up her back. Why couldn’t they have just put her in the trunk, like she’d asked?

Brakes whistled, biting her ears as the hover screeched to a halt in the shadow of the Polity’s lander.

Cordelia’s sinews roared. She breathed through the pain. Beside her, two sets of feet exited the craft, and voices drifted to meet them.

“Governor, this is an unexpected pleasure,” a woman said.

“Captain Ward,” the Governor answered, “I wonder if you’d permit me the pleasure of your company. There’s a small matter I wish to discuss with you.”

“It couldn’t wait?”

“I’m afraid not. May we come aboard?”

Cordelia’s skin itched as the pause stretched into an eternity. Since when did the Governor of Whitehall have to beg for an audience with anyone?

She allowed her body to lower into the straps that held her in place, and craned her neck for a glimpse beyond the hovercraft. From her waist, she slipped a pistol from its holster, loading the pellet she’d purchased from one of Westminster’s beast-chasers. In all her trades along the river, she’d never succeeded in obtaining bullets from an Artemis. But she’d never had the Haller’s credits to barter with before. If every Newlondoner knew the value of Haller credits, they’d all be working for the Governor.

Cordelia snapped the barrel shut, taking aim at the hulking metal landing-frame of the Polity’s cruiser. Its size dwarfed everything she’d thought possible in an airship. How could something so colossal ever lift from the ground? Still, at least it made an easy target.

Come on, she thought. Hurry up, Governor. I agreed you’d be on board before I fired. But a girl can only wait so long.

She strained her wrist, stretching it for a clear shot at the prow, her finger closing in on the trigger.

She strained her wrist, stretching it for a clear shot at the prow, her finger closing in on the trigger. Photo by Sofia Sforza.

“Fine,” Ward capitulated. “I can spare a few minutes.”

The feet beside the hovercraft shuffled towards the lander, and the huge mouth of the shuttlebay consumed them all.

Cordelia’s lip curled. Here goes nothing.

She released the shot, and the pellet flew through the air, erupting in clear goo across the lander’s hull.

Across the sand, a rumble echoed.

Cordelia snatched the knife from her hilt, and sliced the straps that held her to the underside of the Governor’s hovercraft.

The rumble grew louder. Louder.

She checked her hoverpads were fastened tight to her boots.

Grains of sand shuddered as the ground slithered around the lander.

Cordelia took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

From the heavens, a thousand skycrawlers descended. The beating of their wings forcing the sand to shiver beneath them. They dove at the lander, snapping at each other with fangs of steel, all of them drawn by the Artemis’s lure, splattered across the hull.

Countless beasts crowded, wrestling for a taste of the clear nectar, the air filled with their beating wings. There were so many, they blocked the sun.

Cordelia activated the hoverpads on her boots and emerged from her hiding place under the hovercraft, lifting from the clawing nest of skycrawlers. Their distraction disguised her flight perfectly, and she landed on a wing of the Polity ship, deactivating the boots as she ran towards the nearest solo craft.

Below, between the screeches of the beasts, Polity officers emerged from the lander, blasting rifles into the pack, but still the skycrawlers lusted for a morsel of the clear liquid.

Cordelia flicked her wrist, and the drone zipped across the sky, appearing at her side.

“You got those credentials?” Cordelia asked the drone. It scanned the copied ident-strip across a panel on the solo-flier, and a green light flickered as the cockpit slid open with a hiss. Cordelia climbed in and eased herself behind where the rudder should’ve been. But instead, a series of wheels and levers protruded from a console.

It’s okay. All machines are the same.

A series of wheels and levers protruded from a console. Photo by Leonel Fernandez.

As the carnage crescendoed on lander’s hull, the shrieking beasts flapped in a frenzy, rifle blasts following them. Talons slashed against reptilian hides, spewing the ground with a carnival of torn flesh and neon blood.

This must be the thrusters. And here’s the tiller.

Cordelia reached on instinct for the controls, and the whoosh of hydraulics released the clamp which fixed the flier to the main ship. She called to the drone, “Engage protocol Mirrim.”

