Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

Myths, Legends & Dreams: A Worldsmyths Anthology
Myths, Legends & Dreams: A Worldsmyths Anthology
Myths, Legends & Dreams: A Worldsmyths Anthology
Ebook339 pages5 hours

Myths, Legends & Dreams: A Worldsmyths Anthology

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars

()

Read preview

About this ebook

Protective dragons. Conniving succubi, and desperate thieves. Fierce battles and talking marionettes. Inside the covers you will find stories with unique worldbuilding and gripping characters.

Myths, Legends, and Dreams is a Speculative Fiction anthology featuring the works of the members of the Worldsmyths writing community. Founded in 2016, we wanted to do something BIG to celebrate our fifth anniversary, and this anthology was born!

Sixteen stories feature fresh new ideas from budding authors. Inside you will get to know the work of Ryan Gale, Michael Epanchin, Sean Kane, Allusir, Freya Bell, Ally Kelly, Emma Schouten, JC Farnham, Caitlin Donovan, CP Mills, Alex Harvey, Natalie J. Holden, Odessa Silver, and Nicole L. Soper Gorden.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherWorldsmyths
Release dateOct 9, 2021
ISBN9781005923990
Myths, Legends & Dreams: A Worldsmyths Anthology
Author

Worldsmyths

Worldsmyths is a small indie publisher based out of Canada. Originally started as an online fantasy writing group founded in 2016. First established as a forum, we now make our home on Discord, and serve as a group for speculative fiction writers, with a focus on the fantasy genre. 2021 is our fifth anniversary, and so we decided to start this publishing company as a way of showcasing our fantastic community.

Read more from Worldsmyths

Related to Myths, Legends & Dreams

Related ebooks

Anthologies For You

View More

Related articles

Related categories

Reviews for Myths, Legends & Dreams

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars
0 ratings

0 ratings0 reviews

What did you think?

Tap to rate

Review must be at least 10 words

    Book preview

    Myths, Legends & Dreams - Worldsmyths

    Myths, Legends & Dreams

    A Worldsmyths Anthology

    Worldsmyths Publishing Worldsmyths Publishing

    Thank you for purchasing this e-book. If this copy was not purchased, we ask that you consider supporting our writers and staff by purchasing a copy at our website or your favorite online retailer.

    Copyright © 2021

    All rights reserved.

    No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

    Vellum flower icon Created with Vellum

    This collection is dedicated to all the writers, backers, friends and family, and our lovely editor Stephanie, without whom this anthology wouldn’t be possible!

    Table of Contents

    Letter From the Editors

    Trigger Warning

    The Golden Mark of Betrayal

    By Freya Bell

    Dearly Departed

    By JC Farnham

    The Mistbeast of Blackwood Forest

    By Emma Schouten

    The Thief and the Pirate

    By C.P. Miller

    Not Quite Dead Enough

    By Odessa Silver

    By the Moon’s Last Light

    By Sean Kane

    Heroic Exit

    By Caitlin Donovan

    The Drachenwald’s Guardian

    By Ally Kelly

    The Free State

    By Michael A. Epanchin

    The White Knights

    by Natalie J. Holden

    The Temple on Cicaro Hill

    By Alex Harvey

    Our Sacrifice

    By C.P. Miller

    Mystery at the Millennium Theatre

    By Freya Bell

    The Tale of the Night Fox

    By Allusir

    Dragons and Dreams and Strange Happenings

    By R. Gale

    Sweetening the Deal

    By Nicole L. Soper Gorden

    Acknowledgments

    Author Social Media

    Worldsmyths Social Media

    Worldsmyths Newsletter

    Stephanie Cullen Editing Services

    Call for 2022 Submissions

    Letter From the Editors

    Welcome to the first ever anthology produced by Worldsmyths publishing! Worldsmyths Publishing is an offshoot of Worldsmyths, a writing group dedicated to speculative fiction. But, before we talk about the anthology, allow us to introduce ourselves first.

    Worldsmyths the community was founded in 2016 by Ally Kelly. She was looking for a community focused on fantasy writers, and when she couldn’t find one she liked, she started her own! Worldsmyths started as a Facebook page, but swiftly moved to a website forum in June of 2016.

    Freya Bell joined in 2018, and helped with the transition from website to Discord in 2019. She also helped expand the activities and services Worldsmyths provides, adding a book club, weekly discussion questions, and a goals club.

    Odessa Silver is a moderator of Worldsmyths, and has been around since the early website days. She has provided good humor, encouragement and sound reason during the production of this anthology.

    Catherine Miller is a long-time member of Worldsmyths, and the one who originally came up with the idea of the anthology! An off-hand comment about celebrating our 5th anniversary with an anthology quickly ballooned and led to us incorporating as a legal entity in Canada. She has always been there with research and determination during the nine months it's taken to bring this project to fruition.

    That’s us! The four editors of Myths, Legends, and Dreams. We came together and gathered the stories of our members to celebrate five years of operation, and to showcase the brilliance of our members.

    But why did we pick this theme? Myths, Legends, and Dreams. They are things that unite people of all cultures. We all dream. We have all heard stories of old. Our members come from all over the world, and each interpreted the theme in their own unique way. Inside this book, you’ll find stories featuring dragons, spaceships, sentient marionettes, and so much more. We are so happy with how the community came together to help polish each other’s stories - this anthology was a real group effort, and we couldn’t do it without the help and support of the Worldsmyths community.

    This anthology contains some stories that contain the following:

    Graphic violence;

    Descriptions of blood and other injuries;

    Sacrifice (human and/or animal);

    Abuse (implicit and/or explicit);

    Death of family, friends, or lovers;

    Incapacitation;

    Slavery (implicitly and/or explicit);

    Exploitation;

    Religious overtones;

    and Sexism.

    There might be other content some may find triggering. We apologize.

    The Golden Mark of Betrayal

    By Freya Bell

    Freya Bell is a new Canadian writer residing in Alberta with her husband, cat, and dog. The head moderator of Worldsmyths, Freya has helped shape this anthology alongside her co-editors, all driven by her love of speculative fiction. Find out more at www.freyabellcreates.com.

    * * *

    Crasmere, the floating city. Circling the shattered peak of Mount Ravaet, the three rings of the city turned in time with the sun, leaving half the population in the permanent shadows. The rings floated one above the other, held up by crystal-powered engines. The dark side was the perfect place for temples to Ixla, the patron god of thieves and shadows, to flourish.

    The sunny side of the upper market was bustling and busy, even for a weekend. Vendor’s voices cracked as each strove to shout louder than their neighbors. The crowd was thick with well-dressed women and handsomely-groomed men whose pockets jingled and clinked. Perfume mingled with the scent of fresh baking bread, making Maz’s empty belly grumble. His fingers wriggled; it would be a good morning to be a pickpocket.

    But Zal, Maz’s older brother, had a juicer target than pockets in mind for them today. It would be even juicier if they hadn’t been forced to team up with Alcide and her team of beggars and thieves. But Zal had been forced to make the tough call; it was too big a job for the boys alone.

    Zal was dressed for the occasion in a suit of deep green brocade. He had been planning this for weeks, and had acquired an outfit that was only a little threadbare and short in the cuffs. He would have looked respectable, if it wasn’t for the scar on his eyebrow and the permanent scowl that had deepened the lines on his face, making him look older than his fourteen years. But that was practically elderly compared to the crowd of children clustered around him, waiting for his command.

    Alcide’s gang were tentative allies today, though tomorrow they might be rivals for the best pickpocket grounds. Zal had struck a deal with Alcide—the loot would be divided evenly amongst the children, with a bonus for Zal for coming up with the plan.

    Maz was all smiles. Normally Zal made him stand lookout, but this time it was his job to cause a distraction. Zal was finally trusting him, seeing him as grown up. Maz almost couldn’t believe it. Although at nine years old he was a little younger than his fellows from Alcide’s gang, Zal was confident that he could perform his role well.

    Zal motioned for everyone to gather around him in the narrow, sheltered alley between a bakery and a watch repair shop. He tugged at his too-short sleeves, a sure sign that he was nervous. Not that anyone but Maz would pick up on it. He knew his brother better than he knew himself. He also knew Zal would never let his nerves get in the way of a job.

    Alright, everyone. Y’all know your jobs, and y’all know the rules. If anyone gets caught, you acted alone, and you don’t know no names, said Zal in his best commander voice. Our target is just across the street. He flung out his arm and grinned.

    He pointed at a large building with polished windows and marble steps leading up to the gilded door. Altam’s Curiosities and Wonders, home to a Master Artificer and her seven apprentices. Even from the alleyway across the street the shelves glittered, heavy with trinkets. Any one of them would feed them all for a month.

    Maz blanched and clutched his empty stomach like he had been punched. ‘Oh no,’ Maz thought. ’Not Madame Altam’s place! She gave me honey cakes last Procession day.’

    What about robbing that awful jeweler, Maz suggested. Zal’s eyes flicked to him, and Maz froze.

    Who, the one who tried to call the guards on you just for standing outside? Zal laughed coldly. That man has enough protection runes to safeguard the entire block.

    There’s got to be someone else.

    "We need to rob someone, Maz. Begging for scraps is below a Serphant, no matter how hungry we are. And your Madame Altam has the worst security in the Middle Ring! She’s practically begging to be robbed."

    We don’t have to beg. She would give us food if we asked. It’s not right. She’s nice, said Maz, head hung low in resignation.

    Zal turned back to Alcide and chuckled. "Nice? Oh, well in that case . . . show’s over, this shop owner is too nice to rob. Alcide snorted and rolled her eyes and Zal opened his arms wide. See, Maz. No one cares. If they were really that nice, would they have that pretty shop while we sleep down in the dirt of the lowest ring of the city? No."

    Maz’s brows furrowed as he processed this information. I guess not. . . . But she does do a lot of charity work.

    Charity work? Zal snorted. "More like an excuse to pay less taxes. She doesn’t care, Maz."

    But it’s not right! Oarae says that kindness—

    Oh, not that god of yours again. The god of justice doesn't care for thieves like us. You better forget her. Zal shook his head in disgust. Anything else to add?

    Maz shook his head and looked at the scuffed toes of his ragged boots.

    Alcide, are your lookouts giving the all clear? said Zal, smiling like nothing had happened.

    Alcide leaned out of the alley, her messy curls swaying, and flashed a hand symbol of three raised fingers. A shadow detached itself from the chimney of the artificer’s shop and signed back. Alcide nodded. We’re ready.

    Zal straightened his satchel on his shoulder. Remember, give me a count of sixty to get into place in the shop, then you start your distractions.

    Maz took a deep breath and resisted the urge to bounce on his toes. The excitement of the other children was infectious. He tried to match his brother’s life-or-death glare, but an anticipatory smile kept creeping out. Like a racing dog at the gate, he panted anxiously, waiting for his cue. He may not like that they were targeting Madame Altam’s place, but he would do the job as well as he could. He was a Serphant after all, there was family pride to consider. Images of Oarae’s stern face floated through his mind, her marble bow aimed at the unjust, but he pushed them aside. Maz was a Serphant. He would do the job. He had to.

    Zal took one last look at them, drawing out the moment. He raised his hand, painfully slow. Maz quivered, eyes dancing from his brother to the bursting street. Maz could do this. His stomach twisted from both anticipation and suppressed horror at what he was about to do. He felt at the fragile treasures in his pockets: one, two, three, four. Yes, all there. Even Zal didn’t know about them, his secret weapon. Worth a few nights with an empty belly. Wine wasn’t cheap, but eventually he had gotten the secret from a drunk, out-of-work artificer for the god of shadows.

    Maz caught his breath. His mind was wandering again. Zal’s eyes were upon him, burning with impatience. He gave a tiny nod to show he was ready, and Zal dropped his hand. Alcide counted under her breath as Zal strolled out of the alley and was lost in the crowd. Maz vibrated with the need to move, but he stayed still, listening to Alcide count.

    Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty. He shot out of the alley like an arrow, followed by whooping children. They split off into two groups—one headed towards the square, where people were doing their laundry in the large fountain, and the second, which included Maz, headed towards Fruit Seller’s Lane.

    The eggs in his pocket clacked, threatening to break against each other as he pushed his way into the crowd. He pulled one out; the dark runes on the egg’s alabaster surface absorbed the light and emitted a tiny shroud of darkness. It cracked pleasingly when hurled under a cart selling bright red apples, and the egg’s contents spilled out like an overturned inkwell, black and viscous. The goo reacted to the sun and bubbled, sending up hissing clouds of stinking smoke. The owner of the cart shrieked and backed away as the cloud of darkness rose to hide his cart from view.

    Heads turned at the sound, and Maz fled down the street. A cart of pears overturned to his left; he recognized one of Alicide’s girls as she ducked into an alley. Unaffiliated street urchins scrambled to pick up fruit before it could be trampled.

    Shouts rose for the city guard, and Maz’s smile grew. He lobbed another of the shadow eggs at a food cart to add to the chaos, and continued on his way.

    Making progress was becoming more difficult as onlookers craned their necks and shoved at each other to see what the commotion was. Maz slowed and did his best to blend with the crowd. The next egg burned to be used, but guards were already arriving, pikes gleaming in the morning sun, the royal crest of Crasmere proud on their breasts. Best not to draw their attention.

    He didn’t have to feign curiosity as he looked back over his shoulder, where the egg spells were visible now as light-eating pillars of darkness that towered over the street. Maz’s step lightened. People were definitely distracted. Zal had probably cleared the whole shop out. He winced at the thought. The woman always had a kind word for kids like him. But by now his brother should be halfway to the rendezvous point with the loot. He sighed and turned away from the damage he had caused, and began to mentally plan how to join him.

    A gauntleted hand clapped down on his shoulder, just barely preventing Maz from walking face first into a city guard. The eagle and the fishing spear of the royal crest hung inches from his nose, picked out in deep blue and yellow thread. The guard even bore the godmark of Falwin, the god of protection on his forehead. He blanched at the sight of it. A godmark meant powers, and for Falwin, that meant increased stamina and the ability to see footprints of a marked target. He could chase Maz up and down the three rings if he wanted to. A guard was bad enough, but a guard personally chosen to serve by Falwin himself? Maz’s heart fluttered with trepidation.

    Whoa there, streetling. Enjoying the show? said the guard. He looked Maz up and down, taking in his long, knotted hair and the shirt that was more patches than fabric. The man’s hand tightened, but his face softened. Don’t suppose you know anything about this mess, do ya? You streetlings always have the best gossip.

    Maz didn’t see the kindness in the guard’s face. He saw the pike, taller than he was, and its tip sharper than a needle. He saw the cudgel and the handcuffs at the man’s hip.

    He saw an endless parade of shouts and curses and dodged blows from the other guards. An entire lifetime’s worth.

    Maz panicked.

    Before he could think, the third egg was in his hand. The next moment he smashed it into the pretty embroidery of the royal crest. Black smoke blossomed under his palm, and he used the moment to duck out of the stunned guard’s grip. The man shouted something as Maz darted away, but it was lost in the surprised cries from the crowd. People surged away from the guard like a rising tide, bearing Maz up and out of danger.

    The eggy goo clung to his hand, and he did his best to wipe the evidence on the coats of those he passed. Their pockets jingled with coin under his touch, but he was so distracted that pickpocketing the panicking crowd never even crossed his mind.

    By the time he reached the rendezvous spot, all that remained of his secret weapon were some faint trailing vapours. He attempted to get control of his breathing as he approached the shattered remains of a temple. The white marble columns stuck up like bones from the ground, barely enough to hold the weight of the remaining frescoed roof. Maz didn’t know who the temple belonged to, it was a remnant of a god that was killed in the last war. There were gaps in the walls from pillars falling in, and the sunlight fed a thick carpet of cheerful green weeds on the rubble-strewn floor.

    Alcide perched on a pillar that leaned drunkenly on its neighbor, while a pair of golden-haired girls chatted at her feet. Zal held court in the center of the room, laughing at something one of Alcide’s boys had said. His satchel bulged with their loot, and the tension in Maz’s shoulders lessened.

    Zal’s eyes flicked to Maz as he entered. He cut off his audience with a gesture and strode over to Maz. The concern in his eyes faded to all-too-familiar annoyance, and he grabbed Maz’s shoulder’s with hard hands and a tight smile.

    Tell me, Mazrael. What was that trick you pulled back there?

    Maz grinned and pulled the last egg from his pocket. Smoke eggs! I got the recipe from Olmeg, behind Sam’s Pub. Pretty awesome, right? The crowd didn’t know what hit them!

    Zal’s hand tightened, and Maz squirmed in his grip. And tell me, little brother, do you know what the word ‘subtle’ means? You brought an entire squad of guards down on the shop. There will be questions.

    Maz shook his head. But we got away! I ran so fast no one even saw me.

    Zal sighed. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You are a disappointment to the Serphant name. You’ll never be a thief at this rate.

    Maz squared his shoulders and ducked out from his brother’s grip. I am a Serphant! You said to cause a distraction. They were distracted! And it looks like you got plenty from the shop.

    Tension drained from Zal and he ran his hand through his dark, dirty hair. "I need you to use your head, alright? Terat hasn’t come back yet. What if he got caught by a guard? What if you got caught? You could have blown this whole thing for us."

    Uncle Ratham would protect us.

    The dangerous glint returned to Zal’s eye and he raised a hand, cutting Maz off. Do not mention that name to me, not today.

    He’s our uncle, Zal, he—

    No! He’s the worst kind of thief. If he knew we were doing this, he would take his ‘cut’ and we would be left with nothing, just like last time!

    Maz wrung his hands. I said I was sorry. I didn’t know he was home when I asked if Eagle had paid you.

    Alcide hopped down from the pillar and coughed. This is fun and all, but are we going to split the loot now, or what? I want to get home already. Her gang gathered around her, eyes filled with eagerness and caution.

    The glint in Zal’s eyes darkened for just a moment before he gave a friendly smile. His hands went to his pockets, and Alcide’s eyes followed hungrily.

    The baubles glinted in the low light of the temple as he piled them onto the soft grass. There were devices for sharpening a sword beyond what a honing stone could do, trinkets for adding a subtle glow to the wearer, and a dozen other things Maz could only guess the purpose of. Runes and power stones adorned their gold and silver surfaces: truly the work of masters. His fingers itched to take one home for himself.

    Zal crouched over the pile and laid them out in a line. He counted aloud and added a bauble for each of Alcide’s gang, then a pair for him and Maz. He paused, hand hovering over the last few devices. I did most of the organizing, did I not? He added an item to his pile. And my brother caused a mighty distraction, allowing me time to grab all of this. He added a second item, and gave the last to Alcide’s pile. I would say that is fair, don’t you?

    The mop-headed girl flushed. Distraction? You said it yourself, he got the guard called down on us. We’ll all have to lay low for weeks now.

    Ah, but you’ll be resting at your ease, with full bellies and fresh clothes, after you sell all this. I promise, you won’t be in any danger.

    No? Then where is Terat? You forgot him, didn’t you? He deserves his share, even if he is late, said Alcide.

    Zal’s face fell in rehearsed disappointment, but he added a device to Alcide’s pile and nodded. Alcide darted over, stuffing the devices in her own pockets. She whistled and her troupe bolted out of the temple.

    I’m sure he just got lost! Zal shouted at her back.

    Maz ignored the street urchin’s departure and watched his brother’s face, shoulders tense. But the moment Alcide’s footsteps faded the older boy burst into a deep belly laugh. He reached into his coat and brought out a handful more trinkets. His hand was friendly as he clapped Maz on the back.

    Come on, let's take these to Eagle. I want them off our hands as soon as possible. You can come too—I’ll introduce you. It’s about time you got to learn more of the family business.

    Eagle? Are you sure? asked Maz.

    You’re old enough, no matter what Uncle Ratham says.

    Excitement and pride swelled in Maz’s breast, and he bounced on his toes. Eagle was the real deal, he fenced for the temple of Ixla itself! He squared his shoulders. When he was a thief, he would only steal from bad people. He wouldn’t be like Zal or Alcide, who took from whoever was in their path. He would be like his grandfather and namesake, who was powerful enough to pick and choose his jobs, to steal from whoever he pleased.

    Maz quivered with exuberance, and Zal ruffled his hair in a rare show of affection before turning and walking out of the temple ruins.

    * * *

    Eagle’s shop was in the lower ring of the city, far from the prosperous shop they had just robbed. The trip down the trams had cost them a copper each, and an hour of time, but he was the best fence in the city. Zal would go to no other. Maz secretly suspected that was because Zal didn’t know any other fences, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud.

    His belly grumbled, but he shoved the ever-present hunger from his mind. Meeting Eagle—this was serious business. The next step to becoming a thief.

    Familiar doubt flickered in his chest at the thought, but he shoved it down. He would show Zal just how good a thief he could be.

    The back alley smelled of muck and human waste, but he did his best to impress the filthy passageways into his memory. The twisting path took them deep into the rat’s nest of decaying buildings and boarded up shops known as the Snakeways.

    Maz kept one hand on the knife Zal had given him for his birthday last year. The blade was short, the length of his fingers, and the handle was a little splintery, but it was the first knife he had ever owned, and he kept it razor sharp. This was where the real thieves lived, the kind that prayed to Ixla. Maz couldn’t imagine praying to such a two-faced god; he put his faith in Oarae instead, and prayed to her now that they would pass unnoticed.

    Even the dim, smelly alleyways did little to quash his anxiety, and his back was tight with tension by the time they reached Eagle’s grime-encrusted door. Zal knocked in a rhythmic pattern and, after a still moment, the door opened a crack. The man glared down at him, blue eyes sharp. Maz could just make out thinning grey hair and a stubbled chin through the crack in the door. Eagle. He frowned down at Zal.

    Zalphrael Serphant. What can I do for you this fine evening?

    Zal jingled his pockets and grinned. Eagle raised an eyebrow, but opened the door for him. Maz attempted to follow, but Eagle held out his hand.

    He’s my brother, said Zal, not bothering to look back.

    Eagle sighed, but opened the door for Maz as well. Another bloody Serphant. Just what this city needs.

    Zal grinned. Yes, it is exactly what the city needs. How else am I supposed to rebuild the family empire without a little help from my only brother? Not like Uncle Ratham is having any luck.

    Maz’s eyes widened. Uncle Ratham was trying to rebuild grandfather’s empire? No wonder he was never home. Eagle muttered something unpleasant under his breath, but allowed Maz to dart under his outstretched arm and catch up to Zal.

    The back room of Eagle’s shop was filled floor to ceiling with shelves containing boxes labeled with clear writing. Maz wove between them, wishing he could read the tags on the items. Goblets and silverware and runed devices made tempting targets for his itchy fingers, but he didn’t dare anger the best fence in the city.

    Zal ignored the stolen goods on the shelves and turned a corner into Eagle’s office, which was just as clean and tidy as his storage room. A plain wooden desk stood at the far wall with nothing but a quill and ink pot upon its polished surface. More shelves flanked the desk, holding lock boxes and sturdy chests.

    Maz followed as Zal threw himself into one of the wooden chairs that faced the desk and began digging the trinkets out of his pockets. Eagle shuffled behind the desk and Maz eased himself into the second seat beside his brother.

    Eagle eyed Maz. Bit young, ain’t he?

    Maz smiled the way Zal did when he was trying to be charming. Gotta learn sometime.

    Eagle’s gaze flicked from the glistening pile to Zal, who stared back without flinching. Hm. So you say. What’s your uncle think about all this?

    Zal turned away. Uncle Rathan won’t let us join him until we reach sixteen.

    Join—I’m talking family, boy. Your brother is what, eight?

    Maz held up his hand. Nine, sir. And the name is Maz. Mazrael Serphant.

    "Named after your grandfather, are ya? I used to fence for him, you know. Mazrael Serphant, King

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1