Tales of Other Worlds

TALES OF OTHER WORLDS

10 Fantasy and Science Fiction Stories

Chris Turner

Copyright 2011 Chris Turner

Cover Design: Chris Turner

Published by Deux Voiliers on Smashwords

Discover other titles by Chris Turner at Smashwords.com

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in these stories are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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CONTENTS

Phane

Flowerfly

Magical Entities Are Not For Sale

The Magic Hoop and Hat

Tournament at Bergum

The Brain Machine

The Mirror of Eventualities

Rodofink

Gingerblon!

Koruka’s Prophecy

Phane

I

It was on one of the ‘scorraging’ hunts while Phane’s greenish-yellow sun was banking low on the horizon that Kolbe received his first real glimpse of reality. He and his five friends were out roaming the sandy, boulder-strewn landscape tinted in an eerie shade by the dying afternoon light, when they halted before a small knoll brushed with hyssop. Mid way up, a crusty-leaved barrier hedged the slope, past which none had ventured, despite what Wensel, the freckle-faced braggart of their lot claimed about his ‘solitary’ excursions.

Far to the east, Morfast’s towers of metal and pink stone rose like limbless trunks in the faraway glimmering. Squadrons of birds played black circles in the air, settling to haunt the metallic traceries that identified the graveyard of a lost empire. Separating the youths from the ruined city stretched an endless plain littered with islands of rusty debris and sporadic patches of crabgrass and twitch-weed.

The six of them—Kolbe, Wensel, Jesset, Vonny, Lees, and Ua had made good time in the open country. They were garbed in one-piece jumpers and wore pale canvas shoes that were scuffed and very poorly laced. Nothing more than mischievous adolescents who had seen eight of Phane’s long, lazy, shimmering summers (8 summers = 12 earth years), their laughter and jokes were merciless intrusions upon the silent fastness of Phane’s landscape. Ua, the unspoken leader, a youth of a dozen volatile temperaments, harboured a florid face and a savage brush cut that perfectly suited his squat frame. He was just short of an impressive 5’8". Kolbe, lean, grey-eyed and serious-minded was a compulsive ruminative and showed no arrogance in assuming himself cleverest of the group. Vonny and Lees were sandy-haired brothers, happy-go-lucky and easily the most suggestible of the party. Wensel, with his tubby paunch and shock of red curls, was proud and self-absorbed. Jesset, the olive-skinned, straight-haired, smiley-faced youth was somewhere in the middle of these diverse personalities, and the most like Kolbe.

Despite the ominous angle of the sun, Vonny and Lees were all for going on with their trek. Kolbe felt this tickle of adventure coursing in his veins, but unlike the others, he stood aloof, restrained by doubt.

Yesterday they had stumbled upon an underground trench, some kind of tunnel burrowing deep under a collapsed bridge. The cavity could have been anything: a drainage well, a waste disposal conduit, or an old ore pit, but Kolbe noticed that it ran straight in the direction of Morfast’s crippled towers. He thought that it must have been some breed of transportation network. But that the network extended this far from Morfast only confirmed his belief of what an ingenious race the ‘Builders’ or ‘Creators’, had been.

The discovery of the ruin had been a circumstance nothing short of marvel. Jesset had put his foot in a wrong place and almost plummeted down a deep sinkhole. Sand and rocks had slipped down the shaft and landed with a hollow thud on something metallic below. Six sets of wondering eyes caught a glimpse in those musty bowels thirty feet down, of once shiny metal spread with fallen debris. Squinting like hawks, they had caught the dull flicker of a blue- and white-striped rectangular carriage linked with another and poised on rusty wheels. None of them could see very far through the dust-speckled gloom, but none failed to sense that electrical tingle stroking the back of his neck at the prospect of climbing down and finding out what was up. They would have to return with torches to investigate, if they could figure a way down. Actually ‘down’ was the easy part; getting back up was not so straightforward.

Today, they were far from that place under the sand. Just over an hour of light remained before the eight hours of bottle-green darkness overtook them. They were following an old buckled stone road running right through the parched and rolling field habitually where they rooted around until dusk for old relics of the inexplicable past. ‘Scorrage hunting’ they called it—that kid-dumb pastime of rummaging under old wrecked bridges, amidst crumbling outposts or ‘Hoves’, along fence lines, for whatever hunks of junk they could find; to tear them apart and give them a proper stomping or burning in whatever old barrels they could find along the way. After that, if luck permitted, the ‘hunting’ portion would begin: where they would forage for clumps of dry yellow buds from the onik-bush and eat plenty of the ‘laugh-weed’—the seeds which made them all bubbly and giggly inside and feeling that everything was all right—substances which of course, were forbidden in Ona Ward.

Ua, when he got into the laugh-weed, was never fun to be around. Not just because he get intoxicated, but because he sometimes turned ugly. Even now, only a half hour into their trek, he had gulped down a score of laugh buds and already Kolbe saw the transformation: the glassiness of the eyes, the harsh metallic speech.

