Originally published in Fantasia Divinity Magazine, Issue 20, March 2018
“Behind the unicorn and her demon-rider, the portal poured forth spirits and ghosts who’d been chasing them for eons across the vastness of space. All of them displaced. All of them homeless.”
The harsh blue light of Astralis II shone over the horizon, casting long shadows at an acute angle to the shorter shadows cast by the tawny, warm light of Astralis I, nearly overhead at this hour of noon-night. The longest, sharpest shadow pointed towards the volcanic cone of Mount Kiyaro; it was cast by the pearlescent, spiraling horn that rose from Elliae’s snowy-furred equine brow. She faced the mountain; she faced her destiny. Continue reading “When the Ghost of the Future Catches Up”
Originally published in Exploring New Places, July 2018
“Her people had lived in borrowed, rented corners of human space stations for Jeaunia’s entire adult life. Finally, they would have a world of their own.”
The evacuation of Heffe VIII occurred when Jeaunia was only a pup. Her memories of waiting in the long lines on the hot spaceport tarmac were dim. She did remember playing games with her cousins on the crowded flight to Crossroads Station afterward, and she thought she could remember the view of the swollen Heffen sun through the spaceship’s rear windows. She couldn’t be sure, though. The bloody smear of red giant sunlight in her memories could have been a fabrication. She had been very young. Continue reading “The Promise of New Heffe”
Originally published in Tales from the Guild: Music to Your Ears, September 2014
“…he, of course, would not care for the baby that hatched from this egg. No, he would eat it!”
There is nothing better than a patch of early evening sunlight, especially with the quiet strains of an opera playing on the Red-Haired Woman’s television in the other room. There is nothing worse than watching an uncouth dog, lolling unappreciatively, in the single square of sun left on the kitchen floor, insensible to both the golden warmth and the soft singing in the distance.
Originally published in Analog Science Fiction and Fact, June 2018
“Air burst out of the door, carrying complicated hints of chemicals and organic compounds. Pheromones and spores. It was fascinating, and tickled GY-30’s sensors.”
GY-30 extended his wheels from his mechanical feet and rocked back and forth, passing the time. He was waiting for Chirri, the felinoid who employed him, to finish her business in the wholesale outlet. She was a baker and would probably need him to carry a couple hundred pounds of Aldebaran sugar and Procyon flour back to her bakery in the merchant quarter. GY-30 was a small robot — only knee-high to Chirri, without his extendo-legs deployed — but very strong. Continue reading “Welcome to the Arboretum, Little Robot”
Originally published in Untied Shoelaces of the Mind, Issue #9, May 2014
“Whimpering on the snow-covered ground, Darkfoot expected the moose’s giant hooves to trample him.”
A shadow of antlers stretched ominously over the snow. Darkfoot crouched behind a fallen log. White flakes tickled his muzzle, but he dared not shake them off. With its long legs, the moose could easily outrun a young wolf like him. Or kick him in the skull.
If Darkfoot downed a moose alone, though, then his pack would never mock him again.
Giant hooves clomped into view. Legs like four-year-old elm trees bent and passed before him. Darkfoot sprang at the moose from behind, aiming for its massive neck. The moose turned, and its brown-furred head, nearly the size of Darkfoot’s whole body, swung at him. Knocked him from the air. Destroyed his plans to prove himself.
Whimpering on the snow-covered ground, Darkfoot expected the moose’s giant hooves to trample him. Instead, he felt the dull, stabbing pain of a leaf-eater’s teeth on his flank. Panicked, pained, and confused, Darkfoot lost consciousness.
* * *
He awoke covered in snow, under the dull glow of the winter moon. His pack mates nosed him gently, rousing him to get up. He could see the laughter in their eyes. He’d taken on a full grown moose and lost. He’d taken on a moose alone. He was a fool like they’d always thought he was.
Darkfoot tried his paws and found they held his weight, though his side throbbed in pain. A crescent of tooth marks marred his flank, angry with blood. He licked his fur clean. Then, dejected and limping, Darkfoot followed his pack mates home.
