Iwoleit NEW FABULISTS

InterNova Vol. 3 . 2023
1. Auflage 2023
ISBN: 978-3-95765-782-4
Verlag: p.machinery
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 116 Seiten

Under the motto 'New Fabulists' it includes the following stories: Robert Jeschonek (USA) 'With Love in Their Hearts' Dafydd McKimm (Great Britain) 'A Lady of Ganymede, a Sparrow of Io' Jetse de Vries (Netherlands) 'Connoisseurs of the Eccentric' Gustavo Bondoni (Argentina) 'Blossoms' Adriana Alarco de Zadra (Peru) 'Neon and the Snake' Frank W. Haubold (Germany) 'He Who Picks the Bones' Frank Roger (Belgium) 'Variant Readings' Also the already classic story 'Our Daily Bread' by Sven Kloepping (Germany) from one of the early issues of InterNova's mother magazine Nova and an insightful guest editorial by one of my veteran collaborators who I hold in high esteem, Guy Hasson from Israel. A special thanks to our proofreaders. Nicole Ashfield and Tasha Bajpal have joined in with this issue.

All authors are presented in detail in the publication.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Iwoleit, Michael K.

Leseproben

  Robert Jeschonek: With Love in Their Hearts
  “I love you!” Hissing the words through the blood in my mouth, I lunge at my opponent. And I mean those words with all my heart – I have to – even as I swipe my dagger across his chest. As he dances back out of reach, a line of red opens up where I cut him. His dirty, bearded face clouds… then quickly clears. “I love you more!” He smiles as he leaps at me with both fists forward, aiming them like a battering ram at my face. Beaming with all the affection I can muster, all the true sweet regard for my friendly fellow man, I spin around out of his way and tag him again with the dagger, plugging the blade deep in his left kidney. Howling, he stumbles into the thick-trunked oak that was just at my back. He takes it headfirst and bounces off, weaving drunkenly in the mud. “Friend warrior.” This is how I finish him, all sweetness and light. Without the slightest shred of darkness in my heart. “You are like unto the finest flower in the brightest sunbeam on the loveliest day in all the year.” Darting to one side, I duck down and recover the sword I dropped earlier in this battle – dearest Eros. “God bless you for bringing such joy to my life.” With that, I swing the sword up, then down and through his neck with a perfect, practiced stroke. So good am I at this that not a trace of hatred or savage satisfaction punctuates the moment when his head separates from his shoulders and plops into the muck. Breathing hard, I scan my surroundings. I see the bodies of the three men I've killed, sprawled in various bloody contortions… and the body of Vicka, my partner on the road until now, whom they killed before I could kill them first. That is what love can accomplish. Its power is arrayed around me for all to behold.   Moving swiftly lest another patrol comes my way too soon, I secure my beaten black body armor, then retrieve and put on my battered helmet with the old red-white-and-blue banner etched into the hard plastic. I retrieve my motorbike too… but the front tire has been slashed, and it won't start. I guess I can't complain; it's over a century old, and I've gotten a lot of use out of it until now. “Go with God, fair machine.” I drop it in the muck, grab my dagger from the dead man's kidney, and set off at a brisk jog through the woods. The autumn sun is closing in on the horizon, and I need to make my destination by nightfall. Everything is riding on the completion of my mission. All my people down in Burytown are counting on me to succeed. Though it is hard to imagine I can succeed this time. The killing of men and women has always come easy to me. It is that very inclination that could make this new mission such a challenge. Heart pounding, I run through the mud, brush, and leaves, ever up along the steep contour of the mountainside. This part of what was once known as the state of Pennsylvania is full of such mountains – the Alleghenies, as we call them yet today. They have been my home for all five and twenty years of my life, and navigating them is second nature to me. Reading the wind and the angle of the sun, I know I'm not far from my goal. In spite of the best efforts of my attackers, I will reach my destination, though what happens after that, I cannot say. Finally, I burst from the woods and find myself at the edge of the old road. I also find myself face to face with two men in camouflage body armor, wielding six-guns. Slowly, I take off the helmet. “Greetings to you both.” “Hail and well met, good stranger!” The one doing the talking has the biggest, friendliest smile… and the steadiest grip on his revolver. “State your name and purpose, that we may love you all the better!” Instinctively, I meet his gaze with the most genuine grin I can muster. “I am Sir Gardner Schell of Burytown,” I tell them. “I have come to meet my bride.”   