The drone bleeped and lowered to where the clamp was open. It scanned the flier’s systems and duplicated the readings showing on the console, then it pressed itself onto the clamp, allowing the vice to squeeze its frame until it closed. The drone plugged into the Polity’s systems, and fed data back so that if anyone ran a diagnostic, they’d see a solo flier on the readout, exactly where it should be. A perfect switch. Unless the Polity did a manual inspection. But what were the chances of that when all the readouts looked normal?

Skycrawlers broke from the surface, rising in spirals like a swirling cyclone. Cordelia lifted with them, shielded from view in the melee of beating wings. She secured the latch on the cockpit door, and strapped in for the ascent.

Everything shrunk as she drew further up. Below, she saw the spires of Whitehall diminish until they were the size of children’s toys. Desert stretched all the way to the misty mountains of Belmont. The river seemed no more than a pencil line, tracing a path to the ocean. Waves patterned the sea like rips in fabric, their majestic surf reduced to mere ripples.

She reached out to taste the ocean air, the desert’s heat, the mountain’s mist. But she met only the stale glass of the cockpit window.

Cordelia glanced around her. There were four walls, the same as her cell. And no way out. She could no more reach out and touch the Globe than if she were back in the brig, chained to the wall. And then the sky darkened as the atmosphere thinned.

Her hand pressed against the glass, searching for a connection to the world, but it had been robbed from her. Yet, such a world that she beheld—the beauty of it startled her as much as its vastness. How small the Polity. How tiny was Whitehall. The higher she climbed, the greater the wonder of her vista magnified. She sailed above the sky, looking down on the Globe, and as her eyes absorbed the planet unfolding before her, Cordelia’s head filled with music. An aria unlike any that she’d ever heard.

The beauty of it startled her as much as its vastness. How tiny was Whitehall. Image by NASA.

She raised her fingers to her mouth and imagined the piccolo piping the tune. When she opened her eyes, the planet sparkled brighter than any treasure. A perfect pendant to adorn the heavens.

The world she saw didn’t belong to any of them. Hallers, the Guild, the Polity. None of them. And as she joined the company of stars, her voice called out in song—

The world is not ours,Not the land or the seas,To the Globe be the power.All who take it are thieves.

If you enjoyed Frasier’s story, please make sure and share some kind comments below.

We will be seeing more of Governor Octavius in future installments of “Nights of Revelation,” and we’ll catch up with Cordelia in Act 3 of the Globe Folio series.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

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In a time of crisis, Valentine and Emilia’s love blooms

  By ,

Swift as Shadow

Part II

BY SHANEL WILSON

Emilia looked out a window overlooking the Newlondon Harbor. She had eaten the food Valentine gave her and took a short rest. She couldn’t really sleep with the events of the last day flashing through her mind. When Emilia made the choice to stay with Valentine, she imagined a beautiful world by her side, free from worry and full of adventure.

Such a world would never have been hers if she had become a Bride as planned. Once in Whitehall, she would have been registered and taken into surgery to enhance her already ultraviolet-sensitive eyes for a job either repairing defense systems as a Vestra or monitoring the beasts around the Globe as an Artemis. Neither of those tasks had ever seemed appealing to Emilia, but her eyes destined her to be prized for their usefulness instead of Emilia’s own talents and desires.

Photo by Håkon Grimstad.

She longed to get to know her beautiful Shadow, the name she had given Valentine before she learned her real name, and to explore this new world lying in front of her. Now she was stuck in a room with a window, not unlike the one she had left behind in Westminster. Emilia knew she was in unfamiliar territory, so she tried to accept her place and wait for Valentine. But waiting was getting hard.

I can help. I should be doing something! Emilia thought to herself.

But all the things she thought of would jeopardize them all by exposing her eyes to anyone in Newlondon. Instead, Emilia decided to study Valentine’s room. It was sparse and tidy. Emilia’s own room in her father’s house was filled with all types of glass blown into the most intricate and beautiful shapes. It was an explosion of color. In Valentine’s room, the only color came from a few small paintings tacked above the small desk. Each was a beautiful landscape; a lush green forest with accents of golden sunlight filtering through the branches, craggy mountain peaks swirled in grey mist, the teals and blues of an outlook over the sea. The last one was vibrant oranges and browns of sand dunes. Valentine had clearly explored each piece of the Globe, from the top of the Elizabeth River and down to the sea.

