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Audible sample Sample Orson Scott Card's InterGalactic Medicine Show: An Anthology Paperback – Illustrated, August 5, 2008
by
Eric James Stone
(Author),
Bradley P. Beaulieu
(Author),
David Farland
(Author),
Tim Pratt
(Author),
James Maxey
(Author),
Scott M. Roberts
(Author),
David Lubar
(Author),
Brian Dolton
(Author),
Orson Scott Card
(Editor),
Edmund R. Schubert
(Editor)
&
7
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Bestselling writer Orson Scott Card founded the online magazine Intergalactic Medicine Show in 2006. It has been a big success, drawing submissions from well-known sf and fantasy writers, as well as fostering some amazing new talents. This collection contains some of the best of those stories from the past year.
There is fiction from David Farber, Tim Pratt, and David Lubar among others, also four new Ender's Game universe stories by Card himself. This collection is sure to appeal to Card's fans, and be a great ambassador to them for these other talented writers.
- Print length432 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- Publication dateAugust 5, 2008
- Dimensions5.5 x 0.96 x 8.5 inches
- ISBN-100765320002
- ISBN-13978-0765320001
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Editorial Reviews
From Publishers Weekly
The first collection of short stories from online magazine Orson Scott Card's InterGalactic Medicine Show (www.oscims.com), launched in 2005, features noteworthy SF and fantasy stories from a bumper crop of talented new authors. Four new Enderverse stories from Card will initially draw genre fans, but the stories from lesser-known writers are the compilation's real driving force. James Maxey's provocative To Know All Things That Are in the Earth takes a decidedly skeptical look at the Rapture; David Farland's The Mooncalfe puts an interesting—and unique—spin on oft-trod Arthurian legend; and Tom Barlow's brilliantly sardonic Call Me Mr. Positive explores isolation on a deep space mission gone tragically awry. If the quality of these stories is any indication, IGMS has as much promise as the newcomers it showcases. (Aug.)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
From Booklist
This collection of 17 stories from Card’s e-zine takes its title from his belief that writers getting readers to suspend disbelief is like old-fashioned medicine-show hawkers convincing customers that their patented elixirs will work. On the whole, he and Schubert have selected well, even if 5 of the 17 are Ender universe stories by Card himself. The best of those is Pretty Boy, about one of Ender’s opponents and of a particularly horrifying form of child abuse. Highlights among the remaining dozen entries are Aaron Johnson’s comics adaptation of Card’s Fat Farm; Brad Beaulieu’s In the Eyes of the Empress’s Cat, which will not necessarily make cat lovers purr; The Mooncalfe, in which rising fantasist David Farland takes a dark look at the Matter of Britain; and David Lubar’s Hats Off, in which dealing with a bully with magic backfires amazingly quickly. Adding value are the authors’ afterwords, which disclose the remarkable diversity of ways writers reach the Web or the page and how Card influences new writers. --Roland Green
Review
Praise for "Ender's Game" "An undeniable heavyweight. . . . This book combines Card's quirky style with his hard ethical dilemmas and sharply drawn portraits."--"New York Daily News"
"Card has taken the venerable SF concepts of a superman and an interstellar war against aliens, and, with superb characterization, pacing, and language, combined them into a seamless story of compelling power."--"Booklist" "This book provides a harrowing look at the price we pay for trying to mold our posterity in our own aggressive image of what we believe is right."--"The Christian Science Monitor"
Praise for "Ender's Game" "An undeniable heavyweight. . . . This book combines Card's quirky style with his hard ethical dilemmas and sharply drawn portraits."--"New York Daily News"
"Card has taken the venerable SF concepts of a superman and an interstellar war against aliens, and, with superb characterization, pacing, and language, combined them into a seamless story of compelling power."--"Booklist" "This book provides a harrowing look at the price we pay for trying to mold our posterity in our own aggressive image of what we believe is right."--"The Christian Science Monitor"
"Card has taken the venerable SF concepts of a superman and an interstellar war against aliens, and, with superb characterization, pacing, and language, combined them into a seamless story of compelling power."--"Booklist" "This book provides a harrowing look at the price we pay for trying to mold our posterity in our own aggressive image of what we believe is right."--"The Christian Science Monitor"
Praise for "Ender's Game" "An undeniable heavyweight. . . . This book combines Card's quirky style with his hard ethical dilemmas and sharply drawn portraits."--"New York Daily News"
"Card has taken the venerable SF concepts of a superman and an interstellar war against aliens, and, with superb characterization, pacing, and language, combined them into a seamless story of compelling power."--"Booklist" "This book provides a harrowing look at the price we pay for trying to mold our posterity in our own aggressive image of what we believe is right."--"The Christian Science Monitor"
About the Author
Ed Schubert is the editor of Intergalactic Medicine Show.
Orson Scott Card is best known for his science fiction novel Ender's Game and its many sequels that expand the Ender Universe into the far future and the near past. Those books are organized into the Ender Saga, which chronicles the life of Ender Wiggin; the Shadow Series, which follows on the novel Ender's Shadow and is set on Earth; and the Formic Wars series, written with co-author Aaron Johnston, which tells of the terrible first contact between humans and the alien "Buggers." Card has been a working writer since the 1970s. Beginning with dozens of plays and musical comedies produced in the 1960s and 70s, Card's first published fiction appeared in 1977--the short story "Gert Fram" in the July issue of The Ensign, and the novelette version of "Ender's Game" in the August issue of Analog. The novel-length version of Ender's Game, published in 1984 and continuously in print since then, became the basis of the 2013 film, starring Asa Butterfield, Harrison Ford, Ben Kingsley, Hailee Steinfeld, Viola Davis, and Abigail Breslin.
Card was born in Washington state, and grew up in California, Arizona, and Utah. He served a mission for the LDS Church in Brazil in the early 1970s. Besides his writing, he runs occasional writers' workshops and directs plays. He frequently teaches writing and literature courses at Southern Virginia University.
He is the author many science fiction and fantasy novels, including the American frontier fantasy series "The Tales of Alvin Maker" (beginning with Seventh Son), and stand-alone novels like Pastwatch and Hart's Hope. He has collaborated with his daughter Emily Card on a manga series, Laddertop. He has also written contemporary thrillers like Empire and historical novels like the monumental Saints and the religious novels Sarah and Rachel and Leah. Card's work also includes the Mithermages books (Lost Gate, Gate Thief), contemporary magical fantasy for readers both young and old.