Before them lay the unsaid scorraging barrier: a plum-grey wisp of prickle under which the high strato-clouds eternally lingered, always the same drowsy shade of washed-out lime permeating Phane’s moody sky.

Wensel and Ua surged ahead past the score of stunted bushes. Again Kolbe hesitated, wary of some inexplicable feeling tugging at his innards. His voice held onto a shakier edge than usual: Let us visit some of our haunts west a-ways, okay, Ua? Remember where the scout thingamajig sits with the sting-ray antennae?

Ua sneered. What’s the matter, Kolbe? Scared or something?

Aw, look at his fingers shake, jeered Wensel. "He is afraid. Let him crawl back to Ona and cry on his momma’s shoulder!"

Jesset made a diplomatic suggestion. It is getting late, raiders. What about our mystery tunnel down by Saller’s bridge? We haven’t a clue about what those hulks are yet—and not far away are those sealed crates buried in behind Hasser’s Three Hoves—

Kid’s stuff! snapped Ua. We’ve been through those piles of junk a million times.

Yeah! cried Vonny.

Jesset and Kolbe were outvoted when Lees chimed in his bid in favour of pushing on. It was either tag along with the pack, or tuck tail between legs. A practical enough endeavour if not for the hot derision and peer contempt chafing on Kolbe’s back. Kolbe, who didn’t care so much for that kind of thing these days, was all for taking off, but he was gripped by a sudden vivid anger. He whirled on Ua, teeth-gritted. Okay, you mope! Let’s go have a go at it. But I don’t want to hear any more of your tongue-wagging about me being scared!

Ua waved a hand of disclaimer and pulled Wensel along. Kolbe hung back as they set out over the hill; they mounted a crumbling stone fence and wound down the other side.

The air was warm; it was getting toward the end of the day. Barely a wind stirred the leaves of this still planet and played circles on the lake of auburn sand, fine as loess. But then again, Phane was a world of little disturbance. Always the air was stretched taut and thin, as if awaiting for something to happen.

Down into a low-cut ravine the scorragers descended. They discovered three new hulks, dead and dry—huge, monstrous insects. ‘Haulers’ they called them—each as wide as two houses and set with two large back lug-wheels pitched deep in the black sand. Behind the largest was hitched a kind of flat wagon, all metal, red, sunken and corroded with age.

They came out on top of the ravine and gazed upon a low, thicketed plain edging its way toward a dingy line of scraff-forest. Behind, the white-washed huts of Ona Ward were now hidden by the hill’s ochre brow.

Late afternoon shadows played tricks on the eyes: hazy shapes and shimmering patches formed dull mirages. But as they forged down into the virgin territory, the illusions vanished and they let up on their approach of what looked like a tower-like mound about twelve hundred feet away, tilting solemnly away from them.

It was, if not the most bizarre-shaped landform, certainly the weirdest looking Hove they had ever seen. Certainly no mirage. Ua led them down in his commanding dogtrot toward the impression. Kolbe’s eyes gleamed. The plain narrowed to bushes and terminated at a bluish wall of stunted tree growths. Something was odd about this anomalous Hove that stood framed so singularly in the foreground. The towerish spire leaned on a slight cant to the left. It looked like fins or buttresses were slung outward from its eight-foot base. The whole structure probably stood about fifty feet high. A tall cylindrical shaft, covered completely with moss and mauve grass-vine, shot above the base and loomed over the thickets and silent, blue-eaved forest. Dun-coloured, umbrella-like foliage appeared to have been planted around the foundation, as if to hide evidence of the fact that this was not a natural formation.

Ua dug his heels triumphantly into the sand. A little mountain for us to climb!

No, it isn’t, scoffed Wensel. I bet it’s old man Simil’s Hove. Nees, my older brother told me about this place when he was into scorraging way back.

Ua snorted. I don’t care whose Hove it is! We’re all going to have a look-see.

Why Kolbe had such a bad feeling about this, he couldn’t say. Perhaps the protruding shape? The peculiar resonance? It was as if from another time. Was his prickly imagination running wild?

It was more than that. Destiny. A thin voice seeped from the looming monstrosity—and he was afraid to listen to it.

Cautiously he followed the others around the back of the Hove. He glanced about with unease as the five adventurers ground to a puzzled halt. They stood before a chalky door etched in festoons of vine along the Hove’s base. The doorway, though not obviously visible until seen at close range, led somewhere inside the peculiar-looking jut. The footprints etched in the milky sand indicated that people had been in and out recently.

Kolbe glanced over his shoulder. The sun Heradra had slipped down a notch to the ink-stained hills. It sent mauve shadows dancing across the dimming landscape. He couldn’t help thinking about Simil, the reputed recluse sorcerer. Who else had been chased away from one of the outlying wards for insubordination?

Ua boldly put his shoulder into the door; grunting bravely, he blundered on through. Dutifully the companions followed him.

What they saw was like nothing they had ever seen before. Gleaming metal walls, a high leaden ceiling pocked with neat little holes, shelves of neatly stacked books, gunmetal counters ranging round the periphery with all countertops polished clean and littered with curious gizmos of all shapes and sizes: black and silver boxes, flat screens, touch-pads, dials, pulleys, knobs, outlets, black coils, synthetic rope winding everywhere. There were sheets of clear, transparent material, very hard and durable, which Kolbe had glimpsed before at many a scorraging site. A flight of grey steps circled up to a level above.

What was most mysterious about this new place was the bulbous object, big as a hedge-apple that hung upside down on a twisted chain from the ceiling. It was shaped like an egg but emitted an artificial yellowish glow that lit the whole room in eerie splendour. Kolbe reached up cautiously to touch it, but he drew back his hand, startled when it almost burnt his finger.

Wow, what a treasure den! cried Ua. I told you we’d hit it big! He scooped up a black-gleaming box about as big as a bread loaf. Grinning, he made a point of letting it drop on the floor. Vonny and Lees smirked and took up some pieces of their own and dropped them. Jesset hesitated, but Wensel intruded an impish yell and joined the troop.

Kolbe rushed over in dismay to snatch the object from Wensel’s grip. Don’t break it, you dimwit! This stuff is valuable—we might actually learn something here. Not like the junk we’re used to wrecking.

Learn? jeered Ua. What’re we going learn, fancy pants? I got enough of old mother Hotch and her Learn-Circle lessons in flower naming.

Yeah, cried Lees. This is what scorraging’s all about—wrecking things, burning and looting places and having a grand old time!

It isn’t a ‘grand-old time’, growled Kolbe, snatching Lees’s toy and putting it back on the counter. Breaking things that are already wrecked is okay—but these things have been fixed up. They’re someone’s property—maybe old Simil’s himself—I don’t feel like crossing him.

Ua pushed Kolbe roughly away. Get away, you smook! He slapped the rectangular contraption out of Vonny’s hand, whereafter a sickening crunch had a maze of tubes, chips, wires and plastic pieces spewed onto the floor.

A bump and sudden scraping from overhead had them quieting down. They craned their necks in suspicious manner. The sound was repeated: a kind of dull sliding, as of a stool being drawn back on a metal floor.

The veins in Ua’s neck bulged. Something up there. Quick! Maybe some kind of animal. He snapped his fingers, emboldened by the laugh-weed. Let’s hide behind this door and conk out whatever it is when it comes down. We can even catch it if we’re clever.

We aren’t going to ‘catch’ old man Simil that easily, you fool! hissed Wensel.

Shut your trap, Wensy! That old goat’s been dead for years.

Down the stairs came a clip-clopping of old, tired feet. Certainly no animal, Kolbe mused wryly. The scorragers instinctively crouched behind the doorway.

A figure emerged: a stooped man with a button nose and bald, gleaming patch of head. He was thin and wiry and long-boned and kind of bent, as if weary from hard work and a lot of thinking. Silvery wisps of hair trailed down the sides of his head onto a pair of hunched shoulders. He wore a shabby, dun frock. He halted, frowning with dismay at the wreckage on the floor. His eyes, obviously keener than his frail looks, caught a furtive movement.

Here, you mangy rats! he barked. Go forage in someone else’s back yard! He made a grab for the nearest shoulder and gave it a sharp pull and whack with his walking stick. Ua jerked to his feet, hissing a curse. Gripping the appliance in a vengeful fist, he swung it at the old man. Smug cruelty gleamed in his eyes—a teenager’s pride hurt by the absolute voice of adult authority. Only once had Kolbe seen that look in Ua’s eyes, and he had not wished to see it again. The piece grazed the old man’s temple and he sagged dazedly to his knees. A drop of blood trickled from his head. Savage delight burst from Ua’s smirking lips and he rushed forward to kick the man to submission. Wensel whistled a cat call. Vonny and Lees froze, as did Jesset, but Kolbe knew that something had to be done to avert this disaster.

Kolbe sprinted over four steps and checked Ua’s swift bulk with a hip-check. Ua toppled sprawling to the floor near the dazed man, who tottered, blinking the stars out of his head. Vonny and Lees gasped and shrank back.

Wensel, seeing the old man on his feet, drew a caustic breath. He made a clumsy effort toward the door. The others fled. Ua included. But not Kolbe. He didn’t bolt like his peers—perhaps it had something to do with his not wanting to be part of that reckless company any more. He stood completely vulnerable, watching the old man dab the trickle of red at his forehead and gaze disconsolately at the ruined apparatus at his feet.

The device was hopelessly broken and the old man spun angrily on Kolbe. You scallywag! Why do you stand there like a simpleton? Be off with your rabble! The voice was harsh, full of frustration.

Kolbe dropped his head. "I’m sorry, sir. We didn’t mean—we didn’t know anyone was here. We just thought it was another abandoned