Emilia understood then just how little she knew about the Globe, and Valentine for that matter. Emilia studied the painting of the sea cliff further. She should have felt terrified to come all this way, leaving her father and ignoring her fate, to be with a stranger. Instead, a calm washed over her. She smiled at the thought of this new adventure with this new, beautiful person by her side. Emilia looked back out the window. She caught a swish of a cloak as the front door creaked open.

“Emilia?” Bianca called.

“Yes! I am here. Did you find your Antonio?” Emilia said, as she descended the stairs.

Bianca embraced Emilia and led her to the sitting room through the carved wood archway on their left. Dark wood paneled the walls, and a few paintings like the ones in Valentine’s room hung from them. Heavily carved chairs with striped cushions sat around a tea table with a beautiful inlay of sea creatures swimming in the wood’s surface.

Photo by Wonderlane.

“I did. By the grace of Elizabeth Hathaway. It is as Valentine feared. He was made a member of the Guild upon returning from slaying the kraken and was made the representative to go to Whitehall to meet with the Polity.”

“Why would they let the newest member be their representative?”

“That is a very good question, Emilia. I am positive the Guild means to use him to their extreme advantage, but there is something I am not seeing yet. The Guild is somewhat of a necessary evil here in Newlondon. Us Newlondoners are born a bit restless, with the sea in our veins. Some choose more dubious ways of life than others, but that is the charm of Newlondon. Our destinies are our own. The Guild maintains the thinnest semblance of order in exchange for carte blanche in their racketeering and shady dealings. That’s why people like my father have tried to tip those balances to protect those unable to wield such power. Those like my sweet Antonio.”

“If the Polity is to be feared, as we’ve been taught, and the Guild protects themselves first, as you said, perhaps they feel Antonio is expendable?” Emilia suggested.

Before Bianca could answer, Valentine appeared in the room.

“Valentine!” Emilia crossed the room to greet her.

“Taking your Shadow business seriously, I see. You don’t have to sneak into your own home,” Bianca said playfully.

“You never know who is watching, sweet sister,” Valentine replied.

“You sound just like Father,” Bianca said. “Come, tell us what you know.”

“We retrieved the dead pirate from Antonio’s skiv and left Antonio a warning. It’s up to Antonio for now,” Valentine shared, as they took their seats.

Bianca let out the breath she had been holding.

“We will protect him, my sister. All have been alerted along the river. And those in Newlondon have brought more news,” Valentine said, taking Bianca’s hand in hers. “Solanio has also left the harbor on his way to Whitehall. The word on the wind is that he is to represent Newlondon to the Polity.”

“That scoundrel! I knew there was something I could not see.”

“And more still, Solanio is how Antonio ended up on the Tempest. Antonio had panicked about the pirate and went to Solanio for help. The only help he offered was certain death.”

“A death that did not occur. Perhaps he will correct this error on his way to Whitehall?” Emilia interrupted.

Bianca’s hands involuntarily tightened around Valentine’s.

Bianca’s hands involuntarily tightened around Valentine’s. Photo by Zoe.

“Solanio cannot risk another failure. If he has persuaded the Guild to trust him as their actual representative to Whitehall, he certainly has been able to twist the Guild’s questionable motives to enhance his own. Antonio is the only thing in his way to a rightful spot in the Guild and to your heart,” Valentine said, looking deep into her sister’s eyes.

“Me? He knows I find him wretched.”

“Yes, but men like Solanio only want the things they cannot have. So, we must be vigilant and ready for what lies ahead. I am leaving to organize a crew of Shadow Walkers that will go to Whitehall. That way we will be prepared for any ills Solanio or the Guild, for that matter, have planned.”