Card lives in Greensboro, North Carolina, with his wife, Kristine Allen Card. He and Kristine are the parents of five children and several grandchildren.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Orson Scott Card's InterGalactic Medicine Show
ByTor Books
ISBN: 9780765320001Chapter One In the Eyes of the Empress’s Cat by Bradley P. Beaulieu Al- Ashmarsat cross-legged in the tent of Gadn ak Hulavar and placed his patient, a spotted cat, onto a velvet pillow. Gadn lounged on the far side of the spacious tent, puffing on his hookah and waiting for the diagnosis of his grossly thin cat. Al-Ashmar held his fingers near the cat’s nose. She sniffed his hand and raked her whiskers over his knuckles. When the cat raised her head and stared into his eyes, Al-Ashmar found a brown, triangle- shaped splotch in the right eye, along the left side of the green-and-gold iris. The location of the mark indicated the cat’s liver, but in this case it was the strong color that was most disturbing. "What have you been feeding her?" Al-Ashmar asked as he stroked the cat, noting its muscle tone. Gadn shrugged his massive shoulders. "Nothing. Cats find food." Al-Ashmar smiled, if only to hide his annoyance. The wealthy always wanted cats of status, but when it came time to care for them, they hadn’t an idea worth its weight in sand. "Not this one," Al-Ashmar said as he picked up the cat and stood, absently continuing to stroke its ears. "Please, go to the bazaar; buy a large cage and some swallows. Once a day, put her in the cage with one bird. The activity should interest her enough to induce appetite. Do this for a week and her normal eating pattern should return. If it doesn’t, send me word." A bald servant boy rushed into the room and bowed deeply. "Master, if you please, there is a messenger." "We are done?" Gadn asked Al-Ashmar. "Yes." "Then bring the messenger here, Mousaf." Gadn handed Al-Ashmar three coins and then embraced him, kissing one cheek, then the other. But the servant boy remained. "Begging your mercy, master, but they are asking for Al-Ashmar ak Kulhadn." Al-Ashmar frowned. "Who is, boy?" "A man, from the palace." Gadn shoved the boy aside and rushed from the tent. "Why didn’t you say so?" Al-Ashmar was right behind him. Moments later, they reached the edge of the caravan grounds, near the pens holding dozens of Gadn’s camels and donkeys and goats. A balding man with a reed-thin beard—the current rage in the Empress’s courts—and wearing blue silk finery stood just outside the caravan grounds, on the sandy road leading back toward the city proper. Behind him stood four palace guards. The first thought through Al-Ashmar’s mind was the sort of beating Gadn’s servant would get for referring to Djazir ak Benkada as a "messenger." The second was what sort of emergency would require the Empress’s own spiritual guide and physician to personally come asking for him, a simple physic. At the least it would be to attend to a courtier’s cat—after all, he’d been to the palace a handful of times for just such a purpose—but since Djazir had come personally, he could only assume it was for Bela, the Em-press’s cat. Gadn ak Hulavar, as the caravan’s master, stepped forward to meet Djazir. "Please, Eminence, would you care to join us? A smoke, perhaps?" But Gadn stopped when Djazir held up an open palm and stared at Al-Ashmar. "You will accompany me," Djazir said. "Of course, Eminence," Al-Ashmar replied. He left the confused and slightly hurt Gadn and followed the royal guards and physician toward the palace. The climb through the city streets was not long, but neither was it easy. Al-Ashmar didn’t consider himself old, but he didn’t have sharp climbs like this in him anymore—not without becoming winded, in any case. Djazir, on the other hand, a good fifteen years older than Al-Ashmar, seemed hardly winded at all. They walked through the Grand Hallway with its long pool of water and lily pads, up four sets of stairs to reach the Empress’s personal wing, through a small garden of palm trees and beds of sand sculptures, and finally reached the waiting chamber of the Empress herself. Even though it had been nearly ten years since he’d had the honor of visiting the Empress’s wing, Al-Ashmar was surprised to find so many memories in conflict with reality. The room was as opulent as he remembered, but almost completely stripped of furniture—the only furnishings were the throne itself and a marble table crouched next to it, the only entertainment the three books stacked on top of the table. Djazir turned to Al-Ashmar and spoke softly. "Understand, ak Kulhadn, you are here to examine the Empress’s cat, that is all. You will do your business and you will leave. Is that understood?" Al-Ashmar tipped his head low. "Of course, Eminence." "If the Empress decides to speak to you, it will be through her handmaid. But it is taxing on her, and you will formulate brief answers, answers that will not invite further comment." "Of course." Djazir studied Al-Ashmar’s eyes and finally, apparently satisfied, turned to the guard nearest the rear door of the room and nodded. The guard rang a small brass cymbal. Minutes passed, and Al-Ashmar began to wonder if the cymbal had been heard, but then the door opened, and two huge eunuchs walked in carrying a palanquin between them. The Empress sat inside the covered palanquin, but her form was obscured by the green veils hanging down from the palanquin’s roof. The only thing Al-Ashmar could discern was the golden headdress resting over her brown hair. They set the palanquin down near the padded throne and, after pulling the fabric away on the far side, cradled the Empress from inside and set her gently on the throne. The pair of eunuchs—for only eunuch guards were allowed this close to the Empress—then moved to stand behind her, one on each side. The Empress’s eyes drooped, the left lower than the right; she sat tilted to one side, her head arching back the other way; her thin arms rested ineffectually in her lap. She had a face Al-Ashmar barely recognized—another memory that appeared to have faded to the point of uselessness. Then again, the last time he’d seen her had been years before the malady that had left her in such a state. Al-Ashmar suddenly realized that someone else had entered the room. A woman—young, but no child, she. She moved with a subtle grace, hips swaying as she did so, but she stared at no one until she reached the Empress’s side. Thus positioned, she turned and regarded Al-Ashmar with impassive, kohl-rimmed eyes. How stunning those green eyes were. How beautiful. Much of Al-Ashmar’s mind wanted to compare her to another beauty in his life—dear Nara, his wife who’d passed years ago—but those memories were still tender, and so he left the comparisons where they lay. Buried. With no one performing introductions, Al-Ashmar took one knee to the Empress and woman both. "I am Al-Ashmar ak Kulhadn, humble physic." "The Empress knows who you are," the woman said. Movement pulled Al-Ashmar’s attention away from the Empress. From inside the safety of the palanquin leapt a cat, Bela, the bright one, ninth and final companion to the Empress Waharra before she alights for the heavens. Like the cat Al-Ashmar had just treated, Bela was long and lean, but she had the muscle tone of a cat treated well. Her smooth coat was ivory with onyx spots coating her sides and back. Stripes slid down her face, giving her an innocent but regal look. She roamed the room and croaked out a meow as if she had just woken from a long nap. She seemed wary of Al-Ashmar and Djazir, but then she slunk to the foot of the throne, curled up in a ball, and began licking one outstretched leg. Djazir moved to the palanquin and retrieved a crimson pillow dusted with short white hair. He set the pillow down several paces away from the throne and then set Bela upon it. "Please," Djazir said to Al-Ashmar, motioning to Bela, "tell us what you can." Al-Ashmar hesitated—how rude not to introduce him to the woman!—but there was nothing for it. He couldn’t afford to insult Djazir. As Al-Ashmar stepped forward and knelt before the cat, he felt the Empress’s eyes watching his every move. Her body might have failed her, but her mind, he was sure, was as sharp as ever. Al-Ashmar stroked Bela’s side and stomach. Bela stretched and purred. "Her symptoms?" he asked. He expected Djazir to answer, but it was the woman who spoke. "Her feces are loose and runny. She eats less, though she still eats. She’s listless much of the day." Bela’s purr intensified, a rasping sound everyone in the room could hear. "Anything else? Anything you noticed days ago, even weeks?" "Her eyes started watering and crusting eight or nine days ago. But that stopped a few days back." "Has her diet changed?" "She began eating less, but Djazir administered cream from the Empress’s reserve herd, laced with fennel." "She’s kept her appetite since?" "Somewhat, but she still seems to eat too little." Al-Ashmar scratched Bela under the chin. Bela stretched her neck and squinted, but when she opened her eyes wide again, Al-Ashmar started. He leaned closer while continuing to scratch, tilting Bela’s head from side to side while doing so. Bela seemed amused, but on the inside of her iris was a raised, curling mark. It retained the golden color of the iris, but something was obviously there, just beneath the surface. Al-Ashmar sat upright, confused. But the woman . . . She held an expression that said she’d rather this sullied business be over and done with. "Do you have a name," Al-Ashmar asked, "or shall I continue to treat you like a talking palm?" Was there a hint of a smile from the Empress? "You may call me Rabiah," the woman said crisply. The height of rudeness! What civilized person withholds her mother’s name? "Where has this cat been, Rabiah?" Al-Ashmar asked. Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?" "I asked where the Empress’s cat has been, in the last month." "In the palace only. She has never left." "Never?" "Of course not." "Enough, ak Kulhadn," Djazir said. "What is it you see?" "Forgive me. I ask these questions because Bela—long may the sun shine on her life—has snakeworm." "What?" Djazir asked. He kneeled beside Al-Ashmar and stared into Bela’s eyes. "Look for the raised area. There." While Djazir inspected her eyes, Al-Ashmar couldn’t help but wonder how this could have happened. Snakeworm was common in his homeland, but that was far to the south, and the worm came from goats. There were caravans, of course, like Gadn’s, that brought livestock northward. It was conceivable that a cat could get it from a transplanted goat, but the worm seemed to have trouble thriving in the north. In nearly twenty years in the capital, he’d seen only three cases, and all of them had been near the caravan landings or the bazaar. How could Bela, a cat that would never be allowed away from the palace grounds, have contracted the worm? Al-Ashmar stood. "I can make a tonic and return tomorrow." "No," Djazir said, standing as well. "You will tell me how to make it." Al-Ashmar dipped his head until he could no longer make eye contact with Djazir. "With due respect, it cannot be taught in so short a time. The balance is tricky, and I wouldn’t wish to jeopardize Bela’s life over a formula crudely made." Djazir bristled. "Then you will do it immediately and return here when it’s done." "Of course, but it will take nearly a day. The ingredients are rare, and it will take me time to find those of proper quality. And then I must boil—" Al-Ashmar stopped at a disturbing noise coming from the Empress. The sounds from her throat could hardly be construed as words, and yet Rabiah leaned over and listened attentively as if she were speaking. Rabiah stood. "Her Highness, Waharra sut Shahmat, wishes for Al-Ashmar to make the tonic. Alone. He will return tomorrow when it is ready, and every day after until Bela’s recovery is judged complete." Djazir bowed to the Empress, as did Al-Ashmar. Again, he saw a quirky smile from her lips and wondered if it could be such a thing. She had enough control still to speak to Rabiah. Could she not show amusement if she so chose? He supposed she could. But the real question was: Why? Why him? And why amusement? Al-Ashmar rose to his feet and turned to Djazir. "Anyone in close contact with Bela may have contracted the worm, so it would be wise to examine everyone, even wiser for everyone to take the same tonic as Bela will receive." After Djazir nodded his assent, Al-Ashmar inspected the hulking guards, then Djazir. As he held Rabiah’s head and gazed into her irises, more than anything else he sensed the scent of jasmine and the warmth of her face through his fingertips. He had to force himself to examine her complex green eyes closely to make sure there were no signs of infection. Al-Ashmar knelt before the Empress next. It took him a moment, for the two guards were watching him as the cobra spies the mongoose. The Empress’s eyes were free of the worm, but she kept glancing toward the stack of books on the nearby marble table. When Al-Ashmar stepped away, he noticed the binding of the top book; it was inlaid with a cursive pattern—a pattern often used in the south, Al-Ashmar’s home. In the center of the leather cover rested a tiger-eye stone with a silver, diamond-shaped setting. Bela, sitting beneath the table, watched him closely. It was strange how utterly human Bela looked for that brief instant. Al-Ashmar nodded to the Empress. "Our Exalted has fine taste in books." She spoke to Rabiah. Rabiah said not a word, but it was a long time before she moved to the stack of books and retrieved the top one. She held it out to Al-Ashmar. "My lady?" Al-Ashmar said. "The Blessed One wishes to gift you." Al-Ashmar nearly raised his hands to refuse, but how grave an insult to reject such an offer. "The Empress is too kind," he said at last. Rabiah shoved it into his chest, forcing him to take it. And now there could be no doubt. The Empress was smiling. Latethat night, within his workroom, Al-Ashmar poured three heaping spoonfuls of ground black walnut husk into the boiling pot before him. The sounds of the evening meal being cleared by the children came from behind. Mia, his second youngest, sat on a stool, watching, as she so often did. She picked up the glass phial of clove juice and removed the stopper, but immediately after recoiled from the sharp smell and wrinkled her nose. Al-Ashmar laughed. "Then stop smelling it." "It smells so weird." "Well, weird or not, it’s the Empress’s, so leave it alone." Al-Ashmar added the minced wormwood root and mixed it thoroughly with the ground husks. That done, he flipped his hourglass over, and the sand began spilling into the empty chamber. Mia leaned over the table and retrieved a thin piece of coal and the papyrus scrap she’d been writing on. "How long after the bark?" "Four hours, covered. It will boil down, nearly to a paste." She wrote chicken prints on the scroll. Al-Ashmar tried to hide his smile, for if she caught him, she always got upset. She didn’t know how to write more than a few letters, but still she created her own recipes as Al-Ashmar made things she hadn’t learned about yet. "Then what?" "I told you, the clove juice, then the elixir, then they steep." "Oh," she said while writing more, "I forgot." She sat up then and fixed him with a child’s most-serious expression. "Doesn’t she have people to heal cats in the palace?" Al-Ashmar found himself hiding another smile. He often told his seven children about his day over their evening meal, but Mia was the one who listened most often. "She does, Mia, but they rarely see such things." "Snakeworm?" "Yes." "From where you and Memma came from." "Yes." "Then how did it get here?" Al-Ashmar shrugged. He still hadn’t been able to piece together a plausible story. "I don’t know." "Tell me about the woman again. She sounded pretty." "I told you, pet, she wasn’t pretty. She was mean." Mia shrugged and tugged the Empress’s book closer. "She sounded pretty to me." She flipped through the pages, pretending to read each one. "What’s this?" "A gift, from the Empress," Al-Ashmar said. "What does it teach?" Al-Ashmar smiled. It was a retelling of several fables from his homeland—four of them, all simple tales of the spirits of the southern lands and how they helped or harmed wayward travelers. "Nothing," he finally said. "Now off to bed." Mia ignored him, as she often did on his first warning. "What’s this?" Al-Ashmar snatched the book away and stared at the scribbles Mia had been looking at. He hadn’t noticed it earlier. He’d had too much to do, and since it had seemed so innocuous, he’d left it until he had more time to sift through its pages. On the last page were the words save her written in an appalling, jittery hand. The letters were oversized as well, as if writing any smaller either was impossible or would have rendered the final text unreadable. The Empress, surely. But why? Save who? And from what? Mia dropped from her stool and fought next to him for a view. "Enough, Mia. To bed." After tucking the children in for the night, Al-Ashmar stayed up, nursing the tonic and thinking. Save her. Save Bela? But that made no sense. He had already been summoned, had already been directed to heal the Empress’s cat. Why write a note for that? Then again, there was no logical reason that the cat would have the worm. Coincidence was too unlikely. So it had to have been intentional. But who would dare infect the Empress’s cat? Did the Empress fear that the next attempt would be bolder? Was something afoot even now? Bela, after all, was the Empress’s ninth cat—her last—and when she died, so would the Empress, and her closest servants with her. That might explain Djazir’s tense mood, might even explain Rabiah’s sullenness. But it wouldn’t explain the smile on the Empress’s lips. For whatever reason, it seemed most logical that the Empress had arranged this. Al-Ashmar paged through the tale in which the jagged words had been written. It was a tale of a child that had wandered too far and was destined to die alone in the mountains. But then a legendary shepherd found her and brought her to live with him—him and his eighty- nine children, others who’d been found wandering in the same manner. Hours later, Al-Ashmar added the clove juice and a honey- ginger elixir to the tonic and left it to steep. After his mind struggled through a thousand dead-end possibilities, Father Sleep finally found him. The following day Al-Ashmar was led to the Empress’s garden. Strands of wispy clouds marked the blue sky as a pleasant breeze rattled the palm leaves. Bela sat at the foot of the Em-press’s throne, which had been moved from inside the cold and empty room. The cat lapped at the cream laced with the tonic. Odd, Al-Ashmar thought. Cats usually detested the remedy no matter how carefully it was hidden. Al-Ashmar’s other patients, however, were not so pliant. Nearby, Rabiah took a deep breath and downed the last of her phial. The eunuchs, thank goodness, had swallowed theirs at a word from Rabiah. "Bela will need two more doses today," Al-Ashmar said, "and three more tomorrow." Djazir stared at his half-empty phial, a look of complete disgust on his face. "Please," Al-Ashmar said to Djazir, "I know it is distasteful, but you need to drink the entire phial." "I will drink it, physic, but we will not subject the Empress to such a thing." Al-Ashmar hid his eyes from Djazir. "Of course you know best, but if the Empress has the worm, the effects will only worsen." The Empress spoke to Rabiah. Al-Ashmar, listening more closely than the day before, could still understand not a single word. "Of course, Exalted," Rabiah said, and she retrieved the phial meant for the Empress. Djazir gritted his jaw as Rabiah tilted the phial into the Empress’s mouth. The Empress’s eyes watered, and she coughed, causing some of it to spill onto Rabiah’s hands. "Be careful of her eyes," Al-Ashmar said, stepping forward. "The tonic will sting horribly for quite some time—" But Rabiah waved him away. At least she took more care how she supported the Empress’s head as she dispensed the liquid. The Empress’s coughing slowed the process to a crawl, but eventually the ordeal was over. Djazir took Al-Ashmar by the elbow, ready to lead him from the garden and out of the palace. "I wonder if we might speak," Al-Ashmar said. "Alone, so as not to disturb the Empress." Djazir seemed doubtful, but he released Al-Ashmar’s elbow. "What about?" "A few questions only, in order to narrow down the source of the worms. If we cannot find it, the infection may simply recur." Djazir brought him up a set of stairs to a railed patio on the roof of the palace. Around them the entire city sprawled over the land for miles. The river glistened as it crawled like the snakeworm through the flesh of the city until reaching the glittering sea several miles away. Al-Ashmar spoke, asking questions about Bela’s activities, the Empress’s, even Rabiah’s, but this was all a ruse. He’d wanted to get Djazir to agree to questioning simply so he could ask the same of Rabiah. He had to get her alone, for only in her did he have a chance of unwrapping this riddle. Djazir agreed to send Rabiah up to speak to him as well, and several minutes later, she came and stood a safe distance away from him, staring out over the city. It took him a moment, but Al-Ashmar realized that Rabiah was staring at the fourteen spires standing at attention along the shore. Thirteen Empresses lay buried beneath thirteen obelisks, and the fourteenth stood empty, waiting. Al-Ashmar thought at first she was simply ignoring him, but there was so much anxiety on her face as she stared at the obelisk. "She won’t die from the worm, my lady. We’ve caught it in time." Rabiah turned to him and nodded, her face blank now. "I know, physic." Then realization struck. Rabiah wasn’t afraid because of the worm, never had been. She was afraid for something else, something much more serious. Like riddles within riddles, the answer to this one simple curiosity led to a host of answers he’d struggled with late into the night. He hesitated to voice his thoughts—they were thoughts that could get one killed—but he had no true choice. He could no more bury this question than he could have denied any of his children a home when they’d needed it. "How much longer?" A muscle twitched along Rabiah’s neck. She turned away from him and stared out over the sharp, rolling landscape. For a long, long time the only sound he heard was the call of a lone gull and the pounding of stone hammers in the distance. "Months, perhaps," she said, "but I fear it will be less." "You know what she’s asking of me, don’t you?" "Yes, physic, but you will do nothing of the sort. I will die with her. I will help her on the other shore as I have helped her here." This was ludicrous, Al-Ashmar thought. He jeopardized his entire family with this one conversation. He should leave. He should instruct Djazir in the creation of the tonic, heal Bela, and be done with this foul mess. But as he stared at Rabiah, he realized how lost she was. She would die the day after the Empress did, would be buried in the Empress’s tomb, which waited beneath the newest obelisk along the shores of the Dengkut. The ways of the Empresses had always seemed strange when he’d been growing up in the southlands, and little had changed since coming to the capital to find his fortune. In fact, the opposite had happened. Each year found him more and more confused. But that was him. His opinion mattered little. What mattered was why the Empress would go against tradition and ask him to save Rabiah from her fate. The answer, Al-Ashmar realized, could be found by looking no further than his adopted children. Rabiah had cared for the Empress, most likely day and night, ever since her attacks had left her stricken. Rabiah would have become part daughter, part mother. And when the Empress died, Rabiah’s bright young life would be forfeit. How could the Empress not try to protect her? Al-Ashmar regarded Rabiah with new eyes. She had cared for the Empress in life, and she was willing to do so in death, no matter what it might mean for her personally. "You are noble," Al-Ashmar said. Rabiah turned to him, a confused look on her beautiful face. "You don’t believe that." Al-Ashmar smiled. "I may not understand much, Rabiah of No Mother, but I know devotion when I see it." Rabiah stared, saying nothing, but her eyes softened ever so slowly. "I will need to come for a week, to ensure Bela’s restoration is complete. Perhaps we can come here and talk. Perhaps play a hand of river." "I don’t play games, physic." "Then perhaps just the talk." Rabiah held his gaze, and then nodded. The next week passed by quickly. Al-Ashmar’s oldest son, Fakhir, was forced to take the summonses Al-Ashmar would have normally taken himself; Tayyeb, his oldest girl, did what she could for those who brought their cats to his home; and though they hated it, it was up to Hilal and Yusuf to watch over the young ones, Shafi q and Badra and Mia. The family conversed each night over dinner. Al-Ashmar helped them learn from things they did wrong, but in truth his pride swelled over their performances in tasks he had thought them incapable of only days ago. Most of his time, however, was spent creating the tonic for Bela and the Empress, administering it, and teaching the technique to Djazir. Bela continued her uncanny acceptance of the tonic, as Djazir continued his complaints, but the cure progressed smoothly. Rabiah held true to her word. She accompanied him to the roof, sometimes for nearly an hour, and spoke to him. She was reserved at first, unwilling to speak, and so it was often Al-Ashmar who told stories of the south, of his travels, of his early days in the capital. It was uncomfortable to speak of Nara, but to speak of his children, he had no choice but to speak of his wife. "You loved her?" Rabiah asked one day. "My wife? Of course." "You couldn’t have children of your own?" Al-Ashmar smiled and jutted his chin toward the city. "She knew what it was like, out there. Why have our own when there are so many in need?" Rabiah regarded him for a long time then, and finally said, "You wanted one of your own, didn’t you?" Al-Ashmar paused, embarrassed. "Am I so shallow?" "No, but such a thing is hard to hide when you speak of subjects so close to the heart." He shrugged, though the gesture felt like a clear betrayal of Nara. "I did want my own, once, but I regret nothing. How would I have found my Mia if I hadn’t? My Fakhir and Tayyeb?" The silence grew uncomfortable, and Al-Ashmar was sure he’d made a mistake by discussing his children. But how could he not? They were his loves. His life. "You are the noble one," Rabiah said, and left him standing near the railing. Al- Ashmar, hugging Mia against his hip, stood before the palace, unsure of himself with the palace so near. The eighth day had come—the last day Al-Ashmar would be allowed into the palace. Djazir had mastered the tonic well enough, and he’d grown increasingly insistent that no one, least of all the Empress, needed to take such a distasteful brew any longer. Al-Ashmar could hardly argue. The snake-like trails in Bela’s eyes were gone, and her feces had returned to a proper level of density. "Let’s go," Mia said. "All right, pet, we’ll go." They entered the palace. The guards were a bit disturbed by the unexpected addition of Mia, but Al-Ashmar explained to them calmly that Rabiah had permitted it. He made it to the Em-press’s garden, where he relieved his aching arms of Mia’s weight. Djazir marched forward. "What is this?" "Eminence, my sincere apologies. With my absence, my business is in a shambles. My other children are old enough to run my errands, but I had no one to watch Mia. She will sit quietly, here, and bother no one." "She had best not, physic." Djazir frowned and stared at Mia. "Don’t touch a thing, child. Do you hear me?" Mia hugged Al-Ashmar’s waist and nodded. Al-Ashmar calmed Mia down enough that he could leave her on a bench near the rear of the garden, mostly out of sight of the Empress’s three peaked doorways. He made his way inside the room, where the Empress sat waiting on her throne. The four guards stood at the corners of the room, two more behind the throne, but Rabiah was not to be found. Where was she? The Empress stared out through the gauzy curtains hanging over the doorways. She studied the garden, perhaps watching Mia play. Then her eyes took in Al-Ashmar. And a hint of a smile came to her lips. Al-Ashmar couldn’t help but return the smile, but he hid it as quickly as it had come. Bela strutted around from the back of the throne and moved to the bowl of cream placed there by Djazir. "Come, physic." Al-Ashmar nodded. From inside his vest he retrieved one of the eight phials he’d brought for their final day, but Djazir held up his hand to forestall him. "I’ve administered my own tonic," Djazir said. "All that’s left is for you to examine Bela." Al-Ashmar began to worry. He needed to speak to Rabiah this one last time for he would never have the chance again, but with the tonic already administered there was only so far he could extend the examination before Djazir caught on. He did what he could: He kneeled and studied Bela’s golden eyes closely even though they were obviously clear of the worm; he checked her muscle tone and reflexes; he examined her teeth. "Enough," Djazir said, stepping to Al-Ashmar’s side. "We both know Bela is fine. The Empress thanks you for your time." Just then the Empress began to cough, a wracking, hoarse affair, and it nearly shook her from the throne. The guards moved to hold her, but Djazir waved them away as he rushed to her side. Al-Ashmar waited, hoping that Rabiah would step from the rear of the room. "That will be all, ak Kulhadn." Al-Ashmar bowed and retreated to the sounds of the Em-press’s horrible coughing. How painful it sounded. Painful, but also a touch forced to Al-Ashmar’s ear. He reached the garden, but could not find Mia. "Mia," he called softly, hoping Djazir wouldn’t hear. She wasn’t in the garden, so he moved up the stairs leading to the rooftop patio. He allowed himself to smile. Rabiah was crouched next to Mia, and her gaze followed Mia’s outstretched finger through the balustrades of the marble railing to the city beyond. "Is that so?" Rabiah asked. Mia nodded. "And then Peppa brought it to our house. It was big as me—at least, big as I was then, which is still pretty big." Mia noticed Al-Ashmar approach. "I told you she was pretty," Mia said. Al-Ashmar smiled as his face flushed. He wished he could say the same thing to her, but Nara’s memory stayed his tongue. "You could help others," Al-Ashmar said as he tussled Mia’s dark hair, "and the Empress will be waiting for you on the other side." "She’ll need me." "She’ll have your predecessor, Rabiah. She’ll have the others." He motioned down toward the Empress’s coughing, which was starting to subside. "She’ll be whole once she reaches the far shore." Her eyes were pleading, as if she wanted a reason to come with him. "This is blasphemy." "Not where we’re from," Mia said, as if she, too, were from the south. Rabiah looked down at Mia, and a sad smile came to her lips. "That’s just it, child. It is, even where your peppa’s from." When she again met Al-Ashmar’s eyes, her expression was resolute. "Please, go." Al-Ashmar hesitated. Words always seemed to flee in the important moments of his life, and this time he knew the reason why. No matter how foolish he considered Rabiah’s choice to be, he would never force his beliefs on another. She would have to embrace the Empress’s wish before she could be saved. "You would be loved," he said to Rabiah, and then he picked up Mia and left the palace. When they were back in the streets, Mia