Some of you may have read this before,but I want to announce the publishing of the followup to my short story, ‘The Death of Marcus Wells’ on my own blog. This piece of flash fiction is both the epilogue to my published short story and an excerpt of the novel I am working on titled ‘Jagerund’. Please enjoy!
It was late when Emily tiptoed into the room. Unlike most of the other rooms in the abandoned monastery, this one was well-lit. Several oil lamps surrounded the table on which the corpse laid and pushed back the darkness that seeped from the stone walls.
Marcus’ back was to her, his shaggy light coloured hair hung over his eyes as he bowed his head toward the table. So engrossed in his work was he that didn’t notice her enter. His forceps moved methodically, gently separating the human flesh from the parasite that had infiltrated the now deceased body.
She cleared her throat gently. Read more->
I had a great idea this summer for Xchyler Publishing’s anthology contest on the them ‘Back to the Future; a Fantasy Anthology’. Sadly, I only got about 300 words into the actual writing of it, thanks to my day job. Sigh . . . I do intend on finishing it someday. But, I’ve got another tale in the works for their next anthology contest, and again a day job conflict as I also have 6 weeks to write my thesis. In the meantime, here is the opening draft of what would have been my summer submission.
Eternity Undone – J. Aurel Guay
“A lovely job master Souboror,” the old man rubbed his hands at the sight of the dozen peeled and washed potatoes on the counter. “We shall have a lovely stew this noon!”
Souboror sighed, as he brushed a wisp of black hair from his eyes. He would never understand why he was forced to do such menial tasks. Garier, the elderly house servant, continued about his work preparing the meal.
“Did your training with the Master go well yesterday young master? Did he introduce you to anyone interesting in the dreaming realm? A mermaid, or some pixies perhaps?” Garier lifted a heavy pot as he spoke. The scrape of metal on metal drew Souboror’s attention and caused him to jump to assist the servant. Too late, Garier’s primitive false arm was already securely hooked on the pot handle and with the help of his good hand and no small amount of resistant clucking toward the young apprentice the pot was soon hoisted over the roaring cooking fire.
“Garier, why don’t you let Magnalian do something for that arm?” asked Sourobor gesturing toward the long wood and metal crook affixed near the servant’s elbow.
“Well, it does bruise more easily than my other,” replied Garier holding up his fleshy hand with smirk. “But, I guess I’ve had it such a long time I couldn’t imagine it any other way.”
A sudden noise and a tremor shook the stone walls of the kitchen, displacing a number of bundled herbs from their ceiling hooks and bringing a wicked hiss from fire as the stew pot slopped its contents over its brim.
“The front gate!” exclaimed Sourobor grabbing his cloak and racing for the door.
“Be careful young Master! You know how the Master’s guests can be!”
Sourobor heard little of the admonition and raced out the back door and toward the front courtyard. There was indeed a battle being waged at the Sanctuary gate but what fool magician would wage a frontal assault in broad daylight?
The authors at Xchyler Publishing were challenged to come up with a flash fiction based on this picture. Here’s what I whipped up:
‘Estelle picked her way through the piles of debris. She had walked this room a thousand times, but never through destruction such as this. What had happened here? There was no storm, no earthquake, yet the furniture lay strewn and destroyed all around her. The once ornate walls bled crumbled plaster.
Her heart skipped as she realized that the destruction was not total, but centered around the table she worked at last night. The table at which where she left the book—the book that could not be opened. As she approached she saw the tome laying quiet and still among the debris. In the pale morning light an eerie silence coated the room. What secrets were bound so securely, that the book could not be opened even by her strongest spells?
With its covers now splayed wide, the pages of the mysterious book fluttered gently in the breeze that slipped through the shattered windows. Estelle’s pulse quickened as she lifted the book.
The pages were blank. She trembled as the realization struck. The ancient secrets had been stolen, or worse yet escaped . . .’
In a world of analogy and metaphor a young man struggles with his identity. But one day he encounters a mysterious stranger. Will the stranger’s tale bring peace to the Glass Man?