The Forge Spring 2019
George Mason University’s only sci-fi and fantasy literary magazine.
Volume I Spring Issue I2019
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Issue I
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Volume I
Microfiction Over the Cosmic Garden by Ethan H. Reynolds ................................... 7 The Brambles are Intentional by Victoria M. ......................................... 8 The Runes Fortold by Ethan H. Reynolds ............................................. 9 Truth in Tears by Ethan H. Reynolds ................................................... 11 Letters Found in Salt and Santuary by Victoria M. .............................. 12
Short Stories The Paladin by Alexander Shedd............................................................ 16 Dental Work by Alex Wright .................................................................. 21 Skarloft the Gorehound by Ethan H. Reynolds ..................................... 25 Lucy by Alex Wright ................................................................................ 29 The Phantom Isles by Alex Wright ......................................................... 34 Cirque de Dieux by Victoria M. ............................................................... 39
Poetry Even Gods Are Prone to Folly by Victoria M. ...................................... 45 The Agarian Seas by Ethan H. Reynolds ............................................. 47 No Room for Storytellers by Victoria M. ............................................... 48 The Scourge of Thoraclates by Ethan H. Reynolds ............................ 49 In Which a Body is Only Ever Holy by Victoria M. ............................ 50 Red by Ethan H. Reynolds ..................................................................... 52 The Giant by Ethan H. Reynolds .......................................................... 53 Submit to our magazine at:
theforgegmu@gmail.com
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The Forge
INTRODUCTION
Spring 2019
Letter to the Reader This is your Captain speaking:
I’m pleased to bring you all the first issue of The Forge! It has been in the making for quite some time now and I cannot be happier to have this final product brought to you. As a lover of all things Fantasy and Sci-Fi, it warms my heart that you picked up this first issue to read the heroic and thought-provoking stories that lie within this fine collection of literature: I know you will not be disappointed. I wanted to give a massive thank you to all of my friends and family who helped me along the way with encouraging me to move on past all the struggles this magazine faced in its infancy. I love you all. I also wanted to thank my wonderful, talented staff who have stuck by me through thick and thin without question. They have produced and edited the wonderful pieces in this magazine with pure grace and intense dedication. If anyone is looking for amazing editors and writers that work in the Fantasy and Sci-Fi realm of literature, you cannot get better than the folks in this very magazine. You have my utmost respect and gratitude: I cherish you all. So sit back, relax, and grab a warm beverage, dearest Reader, because you are about to embark on a marvelous journey through space and time. All of the great, grandiose tales that lie within the pages of this magazine were created in the swallowing, ever-burning fires of... The Forge.
-Ethan H. Reynolds
The Forge INTRODUCTION
Our Honorable Staff EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
Ethan H. Reynolds MANAGING EDITOR
Arman Analouei COVER ARTIST
James Gray STAFF WRITERS
Victoria Mendoza Alex Wright Joseph Mauceri EDITORS
Julie Tran Bryan Christman Peter Eccleston
Spring 2019
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The Forge MICROFICTION
Spring 2019
OVER THE COSMIC GARDEN A boy looks to the stars for contemplation.
By: Ethan H. Reynolds
E
very morning as the gracious sun rises from the depths of the abyss and into the morning sky I cannot help but to dream of what is beyond the cosmos above.
In my village, where snow blankets the land for three of four seasons, my skal tells
of great titans and gods who dwell in the stars, looking down upon us in either joy or contempt. They are our masters, and we are the sheep to be shepherded for millennia to come. Sometimes I hear the stories of their great feats and cannot help but feel pity for these colossal beings. War rages in the great cosmos above, and adultery rife gods to die with grief or kill with anger. Maybe beyond that cosmic garden is a land of sweet fruit and beautiful flowers, easing the eyes from the deep reds of war and the midnight black smoke that fills our lungs as raiders burn nearby villages to ash. Maybe there is no hunger, no sorrow, no hatred. I would not love that world. With great sorrow comes a brighter tomorrow, with the beautiful sun welcoming the frigid land with warm sunshine. I desire no other place than here where I reside, though with time, evil can be left thirsty, but not rotting.
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MICROFICTION
Spring 2019
THE BRAMBLES ARE INTENTIONAL A story of a sleeping princess who wishes to not wake by the kiss of a prince.
By: Victoria Mendoza
S
o there’s this has-been princess who
who are you to rob her of that choice?
sleeps amidst thorny brambles and
What have you to offer, princeling? You
a thousand years’ worth of dust. Encased
think you’re the first rosy-cheeked chit to
in some weird magic that keeps her
wake her? Please. You succeed a long line
skin young and ensures that she never
of starry-eyed fools, intent on claiming
soils herself while sleeping. Such acts
her beauty as theirs. After the first two
are unbecoming of royalty, of course.
or three successors, the beloved princess
Traipsing through dreams and memories
grew a wall of brambles, paid the dragon,
with a smile on her face, ignorant of the
and employed a Spindler to prick her
suffering of her people. She employed a
finger if she should wake. When asked
dragon to protect her from true love’s kiss,
why by the fourth lovelorn ass, she had
content with sleeping through a thousand
yawned and said, “I am tired of losing the
years of war, famine, and terror. Do not
ones I love.”
wake our negligent monarch. Leave her to sugar spun dreams and saccharine memories. We have survived without our crown for a thousand years—we’ll thrive for a thousand more. Let her be. If she chooses to rot away instead of living,
The Forge MICROFICTION
Spring 2019
THE RUNES FORTOLD: PART ONE A wizard opens a book and finds an unpleasant suprise.
By: Ethan H. Reynolds
A
ltheir lit the sagging candle on his
Altheir as he spoke with an ancient tongue.
wooden desk. He watched as the
His eyes glowed white as his feet lifted
room illuminated with shades of yellow
from the planked floor. He began to float
and shadows of black. He chuckled when
to the top of the towering stack of books.
he gazed upon his books that stacked up
Altheir’s hand reached out and grasped
to the ceiling of his room, with papers
the dusty book, which was so heavy it
tucked in between almost every page. The
almost dragged him back to the ground.
decadent scents of crinkled parchment and
However, his strength persisted, even in
old, rugged leather that bound his notes
his old age. He descended slowly onto the
so tightly filled his nostrils. This was his
wooden floor and dust floated into the air
home, and he would be happier to be here
from his silent landing. His eyes returned
if the circumstances were different.
to their normal state as he looked at the
He squinted his eyes and spotted the
ancient book in his hand. He scooted his
book he searched for on top of a stacked
old feet to his grand, velvet chair at his
tower.
desk and gazed upon the book, which had
“‘Aculerum Relulem,’ my dear, leatherbound friend,” he sighed, “it has been ages.” He pulled out a flimsy booklet from his robe’s pocket. A magical aura surrounded
runes etched on its cover. Altheir moved his palm across it, feeling every rune with its defined etching. He frowned knowing that this terrible book will either lead
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The Runes Fortold: Part One
Spring 2019
him once again to great madness or to
time, each one glowing with a brilliant
great understanding. Within his hands,
hue of violet. The book then sprouted
he held the future of all living things, and
terrible tendrils made of arcane magic,
he needed only to open the book to the
which grabbed Altheir. He squirmed and
first page to witness an infinite amount
squirmed but could not loosen himself.
of knowledge. He did it once before, after
His eyes filled with a foreign terror he had
the world was in desperate peril, but even
not felt in ages.
now, in times more dangerous than then,
“Guards, help me!” he shouted, “Gods,
he wished to keep the book away from all
have I not been obedient? Will you let
contact forever.
your greatest wizard fall to the unworldly
Nevertheless, Altheir took in a seemingly endless breath and peeled
creatures who dwell below?” His calls were to no avail. Two closed
open the cover. Before him was a blank
eyes eventually appeared onto the page.
page, stained with thousands of years of
Altheir, now horrified, never expected the
aging and stagnation. Altheir chuckled
book to become so corrupted with time.
and once again took out a booklet from
The eyes then opened, revealing slits
his pocket. He opened it up and violently
deep within the golden irises. Altheir felt
flipped the pages until he found the one he
its gaze from his soul. He yelled until his
desired. He spoke more words of ancient
throat bled as the tentacles hushed his
utterance, his eyes becoming cloudy with
screams and pulled him into the book’s
bright white. The tower began to rumble
pages. The book slammed shut and caused
and quake and Altheir looked around him
the entire room to shake. Then, just as
for the cause. A moment must I wait, he
it was before the great wizard opened
said to himself in quick breaths, this is
the door to enter, the room returned to
much direr than I had presumed. The
deafening silence.
pages began to fill with runes one at a
The Forge MICROFICTION
Spring 2019
TRUTH IN TEARS A father and mother grieve for their son lost in a brutal war.