“You aren’t leaving without me! I cannot rest while that vile bottom-dweller lurks toward my beloved!” Bianca proclaimed.

“But I need you here with Emilia, staying safe. I promise I will stay in constant touch,” Valentine said, touching her eel medallion.

“Dear Valentine, my Shadow, please. I can help. I cannot be confined to another set of walls when I just left my old ones behind,” Emilia said, breaking in.

Bianca stood, reaching her hand out to Emilia. Emilia stood and took it.

“We are coming with you. We will obey all your orders except those that say we cannot help,” Bianca said. Emilia nodded in agreement.

“Father will have my head if I let anything happen to you and with being newly installed . . .”

“Installed? Oh, Valentine, I am so proud! You are ready for this.” Bianca wrapped Valentine in a hug before continuing. “As far as Father goes, nothing will happen to us. We spent our girlhoods together where we both learned the skills and secrets of Shadows, yet I always knew my life and love would be bound in Newlondon. I slowly stayed behind but never forgot all I have learned at your side. Now that my love is lost in the sea of this turbulent world, I cannot sit idly by. Besides, when have you let Father decide what you did? And in the short time I’ve had with Emilia, I can tell she is wise and cunning. She has put her full faith in you. Would you not return that to her?”

Valentine looked into the two faces before her. She still had so much to prove, to the Shadow Walkers, to her father, and to herself. She couldn’t let any of them down, let alone Bianca and Emilia. Their lives had been diverging, but Valentine and Bianca were as close as two sisters could be. Halves of the same whole.

Valentine wanted to protect her sister from the dangers she had seen around the Globe, yet she could not imagine trying to take this mission on without Bianca. Valentine’s heart swelled seeing Emilia standing so boldly next to her sister. Valentine knew she was inextricably connected to Emilia, with their connection deepening every moment they spent together. Through their journey so far, Emilia had proven she could hold her own, so Valentine could not stand in her way.

“I will have to scrounge up one of Father’s broken medallions to reconfigure for Emilia. We will need to gather supplies and be ready at the drop of an anchor.”

“I knew you’d come around!” Bianca danced around the room.

Valentine brushed the hair from Emilia’s face.

“Are you sure you are ready for this?” Valentine asked.

“Of course not, but I already told you. I can help and I will follow where you go,” Emilia said with a wry smile.

In the shadows and mist, a small skiv bobbed at the secret dock at Limnoreia estuary. Bianca gave Emilia a sisterly hug and stepped aside for Valentine. Valentine hung the newly fashioned eel medallion around Emila’s neck. The amethyst crystal eye of the eel matched Emilia’s eyes perfectly. 

“It’s not too late to change your mind, Emilia,” Valentine said.

Photo by Suhyeon Choi.

“I am ready, my Shadow. This will give us the best chance to save Antonio. I can do this.” Emilia pressed her forehead to Valentine’s.

“She’s right, sister. You and I cannot go where she will be allowed to,” Bianca said, adjusting the strap on the shoulder bag she wore.

Valentine closed her eyes tight. She knew they were both right. Their admiration was blossoming into the sweet first buds of love over the past few days as they gathered information and made plans to help save Antonio. Valentine didn’t feel ready to let Emilia go. She felt a squeeze from the hands holding her own.

“It’s time,” Emilia said gently. She placed a delicate kiss on Valentine’s lips and stepped aboard the skiv with the Shadow Walker that would escort her to the gates of Whitehall to report as a Bride.

Valentine subconsciously touched the medallion around her neck as she watched the skiv unlock and pull back from the dock.  She saw Emilia touch her own before she slipped it back into her dress. Bianca came and stood next to her sister.

“Is this what I am like when Antonio is around? No wonder you call me insufferable.” Bianca giggled, lightening the mood.

“Ha! You’ve always been insufferable, even before Antonio, dear sister!” Valentine prodded back.

“I must have learned it from you!”

“No, we learned it from Father!”

The sisters laughed and shared a long hug.

“Come, sister. There is much to do,” Bianca said as she turned toward Newlondon.