said, "Is she coming to live with us?" "No, pet, she’s not." Al- Ashmar woke upon hearing the great bell on top of the Hall of Ancients ring. A gentle rain pattered against the roof. The bell rang again and again. Al-Ashmar knew, well before it had reached the fourteenth peal, that the Empress had died. When it was over, he sat there in the silence, feeling as if one of his own family had been lost. No, not one. Two. The Empress, even in her state, had smiled upon him in more ways than one—how could he not consider her family? And Rabiah. She’d been so close to walking away from her pointless fate. A soft knock came at the door. He opened it in a rush and found Rabiah standing outside, drenched. "I don’t want to die," she said. Al-Ashmar stepped aside and ushered her into his house. He motioned her to his workroom, where the hearth still had enough embers to stoke some warmth from them. He got a blanket for Rabiah and wrapped it around her shoulders. Fakhir walked into the room, hair disheveled with a blanket around his shoulders. "Everything all right, Peppa?" "Fine, Fakhir. Go to bed." Fakhir retired, leaving Al-Ashmar alone with this beauty and the sounds of the pattering rain. He prepared some lime tea for her, but by the time he handed it to her, she looked confused, as if coming to him might have been a terrible mistake. "There is no shame in living a longer life, Rabiah. There’s so much good you can do. For these children." He paused. "For me." She looked at him then. Her eyes, no longer rimmed with kohl, looked just as beautiful in the ruddy light of the hearth. "For you?" A harsh knock came at the front door. Al-Ashmar’s heart beat faster in his chest. "Were you followed?" Rabiah glanced around, as if specters would take form from the shadows around them. "I—I took precautions." Djazir’s voice bellowed from the other side of the door. "Open, ak Kulhadn, or we’ll break the door in." Al-Ashmar scrambled for a proper hiding place, but there would be none. He couldn’t even spirit her out the rear door. There was no telling what Djazir would do if they were caught running. "It will be all right," Al-Ashmar said as he stood and moved to the door. "Stay by my side." Four of his children stood in the doorway of their bedroom. "Fakhir, get them to bed, now. Close your door." Before he could reach the front door, it crashed open. Al-Ashmar shivered. Three guards stormed into the room. Two more stood outside with Djazir. After the guards had positioned themselves about the room, Djazir strode in as if it were his own home. He looked Al-Ashmar up and down, then Rabiah, who stood nearby. "Rabiah, come." She stayed planted, gaze darting between Al-Ashmar and Djazir. "Djazir, please. We can discuss this." Djazir motioned to the nearest guard. Al-Ashmar barely registered the fist from the corner of his eye, and then everything was pain and disorientation. He fell, his shoulder and neck striking the low eating table in the center of the room. A piercing ache stormed up his neck to the base of his skull. Before he could make sense of what had happened, the guard closest to Rabiah grabbed the back of her neck and manhandled her toward the exit. "Stop!" "Dear physic, you have made this more than necessary." He knelt next to Al-Ashmar, daring him to rise. "Now, I will assume, for the sake of your children, that Rabiah has come to you for a bit of advice, that she has come to spill her fears of the time to come. It is natural, after all; you of all people should know this. I’ll also assume that you kindly told her that everything will be fine, that her sacred voyage will be painless, and that she should return to the palace, as any good citizen would." Al-Ashmar opened his mouth to speak, but Djazir talked over him. "But if I find differently, or if I see you again before I guide the Empress to the opposite shore, I’ll have your head." Djazir stood. "Do we understand one another?" The door to the children’s room was cracked open. Mia’s whimpering filtered into the room. He had no choice. He had to protect them, and though it burned his gut to do so, he nodded to Djazir. Djazir smiled, though his eyes still pierced. "I see we have an understanding. It would be a pity for seven orphans to become orphaned all over again." And with that he left. The door stood open, and Al-Ashmar could only watch as Rabiah was forced to accompany them up the street, toward the palace. The sun had not yet risen. It was hours since Rabiah had been taken away, but still Al-Ashmar could think of nothing to do. He was powerless to stop Djazir. "Peppa?" It was Mia, standing in the doorway to his workroom. "Go to bed," Al-Ashmar said. "Nobody can sleep, and it’s almost morning." Several of the other children were preparing breakfast in the main room behind Mia. "Then eat." Mia sat on the stool nearby and picked up the Empress’s book. "Is she coming back?" Al-Ashmar wanted to cry. "No, Mia. She’s not." Just then a cat entered through the rear door of the workroom and rubbed against Mia’s leg. "Bela!" Mia said. Indeed, the cat looked just like the Empress’s. Al-Ashmar picked the animal up and examined her eyes, removing any doubt. This was certainly Bela, but how was it possible? The cat should have died with the Empress. Bela bit the meat of Al-Ashmar’s thumb, and he dropped her in surprise. Bela walked from the room as if she’d never intended to be here in the first place. Al-Ashmar followed her out the rear door. Bela had already slunk beneath the gate of their small yard and out to the alley behind. Al-Ashmar followed and called back to Mia, who was trying to trail him. "Go back, Mia. I’ll return when I can." Al-Ashmar trailed Bela through the pale light of pre-dawn. She wound her way through the streets, and it gradually became clear she was leading him toward the palace. But she avoided the main western road. She traveled instead to the rear of the tall hill that housed it. She climbed the rocks, often leaving her human companion behind, but she would stop when Al-Ashmar fell too far back and then continue before he could catch up to her. The eastern face of the hill held a shallow ravine with plants dotting a trail—most likely from the waste it carried from the palace to the river. Bela found a crook in the hillside, whereupon she stopped. When Al-Ashmar finally caught up, she circled his legs and meowed. Al-Ashmar parted the wall of vines clinging to the nearby boulder. A low, dark tunnel entrance stood there. Al-Ashmar rushed through, realizing that Bela—or more likely the soul of the Empress—was leading him up to the palace. In utter darkness, he climbed the spiral stairs as quickly as his burning lungs would allow. Occasionally the stairwell would end, forcing him to take a short passage to find another that led him upward once more, but by and large it was strictly a grueling uphill climb. His legs threatened to give out, forcing him to stop, but dawn would arrive soon, and Al-Ashmar feared that would be when the Empress’s retinue would be killed. Finally, dim light came from above, and the peal of a bell filtered down to him. Dawn had arrived. Bela meowed somewhere ahead. He felt sure he’d climbed treble the height of the palace, but still he pushed harder. The light intensified, and he came to a wall with a grate embedded into it. Though the brightness hurt his eyes, he surveyed what he realized was the Empress’s garden. Visible through the three peaked doorways, Djazir paced along the Empress’s throne room. Six of the Empress’s personal guard stood nearby, each wearing ornate leather armor with a sword and dagger hanging from a silver belt. Djazir wore a white silk robe embroidered with crimson thread, and a ceremonial dagger hung from a golden belt at his waist. The Empress was wrapped in folds of white cloth, her face still exposed. Five bolts of white cloth waited on the marble floor to her left. To her right, on another bolt of cloth, was Rabiah, unconscious or dead. Please, Rabiah, be alive. Djazir continued to pace and wring his hands. A young man, wearing clothes similar to but not so grand as Djazir’s, entered the garden and reported to Djazir. As the two of them conversed, too low to be heard, Bela strolled out from the grate. Al-Ashmar tried to prevent it, but Bela sped up just before his fingers could reach her. She walked up to Djazir as if she were asking for a bit of cream. "By the spirits, thank you," Djazir said loudly as he picked Bela up. "Now please," he said. "Prepare yourselves." Then he turned to the young man. "Prepare the pro cession immediately. You will find everything ready by the time you return." The young man bowed and walked back through the garden. Al-Ashmar heard a heavy wooden door close. Moments later, the palace’s bell pealed once more. Al-Ashmar, heart quickening, searched the landscape of the grate, looking for any sign of a catch. He found something hard and irregular about halfway down on the left side, but had no idea how to release it. As the Empress’s guards positioned themselves on their white cloths, Djazir ladled a thick white liquid from a ceramic bowl using an ornate spoon. He held the spoon to Bela’s lips and waited as she lapped at it. Then he set Bela down on a silk pillow on the Empress’s throne and petted her until her movements slowed. Bela rested her head on her crossed paws and stared directly at Al-Ashmar. Her eyes blinked, twice, before slowly closing for the last time. Her lungs ceased to draw breath mere moments later. The bell pealed again, long and slow. Djazir moved to each of the guards in turn and administered a spoonful of the liquid. Their bodies were already lying down, but each fell slack less than three breaths after imbibing the poison. Al-Ashmar worked frantically at the catch. Open, damn it! Open! Djazir moved next to Rabiah’s motionless form. "Stop it, Djazir!" Djazir turned. He moved toward the grate, squinting. The catch released. Al-Ashmar stepped out into the light, ready to charge for Djazir should he make a move toward Rabiah. Instead Djazir dropped the spoon and pulled his dagger free of its sheath. "I was willing to let your children live, Al-Ashmar, but an affront such as this demands their deaths." Excerpted from Orson Scott Card’s InterGalactic Medicine Show by Edmund R .Schubertand Copyright © 2008 by Hatrack River Enterprises, Inc. Published in August 2008 by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC All rights reserved. This work is protected under copyright laws and reproduction is strictly prohibited. Permission to reproduce the material in any manner or medium must be secured from the Publisher.
Continues...
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Product details
- Publisher : Tor Books; First Edition (August 5, 2008)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 432 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0765320002
- ISBN-13 : 978-0765320001
- Item Weight : 2.31 pounds
- Dimensions : 5.5 x 0.96 x 8.5 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #1,346,791 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #667 in Science Fiction Short Stories
- #3,313 in Science Fiction Anthologies (Books)
- #14,824 in Short Stories Anthologies
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About the authors
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Orson Scott Card is the author of the novels Ender's Game, Ender's Shadow, and Speaker for the Dead, which are widely read by adults and younger readers, and are increasingly used in schools. His most recent series, the young adult Pathfinder series (Pathfinder, Ruins, Visitors) and the fantasy Mithermages series (Lost Gate, Gate Thief, Gatefather) are taking readers in new directions.
Besides these and other science fiction novels, Card writes contemporary fantasy (Magic Street, Enchantment, Lost Boys), biblical novels (Stone Tables, Rachel and Leah), the American frontier fantasy series The Tales of Alvin Maker (beginning with Seventh Son), poetry (An Open Book), and many plays and scripts, including his "freshened" Shakespeare scripts for Romeo & Juliet, The Taming of the Shrew, and The Merchant of Venice.
Card was born in Washington and grew up in California, Arizona, and Utah. He served a mission for the LDS Church in Brazil in the early 1970s. Besides his writing, he teaches occasional classes and workshops and directs plays. He frequently teaches writing and literature courses at Southern Virginia University.
Card currently lives in Greensboro, North Carolina, with his wife, Kristine Allen Card, where his primary activities are writing a review column for the local Rhinoceros Times and feeding birds, squirrels, chipmunks, possums, and raccoons on the patio.
David Farland, aka Dave Wolverton is an award-winning, international best-selling author with over 60 novels in print. Published in over 20 languages. He has won the Phillip K. Dick Memorial Special Award for "Best Novel in the English Language", the Whitney award for "Best Novel of the Year", the Hollywood Book Festival, Grand Prize and several others. He has been a repeat writer for major franchises such as Star Wars and The Mummy. However, He is best known for his New York Times best-selling fantasy series The Runelords, which will soon be made into a graphic novel and, likely, a movie.
"Nightingale has got superb world-building, strong characters, and Farland's characteristic excellent prose. It was a quick read, fast moving, very fun!"
- Brandon Sanderson
"The Runelords is a first-rate tale, an epic fantasy that more than delivers on its promise. Read it soon and treat yourself to an adventure you won't forget."
- Terry Brooks
"When I reached the end of this first volume, The Runelords, and saw grace arise from a devastating battlefield where too many great hearts lay dead, Farland had earned the tears that came to my eyes. It was not sentiment but epiphany."
- Orson Scott Card
As a writing instructor, Farland has mentored dozens who have gone on to staggering literary success, including such #1 New York Times Bestsellers as Brandon Mull (Fablehaven), Brandon Sanderson (Wheel of Time), James Dashner (The Maze Runner) and Stephenie Meyer (Twilight)
Farland judges L. Ron Hubbard's Writers of the Future, perhaps the largest worldwide writing competition for new fantasy and science fiction authors. He has worked in Hollywood greenlighting movies and doctoring scripts. He set the Guinness World Record for the largest single-author, single-book signing.
David Farland has been hailed as "The Wizard of Storytelling" and his work has been called "compelling", "engrossing", "powerful", "profound" and "ultimately life-changing".
"I still use the writing techniques he discussed, and constantly reference him and his instruction when I teach creative writing myself. . . His explanations led me directly to getting an agent, and subsequently, my first book deal."
Brandon Sanderson, #1 Bestselling Author of Way of Kings
"He understands storytelling and writing on a freaky level. All of us feel like we owe a huge debt to him."
James Dashner, #1 Bestselling Author of The Maze Runner
"Aside from being a talented writer, David Farland is an excellent writing teacher. Hearing him teach live and reading his written advice has helped me focus many of my own thoughts about the writing process. Those who would like to learn more about the craft of writing would be wise to pay attention."
Brandon Mull, New York Times Bestselling Author of Fablehaven
Update: THE UNREMEMBERED made Library Journal's Best Fantasy Novels of 2011. Couldn't be happier.
Bio: I have two abiding passions in life: Writing and Music. I like to consume and create both. And in any of this, it's only worth doing if it thrills me. I get plenty of the un-thrilling stuff elsewhere.
James Maxey’s mother warned him if he read too many comic books, they'd warp his mind. She was right! James is unsuited for decent work and ekes out a pittance writing down demented fantasies about masked women, fiery dragons, and monkeys.
Readers interested in sampling Maxey’s odd ramblings might enjoy his science-fantasy Bitterwood series, the secondary world fantasy of his Dragon Apocalypse novels, his two superhero series Lawless and Whoosh! Bam! Pow! or the steam-punk visions of Bad Wizard. His short fiction has appeared in IGMS, Asimov’s, and over a dozen anthologies, with the best of his work appearing in the collections There is No Wheel and The Jagged Gate. In what is certainly a sign of the end times, James was named Piedmont Laureate in 2015.
James lives in Hillsborough, North Carolina with his lovely and patient wife Cheryl and too many cats. For more information about James and his writing, visit jamesmaxey.net. Or, follow him on Twitter @JamesAllenMaxey
If you'd like to join his monthly email newsletter where he gives away free Audible codes, short stories, and previews, cut and paste https://goo.gl/forms/32rzSFOcA49Ukhtx2 to reach the sign up page.
Overviews of James Maxey’s Works
THE BITTERWOOD SAGA
Marketed as fantasy, Bitterwood is actually post-apocalyptic science fiction set in a world where genetically engineered dragons have risen to power with humans living in their shadow as slaves and pets and prey. A human archer named Bitterwood has waged a one man fight against the dragon overlords for years, but when he murders the son of the Dragon King Albekizan, all-out war breaks loose between dragons and mankind. There’s a diverse cast of unique characters both human and dragon to root for, and non-stop tension as both species struggle for their long term survival. The four books of this series are Bitterwood, Dragonforge, Dragonseed, and Dawn of Dragons. All four books plus a bonus short story are available in Bitterwood: The Complete Collection.
DRAGONSGATE
In the aftermath of the Bitterwood saga, the human rebels send a team of explorers on a mission beyond the western mountains to try to reconnect with lost human tribes. When they stumble across ancient technology from the human age, they unleash a new threat far more dangerous than dragons. Dragonsgate: Devils and Dragonsgate: Spirits are currently available. The concluding book of the trilogy, Dragonsgate: Angels, will be released in 2023.
THE DRAGON APOCALYPSE
In a world of pure magic, the primal dragons long ago entwined their spirits with elemental forces. God-like in power, they command forces like fire and ice, water and stone, and even life and death. Greatshadow, the primal dragon of fire, still clings to his roots as a treasure-hoarding dragon, his lair and its vast wealth hidden in the bowels of a volcano. Infidel is an infamous mercenary, enchanted to be as strong as ten men and invulnerable to blades. After accidently killing the man she loves while stealing relics from a temple, she decides to retire in style by stealing Greatshadow’s treasure. This sets in motion events that will lead to the primal dragons united to destroy mankind. Can Infidel and her roguish allies somehow save the world? Probably not! But their swashbuckling, dungeon crawling, reality jumping adventure unfolds over twenty years filled with action, humor, and romance. The four books of the series are Greatshadow, Hush, Witchbreaker, and Cinder, and are all available in Dragon Apocalypse: The Complete Collection.
WHOOSH! BAM! POW!
A trio of loosely connected tales examining the ramifications of the underlying myth of the superhero.
Nobody Gets the Girl: A Superhero Novel – Richard Rogers’ life has been erased by a time machine accident. He’s now trapped as a ghost in a world where he was never born, visible only to the trio of superheroes who caused the accident. He joins their team as an invisible, intangible spy, code named Nobody. Who can save us? Nobody!
Burn Baby Burn: A Supervillain Novel – Sundancer is a radical terrorist commanding flames hot enough to vaporize steel. She believes the world to be irredeemably corrupted and wants to topple civilization so that the world can be made anew. But when she learns she’s dying of an advanced stage cancer, she must choose between finding some small measure of peace in what remains of her life, or going out in a blaze of ultimate destruction.
The Covenant: A Superteam Novel – To fight Sundancer, a team of superheroes known as the Covenant is formed, led by Sarah Buchanan, codenamed Skyrider. But Sarah has a secret life, married to a man who doesn’t know about her superpowers. As he starts to question her frequent absence and mysterious bruises, will Sarah be forced to choose between saving the world and saving her marriage?
LAWLESS
Smash Lass! Golden Victory! Atomahawk! She-Devil! These legendary heroes band together to form the world famous Lawful Legion! Lawless isn’t about them. Instead, it looks at the lesser known heroes who live in their shadow, people with weird of useless powers and not much hope of ever saving the world.
Cut Up Girl – Valentine Summers has the power to make a clone of herself by chopping off her arm. Her arm grows back instantly, and her clones aren’t stable, exploding in messy deaths a few seconds after she summons them. This isn’t a power she likes or wants, and no one would even have heard of Cut Up Girl if sex tapes she made with another vigilante hadn’t leaked to the press. But when a time travelling Victorian scientist lays siege to Port City, Valentine must suit up once more to battle his army of steam apes. Exploding clones to the rescue!
Big Ape – Harry Moreau is a big ape, with all the powers of a big ape, fighting crime under the code name Big Ape. Also, his mother’s a supervillain, Anastasia Moreau, a mad scientist with a flair for blending human and animal DNA. But when his mother is kidnapped by another supervillain, the dinosaur genius Technosaur, Harry must battle an army of robotic raptors in the midst of a hidden jungle city to save her. The mother and son reunion is only a giant robot with laser eyes away!
Victory – No hero is more respected than Golden Victory, a paragon of virtue who has, like, every great superpower you could want. As leader of the Lawful Legion, he’s saved the world a hundred times over. But when aliens show up and steal the moon, they offer to give it back in exchange for Golden Victory. What’s their beef? Who knows? But Big Ape and Cut Up Girl need to find out fast if they hope to save the world.
OTHER FICTION
Bad Wizard – A sequel to the Wizard of Oz novel, where an adult Dorothy Gale must return to Oz to stop Oscar Diggs, the former Wizard, from conquering the Emerald City with a fleet of dirigibles.
There is No Wheel – Ten weird, funny, and haunting short stories of ghosts, cannibals, supermen and angels in the final days of a dying planet.
The Jagged Gate – Twelve short stories about aliens, perverts, artists and dragons in realms magical and familiar.
As Editor with Cheryl Maxey:
Word Balloon Books are kid-friendly short stories featuring some of the best authors currently writing science fiction and fantasy. The titles are:
Rockets & Robots – Classic hard SF adventures where people who are good at math save the day!
Beware the Bugs! – B-movie style stories of insects on the rampage!
Paradoxical Pets – Not all pets are cute and cuddly; a dinosaur can be your buddy!
NON-FICTION
Write! Daydream, Type, Profit, Repeat!
There are a lot of skills you need to master to become a professional novelist, but don't lose sight of the underlying simplicity of the process. If you can daydream and type, people will give you money! It's a pretty good grift! James Maxey has been turning his imagination into income for over twenty years, and outlines the steps you need to turn you daydreams into dollars in this book!
A Nebula Award winner, Hugo Award nominee, and winner in the Writers of the Future Contest, Eric James Stone has had stories published in Year's Best SF 15, Analog, Nature, and Kevin J. Anderson's Blood Lite anthologies of humorous horror, among other venues. His first novel, Unforgettable, was published by Baen.
One of Eric's earliest memories is of seeing an Apollo moon-shot launch on television. That might explain his fascination with space travel. His father's collection of old science fiction ensured that Eric grew up on a full diet of Asimov, Heinlein and Clarke.
While getting his political science degree at Brigham Young University, Eric took creative writing classes. He wrote several short stories, and even submitted one for publication, but after it was rejected he gave up on creative writing for a decade.
During those years Eric graduated from Baylor Law School, worked on a congressional campaign, and took a job in Washington, DC, with one of those special interest groups politicians always complain that other politicians are influenced by. He quit the political scene in 1999 to work as a web developer in Utah.
In 2002 he started writing fiction again, and in 2003 he attended Orson Scott Card's Literary Boot Camp. In 2007 Eric got laid off from his day job just in time to go to the Odyssey Writing Workshop. He has since found a new web development job.
From 2009-2014, Eric was an assistant editor for Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show.
Eric lives in Orem, Utah, with his wife, Darci, a high school physics teacher, and their children, Honor and Link. His website is www.ericjamesstone.com.
Bradley P. Beaulieu began writing his first fantasy novel in college, but in the way of these things, it was set aside as life intervened. As time went on, though, Brad realized that his love of writing and telling tales wasn't going to just slink quietly into the night. The drive to write came back full force in the early 2000s, at which point Brad dedicated himself to the craft, writing several novels and learning under the guidance of writers like Nancy Kress, Joe Haldeman, Tim Powers, Holly Black, Michael Swanwick, Kij Johnson, and many more.
Brad and his novels have garnered many accolades and most anticipated lists, including two Hotties--the Debut of the Year and Best New Voice--on Pat's Fantasy Hotlist, a Gemmell Morningstar Award nomination for The Winds of Khalakovo and more:
* 25 Best of 2015 lists for Twelve Kings in Sharakhai
* 2016 Gemmell Legend Award Nomination for Twelve Kings in Sharakhai
* Top Ten Book and Debut of the Year for 2011 on Pat's Fantasy Hotlist for The Winds of Khalakovo
* Best New Voice of 2011 on Pat's Fantasy Hotlist
* 2011 Gemmell Morningstar Award Nomination for The Winds of Khalakovo
* Top Ten Debut for The Winds of Khalakovo on Ranting Dragon's Best of 2011
* Top Ten Debut for The Winds of Khalakovo on Mad Hatter's Best of 2011
* Honorable Mention for The Winds of Khalakovo on LEC Reviews Best of 2011
* Top Five Book for 2012 on Pat's Fantasy Hotlist for The Straits of Galahesh
* 2012 Most Anticipated for The Straits of Galahesh on Staffer's Book Review
* 2012 Most Anticipated for The Straits of Galahesh on The Ranting Dragon
* 2013 Most Anticipated for The Flames of Shadam Khoreh on The Ranting Dragon
In addition to being an L. Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future Award winner, Brad's stories have appeared in various other publications, including Realms of Fantasy Magazine, Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show, Writers of the Future 20, and several anthologies from DAW Books. His story, "In the Eyes of the Empress's Cat," was voted a Notable Story of 2006 in the Million Writers Award.
Brad continues to work on his next projects, including an Arabian Nights epic fantasy and a Norse-inspired middle grade series. He also runs the highly successful science fiction and fantasy podcast, Speculate, which can be found at speculatesf.com.
Novels
THE SONG OF THE SHATTERED SANDS
* Of Sand and Malice Made
* Twelve Kings in Sharakhai
* With Blood Upon the Sand
* A Veil of Spears
THE LAYS OF ANUSKAYA
* The Winds of Khalakovo
* The Straits of Galahesh
* The Flames of Shadam Khoreh
Short Story Collections
* Lest Our Passage Be Forgotten & Other Stories
Novellas
* The Burning Light (with Rob Ziegler)
* Strata (with Stephen Gaskell)
* Irindai
Novelettes
* "To the Towers of Tulandan", a Lays of Anuskaya story. First printed in Lest Our Passage Be Forgotten & Other Stories.
* "Unearthed", a Bryndlholt story. First printed in Lest Our Passage Be Forgotten & Other Stories.
* "Lest Our Passage Be Forgotten". First printed in Realms of Fantasy Magazine.
* "From the Spices of Sanandira". First printed in Beneath Ceaseless Skies.
* "Foretold". First printed in Steampunk'd by DAW Books.
* "How Peacefully the Desert Sleeps". First printed in Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show.
* "Cirque Du Lumière". First printed in Fellowship Fantastic by DAW Books.
Short Stories
* "Prima", a Lays of Anuskaya story. First printed in Lest Our Passage Be Forgotten & Other Stories.
* "In the Eyes of the Empress's Cat". First printed in Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show.
* "Sweet as Honey". First printed in Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show.
* "Shadows in the Mirrors". First printed in Dimensions Next Door by DAW Books.
* "Parting the Clouds". First printed in Time-Traveled Tales.
* "An Instrument of War". First printed in Lest Our Passage Be Forgotten & Other Stories.
* "Flotsam". First printed in Writers of the Future XX.
* "Prey to the Gods". First printed in Lest Our Passage Be Forgotten & Other Stories.
* "A Trade of Shades". First printed in Alien Skin Magazine.
* "Good Morning Heartache". First printed in Spells in the City by DAW Books.