By: Ethan H. Reynolds
“I
miss him more as each day passes,” Haargir said to his beloved wife. “I
painful as it is. Look outside, Haagrir.” She raised her head and pointed to the
would have hunted with him this season. It
window, just as the sun was beginning to
is so beautiful this time of year. Why did
rise. “We must honor him, and be alive,
the lords take away our child?”
just as our son would want for us. He lives
Sïgna, his wife, leaned across the rough, aged table and lovingly grasped both of Haargir’s calloused hands. She
in wondrous paradise, right behind the sun, as the lords have said.” Haagrir’s eyes began to flood. With
looked deep within his deep blue eyes, then
kind eyes he bent his head down and
looked down at their intertwined hands.
wept. Tears dripped into the table soft
The gods had claimed another soul as
as summer rain. He had kept these tears
war raged in their frigid lands. Haargir
within his tired and saddened eyes for an
fought alongside his son until his leg was
entire year, afraid of what the other men
severed in the heat of battle. Their son
in his village would think. He then wept.
was left alone on the frozen ground, blood
He bared his head down onto his and his
blooming from everybody as a rose does
wife’s hands, bobbing up and down each
in spring.
sob came from his mouth.
Signa thought for a moment. “They took him away, but he died as an honorable son,” she said. “We must move on, as
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The Forge
MICROFICTION
Spring 2019
LETTER FOUND IN SALT AND SANTUARY A letter found warns newcomers to watch their backs and realize truth.
By: Victoria Mendoza
I
f you learn anything in this damned,
protection towards the mortals bound to
wretched life, learn to protect yourself.
an Other, but only when it happens within
Always carry salt, an iron nail, and a vial
the safety of the trails. Off the trails,
of holy water—bonus points for a rosary,
a mortal is vulnerable to the full force
but only if it’s blessed. Any talisman
of the Others’ charms. If you’ve been
will do, really, so long as there is enough
“privileged” enough to be sheltered from
belief in its protective ability. Learn to
the Others thus far, consider yourself
enjoy the taste of salt, and never drink
to be the unluckiest damned fool in the
from anything but an iron bottle. While
universe. In this world—this university,
you may carry such protective trinkets,
specifically—knowledge equals safety.
never carry anything that can be deemed
Experience is gold and determines one’s
a weapon. An iron nail is viewed as
chance at survival. It won’t take long for
protection, whereas an iron blade is an
you to stop taking pride in your ignorance.
invitation for harm. Above all, never stray from the trails.
This university will boast of its diversity and its forward-thinking
It is one thing to screw around and bind
approach in integrating mortals and
yourself to one of the Others on the
Others. When the university offers to
trails, but off the trails? Game over. The
pay for your tuition, in full, in exchange
sanctions placed on the trails allow some
for a favor—politely decline. When the
The Forge Letter Found in Salt and Sanctuary
Spring 2019
professor calls you to stay after class,
to pay tribute to certain, more dangerous
eyes glowing, saliva dripping from their
students. You’ll definitely notice when
tusks—run. While this university will give
their glamours wear off. The first time
you the best education you’ll ever have
you notice hollow eyes and fangs on a
the privilege of receiving, never forget
classmate will be the first time you doubt
that it is a self-serving beast, intent on
the odds of your survival.
devouring what it can. Notice, during finals,
The key to surviving the rest of
how the buildings seem larger, the staff
your stay is to be aware enough of the
more menacing, and how some students
Others in order to avoid them. Know
always seem well-fed despite never eating a
the difference between trueborn Others
damned thing. Notice, during the solstices,
and those who were once mortal. Steer
how the nature surrounding the university
clear of the latter. The mortals who have
seems more alluring. Notice, during the day
been turned, through any means from
of the trickster gods, how perfectly formed
deals with the old gods or enough gifts
circles of clover seem to be everywhere.
from the Others to strip them of their
You will notice, in the middle of your
mortality, are hungrier and more prone
sophomore year, that you’d unwittingly
to craving the salt of a mortal’s blood. A
bound yourself to the university. It will
fresh-turned Other will be more vicious
be around this time that the glamour
and less likely to adhere to the rules of the
of the Others and the prestige of the
Old Ones. While there are little physical
university start to wear off. Around this
differences between the Trueborns and the
time, you will start to become more aware
Fresh-turned, look for the differences in
than you’re used to—like how your shoes
their mannerisms. While the Trueborns
won’t burn you if you leave an offering of
resort to pretty words and subtle tricks
sweetbread and honeyed milk outside your
to ensnare their victims, the Fresh-turned
dorm and how it’s become almost normal
prefer more physical ways of binding. In
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Letter Found in Salt and Sanctuary
addition to mastering the art of speaking in riddles, you must always reside in the balance between complete awareness and ignorance. Know that the cracking sound along with a copper tang and muted whispers permeating your surroundings means certain death. Hold your intentions on saving whatever poor soul is being devoured. Keep walking. Acknowledging them only opens you up to becoming their next victim. A child’s cry for help does not mean you should go investigate. A silhouette in your peripherals does not merit a closer look. Lastly, avoid reading random pieces of parchment you’ve found in a random book. You never know who planted the paper there, and whether they’re friend or foe. Avoid reading any words on any random piece of paper no matter the advice it presents or the ease at which it uses your common tongue. It’s best not to read through letters addressed to some unlucky fool, but in the event that you do, and you’ve read it all the way through—don’t look behind you.
Spring 2019
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16
The Forge
SHORT STORIES
Spring 2019
THE PALADIN A Ranger hunts after a Paladin across the expanding void.
By: Alexander Shedd
A
laser blast is a funny thing. A quick, clean shot can cauterize
A tall man, thin and physically fit, sat in the cockpit of a small spaceship. His
its own entry wound, leaving the target
eyes were steel, and his nose showed signs
incapacitated but still able to be brought
of repeated breaks, making him look older
in for questioning. A wild, hypercharged
than he really was. Salt-and-pepper hair
burst, on the other hand, could take a
that still betrayed fading hints of jet black
man’s head clean off his shoulders, leaving
was brushed messily behind his ears. The
nothing but a haze of ash and charred
Slinger holstered to his belt was scored by
bone fragments.
nine tally marks.
The ranger’s standard service weapon
The Ranger was tracking a paladin,
was the Slinger, a sleek, versatile pistol
the latest in a long series of dangerous
loaded with a ten-charge magazine. The
war criminals to whom he had been
reliable piece had a hair trigger able
assigned. But this one was different.
to unload its full capacity in seconds.