“Swift as shadow,” Valentine said, and she slipped into the darkness of the wilderness.

If you enjoyed Shanel’s story, please make sure and share some kind comments below. If you would like to see how this story began, read Shanel’s “Shadow of the Dunes,” which kicked off the Westminster stories in the Globe Folio series.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

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Valentine always wanted to be a Shadow Walker

  By ,

Swift as Shadow

Part I

BY SHANEL WILSON

Spray from the river studded the hood wrapped tightly around Emilia. Valentine’s face was set firmly forward as she pushed the throttle as hard as she could, steering to make their wake as minimal as possible. The rocket could not mean anything good as far as Valentine was concerned and they must get to Newlondon immediately. Emilia patiently followed Valentine’s lead. She had learned from her trip across the desert with her that Valentine worked best in silence.

“Put this on.”

Valentine released Emilia from their embrace and gave her a dark blue cloak like her own.

Emilia obeyed as she watched Valentine sweep into action. Valentine prepared the hover and unlocked the maglock holding it to the dock. She paused for a moment, then went to the controls. Emilia curiously peered toward the spot Valentine had paused. She caught a faint glimpse of a pulsing blue light under the water. She inched toward the edge of the hover to get a better look.

“Hold on!” Valentine commanded.

Emilia fell back into the bench behind her. The hover raced down the river.

“I’ll get us to safety,” Valentine said, turning to Emilia. Her expression was clouded.

Even when the creature had attacked them when they crossed from Westminster to the river, Valentine had remained calm and cool. A chill rose in Emilia that wasn’t from the wind rushing past them as they traveled farther and farther from her home. Emilia stood and placed her hand on Valentine’s. Valentine looked meaningfully into Emilia’s violet eyes and turned back to the river ahead.

Emilia gazed with wonder at the towering trees that lined the left bank of the river as they flew past Finsbury. She had never seen anything like them in her dusty desert home in Westminster. The water then became more turbulent, and the fog spiraled around them. Valentine’s shoulders seemed to relax as she steered into a pocket of fog and the world around them disappeared.

“Home,” she said.

Emilia gazed with wonder at the towering trees that lined the left bank of the river as they flew past Finsbury. Photo by Anna Goncharova.

They soon heard the cawing of sea birds through the fog. Tall masts pierced through the grayness and Valentine slowed the hover to a slow crawl.

“Welcome to Newlondon,” Valentine said, motioning to the shadows of ships and lines of docks cutting through the mist. “The grand tour will have to wait, unfortunately.”

They quietly cruised through the bay and into the docks. Valentine turned into her private dock when a loud groan of an engine behind them grabbed their attention. A dark-black ship laden with a huge creature strewn on its deck crossed into the bay.

“A kraken? That’s impossible!” Valentine exclaimed, while Emilia gawked at the size of the monstrous beast.

Shouts from the docks grew and echoed across the water.

“The Tempest returns!”

“Kraken is slain!”

“Antonio slayed the beast!”

Valentine’s face lost all its color.

“Antonio? It can’t be. The fool. I’ve told Bianca as much so many times.” Valentine wove her fingers through her curls. Emilia reached out and took Valentine’s hands.

“Tell me what you need me to do. I can help. Who is Bianca?”

“She is my sister,” Valentine responded.

Valentine reached into her cloak and pulled a chain with a medallion on the end of it. The medallion was ornamented with a swirl of long, slender body with a fin running the length of its back and a crystal eye.

“It’s an eel,” Valentine answered the question in Emilia’s eyes. “We have to see my father, but I need Bianca too.”

She squeezed the medallion, and the crystal eye pulsed a deep blue.

“That light, I saw it in the water at the dock!” Emilia leaned closer to examine the medallion.

“It’s an alert of sorts. I will explain more soon, but we must get to my father, and quick. Keep your hood covering you and follow close. We will use the distraction at the docks to slip away unseen.”

“I’ll follow where you lead.”

