The 13th Can

The Barbarian of Boyerville: Part Six

For the last few months, Ellis had noticed that the base at Roazal had fallen into a nice and lazy rhythm. It wasn’t that people weren’t working hard, there was always work to be done and plenty of it, but it was nothing compared to the constant ballet of backbreaking labor and maneuvering that had gone on when the base was first being set up. Things had relaxed a little, soldiers had a little leisure time to play cards or just sit around talking about being stuck in a broken down city in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do.

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The Barbarian of Boyerville: Part Five

After seven months of study, Aiza still winced at the awful, sharp tones of the Brellian language. There was no poetry to it, none of the soft rhythm of the Orozoan tongue. It was a brutal language, full of short words and hard sounds that made her teachers sound as if they were always angry at their students.

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The Barbarian of Boyerville: Part Four

Before the formation of the Brellian Empire, Droslend had been the seat of power for the High King of Brell. The largest fortress in the country, Crosdell Castle, had stood in the center as an imposing symbol of the power and might backing the High King and his armies. Carved from massive quantities of black limestone, the walls weathered centuries of attacks and rebellions from the treacherous lords and invading forces. Through chaos and war, the royal bloodline of the High King had ruled for over four hundred years from Droslend.

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The Barbarian of Boyerville: Part Three

Ellis was convinced that boredom was the number one cause of death during war. He had never been the sort of idealistic boy of the Empire that expected glory, honor, and all that other swill that they preached to children in the stories. His father had made it clear to him that most of war was hard labor and preparations for battles, a constant parade of maintenance of equipment and careful planning followed by a frenzied chaos that passed before you even know what had happened. No one had bothered to mention the monotony that followed.

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The Barbarian of Boyerville: Part Two

When she was a child, Aiza would have given anything to have the bed beside the window. She used to beg her older sister to let her sit there during the night and just look out into the ancient city below. The streets of Roazal seemed to stretch out to the horizon back then. She would watch as the procession of colored orbs danced above the city, rising up from the Gardens of the Honored as they were called by the songs of the gifted ones to perform their duties. Her older sister would sit beside her and point out the different colors and shapes, explaining the form and function of each of the ancient spirits.

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The Barbarian of Boyerville: Part One

Lord Thomas Sidney of Boyerville was enjoying his morning coffee in the gardens. It was a pleasant enough day, the sun was shining brightly in the sky but the estate was cooled by a soft northern wind. Lord Thomas could see the park lands below the hill that the centuries old Sunderland Manor had been built on and he smiled at the delightful sight of the wind sweeping through the purple grasses that were native to the area, causing the land to shudder at the touch of their cool caresses and sweeping away the morning dew. The droplets of water were whipped into the air for a moment, glimmering like rows of diamonds for a moment before evaporating at the warm touch of the sun.

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The Way the World Ends: Part One

The end of the world had never been something that Jeremy was particularly concerned about. Like most people he had indulged himself in a bit of apocalyptic fantasy, the occasional movie or book becoming a backdrop for a few tame “what if” scenarios about the end of the world, but he had never given the topic any sort of serious consideration. The world had been kind to him, providing him with loving parents, a decent education, and a good job. He held no grudge against it or anyone else in particular. He was happy to just indulge himself in enjoying his day to day life without any paranoid ideas about some apocalypse resting just over the horizon.

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Flipping: Part Three

Leonard closed the door to his house behind him, locking out the outside world. His hands were shaking as his mind screamed that what he was thinking was impossible. Leonard sat down on his couch and took a few deep breaths as he tried to calm himself down. He knew that he had to have been mistaken. It was possible that he had miscounted his steps or that the lots in the neighborhood weren’t all divided into the same lengths. Leonard wasn’t a man of wild imagination and after a few long minutes he had convinced himself that there was some sort of rational explanation.

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Flipping: Part Two

The rain didn’t come until later in the night. Leonard could hear the steady rhythm of raindrops knocking against the roof, tapping away like a persistent guest. He sat on the same ugly green couch he had been sitting in for over a decade, staring at the television set without really watching it and just waiting.

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Flipping: Part One

Leonard was a man of habit.

Habits were all he had these days. His children had grown into an infrequent voice on the phone and the occasional holiday card. His wife was nothing but memories and a stone tablet with an empty space beside it. Anyone he would have called a friend had enough sense to get out of the neighborhood decades ago, back when the town had broken down just like the mill that it had been built on. Only Leonard had stayed behind, anchored down by poverty and family.

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