The Ranger had never pursued a target
Rangers lived, fought, and died by their
for this long before, and he grew tired
Slingers, trained from their first days at
of the game of cat-and-mouse he had
the academy to treat the weapon as an
been playing with the Paladin for the
extension of their own bodies, and many
past several months. Should he have to
carved initials, kill counts, or family crests
start the search again in yet another
into the dark barrel.
solar system, for the fifth time, he would
The Forge The Paladin
Spring 2019
have to ask for a raise. But that was the
gnarled tree stood leafless from the
Ranger’s charge: find, subdue, and bring
surface, stoic and uncaring in its solitude.
back for trial. It was an unspoken rule that
The meager sun of this system shined
the last part was flexible.
on the Ranger from the west, distant in
This time, however, the Ranger was
a gray sky. He adjusted the collar of his
certain he had the paladin cornered. He
duster to shield his neck from the wind. It
had tracked his prey to the outer reach
was cold in this strange place.
of a remote system where he hoped to
The Ranger crossed through pale,
find the Paladin on a lonely moon trapped
waist-high grass toward the waypoint
between a dense asteroid belt and a gas
to which he had been directed by his last
giant. There was no escape route this time.
informant. The air smelled of dirt and dry
This was it.
rot. He’d left his ship a kilometer back to
A brief thought flickered through the
avoid tipping off his quarry, although he
ranger’s mind as he rounded the massive
knew it probably wouldn’t matter at this
planet. Why would the paladin make
point. This was the end of the line.
such a mistake after all this time? Did his
As the Ranger hiked through the alien
target want to be found? The idea was
land, he found the Paladin’s own transport
disruptive, and he quickly pushed it out of
on a tract of scorched earth, one wing
his head. He began his descent onto the
missing, the cockpit glass shattered. His
nameless moon.
heart caught in his throat as he briefly
The landscape of the dusty world was
imagined that he wouldn’t get to finish
mostly plains. A modest mountain range
the job, that perhaps the Paladin had met
lay across the misty horizon, and the
an early demise in a crash landing, but
omnipresent gas giant loomed just beyond
he calmed himself, noting the absence of
the atmosphere, a colossal reminder of
blood inside or leading from the crash.
the moon’s insignificance. An occasional
The Paladin was still out there, waiting
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The Paladin
for him. He scolded himself silently for his emotional response, but he could not deny that he had spent countless hours in
Spring 2019
“I was wondering when you’d get here,” she said. The Ranger had imagined a man at the
transit across space daydreaming about
end of this road, fiery-eyed and ready for a
the final showdown with his elusive target.
fight, and he was caught off guard by the
His right hand absentmindedly traced
tired-looking woman in front of him. HQ
the nine kills etched into the side of his
hadn’t given him a description, just an old
weapon, ready to slash a diagonal tenth.
military ID number, a last known location,
He arrived at a crude shelter, a cabin
and a list of crimes against the monarchy.
framed by two of the larger trees..
The bottom line was all that ever mattered.
Thirty meters to the right was a pond,
The Paladins had been a rare breed of elite
mud-brown and serene, and the ranger
soldiers; their ranks tended to be male,
imagined a family that could have lived
though females were not uncommon. The
there once, farming the now overgrown
Ranger felt suddenly unsure of himself
land, children and dogs splashing in the
as he considered that all his time alone
shallow water, all alone on a lonely world.
in space had made him romanticize this
Thick umber vines grew down from the
showdown. He shook it off.
trees and through the broken windows of
The Paladin had an athletic build and
the abandoned dwelling. The Ranger knew
was of average height. Thin scars traced
this had to be the place.
down her weathered face like rivers on
His hand brushing the hilt of his
a map, framed by dark, short-cropped
Slinger, he stepped carefully through the
hair that had begun to gray at the edges.
crumbling threshold. The door squeaked
Her hazel eyes were gaunt and tired, like
on its last remaining hinge as he tipped it
the Ranger’s own. Dust thinly caked her
open with his boot. He paused in the foyer
hairline and her calloused fingers. She sat
as he finally laid weary eyes on his quarry.
at a table a few meters in front of him,
The Forge The Paladin
Spring 2019
chair turned to face the doorway, one hand
as they broke the line, glorious freedom
resting on the table’s surface, the other
fighters in a mighty vanguard storming
relaxed on her thigh. The Ranger could
the strongholds of the monarchy. Laser
see no weapons.
blasts were absorbed in their shining,
“I’m here to take you in to face trial,”
energized plate mail as blades were parried
the Ranger stated, pushing away his
and shattered like twigs. In those battles,
uncertainties.
the Ranger had felt only awe and fear of
The paladin chuckled sadly. “Don’t talk
the inspired goliaths rushing toward his
to me like I’m stupid. You’re here to kill me.”
comrades. In the days after the revolution
“Only if you resist.” They both knew it
was crushed, the monarchy victorious, the
was a lie. “You’re a hunter,” she said. “A hunter doesn’t bring in his prey for judgement.” “I’m a Ranger of the monarchy. I’m here to make sure you answer for your crimes.” “Crimes?” she shot back, unimpressed. “You’ve tracked me across four systems, barely giving me more than a night’s rest
ranger had almost felt sorry that he would never see such prowess again. That was a long time ago. “You’re an enemy. The monarchy wants you eliminated, and that’s my job,” he said, trying not to betray the hint of regret in his voice. She ignored him. “You know, I could
for nearly half a year, and for what? Loose
have been a ranger,” she said. “If we had
ends from a lost war? And they call me the
won, I mean. I think I’d be good at it.”
criminal. Spite then, is it?” Flashes of war erupted in the
The Ranger said nothing, studying her face. He thought he could have been a
Ranger’s mind. He saw the Paladins
paladin, once. The broken woman gazed
charging through the breach on far-flung
out one of the windows.
worlds, fierce guardians in tank-like armor swinging electrified broadswords
“I could have been a farmer, too,” she said softly. The ranger made no reply.
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The Paladin
She looked back into his gray eyes. “That’s it, then,” she said finally. “I want to go out by the pond.” The Ranger was still as he watched
Spring 2019
courtyard,” she scoffed. He hesitated. “I could leave you here,” he said back. “You and I both know that’s not true.
her stand and silently walk past him and
They’d know,” she said. “No, it’s better this
out the door. As he turned to follow her,
way. There’s nowhere for me to go in this
he drew his Slinger and deftly removed
galaxy with or without you tracking my
the hypercharge modification attached to
ass. Do your job, ranger.”
the barrel. He stepped outside to find her standing
The Ranger breathed deeply. He knew she was right. He silently cursed himself
with her back to him at the edge of the
for the fantasy he had created, how the
pond, staring quietly out past the water. He
reality of it disintegrated into killing this
stopped a short distance behind her.
lost woman.
“What a beautiful night,” she said to
He heard her sigh as she looked out
herself. The sky was becoming a bruised
over the glowing horizon of the strange
purple where the sun was setting, and
little moon. “This isn’t such a bad place to
early evening stars populated the growing
die,” she said.
void at the edge of the world. The huge dusky planet floated ominously beyond the clouds above them. Glancing up at it, the
He lifted his pistol, aimed at the back of her head, and pulled the trigger. As the Ranger walked away from that
ranger felt almost as if he could reach out
wasted place, his thoughts still lingered at
and feel the dark wisps of its atmosphere
the breach.
with his fingertips. “I really could just bring you in,” he offered before he could stop himself. “They’ll just shoot me in some prison
The Forge SHORT STORIES
Spring 2019
DENTAL WORK An exhilirating event occurs at the dentist’s office.
By: Alex Wright
I
don’t know why Damien even bothers
“Your ancillary node was shattered.
numbing my mouth. I can still feel
Looks like the copper wiring is burnt out
every scrape, every rasping tug from the
also, which is probably where that sharp
drill, and all the pain that comes with it.
pain is coming from.” He sits back and
Small white particles of dust float around
cocks his head a bit, checking the bruising
me as the drill digs deeper into the molar.
around my jawline.
I feel the vibration down into my spine.
“Bar fight?” He asks.
Then, clank!
“No, I told you, I fell down the stairs.”
“Ah,” Damien says, “I think I’ve found it.” “What’s the problem, Doc?” I merely
“With this kind of damage? Doubt it. These things were installed with shock
think these words, but he hears them
absorbers. I would know since I’m the one
anyway. My voice is being projected from
that installed them. A beating like this
the other side of the room in the form
would have to be from a group of guys, or
of a robotic, monotone voice. His voice
maybe one of those Enforcers…”
synthesizer is an old model, so it can’t produce my actual speaking voice, but it’s
“Or two flights of stairs. Can you fix it or not?”
still nice to have sometimes. Dentists have
“Yeah, yeah, I can fix it, but it’ll cost you.”
a bad habit of asking questions while their
“The usual?”
hands are shoved in your mouth. This way,
“The usual plus an extra thousand.”
you can actually talk back.
“Thirty-Five? Are you insane?” The
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Dental Work
monotone voice increases in volume a bit, to show my surprise. “Look,” he explains, “you can sit there and lie to me but don’t expect me to believe it. If I do this for you, and they
Spring 2019
“That’s not….” I stop as the voice synthesizer starts to cut out and crackle. “Uncle, can you take this crap out of my mouth, so I can talk?” Without a word, he unscrews a few
show up here again asking if I helped you,
things and the clamps release, freeing the
I’m gonna need a little bit of cash to make
sensors as he pulls them out. He sets them
them go away.”
on a tray next to him and sits back again.