Contact Information
Website: www.quillings.com
Podcast: www.speculatesf.com
Twitter: @bbeaulieu
Facebook: facebook.com/bradley.p.beaulieu
Scott M. Roberts is a man who has done despicable things with a spoon. In addition to tableware debauchery, he writes science fiction, fantasy, and horror. His work has appeared in Writers of the Future, and in Orson Scott Card's InterGalactic Medicine Show. In his down-time, he is a information system security analyst and technical writer.
Scott lives in northern Virginia with his family. Online, he lives at http://www.LordOfAllFools.com.
Aaron Johnston is a New York Times bestselling author who often collaborates with science-fiction legend Orson Scott Card. They are the creators and executive producers of the science-fiction television series EXTINCT from BYU TV. Aaron was also an associate producer on the film Ender’s Game. His comic book credits include Ender in Exile, Speaker for the Dead, Formic Wars, League War, and Mazer in Prison, all for Marvel. His screenplay adaptations include Alvin Maker, Sarah: Woman of Genesis, The Multiple Man, Feed the Baby of Love, and others. He and his wife are the parents of four children.
Tom Barlow is an Ohio writer. He writes crime, speculative and literary fiction. He has published over 100 short stories and five novels. "Mickey Magic" is an urban fantasy, "Everything is Inevitable" a cozy mystery, "I'll Meet You Yesterday" science fiction, "Bringing Knickerbocker Home" a family drama, and "Blood of the Poppy" a noir crime story. His literary short stories are collected in "Welcome to the Goat Rodeo" and "Odds of Survival" features noir crime fiction.
He writes because conversation involves a lot of give and take, and he's always thought of himself as more of a giver.
Customer reviews
4.1 out of 5 stars
4.1 out of 5
56 global ratings
How customer reviews and ratings work
Customer Reviews, including Product Star Ratings help customers to learn more about the product and decide whether it is the right product for them.
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Learn more how customers reviews work on AmazonCustomers say
Customers say they enjoy reading some of the stories, while others didn't interest them. They appreciate that the book includes artwork for each story.
AI-generated from the text of customer reviews
9 customers mention "Story"9 positive0 negative
Customers enjoy reading some of the stories in the book.
"...It's a solid collection of great stories that I can hold in my hand and read, without having to stare at a computer screen...." Read more
"...That is ok, except for the first story, it was a great read. Worth the money for the Forming stories. The rest was just icing on the cake." Read more
"...A few of the rest were very good; most were just OK. Overall worth the time to read but not spellbinding." Read more
"...These stories are not very long and most can be read in a sitting. There is a lot of variety which was nice for me...." Read more
3 customers mention "Artwork"3 positive0 negative
Customers find the artwork in the book to be good. They also say the book provides a nice array of thoughts and a reasonable process.
"...The book delivers a nice array of thoughts and the afterwards offer a reasonable process for the story...." Read more
"...5 from issue #34 from issue #4The book includes the artwork for each story...." Read more
"Some good background for the Ender's Game Universe fans, and a few other entertaining stories by some unknowns...." Read more
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Top reviews
Top reviews from the United States
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Reviewed in the United States on June 20, 2024
I’m a fan of OSC and I find it difficult to write in opposition to his writing. The book delivers a nice array of thoughts and the afterwards offer a reasonable process for the story. As always, I’m in awe of anyone who is positioned to be a part of this kind of exposition and I recommend reading this book as part of the OCS experience. Thanks to all of you!
Reviewed in the United States on August 26, 2008
Somehow when I bought this book I assumed that it would contain the complete written works of OSC's IGMS up to this point - 8 issues. (There's 9 now, but there was 8 when the book was published.) Excluding the audio stories, essays, and interviews (which requires subscribing to the IGMS to get) this is what I expected to get in a bound paperback book:
issue #1 - 10 written stories
issue #2 - 9 written stories
issue #3 - 10 written stories
issue #4 - 10 written stories
issue #5 - 10 written stories
issue #6 - 10 written stories
issue #7 - 11 written stories
issue #8 - 10 written stories
(80 in all)
Instead I got 18 select stories out of the first 4 issues:
5 from issue #1
4 from issue #2
5 from issue #3
4 from issue #4
The book includes the artwork for each story. It also contains the new Ender stories from each of the first 4 issues. And it's 432 pages. I suspect it'd be somewhere around 2000 pages if it included all of the stories up to issue 8.
Despite my disappointment in the book's lack of completeness, I'm still glad I bought it. It's a solid collection of great stories that I can hold in my hand and read, without having to stare at a computer screen. And I'm thinking it might be worth paying an extra $2.50 to get the rest of the stories from his website.
issue #1 - 10 written stories
issue #2 - 9 written stories
issue #3 - 10 written stories
issue #4 - 10 written stories
issue #5 - 10 written stories
issue #6 - 10 written stories
issue #7 - 11 written stories
issue #8 - 10 written stories
(80 in all)
Instead I got 18 select stories out of the first 4 issues:
5 from issue #1
4 from issue #2
5 from issue #3
4 from issue #4
The book includes the artwork for each story. It also contains the new Ender stories from each of the first 4 issues. And it's 432 pages. I suspect it'd be somewhere around 2000 pages if it included all of the stories up to issue 8.
Despite my disappointment in the book's lack of completeness, I'm still glad I bought it. It's a solid collection of great stories that I can hold in my hand and read, without having to stare at a computer screen. And I'm thinking it might be worth paying an extra $2.50 to get the rest of the stories from his website.
Reviewed in the United States on July 11, 2024
The book was printed years ago and had some wear. That is ok, except for the first story, it was a great read. Worth the money for the Forming stories. The rest was just icing on the cake.
Reviewed in the United States on July 26, 2009
I was a bit disappointed to realize that only a handful of the stories in this book are actually written by Orson Scott Card himself. However, I did read them all. His stories are by far the best of the bunch. If you didn't know who wrote which ones, it would be easy to pick his out. A few of the rest were very good; most were just OK. Overall worth the time to read but not spellbinding.
Reviewed in the United States on January 29, 2009
I bought this as an Orson Scott Card fan but dare I say that I found authors that rival the great OSC in this book? These stories are not very long and most can be read in a sitting. There is a lot of variety which was nice for me. I like fantasy slightly more than science fiction. This was a nice combination of both and some other unique items thrown in as well. I have been reading a story or two each night. I discovered author Eric James Stone by reading this book and finding his work has been like finding treasure. His stories were particularly enjoyed by my sixth grade son and I and I think we'll be buying any/everything with his name on it. His writing is brilliant. I saw the other reviewer comment that the Taint of Treason wasn't well recieved by him. I have been quoting a line from that story to my son for weeks which has us both laughing (in a morbid way). You'll know the line once you read the story. Thanks goes out to Schubert and Card for giving us a "sampler" of so many great writers. You really can't go wrong with this book.
Reviewed in the United States on May 17, 2018
Good book, easy read.
Reviewed in the United States on December 12, 2008
THE ONLY PROBLEM WITH ORSON SCOTT CARD IS THAT WE'RE ALMOST CAUGHT UP WITH EVERYTHING HE'S EVER WRITTEN OR EDITED. IT'S A DEPRESSING SITUATION!
IN SHORT, HIS STORYTELLING, AND THOSE TELLERS HE RECOMMENDS, SEEMS TO AWAKEN PARTS OF BOTH OUR HEARTS AND OUR HIGHER CONSCIENCE THAT LOOKS AT RIGHT AND WRONG, LOVE AND ACCEPTANCE OF OTHERS WHO MAY BE VERY DIFFERENT, AND GROWING UP STRONG AND FLEXIBLE OF MIND AND HEART. THE STORIES ARE SELDOM ONLY WHAT THEY SEEM.
WHAT A PLEASURE TO HAVE FOLKS SUCH AS THESE IN MY WORLD!
IN SHORT, HIS STORYTELLING, AND THOSE TELLERS HE RECOMMENDS, SEEMS TO AWAKEN PARTS OF BOTH OUR HEARTS AND OUR HIGHER CONSCIENCE THAT LOOKS AT RIGHT AND WRONG, LOVE AND ACCEPTANCE OF OTHERS WHO MAY BE VERY DIFFERENT, AND GROWING UP STRONG AND FLEXIBLE OF MIND AND HEART. THE STORIES ARE SELDOM ONLY WHAT THEY SEEM.
WHAT A PLEASURE TO HAVE FOLKS SUCH AS THESE IN MY WORLD!
Reviewed in the United States on July 28, 2009
Some good background for the Ender's Game Universe fans, and a few other entertaining stories by some unknowns. A few of the stories weren't very intriguing for me.
Top reviews from other countries
J. Lamede
5.0 out of 5 stars
More please!
Reviewed in the United Kingdom on March 15, 2009
What a great storyteller he is! No matter what he is writing about, I can never put his books down.