* * *
Night after night, Darkfoot stayed home to heal while his friends, his brothers and sisters, went on the hunt. The pain in his flank ebbed, but the crescent scar remained. It marked him as separate from the others, a badge of his lunacy.
As the winter moon waned, Darkfoot grew increasingly solitary and strange. His pack mates brought back food for him from their kills, but he barely ate.
On the night of the new moon, his pack downed a moose. The flesh tasted wrong on his tongue. The flavor lingered like guilt over a broken taboo. From that day on, Darkfoot wouldn’t eat meat at all. Instead, he munched on the winter berries down by the river and, stranger still, gnawed on the twiggy branches of young oak trees and the fallen needles of pine. His pack thought he would surely starve.
Darkfoot, however, felt a new strength growing inside him and found new comfort in his solitude. His legs felt long and powerful; his shoulders broad and heavy; and a sense of majesty filled him at the slightest turning of his head. His pack saw a mangy, sickly wolf. Darkfoot knew better. Darkfoot saw the shadow of what he was becoming stretched across the snow before him.
Originally published in Fantasia Divinity Magazine, November 2017
“The requirement that most mothers find hardest to accept is that you will not get to choose the species of your child.”
Maradia was working on the specs for a free-flying, zero-G maintenance unit when she heard a customer come into her storefront. She was glad to put the work aside — it was almost entirely a hardware job with barely any creativity to it. She left the workshop area and entered the storefront to see a tired looking woman with bags under her eyes and a perfect, golden-haired child nestled on her hip.
Originally published in Fantasia Divinity Magazine, May 2017
“Chirri wanted to give her hero something, as a kind of thank you. She dug one of the cookies out of her bag; it was star-shaped and glittered with grains of Aldebaran sugar.”
The asteroid amphitheater rocked with applause as the suspended final note of Star Shaker’s encore vibrated the atmo-bubble over everyone’s heads. The reptilian pop-star bowed and spotlights shone off of her rainbow-colored scales, making her glitter like the stars all around.
Chirri had loved Star Shaker’s music since she was a little kitten. Once, she’d even shaved off her fur and drawn little Vs all over her naked skin, hoping they’d make her look like she had scales. It had looked awful, but she’d been too young to care. All she knew was that it had made her feel closer to her hero. Continue reading “An Aldebaran Sugar Cookie for Star Shaker”
Originally published in Luna Station Quarterly, December 2015
“The snowy whiteness of his fur and the pearlescent shine of his horn bespoke purity, but I could swear the bastard was glaring at me.”
As I brought the mug of fresh-brewed coffee to my lips, the steaming liquid froze solid. Startled by the sudden coldness in my hand, I dropped the mug. The handle broke off when it hit the linoleum floor. To make matters worse, the magic wore off almost instantly, and the mug-shaped block of coffee-ice promptly melted, puddling on the floor. Continue reading “Feral Unicorn”
by Mary E. Lowd Originally published in Untied Shoelaces of the Mind, March 2012
“”You always want a story,” the Dragon snarls. The Unicorn shies away from him, but he’s not really scared. The Unicorn and Dragon are the best of friends. My best friends.”
The curved neck and stretched wings of the black Dragon dwarf the figure of the doe-like white Unicorn. They make an unlikely picture behind the glass panel and aluminum frame of my sliding glass kitchen door. As always, quite the sight to see. I ask them in.
Originally published in The Symbol of a Nation, June 2017
“Jenn tried not to think about the cardinal and the bluebird, the seagull and the peacock — all of them gossiping and judging her. She knew they all expected Kiley the bald eagle to win.”
The moon stretched out in front of Jenn like an unhatched egg. Full of possibility. Full of portent. In a few moments, the four pod capsules, including hers, would be ejected from the USS Fledgling, and the final competition would begin. The winner would secure the continuation of their genetic line and be the first live astronaut to Mars. All of them were uplifted birds, designed especially for this purpose, but only one would win. Continue reading “The Moon Like An Unhatched Egg”