“That’s highway robbery,” I fire back.
“Thank you,” I say while I rub my jaw.
“You already pay up to them. They don’t
“Look, Uncle Damien, I’m not gonna go
need any more bribes.”
out and just screw with people, I…”
“Need I remind you that it’s your
The front door of the shop swings
fault you’re here and that I am under no
open with a loud thud. We both turn and
obligation to help you?”
see men come in. One of them gives orders
“No Uncle Damien, you don’t.”
to the others, and they begin to walk
“Oh, don’t you pull that family crap on
toward the back. Damien turns to me.
me,” he spits, “if you cared about that you
“You have to hide,” he says. “Now. Go!”
wouldn’t keep jeopardizing my business
I hop out of the dental chair and make my
like this.”
way behind some machinery near the door
“I’m just saying, you don’t need them,”
on the other side of the room. I press up
I plead. “Just hook me up with some of that against the shadows cast by a large rack stuff you keep in the back. No one will ever
of dental instruments. The door flies open,
bother you again with me around.”
and two skinny men briskly walk through.
“As if you’d stick around. You’d go
They wear brown leather jackets, with a
out and try to be the big man in town and
yellow strip that runs across the breast
probably get yourself killed.”
and a black undershirt, which is probably
The Forge Dental Work
bullet proof. Their pants are clearly a carbon fiber
Spring 2019
which connects to an external titanium spine ending in a point at the base of his
weave made to look like jeans. The creases
skull. Kanine. Guess he’s come to get me
have a slight silver shimmer to them. Dead
back for last night.
giveaway. On their heads, they each wear
“We’re lookin’ for your nephew, Doc,” he
a glass headpiece in the form of a curved
says casually. “I know he likes to come here
wedge that connects to two ports on either
for a tune-up, and I know I did a number
side of their heads and curves down to
on him last night. So, where’s he hiding?”
cover their eyes, ending at a point at the
“Couldn’t tell ya!” Damien replies with
left side of their faces. Low-level thugs,
a smile. “He came in this morning and
Street-Meat, which means they’re not
cleaned out the safe. Could be a hundred
augmented, just their clothes. Shouldn’t be
miles away by now!”
much of a problem. They quickly scan the room before settling on Damien. “It’s just the Doc, Boss,” says the one nearest me. “Is that right?” Says a voice from the doorway. “Well, at least he can tell us where to find him.” A large man walks through the door and crosses his arms as he sneers at my uncle. His skin looks as if it’s been segmented in multiple areas by a pinstripe tattoo that glows a faint neon blue.
You’re a terrible liar, Doc,” he smiles as he directs one of his guys to check out the server across the room. “We know he’s not the type to do that to ya, but now that cha mention it, we are a little short on credits.” “Hey, I already paid up to you guys this month!” Kanine sneers again, and his cronies stop and stare at Damien with a smile. “Did you just raise your voice at me?” Kanine says in disbelief. I grab a battery off the rack and take
He has metal, decorated with serrated
the casing off while the three men circle
metal teeth, grafted around his head,
Damien. The shielding on my right arm
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Spring 2019
pops open, and I attach the battery to a
pieces litter the floor around the bodies. I
few open nodes. The small needle in my
turn to Damien.
left index finger slides out, and I insert
“You think you could install some of
it into the pin-sized slot in my right
that military grade equipment before more
hand. The palm retracts to reveal the
of them show up?”
mechanisms within, and I cut a few of the wires as I grab a small scalpel. “You just made a big mistake, Doc,”
He surveys the room for a quick moment, a little lost, before he finally settles on me.
Kanine teases. “Now I gotta mark ya.” His
“Get in the chair.”
right arm opens along the glowing seam
that runs between his index finger and middle finger. A small electrical brand baring “K-9” rotates out and begins to glow a soft yellowish-red. I dash out from behind the machinery and bury the scalpel between two upper vertebrae of one of the thugs. He falls over as I turn toward Kanine. He turns as I shove my right hand into his face and overcharge the battery. There’s a bright flash closely followed by a short pop, and he falls back into his last remaining henchman as I grab Kanine’s pistol from his waistband. I aim and pull the trigger as he fumbles for his own sidearm. The glass headpiece shatters. The crimson
The Forge SHORT STORIES
Spring 2019
SKARLOFT THE GOREHOUND: I Skarloft, a wandering, grizzled warrior, finds a town in peril.
By: Ethan H. Reynolds
I
n the dark night sky was the deep
old yet had hundreds of years of patrons
presence of unworldly darkness
under its belt. The fireplace roared with
looming over the plains of Agredanne.
a large flame that warmed the whole inn.
No stygian black has ever cursed the
Banners of different clans and nations
skies in this degree, and the omen of
sprawled amongst the walls, as well as the
which meant nothing short of doom for
occasional sword and shield. His orange-
whoever the dark curtains over. The birds
red beard trickled with ale as Skarloft
who usually chirped merrily amongst
gulped mouthfuls, one after the other. With
the rare tree were now silent with fear,
a loud burp, he slammed his tankard on the
and great bats, who’s wingspan stretched
table, ordering the innkeeper for another
over six feet, took their place amongst
fill. His blue eyes scanned the inn, for while
them. The townsfolk of Dyra shuttered in
indulging himself with a large helping
absolute terror as their land was turned
of ale, many of the people in the inn left.
into a torturous hell just hours after the
He was surprised to see everyone gone in
darkness fell.
such a hurry. He shook his head, and with
Inside the Direspoke Inn was Skarloft the Gorehound, a great warrior from a far-off land, only visiting the once bright
a grunt, he arose from the table, towering over it akin to a giant and a dwarf. “Gods save us!” shrieked a young
land of Agredanne for odd jobs and a less
woman with a deafening pitch. Clatter
strenuous workload. The building was
was heard outside now, even more than
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the normal pot dropping or the shrill cry
the grassy earth, with blood leaking from
of a child.
every wound, and the gravely injured
Skarloft hurriedly grasped his travel
filled the air with not only their stench of
bag and slung it over his shoulder. With
oncoming death, but the mind-quivering
a swiftness of a god, his large, veined
sounds of suffering and agony. Too
hands unsheathed his sword, and grabbed
familiar were these sights to Skarloft the
his shield that laid tilted on the table.
Gorehound, as even in his name does such
The sword was broad, with a short hilt
depravity exist. Large, grotesque creatures
and a plain but sturdy crossguard. His
with eight arms and two legs were the
shield was great, and the size of a small
cause for such a devastating genocide of
child, with a more rectangular shape
the townsfolk of Dyra. The sky was black
than a round one. It was painted blue,
as night, and only a full moon shone above
the color of his clan, with symbols from
the world, acting as either a beacon of
his native land scattered across the front.
hope, or a sign of death and madness that
The handle was made of pure steel, with
would soon engulf the land.
an unbreakable latching to the wood
Skarloft remembered learning in a
of his great shield. After gathering his
book when he was a young lad that every
belongings, he strode, sword unsheathed,
so often, the denizens of lands far beyond
towards the door, with floor creaking and
their own would invade the world, seeking
screams heard from outside. Skarloft did
death and destruction to all that live and
not know what he was up against, but he
breathe. Though these were only legends
knew that whatever awaited him past the
passed down through time, his tutors
inn would meet its doom under his sword.
pressured him to think beyond all that
When Skarloft exited the inn, he saw
is known, and to assume that anything
nothing short of a complete massacre of
could be real in other worlds. Maybe these
the townsfolk. Bodies were strewn across
creatures are those of legend, thought
The Forge Skarloft the Gorehound: I
Spring 2019
Skarloft. Without another thought, he
He grunted and sprinted to the next
charged into battle with a bellowing cry
victim of his legendary blade and shield. It
with shield guarding his entire upper
took Skarloft only five minutes to dispatch
body and his sword ready to strike. One
the enemies.