Expected as I am, the sentinels holster their guns and lead me through the barricades blocking the road. On the other side, my destination awaits – a place I've only visited a handful of times, though Burytown lies but seven miles to the west of it. The building looks for all the world like an old ocean liner (the kind I've seen only in photos), complete with decks, portholes, and a pair of big smokestacks on the roof, angled toward the stern. It is as if, by some miracle, a seagoing vessel has been stranded in the heights of a mountain range, along the curve of a once-great highway that has seen better days. GRAND VIEW SHIP HOTEL. That's the old name of it, painted in big black letters on the side of the ship facing the road. SEE 3 STATES AND 7 COUNTIES. That's painted on the prow. Armor plating has been added all around, but those words out of history remain. The real name, the one it's known by now, is not painted anywhere. But ask anyone within fifty miles of here if they know of Kendall's Keep, and they will point you right to it. Everyone who uses this stretch of road – known in olden times as the Highway of Lincoln – must pay a toll to Kendall's men to pass this point. “What took you so long?” Lord Rubicon Kendall strides out of the keep in a white sea captain's uniform, looking hale and hearty and overly friendly. A sword hangs at either hip, plus a long rifle at his back, and rightly so; his clan is at war. “You were expected this morning, good sir knight.” “If not for the second ambush, I most certainly would have been here sooner. And Vicka, my late retainer, as well.” I point at the path that I traveled up the slope. “The Loved Ones grow ever bolder, my Lord.” Rubicon grins through his neatly trimmed ebony mustache and goatee. “It is a delight we have in common, yes? Your people down in Burytown have been especially showered with their affections, have they not?” “Such a blessing.” I say it stiffly, though I manage a smile. The siege of Burytown is my whole reason for being here. An alliance with Rubicon's clan would give us the punch we need to break the siege and lay our friends the Loved Ones to rest for good. Though such an alliance does not come without a price. “I am in your hands, my Lord.” I bow my head and spread my arms. “Assuming our pact yet stands.” “It does. My Lady Kendall, God rest her soul, had people in Burytown. I am only too happy to offer you this chance.” He lays a hand on my shoulder. “If you are ready for the challenge, Sir Gardner.” “I would not be here if I were not.” “Well said.” Rubicon nods sagely, peering into my eyes with the focus of a hawk. “And would you accept the guidance of an advisor in this quest of yours? He was of much help when I was in your shoes.” “Thank you, my Lord, but that won't be necessary.” Rubicon cocks his head to one side, looking amused. “May he provide a benediction, at least?” Before I can answer, an old man rises on the main deck on the second level of the ship/keep and clears his throat. “Let us pray,” he calls down to us. Like Rubicon, he wears a uniform, though the pieces don't go together well: white cap, black jacket, red ascot, lemon trousers. Confidentially, Rubicon leans over and whispers to me. “Bon Cloister up there will perform the ceremony, you know. If there is one.” “In the century since the Great Collapse,” says Cloister, “only love has sustained we few survivors. As this young knight stands on the precipice of the greatest struggle of all – holy wedlock – we pray that he may turn to another face of love and do what we all know he must do to succeed.” “Amen.” Grinning, Rubicon smacks me on the back. “Times a million,” says Cloister as he digs out a pipe and lights it with a hellaciously long furnace match.   “Here we are.” Rubicon leads me past armed guards into the keep, then down a short hallway. “Have a seat in the Coral Room, Sir Gardner.” We enter a room with turquoise walls and red-rimmed portholes. A polished wooden bar occupies most of one side, with a black-cushioned elbow-rest and pink-upholstered barstools with backs. Dusty glasses and bottles line shelves behind the bar, glinting in the last flickers of daylight slipping in from the windows in the dining room next-door. I sit on a long red bench against the opposite wall. A knight must never sit with his back to the door, as I have learned the hard way. Just then, I hear footsteps – hard shoes descending a staircase. “Here she comes.” Rubicon smiles and bounces on the balls of his feet. “Good luck to you.” He winks and whispers that last. My heart beats fast as the...