Hearing Emilia say those words transported Valentine back to the Westminster dock and how her heart had stood still when Emilia asked to come with Valentine instead of going to Whitehall as planned. No one she encountered in all her travels so far came close to creating these unfamiliar feelings Valentine was having. Emilia had shown strength and poise through their journey so far, through all the twists and turns that seemed to be coming faster as the day dawned. Valentine embraced Emilia and gently kissed her cheek.

Photo by Meritt Thomas.

She led Emilia around a long loop through the docks away from the crowd growing to get a glimpse of the kraken. They silently raced through the visitor docks when Valentine stopped short. She motioned to Emilia to stay on the dock as she jumped into a skiv covered in nets and tarps. Valentine swiftly searched the skiv and peered under a corner of the tarp. She winced at what she saw. She secured the tarp and returned to Emilia’s side.

“This is Antonio’s skiv. It shouldn’t be here, and what’s on it shouldn’t, either,” Valentine whispered to Emilia. “Come, quickly.”

They raced towards town staying in the shadows.

Photo by Jake Oates.

Bianca paced her bedroom, clutching the medallion at the end of her necklace, its crystal eye pulsing a deep blue. She stopped occasionally to peek out the window, then continued pacing. When she heard the wooden creak of the front door, she sprinted down the narrow staircase to the entry.

“Sister!” Bianca cried out.

Valentine swooped in with Emilia close behind and shut the door as quickly as they had entered. She wrapped her arms around Bianca in a tight embrace.

“Where’s Father? I sent a ping up the river after I saw the rocket,” Valentine asked.

“He’s meeting the others at Selkie’s Kist. He’s not going to be happy to learn you are the one that sent the ping. He hasn’t installed you yet.”

“What was I supposed to do? Ignore the giant rocket in the sky and not warn the Shadow Walkers? My installation is a formality at this point.”

“You know that’s not how Father feels. And who is this, dear sister?” Bianca peered into the dark hood Emilia was still wearing.

Emilia shifted quietly at Valentine’s side. Valentine looked at Emilia apologetically.

“This is Emilia,” Valentine said, as Emilia lowered her hood gently.

“The Bride you were escorting?”

Bianca couldn’t hide her shock. She had never met a Westminster Bride in person before and half wondered if it was just a myth that their eyes were really violet. She should have known better than to assume that myths aren’t real when she knew the truth of the Shadow Walkers. When Bianca looked back to her sister, she saw something else. The warmth growing in Valentine’s cool-blue eyes as she looked upon Emilia was the same warmth she saw in Antonio’s.

“I chose a different path,” Emilia said, speaking for the first time since the docks. “I am pleased to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine. I am sure this tale between you two is worth sharing, but there are more pressing matters at the moment.”

“Yes, more than you know. We must all get to Selkie’s Kist immediately.” Valentine motioned to the door.

“Neither of us are Shadow Walkers! Father warned what would happen if we attended a meeting without an invitation. Sending a ping is one thing, but why should we risk our lives over some rocket?” Bianca’s face flushed with anger. 

Selkie’s Kist. Photo by Kristine Weilert.

“It’s Antonio. I think he is in more trouble than he is even aware. Come, I’ll explain on the way.”

Mist swirled in coils, making the air thick and humid. Silhouettes of trees and marsh grasses loomed as they got closer to Selkie’s Kist. The way to the inlet led further inland than Emilia had expected. Valentine explained that some of the natural inlets had been deepened to provide cover for meetings such as these. In hushed whispers, Valentine told Bianca of the ruckus at the harbor and what she had found on Antonio’s skiv.

They fell silent as the forms of people took shape through the mist. Valentine motioned that she would emerge first.

“Swift as shadow,” she said, signaling to the others gathered.

“Short as any dream,” a deep voice responded.

In a clearing surrounded by reeds and marshy trees, the group before Valentine was composed of about ten people with a tall, slender man standing opposite her. His face was stern and weathered from many years along the river and the sea. Some in the group eyed the newcomers with distrust, while others remained hidden beneath their cloak hoods. Emilia was reminded of the first time she saw Valentine, concealed beneath her midnight-blue cloak as they left Westminster. Valentine waved for Bianca and Emilia to join her at the edge of the circle.