of the creatures tore a piece of flesh from
With panting chest and near empty
a villager while hunched over the young
lungs, he bent to one knee as the last
corpse. When the terrible cry of the
octopod hybrid lay near death with its
Gorehound rose to a volume that would
mouth foaming with saliva. With its last
pierce a grown man’s ears, the creature
hiss, it died, and the Gorehound could
slowly arose, and gave its own battlecry.
relax, if only for a few seconds. Sweat
Spit flew from its round, beaked mouth as
dripped down his veiny forehead, and the
Skarloft grew ever near. With a swift bash,
carnage that cursed this small village was
the shield crashed into the devil’s skull,
terrible and cruel. Limbs were ripped from
and broke it into dozens of tiny fragments.
young bodies, and the corpses of families,
With a gurgled moan it fell to the earth
half eaten by these invaders from a foreign
with a thud, and Skarloft plunged his
land, lay together in death. Skarloft shook
sword into its heart, or where the heart
his head and stood up. Skarloft could not
should be. Blue liquids sprayed from its
believe what he had completed and had not
body and covered the warrior with the
had time to analyze such creatures. With
unfamiliar lifeblood of the creature from
legs that could break brick with a simple
beyond. How strange, he thought, the
kick, the Gorehound strode towards a
blood is as cold as midwinter. He drew
home that was torn to shreds by these
his sword from the eldritch being and
monsters, sheathed his sword, and set his
continued to assault the others. He saw
heavy shield upon a homemade oak table.
about seven, but there could be more
From the corner of the room in the small
simply waiting to reinforce their numbers.
house, he heard sobbing. Once again, he
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drew his sword and slowly walked towards
voice, almost scaring the small child. “I
the mysterious sound. The floor creaked
need you to stay here whilst i search the
just as the inn’s did with each step. He
other homes. You need not to get up from
keenly listened and found that the sound
under the bed which has given you much
was coming from under the bed near
safety. I will come back in a short while.”
the right corner of the home. Intent on
“Okay,” said the child with tears now
striking something with his sword, he
growing in her eyes, “But I’ll be scared.”
gripped his weapon with a firm as iron
Skarloft saw that she was frightened
hold and bent one knee to look at what
to the point of near madness, and this
was making this sound. Once his eyes
broke his stoned heart. He looked down at
adjusted to the pitch-black dark under
his sword and clanged it on the wooden
the bed, he saw that it was a girl, no older
floor. “This sword has slain beasts the
that eight, cowering for safety in the only
size of this village,” truthfully stated the
place she knew. His eyes nearly filled with
Gorehound, “There is no need for worry
sadness, but his brute strength in both
in any shape. I also have a shield which
body and brain forbid him to.
has stopped a blow from a demi-goddess
“Are you alright?” asked the
herself. If the need arises, I shall guard
Gorehound. He had not talked to such a
you with it, as I have shielded myself
small child in years, as his business only
thousands of times before.” He could see
were with adults and on the rare occasions
that her eyes began to fill with hope. He
with young men or women.
smirked and got up to stand. He was now
“I think I’m okay,” she stated. She
ready to examine these beasts, and to
sniffed and wiped her nose. “Are you a
ensure that any other survivors would be
good man?”
led to safety in time.
“Better than those fiends who attacked your homes, yes,” he uttered with a deep
The Forge SHORT STORIES
Spring 2019
LUCY A searcher of a great monolith explores alongside his horse, Lucy.
By: Alex Wright
I
don’t know what I’d do without Ol’
are a lot of pockets of radiation that
Lucy. She’s gotten me further than I
we’ve got to be cautious of, and I’ve seen
could have ever imagined. Even helped
shadows moving through the smog from
me cover that ground twice as fast as I
time to time. Could be people or could
would have on foot. She’s an American
be some of those androids. I don’t trust
Paint Horse—Overo, splashed white. She’s
either.
probably the last of her kind nowadays.
In the distance I can see the outline
I found her up in Essex County about a
of a building. ‘Odd,’ I think. ‘Didn’t
month back. Seems like we were both far
think there were any left around here.’ I
enough away from Manhattan not to be
flip down my helmet’s rangefinder and
affected by the radiation, but no matter.
turn on its scanner, cycling through the
We’ve been walking ever since.
various settings.
Judging by how long we’ve been
‘About a thousand feet out. No UV
traveling, we’re probably around where
signatures…’
DC might have been a few months ago.
Click.
Of course, it’s hard to tell since the smog
‘Or heat signatures…’
obscures everything over fifty yards away.
Click.
Not that there’s really anything to see out
‘Are those light sources?’
here anyway. We’ve been carefully moving
Click.
through the area for a few days now. There
‘An electromagnetic field? Still running
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Lucy
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after everything that’s happened? Could
discover that it’s an old metro tunnel. We
this be it?’
usually avoid tunnels for a plethora of
I flip up the rangefinder and stare
reasons but this seems like the only way
into the thinning smog. The blue light
across. I hop off Lucy for a moment and
radiating from the building becomes more
pull out the flyer from the side pouch. I
and more apparent with every clip-clop
flip it to idle-mode and look at the battery
of Lucy’s hooves. We stop at the levee of
indicator on the side—it’s about half
a river, and I stare across at the building,
empty. Good. I activate it completely and
then at the water below.
it shoots out of my hands and hovers
‘There’s still water here and the tide isn’t very low either.’ “Well, ol’ girl,” I say, “you wouldn’t want to go for a swim, now would you?” Lucy bucks slightly and sways her head back and forth.
stationary about five feet above the ground as it surveys the surrounding area. A green light flicks on above its “eye”, indicating that its ready. I tap the controls on the screen mounted on my wrist and it flies off
“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
into the tunnel. While it does its work,
I flip the rangefinder down again and
I retrieve Lucy’s mask from the other
look upriver. I can see the faint outlines
saddlebag and strap it to her face.
of a few bridges, but it looks like they’ve
Whether or not it’s radiated down there,
collapsed. I turn my attention downriver,
it’s better for her to have it on in this case.
to the south. There’s a vague silhouette of
She doesn’t like tunnels very much, and
a concrete structure heading down toward
the mask keeps her focused. I eye the rifle
the water, disappearing into the bank of
holstered next to the saddlebag but decide
the river.
against it. Probably too close quarters. My
‘A tunnel maybe?’ I lead Lucy over to the entrance and
laser pistol will have to do. The screen on my wrist lights up,
The Forge Lucy
Spring 2019
indicating the flyer is done with its task. I tap the controls for it to return. I pull the
“Well, it’s not flooded and there’s a
cord from behind the screen and hold out
clear path to the other side. Radiation
my hand for the flyer to land on. When it
might be a problem. What do you think
does, I plug it in.
Lucy? Full gallop?” She flicks her ears a bit and walks toward me. “Yeah, I agree,” I
>AviTask Assistant D45. >Task assessment.
laugh. “Let’s do it.” I hop back in the saddle and pull
>
the windscreen down over my face. The
>Initiated: Thursday, 1734 hours.
helmet has its own filtration system, so I
>Completed: Thursday, 1739 hours.
shouldn’t have to worry about breathing
>
in anything I shouldn’t. I flick on Lucy’s
>Assessment:
headlamp, as well as mine, and take a deep
>tunnel.
breath before whipping the reigns and
>minimal debris.
sending her running. By the time we reach
>minimal flooding.
the entrance, she’s galloping as fast as
>radiation:
she can. I hold on tight with my left hand
>Counts - :insufficient data:
while my right keeps a firm grip on my
>Dose - :insufficient data:
pistol.
>electricity detected.
>rails still active.
>movement detected.
> Recommend approaching with caution.
The light bobs and sweeps side to side in front of us in the pitch-black. The sound of rhythmic hooves echoes through the tunnel, drops of water splashing in puddles on the down beat. My headlamp
>
darts side to side as I check every possible
>Assessment complete.
corner and crevice in the dark. We reach
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the bottom of the curve and splash
Spring 2019
trigger.
through the standing water at the bottom.
Click.
I can see the light at the other end. I
‘Overheated? Already?’
lose myself in it for a moment, before
The creature springs back to life,
I’m snapped back to reality by the sound
digging its talons into Lucy’s neck. She
of grunts and groans overpowering the
neighs and bucks in response, never
sound of steady splashes.
breaking stride, and the creature turns
A figure steps out in front of us,
its attention to me. I holster the pistol
mouth agape, sharp talons spread wide as
and reach for my rifle as it begins to claw
they raise their arms to meet our path. I
the air in front of me. I pull on the rifle,
begin to raise my pistol, but another one
but at this angle, it’s stuck in the holster.
cuts me off from my right. I shine my
I strain to lean back further as it pulls
light directly at it, revealing its sloped
itself further into the spear and closer to
forehead and scaly skin a for split second
me. It gnashes its mangled teeth inches
before aiming at its black eyes and pulling
away from my knees, and I take the butt
the trigger. I press a button on the saddle
of the rifle, aiming it while still in the
with my left hand, and a sharpened metal
holster, and fire two rounds. One hits the
rod bursts from a hidden compartment in
creature’s chest, right above the spear, and
the saddle, right by Lucy’s right shoulder.
the other grazes its head, taking off its left
I steer into the creature ahead and turn
ear. The creature slides off the spear and
my attention back to it just in time to
gets trampled by Lucy’s stampede.
watch as it’s impaled in the stomach by my makeshift spear. The spear lifts it off its feet, and it
We reach the end of the tunnel; we’re back into the faint sunlight. I clamp her down and hop out of the saddle, grabbing
goes limp for a moment hanging on the
some tubes of healing cream and bandages
spear, and I aim at its head and pull the
from the bag in the process.
The Forge Lucy
“I know girl, I know,” I say, trying to calm her down a bit more. “I know it hurts but this should help. Well, it helps me anyway. I’m running low, so we’ll have to make do.” I clean and bandage her up and check my pistol. It’s getting old and the battery is wearing out. I need to find a new one. ‘Maybe that has what I need,’ I think, staring off toward the building in the distance. ‘Maybe that’s the monolith I’ve been looking for all this time.’
Spring 2019
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SHORT STORIES
Spring 2019
THE PHANTOM ISLES: I Adventurers begin their journey to search for immense treasure.
By: Alex Wright
A
guard closes the door to a dark storage room filled with various
boxes and barrels. Little pockets of light
to that pirate,” he says. “Kluurok? He seemed somewhat trustworthy…” Quil answers.
shine through small cracks in the hull,
“He’s a jackass,” Kaathe says.
which the wind whistles through, hiding the
“Agreed,” Scion adds.
voice whispering from somewhere unseen.
“He’s also in the room with you,”
“Kaathe,” it says. “Kaathe,” it says again in a hushed yell.
another voice says. “I know,” Kaathe replies, “I just wanted
“What, Amnon?” A harsh voice replies.
you to know that you’re lucky you’re not
“You think we’re getting close?”
on my list.”
Amnon asks. “How should I know? I can’t see a thing inside this box.” “Yeah, me neither. You okay over there, Scion? Quil?” “Yes,” a deep voice, Scion, and a scratchy voice, Quil, reply in unison. A hush falls over the room, broken a moment later by Kaathe. “Grrah! We should have never listened
“And you’re lucky I’m tired of being a pirate,” Kluurok laughs. “To answer your question, Amnon, it’s been raining for a while now. That means we’re getting close. With all the commotion on deck, I’d suspect they’re getting ready for a landing.” “And you can’t just go up and see for yourself ?” Scion asks. “No. I may be her second in command, but dragons tend to be paranoid. Virlym
The Forge The Phantom Isles: I
Spring 2019
Ith is no exception. I have traveled to and
The sound of the door quickly opening
from her island once a week for six years,
and closing again echoes through the room
but I have no idea where it is. The crew of
a moment later, and the muffled sounds of
this ship has seen to that.”
talking are heard from beyond.
“How convenient,” Kaathe groans. “If this is a trap, I’ll let Amnon melt your face off.”
“He talks too much,” Kaathe growls. “At least he gave us valuable information this time,” Scion adds.
“I’ve done it before!” Amnon yells.
“My neck hurts,” Amnon whines.
“Of course you have,” Kluurok sighs.
“Quiet,” Quil says. “They’ll be back
“Now look. They think everything in here
any second. I’ll link us telepathically once
is gold, weapons, and magic items. When
we’re outside.”
we land, Virlym’s guards will take all of the cargo to the blacksmith, so he and his
… The door swings open violently, and
assistants can ready everything for her
eleven dragonborn warriors enter the
hoard. From there, you can find a way into
room. One of them points to the boxes
her lair. I suggest not being seen.”
and, through a series of grunts and
“Will you shut up and let us work?” Kaathe snaps. “I’m just warning you, Virlym is not
whistles, tells the others to start moving them. Quil peers through a small hole in his box to see that he’s being carried by
going to go down easy. I will be going
two dragonborn down some half-rotten
straight to her when we land, and I’m
wooden stairs. He adjusts his view as
usually forced to leave once we’re finished
carefully as he can so as not to shift his
speaking, so you won’t have much time
weight and alert the guards carrying
if…” Kluurok trails off as the ship shakes
him. He catches a glimpse of a shanty
and stops moving. “We’ve landed. I must
town surrounding two mud hills. Quil
go. Remember, be quick and don’t be seen!”
concentrates for a moment and begins
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The Phantom Isles: I
telepathically linking with his comrades. Shwoop! “Alright,” he says. “Think freely.”
Spring 2019
within and escapes out of the opening in the roof above it. He turns to look over the cargo sitting in his workspace and motions
“Do you have any idea how strange that feels?” Amnon asks.
to the three kobolds polishing gold coins at a bench. They put their rags down and
“Shut up,” Kaathe says.
scurry over to find a few crowbars. The
“What can everyone see?” Quil asks.
blacksmith turns back to his forge and
“There’s a small hill,” Scion explains,
throws a bucket of coals in it. The little
“it looks like there are wooden structures
dragon men gather their crowbars and
keeping the rain off of it. There are
begin to open some of the boxes. A gold
many holes in the hill, wood covering
coin slides off the table and lands near one
some of them.”
of the kobolds, getting his attention.
“I can see kobolds,” Kaathe cuts in.
He studies it for a second, and it slides
“Those holes are probably their hovels.
about a foot away from him, pushing itself
The wood is keeping the rain from
through the loose dirt around it. The
washing it all away.”
kobold jumps back and taps his friends
“Does anyone see the blacksmith’s?” Quil asks.
with his crowbar. They look at him, and he points to the gold coin. They look at it,
“I can see a stone structure behind the hill,” Amnon answers. “That’s probably it,” Kaathe says. … Ten minutes later, the last box is
and it quickly slides two more feet away from them. Brandishing their crowbars like weapons, they quietly stalk the now immobile coin as a house cat stalks a mouse. One of them hops up on the table
delivered to the stone structure. A half-
in the center of the shop, another goes
dragon stands over a forge in the corner
around it, and the last one ducks under it.
of the room. Smoke billows from the fire
They all stop within a foot of the coin, and
The Forge The Phantom Isles: I
one of them reaches out to tap it with his crowbar. Before he’s able to touch it, the coin
Spring 2019
pipes at him. “Boo,” he growls, and the building is rocked by a thunderous noise. The
shoots off again, out the door and into
blacksmith falls backwards, and blood
the street outside of the blacksmith’s
quickly stains the sandy dirt below him.
shop. They squeak and squawk and give
The skeleton stands and reloads his
chase, swinging their crowbars wildly. The
double-barrel scatter gun. The lid of the
blacksmith turns back around and watches
box to his right cracks open and a metal
them disappear through the door. He
and wooden man wearing scale-mail
stands there angrily for a moment, before
stands up and looks at the body.
one of the chests sitting in the cargo begins to shake and rattle. Not taking his eyes off the box, the blacksmith slowly
“Did you have to use that thing, Kaathe?” he asks. “Yeah, I did, Scion. I know it’s loud,
retrieves a sword from a rack on the wall
but it works. Now throw the body in the
and cautiously makes his way over to it.
forge while I get the others out.”
As he gets close, the shaking stops. He
“Right.”
hesitates, the point of his sword trained on
Scion throws the corpse over his
the box, before throwing the lid open and
shoulder and walks it over to the forge
looking inside.
while Kaathe pries another barrel open. A
A skeleton, draped in a leather duster
reddish-purple-skinned young man steps
and wearing a wide-brimmed hat, lays in
out of it. The tail and the horns starting at
the chest. It grips what looks like a piece
his forehead and curling around to the back
of carved wood with two metal pipes
of his head reveal his devilish ancestry.
coming out of it. The blacksmith lowers his sword a bit in a confused stare. The skeleton looks up and raises the metal
“Thanks,” he says, “I could’ve gotten that open myself, but my back is killing me!” “Shut up and get Quil out!” Kaathe
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The Phantom Isles: I
snaps, as he cautiously looks out the window. “Alright, alright,” Amnon sighs as he raises his hands and they start to glow. The barrel next to his begins to shake as he concentrates on it. A moment later, he tears at the air as if he’s ripping a cloth in two, and the barrel shatters, revealing a small lizard man squatting among the wreck. “I stopped moving the coin, so the kobolds will be back soon,” he says. “Everyone out the back window,” Kaathe says as he hops out. Quil and Amnon quickly follow, and Scion makes his way back across the room but stops short to admire a throwing hammer on the weapon rack. He hears someone trying to open the door and quickly snatches the hammer and follows his comrades through the window. Everyone moves to the outside corner of the building and stares up at the large hill. On the top of the hill rests a ziggurat. Three guards watch the area from the top, and a few patrol the perimeter. Kaathe looks towards the small village to make
Spring 2019
sure the coast is clear. “Alright,” he says confidently, “let’s go kill a dragon.”
The Forge SHORT STORIES
Spring 2019
CIRQUE DE DIEUX The mysteries and intrigues of the Cirque are explored by a dangerously curious soul.
By: Victoria Mendoza
T
he Cirque de Dieux was a fickle,
saint relics and crosses on every window.
mysterious thing. Some say that the
When Father Haywood moved his church
Cirque was the machinations of a would-
to the town square and gave his sermons
be magician, who sold his soul to the
outside, Undine’s ink-black gaze does
Kindly Ones to travel between the worlds.
not miss the way his eyes occasionally
Some—mostly Father Haywood’s ilk—say
flickered to the tents. Nor does she miss
it was a den of witches practicing their
how the townspeople’s focus was half
darkest arts and seducing hapless fools to
on the red-faced preacher, spittle flying
sin. Personally, Undine thinks they have
from his mouth, and half on the maze
nothing better to do than speculate on the
of canvas, ribbon, and flags that made
origins of a glorified sideshow that may
up the Cirque. Undine definitely does
or may not appear. What a sad, sleepy
not miss the tension rising throughout
town, so bored with their own mundane
the town—a mounting crescendo of
existence that they latched onto anything
anticipation shooting lightning through
new or interesting and tore it apart.
the town’s veins.
She saw how the men’s eyes sharpened,
For as long as Undine could remember,
glinting like a dagger’s edge, when the
people gifted her names wrapped in silken
Cirque came to town. She looked around
shrouds and frothy ribbons. Inside, each
at the townspeople frantically cleaning
carried an identity she must learn to live
their whitewashed walls and hanging
out—some are kind, but most reeked of
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fear and hatred, often unearned. When
its sleepy people and drooping, earthen
the weight of a name stung a bit too
houses. Holding court in the very center
much or bruised her neck with its force,
of the town’s square was a lone oak in
she thought of all the names she wished
which Undine perched, nestled between
she could get. Maybe if her mother
the boughs and out of the sight from the
kept Undine, she would have names
bleak bodies below. The branches of the
like beloved and mine. A lonely kind of
tree hid her well, curving around her like
wistfulness never failed to trickle through
a mother’s arm. The people could find her,
Undine when she thought of all the
if they looked, but they never do.
what-ifs and could-haves centered around
She stayed, for the majority of her
her mother. She could, theoretically, seek
days, lounging in the treetop. The tree
for this smoke and dream woman, but
was the only thing safe about the town.
Undine was not in the business of chasing
To Undine, the tree was home, friend,
whimsy. This world has no patience for
and pulpit. It was where she hid when a
those with hope staining their cheeks and
rock made its mark across her cheekbone
dreams dancing in their irises. This town
and where she curled up as a mere child
taught her so. In this town, she learned
to cry until her voice was hoarse and her
patience and how to weather the whims of
heart was stone. This tree knew her in
embittered people. She carried the names
an intimate way, like that of a well-loved
the townspeople gave her: orphan, freak,
sidekick. Undine suspected that the tree
and witch. She very much liked the last for
housed the remnants of an old god’s
its promise of power and invulnerability.
essence in the way that its benevolence
Those that spit witch in hisses and cross
was felt by those searching for it and its
themselves at the sight of her never
wrath by those deserving of it. She was
strayed too close.
pleased to note that Father Haywood
Such was the way of Warrenton, with
never stepped foot near the willow.
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Spring 2019
Whenever she needed a place to avoid
felt her heartbeat stutter inexplicably, as
the preacher, she sought out the tree to
if it knew before her what was going to
nimbly climb its rough, knotted trunk
happen. There was a breeze carrying the
and branches to reach her favorite hiding
smells of salt and caramel from the plains
spot. There, Undine was able to watch the
outside the town’s limits, and she looked to
townspeople, miniature at the treetop’s
see the Cirque in all its beauty.
view, go about their days. This was also
When, later in the day, a small troupe
where Undine got her first glimpse of the
ventured in to entice the townspeople to
Cirque, captivated by the dust-ridden tents
come to the Cirque, Undine watched raptly
and crimson flags.
as they commanded the town’s attention.
She was not quite sure what, exactly,
For all of the town’s pious teachings, no
compelled her head to snap up when
one protested as a girl with wide, delicate
it did. There was nothing particularly
eyes and curled horns danced across
enchanting about that day. The leaves,
a ribbon of silk held taut by her crew
all in varying states of decay, fluttered
members. There was something achingly
listlessly across the square, where the
familiar in the defiant way these strangers
baker’s open windows allowed the steam of
carried themselves—something about
the fresh breads and pies entice the people
how every minuscule movement dared
walking in and out of the shops. The
someone to object to their presence that
town itself, while alive with the bustle of
made Undine’s throat ache and pulled her
people busy with Mabon preparations, had
from the safety of her tree. She studied
a sort of routine atmosphere that scripted
each member of the troupe, drinking in
every movement and every conversation.
their features greedily in fear of losing the
Undine sat safely in the oak, watching the
moment permanently. She crept closer to
monotony of the town, until someone’s
the fringes of the growing crowd to eye
anticipation traipsed across her neck. She
a man with inky wings protruding just
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Spring 2019
beneath his shoulder blades and a stark
Undine’s neck. Something within Undine
band of white painted across his eyes.
sighed, and whispered, finally, it took you
Inching closer still, she was so captivated
long enough. The witch, because there
by the winged man igniting the tip of
was no other word that summed up the
an arrow with a puff of breath that she
woman so succinctly, tilted her head
almost missed the woman watching her.
towards the miniature city of canvas
Enthralled by the performances, Undine
and crimson in response.
did not notice the woman with crows
As night fell and the townsfolk donned
perched on her shoulders and a wide-
masks and costumes and made their way
brimmed hat with a pointed and curled
towards the city of tents, Undine made
tip. It was not until she was directly in
her way around a large, cream colored
front of the woman that she felt the
tent to slink through a gap between the
weight of her gaze and it was not until
canvas. Within this tent, like all the other
she could see the startling yellow of the
tents, was a world in and of itself. With a
woman’s irises and the markings gracing
glittering night sky covering the ceiling
her cheekbones that Undine registered the
of the tent, flashes of stars danced across
fact that she was being watched. Undine’s
the inky darkness to create ever-changing
eyes skirted the air around the woman
constellations. As Undine stepped further
and followed the trail of wild curls to the
into the tent, a maze formed around her.
curve of her smirk. A jolt of awareness
The scent of evergreen and cloves tickled
rushed through Undine, like waking up
Undine’s nose and a whisper of here I
and coming home all at once. Oh, hello,
am urged her further into the maze until,
a whispered purr floated through her
finally, she stumbled into a clearing and
mind. Undine’s eyes wrenched from the
everything went silent. With a shaky
knowing grin to the witch’s glittering
inhale, Undine walked towards the
gaze and relief cut through the tension in
table in the middle of the clearing. Two
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Spring 2019
chairs accompanied the table strewn with
make a choice—to claim the Cirque the
flickering candles, a familiar hat, and a
way it claimed her. Her hands shifted
lone deck of cards. The table, with vines
through the cards, shuffling the deck in a
etched into each leg and branches detailing
soothing rhythm. She saw the possibilities
the edges, was a black so deep that it
unfold before her: futures in which she will
reflected the stars dancing above it. The
be free of the town’s monotony and free
chairs on either side of the table were of
to be who she pleased. As she settled into
the same wood and had burgundy velvet
the chair and fanned the deck across the
stuffed to the brim for the utmost comfort.
table, a full-blown grin graced her lips. An
Settling into one of the chairs, Undine
uncertain whisper from a man emerging
lifted the hat towards her head and paused
from the hedges asking if she can read his
when she found an envelope beneath the
fortune drew Undine’s chin up. She studied
hat. Reading the envelope—addressed
the man, Father Haywood, and waited
to her, of course—Undine began to
for recognition to wash over his face. She
feel hope, loneliness, and adrenaline
braced herself for the steel grip of his fist
war within herself. A shy, secretive grin
to pull her from the tent. As if in response,
tugged at the corners of her lips and she
the stars and the candles’ flames flickered
stopped herself from biting down on her
once, then twice. Undine studied her hands
excitement. She looked at the letter as if
spread over the deck of cards, feeling more
it held salvation and a homecoming all in
grounded than she ever has. Her gaze
one. She felt the promise of safety down in
flitted towards Father Haywood’s and,
the marrow of her bones and let herself
somewhere, a piece snapped into place. She
imagine the kind of liberation that the
cleared her throat and inclined her head,
letter promised.
shuffling the cards once more.
A rustle in the hedges alerted Undine to prospective audiences, urging her to
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The Forge POETRY
EVEN GODS ARE PRONE TO FOLLY By: Victoria Mendoza It is with a familiar ache that you witness your most recent failure, In which the treasured body of your newest paramour deteriorates while you watch, helpless. So careless with the heroes you chase, that you never remember the fragile flame of their mortality until the ashen smoke coats your tongue. You never thought of pouring ichor into their veins until they have been reduced to a mass of bones beside you. This is your curse— to claim a poisoned tongue, to have a mortal cherish all of your worst traits, and to watch—each time—as they burn. Immortality never feels like a prison until your favorite hero is dying. You, with all of your skill, never catch them as they plummet. How does a body so magnificent, so limitless, never fail to be the cause of some poor soul’s destruction?
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POETRY
In love, you are at your most dangerous— With a greed that envelops its victims and incinerates, you’ve never kissed a pair of lips without drawing blood; you’ve never loved gently. The stories name you villain, danger that you are. You like bruises scattered across the smooth expanse of willing shoulder blades. You like claw marks wrapped around necks. Evidence that this body and heart were yours, once. You like to collect the jawbones of your favorites, so possessive in everything you do. How could you not devour such adoration? You greet each embrace in the selfish way of the immortals, Indifferent towards such fragile bodies. You burn so bright your lovers fall, and you’re never quick enough to save them. You who controls the fate of the morning, are powerless against the current of this story. You’ve played this role so often, you’re sure there are traces of you in every lover who litters their favorite bodies with bruises and teeth marks. It is only ever after the fact, when the charred bones of your beloved stop reminding you of the remains at your altar, that you even think of howling in grief.
Spring 2019
The Forge POETRY
THE AGARIAN SEAS By: Ethan H. Reynolds
Seafarers dare not extend their reach Past the sandy shores of native land, Else they fall prey to the great depths That lurk far below the nether. Creatures so vile and sin-filled That even light strays from their souls.
If one seeks the shimmering treasures Of cities fallen beneath the waves, Then pray to the great Ethion you must For even his stone-crushing jaws Cannot render a scratch upon Their flesh.
Spring 2019
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NO ROOM FOR STORYTELLERS By: Victoria Mendoza ne thousand and one stories—how could you hope to persevere?
With a mountain of fears pulling you in, you persevere.
This is how you survive: weave your web of tales.
Such beautiful, sparkling things, only meant for those who persevere.
Speak of the giants you’ve felled and of Mediterranean kings.
Speak of a brother’s betrayal and a son’s determination to persevere.
Fall asleep to the lilting melody of an unknown fate.
Wake to your own resurrection, secure with the knowledge you’ll persevere.
You are one part dream smoke, one part desert flame. Don’t you ever forget this.
When this king of thieves takes you from what you are used to, persevere.
Become an enigma—shroud yourself in gold and crown yourself queen.
Claim tribute, demand everything. Expect a prize of unmatchable value, persevere.
So smile with all of your sharp, wanting teeth.
Promise this country that it will burn with you—do anything to persevere.
This king will chew you up and spit you out—mark you prey.
And you, spiteful thing, hungry to prove him wrong, you persevere.
The Forge POETRY
Spring 2019
THE SCOURGE OF THORACLATES By: Ethan H. Reynolds
His armor of midnight, sword drawn, He swore upon the sun that plague Would rule, locusts gnawing. Breath frigid and empty, Blood dripping like dewdrops Onto the fair snow beneath him. They would rue the day The King of Thoraclates Was abandoned for dead Atop that wintry mountain peak.
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IN WHICH A BODY IS ONLY EVER HOLY By: Victoria Mendoza You walk up to the podium on my name day, With shackles tinkling like bells and your shift flowing. You sing the sacrificial hymn and I have no choice but to listen. I can’t remember anything before this moment, can’t remember an existence without you in it. And I should be angry—I know this distantly. How dare a mere mortal, a mere sacrifice, be so captivating? How could such a fragile, graceless body rival that of the gods? I want to know the beauty marks on your shoulder. I want to gorge myself on your rose petal mouth. Gluttony has never been so inviting, a body has never been so tempting. You grace my temple before your sacrifice and it is the first time I have noticed the beauty of a mortal before I’ve noticed their worth. Noticed the masterpiece that is their features before I’ve noticed how much of their blood I can harvest. A constellation dances across the bridge of your nose and I wonder what I needed to do to be the goddess
Spring 2019
The Forge POETRY
who placed it there. I want to bite the ruby of your beating heart. I wish to taste the salt of your pomegranate flesh. I now know what it is to hunger. To be ravenous. I could unhinge my jaw and devour you— if you’d allow me to.
Spring 2019
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RED By: Ethan H. Reynolds
My heart is an inferno Of lust and rage With swirling pools of hate Bubbling within my soul. I want to tear The world asunder Under my bloodied Calloused fingertips. The universe engulfed In singing, searing flames Seems like a symphony To me.
Spring 2019
The Forge POETRY
THE GIANT By: Ethan H. Reynolds Father told me long ago
I hope to be like that giant of old
Of a giant big and strong.
And grow to be strong like him.
His mind was large
I want a mind sharp
As bulky as his arms
And arms strong enough
As he grew them both
To hold books all the way
All day long.
To the brim!
He always did sit On that craggy mountain top As he read his stories and wrote. When asked to talk about himself From his mouth came not one note.
He ventured off into lands afar On a day as sunny as this. He smoked his pipe And hummed as he went Skipping merrily in bliss.
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The Forge Awakens... From the starry cosmos, to the fields of magical lands, The Forge Literary Magazine contains all aspects of adventure, emotion, and mystery within the genres of Science-Fiction and Fantasy. In this collection of microfiction, short stories, and poetry created by writers at George Mason University, readers can expect to delve into lush, awe-inspiring worlds across all ages of time. The Forge offers a full experience for all lovers of ScienceFiction and Fantasy literature, offering a lovely pair of superb writing with wonderful world-building. It is the goal of The Forge to give writers, readers, editors, and artists who have fallen in love with Science-Fiction and Fantasy a platform to express their passion for these two genres. With each flip of a page, this collection seeks to serve as an escape from all things grounded by our world with powerful prose littered throughout. If you have any inquiries or want to submit to our magazine, send an email to:
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