“What is the meaning of this, Leonato?” said the shorter, stouter person to the right of the man in the center.

“Please, I know I have not been fully installed, but this is urgent,” Valentine said slowly.

“We don’t have time for your trifles, child,” said Leonato.

“Father, I am not a child! And I am the one that sent the ping from the Westminster dock when the rocket etched the sky.” Valentine responded with a step forward into the circle, her shoulders back.

“Your arrogance will lead to trouble, Valentine. Do you think you were the only person with their eyes skyward when the rockets passed by? We already have scouts gathering information about the landing and what the Polity are after. And you have already been warned not to interfere with our work until you are fully installed. Perhaps the responsibility is too great for you.”

Valentine shook her curls as if to shake off her father’s rebuke, but she stood strong. Emilia took Valentine’s hand. Whispers wove through the circle.

“Father, please, there is more. Please let Valentine speak.” Bianca lowered her hood revealing herself to the group.

“Both my daughters defy me? And who is this stranger you brought to our secret meeting?”

Before Valentine could respond, Emilia stepped forward and lowered her hood.

“I am Emilia, Eglamour’s daughter of Westminster. I am sorry for my intrusion here. My father hired Valentine to guide me to Whitehall for I was to be a Bride. Valentine saved my life from a beast in the savagelands. I now follow where she goes.”

More whispers rippled through those gathered.

“It’s Antonio, Father. We must help him!” Bianca interrupted as tears started streaming down her face.

“I understand he has slain a great kraken. I am sure the Guild will no longer ignore him after today. We will monitor the situation,” Lenato responded, his face troubled.

“There’s more,” Valentine interjected. “When I arrived with Emilia, I discovered a dead pirate concealed on his skiv.”

“My Antonio would never kill anyone. He is being framed, or he was only protecting his cargo,” said Bianca.

Another person from the circle spoke up.

“Aye, he may be a simple trader, but his ideals are high.”

“Yes, I know this to be true as well,” said Leonato. “If the Guild becomes aware of this, they will use it to their own devious ends. We will take care of it. Bianca, go now to Antonio. The Guild will have spoken to him by now. Find out what you can.”

“Yes, Father. Thank you.” Bianca gave a glance to Valentine and Emilia as she quickly disappeared into the mist.

Leonato turned to Valentine. He saw an echo of himself in her crystalline blue eyes. One from many years ago when he joined the Shadow Walkers to protect the peace of the Globe. Now he stood, as their leader, facing the most challenging times the Globe had seen these many years. Leonato could no longer deny that this was the path his daughter had chosen and was destined for.

“How I tried to keep you from this life, but you girls always found ways to follow my footsteps. I perhaps should have seen this coming.”

“I am ready, Father. This is the life I have chosen.”

Leonato’s eyes fell to Emilia. She blushed and gazed at Valentine, waiting patiently.

“With the landing of the Polity rocket, that peace is threatened in every corner of our beloved home. Now a daughter of Westminster is here and the word from Oberon is that another has left Belmont. We will need all of our most skilled Shadow Walkers at the ready to preserve the Globe’s peace. My fellow seafarers, I ask you to allow the installation of Valentine as a full member of the Shadow Walkers. All in favor say, aye.”

The stout person to his right scoffed, but slowly each of the members of the circle responded.

“Aye.” “Aye.” “Aye.”

“Valentine, by taking the Oath of the Shadow Walkers, you must honor all of our codes and aims. Do you accept?” Leonato asked.

“Aye. I accept.” She nodded gratefully to her father and to the others. “Thank you. Thank all of you. I will not fail.”

“You will be in charge of this mission to clear Antonio’s name. Bring Emilia to our home, and I will send instructions shortly.”

“Thank you,” Valentine said meaningfully to her father. She turned to the rest of the group and bowed deeply. “Swift as shadow.”

If you enjoyed Shanel’s story, please make sure and share some kind comments below. If you would like to see how this story began, read Shanel’s “Shadow of the Dunes,” which kicked off the Westminster stories in the Globe Folio series.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross