It was the first time my magic failed me, or perhaps I failed my magic. It was hard to believe in
anything when all around me the fools were burning our portion of the town, and smoke rolled through
the alleyways. I pulled my cowl closer to cover my face, not daring to be discovered with the current state
of things, but my knife was ready in case I had to do the unthinkable.
I looked over my shoulder, and in the dancing flames light I saw a group of youths tossing a witch’s
Familiar around, and I gasped as I saw one of them fling the cat as far into the air as they could. I turned
my eyes before it reached the damning ground, I could not bear to hear its death.

Chapter 21: The Devil’s Dragon
Ira Bilis stepped up to an awaiting shuttle, a lieutenant saluted her at the base of the landing ramp,
she ignored this and walked past him to the top of the ramp, the loud clacking of her jack boots on
the steel seemed to contradict her demure figure, she turned to regard the camp one last time, it
was swarming with Aesini warriors, a small contingent of Paladins in defence formation were picking
off any of the aliens who dared shoot at or make a rush toward their position.
She breathed in the carnage for a short time before regarding her junior officer with a smirk as he
walked up to join her “It makes you feel alive doesn’t it”? “Uh, yes ma’am”.
“Is the shuttle loaded with what I ordered”?
“Yes ma’am, the storage containers have the trinkets that you selected from the local villages”.
“I know what there are”! She tightened her grip on her riding crop, the familiar ominous leather on
leather sound made him flinch. He knew that these cases of plunder was everything she had stolen
from the Aesini, bracelets, earrings, fine fabrics, jewels, even some gold. He guessed that these
spoils of war would fund her retirement.
“Give the order”. She nodded to him who saluted, turned and barked to the small group of soldiers
below. “Move out, go go go”! He made a wind up signal. “Yes LT”! They clamoured up the ramp and
as it was closing, enemy bullets hit the steel door making a loud pinging sound. The shuttle took off
with two dragonfly escorts, the last of the fighters that remained, the roar of its engines punctuated
the tumult below, Nadija heard the turbulence and looked up to see the spectacle of the three ships
taking off and shook her head with dismay. “She escaped didn’t she”? Horx shared her conclusion.
“There are other ways to exact justice, the Gods will see to that”. Seric sought to offer some
comforting words, Nadija gave him a sinister grin “No, not the Gods, we will”.
Seric gave her a look of displeasure and cleared his throat for a rebuttal; however, Nadija felt the
need to supplement her thoughts.
“We don’t have time to discuss the finer points of faith and philosophy my friend but suffice it to say,
we are all made of stars and both of us are tiny insignificant life forms scuttling around under the
same sun like microbes in a Petri dish, that makes us more or less the same under any God or
Gods that you nominate, whether there is a God or Gods or not, whether we’re here because of
evolution only or evolution assisted by intelligent design from a higher power, it doesn’t really matter
in the end, I just do what I do because it makes me feel good”.
“Doesn’t really matter? Creation is not purely by chance look around you! We are the instruments of
the Gods, some are called upon to carry out their will, others work against it merely to benefit
themselves, most do nothing overall, I most certainly disagree with your simplistic assessment”.
Seric coughed with incredulity.
“That’s your right, let’s just keep moving”. Horx wasn’t inclined toward profound conversation at this
point. “Wow Nadija that’s kinda deep, here I was thinking you were just a soldier”.
“No one’s just anything Evan, what we are isn’t nearly as important as who we are”. Her eyes had a
sparkle in them whenever she looked at him lately and it made his heart skip a beat. “To be
continued over some noodles”. He smiled, hoping she understood that noodles was a euphemism
for so much more.
They ran down an embankment until they arrived at the main entrance to the camp, Seric took his
temporary blanket robe off “I think we’ll be safe here”. He declared as he waved to a group of about
a hundred Aesini, clearly this area at least was secure and although gun shots could still be heard in
the distance, Nadija gestured for Horx to put his weapon away.
There were at least fifty Paladins squatted with their hands on their heads. As Seric was greeted by
his fellow warriors, Nadija asked “You guys are taking prisoners?”
Seric glanced at the POWs and nodded “They can be used at the negotiating table, they will be
treated with more kindness then you humans afforded us”.
“Present company excluded, don’t paint us all with the same brush”. Nadija protested.
“Right, of course, I’m sorry it’s just that whatever the outcome, prejudices will remain, so much
damage has already been done”.
An elderly warrior rode up atop a strider and peered down with a smile “Seric, the fact that you’re
still alive proves that the Gods have a sense of humour”.
“Chief Naid, the convert Nelson Jones is at the base hospital with Meaghan, we have to go rescue

them”. Nadija looked up to regard him.
“Lead the way then”. Naid let out a whistle to summon a mank, when one appeared Alene’s face
was already on its belly.
“Nelson’s at the infirmary with Meaghan”. Naid reported.
“That area is in the middle, still unsecured, gather up your troops, I’ll head in from the West, you
take the south and we’ll meet up there, the dragonflies have retreated to their mother ship for now,
probably to resupply so we must act fast”.
Naid saluted his daughter. “Alright, you heard your queen, move out”! And enthusiastic roar of
approval erupted from the warriors as they swarmed up the alley that Seric and his entourage had
just come from.
Nadija held out her hand to Horx to stop him and shook her head. “We’ve done enough fighting, let’s
find a safe area and see if your little experiment worked”.
Horx nodded and turned on his tablet, scrolling through some menus, Wong’s concerned face
appeared on the screen. “Report Evan”.
“Mission failed but I think we still have an outcome that may be to our advantage”.
“I have heard that the Aesini have overrun the camp yes”?
“True enough, it’s safe for you to meet up with us now, we’ll be in guard post…”. Horx looked up and
saw some large numbers emblazoned on the side of a white tower, a single Aesini warrior was in
position at the window. “… Sixteen”.
“What will you be doing up there”? Wong cocked an eyebrow.
He glanced at Nadija who blushed. “Watching some TV” Horx smilled.
The atmosphere inside the shuttle was sombre, Resen had fallen to the enemy and the soldiers had
their heads bowed with the shock and disappointment of defeat, except Bilis who strode up and
down between them with her head held high, she gently tapped each of their knees with her riding
crop to get their attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen”. They all regarded her, including Botany who sat silently between the crates
at the back of the cabin, almost unseen like he was part of her loot.
“We are now in space, about to dock with the command ship, despite appearances, we have not
lost, this is part of a greater plan that the President has foreseen”. She smiled menacingly.
“There is a moment of truth that is about to occur, a moment of reckoning that will determine the
outcome of this struggle against the alien menace, I’m taking overall command of this mission to
ensure final victory and I need to know if you are with me or against me, right now”.
She peered into each of their eyes, one by one and in turn they answered “with you ma’am”, “loyal
and true”, yes sir”, “to the end”, “now and forever”.
She didn’t bother with Botany; he sat there expressionless, silent in the shadows.
“Good, when the moment comes, I will give you the codeword “downfall”, at that moment you will not
hesitate to open fire on Admiral Reece, he has refused a direct order from the Central to fire upon
the enemy which has now taken over the camp, once we take command
of the Gilly, we bomb the shit out of them, we do not tolerate weakness in the new era do you get
me”?!
“We get you sir”!
When the shuttle landed in the main docking bay, Reece was there with a ceremonial compliment of
troops to greet her, she was obviously outnumbered, now was not the right time.
“Major Ira Bilis, it’s good to see that you made it out, I’ve been in contact with the President and
have given him an update of the situation”. She saluted Reece who returned in kind.
“Admiral, it was by the skin of my teeth that I escaped and the bravery of my Paladins shall not be
forgotten, by the way it’s General Bilis now”. She turned to look at her troops and gave them a small
smile.
“I didn’t hear of this promotion, congratulations”. His face had a sceptical expression.
“May we meet in private”?
“Of course, there is much to discuss”. Reece gave a junior officer a nod who gave the order to
dismiss the honour guard, as they marched off, Reece held out his hand for her to walk toward
another exit which would eventually lead them to the ship’s meeting room.
“You may dismiss your troops General; they’ve fought well and must be eager for R&R”.
“They will have earned it before this day is over”. She agreed, her pace was slow as they walked, it
didn’t occur to him that she was stalling for time, waiting until his troops had entirely left the docking
bay before confronting him.

“Are you injured”? He feigned concern.
“Just fatigued sir, a little battered and bruised too”. This was the truth.
When they got to the exit door, Reece’s troops were finally gone but Bilis’s contingent remained in
formation behind her, Reece’s face had a growing look of concern. “Dismiss your troops General or I
will for you”.
“Not yet”.
Reece went to grab his cylinder but Bilis put her hand on his wrist to stop him, the concerned
expression now turned to alarm. “What the hell’s going on Ira”?
Her troops now cocked their rifles and trained them on him.
“Oh my God”.
“Admiral, I am taking over this mission, I would much prefer that you remain in command of the
Gilgamesh and we’ll pretend that this little awkward moment never happened as long as you
acknowledge that I’m in charge overall”.
“The president’s in charge overall”. He scowled at her. “And he has deemed me fit for command of
the expeditionary forces, I am the Admiral you silly little girl”!
He regarded the soldiers behind her. “When you put on that uniform, you took a sacred oath to
follow the proper chain of command put forth by the leader himself, put down your weapons, that’s
an order or you’ll be in front of a firing squad”! He barked at them but they remained unmoved.
Bilis walked a circle around Reece, her riding crop twisting between her leather gloves at her back.
“Reece, this is an opportunity for you to make things right, this is the turning point of this war, all you
have to do is resume your post as fleet Admiral and follow my orders, the first being to bomb the
crap out of the camp below and then Apolinya, is that understood”?
“I only follow orders from two people Ira, Jessie and Jacob, we’ve known each other for a long time,
from the start, you know I can’t change that, you know there is no compromise”!
“They’re not here, they will never be here, this system belongs to us now and the only way we can
rule it is with an iron fist, the outcast colonies will be a shinning beacon, an unreachable
outpost of the new era, an impregnable fortress, a utopia of strength and order defying a universe of
chaos, I’m giving you the chance to be a part of that Adam, to revel in its glory!”
Her eyes sparkled with a maniacal intensity as she made a fist, Reece grimaced, she’d never called
him by his first name before. “President Freeman ordered that I do not bomb the camp and withdraw
the fighters, unlike you he values his personnel still down there”. He looked at the troops in her
entourage. “You are only here to forward her agenda, she’s addicted to power, that’s why Freeman
held her back on a short leash, he knew she’d turn out like this, don’t you see that”?
“He lies, last chance Reece, join me”. She stared into his eyes at close range and for a moment he
could see something he couldn’t reconcile with his mind, it was fire blazing in her eyes, was it his
fear playing tricks with his eyes?
“Never”. He whispered.
Her troops raised their guns, ready to fire on her orders.
“Downfall”.
Reece slumped under a hail of bullets, dying in a pool of his blood he looked up at her standing over
him.
“You’re the devil”. He managed to spit out before he closed his eyes and ceased to exist.
“No, I am the devil’s dragon”. She whispered to herself as she walked out of the hangar, her troops
marching in formation behind her. “I am what the universe has made me”. The doors closed behind
her, only Botany remained, standing in the middle of the bay, alone, forgotten.
Meaghan lay on the operating table, coughing meekly and wheezing she stared into his eyes. “I love
you Nelson”.
“That’s twice I’ve heard that today but you’re the only one I wanted to hear it from”. He held her cool
hand tightly as the doctor applied anesthetic over her mouth and hooked her up to various
machines.
“She’s haemorrhaging; I’ve got to go in now”. He muttered. The doctor was soaked in the blood of
patients he’d worked on before her, his expression was frazzled.
“Save her doc”.
“I can only play with the cards I’m dealt, the less you talk from now on the better so shut up”.
Her eyes closed under the effect of the anaesthesia and the doctor proceeded to cut her open, he
didn’t even bother cleaning the equipment first.
Some minutes of silence passed as he worked furiously over her, the doctors face was obscured by

his mask so Nelson watched his eyes, he didn’t like what he saw, the eyes betrayed him, they
looked increasingly less confident and Nelson’s heart sank, tears welled in his eyes.
“Please doc, please save her, she’s pregnant”.
“You don’t think I know that”?!
They heard shouting and shots being fired from outside the operating theatre and for a moment they
looked at each other with trepidation, the doctor then returned to Meaghan and shook his head.
“Looks like your war found its way here”. He grumbled.
The doors swang open to the theatre, a few Aesini walked in and raised their weapons at them,
Nelson stood up, his hands raised. “I’m done fighting”.
A female stepped forward adorned in a purple cape. “Are you Nelson Jones”? To his surprise she
could speak English.
He nodded, his hands still raised.
“Do you mind? I’m trying to save a life here”! The doctor bellowed.
“Two lives”. Nelson tilted his head toward the doctor who shook his head regretfully, one of the
machines made a flat line sound.
“No, just one now”.
Nelson lowered his hands and turned to look over Meaghan, she was gone.
“Oh Jesus no, no no no, why God why”? His tears now flowed down his face as he sobbed over her,
his expression grew dark. “Bring her back”!
The doctor shook his head, Nelson pulled out his pistol and raised it to the doctor “Bring her back, at
least try, why don’t you at least try”?!
Naid leaned over and grabbed his gun, wrenching it off him, Alene held him as he cried, he wasn’t
even aware that he was embracing the alien. Seric walked over and put a sympathetic hand on his
shoulder. “Too much death has been seen today”. Naid whispered.
The doctor continued to operate “I can save the child but she will need an incubator to survive, she’s
premature”.
“Tell me where to find this incubator”. Alene said.
“There’s none on this mound of shit you call Resen, the only ones we have are on the capital ships,
the Gilgamesh has one.
Nelson wiped his eyes and looked at the doctor “I’m sorry about my reaction doctor”.
“I’ve seen worse, now, can you get me on that ship”?
He thought for a moment and shook his head regretfully. “No, I don’t see how”.
Alene stepped in front of him and looked into his eyes “Never lose hope Nelson, the Gods have
determined that we meet for a reason”.
“Who are you”?
“I am Alene, first Empress of the Great Tribe and I will lead all of us, human and Aesini alike to the
path of righteousness”.
Naid and Seric looked at each other and said in bemused unison “Empress”?
“This is my father Chief Naid and my good friend Seric”.
They nodded and Nelson let out a slow exhale. “So, what now”?
“Now you need to name this child”. A small cry could be heard behind them and they all turned to
see a new born baby girl being cradled in the doctor’s arms, so tiny and fragile and Nelson let out a
gasp, he couldn’t believe his eyes. He walked over and held out his little finger, the baby’s hand
could feel it and grasped at it.
“Liana”.
“Why this name”? Alene asked.
“That was the name of Meaghan’s grandmother, she told me about her once, right about the time
my daughter was conceived in fact”. He smiled, recalling the moment of his short lived intimacy with
Meaghan; it seemed so long ago now. “She lived in a better time, a better world, far from perfect but
better”.
“Then the birth of this child shall herald better times again”. Alene declared.
“Touching, but she’s only got a few hours to enjoy these better times unless we get her to an
incubator and a proper hospital”. The doctor growled.

Crocotta’s Hackles Excerpt

That night, Lluava’s dreams took a new direction. The white that had suffused all her thoughts
now took on vibrant, lush colors. Everything around her was green. Was she in a forest? If so, it was
different from any she had seen before.
Trees sent filtered light through their canopy, but they were a strange, unknown variety. The
underbrush was thick and full of broad leaves longer than her arm. Tangled vines cascaded from above,
and flowers reminiscent of those in the capital’s garden bloomed in profusion.
One flower caught her eye, the only one she recognized: a black-andwhite striped beauty known in
Elysia as the Theri iris. The first time Varren gave her one, he said it reminded him of her dual form.
Afterward, he had given her one every night in a fresh bouquet.
Lluava moved closer. As she approached, the flower began to wither and dropped off the plant
before she could reach it. Almost tripping over a root, she realized that her clothes were stuck to her body
and a film of sweat was building. How hot was it? She couldn’t tell. The plant’s leaves begin to brown
and wither.
What was happening? As Lluava reached toward the plant, tendrils sprang out at her like serpents
striking at prey. Suddenly a vine wrapped itself around her arm. She tried to untwist the thick botanical
rope as it looped around her ankle.
Vines don’t do this, she thought. They can’t grow that fast. Was she hallucinating? All at once,
she realized what it was: an anaconda! Immobilized by the snake’s ever-tightening grip, she heard a
sound reverberate through the forest. It was the pealing of laughter, rising and falling in waves.
“Issaura!” the voice called out, “Fight! Kill or die!” The laughter returned as the coils of the giant
snake contracted about her waist.
Lluava couldn’t breathe, much less defend herself. The air in her lungs was being squeezed out.
She was suffocating. Her gasps for air were drowned out by the unending laughter. Could she have
spoken, she would have screamed, “Stop laughing! Help me!”
Without air, Lluava’s thoughts were beginning to fog. Was this her end?
A hand grabbed her shoulder and ripped her free of the anaconda’s coils and the frightening
dream.
“Lluava, wake up!” Apex was shouting. He pulled her partially out of her tent, which had
collapsed during the night. “You’re okay.”
“I can’t sleep anymore.” She was exhausted. “I can’t take the dreams.”
“You’ll rest better once you have eaten,” Apex told her. “Look, our friend has returned.”
There on the ground were the lone caribou’s hoof prints. It must have decided to explore their
camp during the night. This meant it was nearby.
“Let’s go hunting!” said Apex.
Energized, Lluava sprang to her feet and reached for Issaura’s Claws, her weapons. “Way ahead
of you.”
She slipped each golden Claw over her knuckles, smiling at her distorted reflection in the three
slightly curved blades. Lluava tested each, relaxing her hands so the claws retracted, then balling her

hands into fists around the grip, which caused the blades to spring erect. They felt so right, like razor-
sharp extensions of herself.

Ever since she had broken the arm-brace attachments Holly had made for her, Lluava had been
more cautious when she used the Claws. She was able to use them, but her old shoulder injury could be
aggravated by the strain of impact. Nonetheless, if her shoulder became dislocated again, she could reset
it. A good breakfast would be worth the pain.
Nearby, Apex pulled out Ullr’s Fangs. The twin Gladius swords looked as fierce as the
determination on the huntsman’s face. By his feet, Sköll stretched and yawned. It seemed that everyone
would take part in the hunt.
Several hours later, Apex spotted a brown shape treading off into the distance: their prey. Food
would be coming soon. Lluava salivated at the thought of fresh venison. They couldn’t let this animal
escape.
Following Apex’s command, the trio moved downwind and began to inch their way closer to the
unsuspecting creature. Though not heavy, it was surprisingly well fed, which meant it had a food source

nearby. More good news, Lluava thought happily. Maybe their luck was turning.
Lluava tested the air as the huntsman gave an unspoken command to Sköll. The wolf-mix bolted
toward the caribou. Suddenly, the young woman’s senses exploded.
“Stop him!” she shouted, but it was too late. Apex whistled, but the mongrel was solely focused
on its prey.
Exasperated, Lluava sank to the ground. “He’s chasing a Theriomorph.”

“THE goal,” young Charles Czerny scribbled in pencil, “was to become
someone else. I am nothing,” he wrote. “i must contort myself.” He had
once seen the word “contortionist” on a circus poster and looked it up. As
euphoria invaded, he changed the “i” to a capital “I”.
“Nobody I know is anybody. And I mean anybody, up and down Orchard
Street, and everywhere else.” Wielding with his new verb, he continued:
“They need to learn about contorting themselves, or they’ll always be kind
of sad in life. They would probably like to tell someone that they’re always
kind of sad, but they don’t have the words to say it, so to speak. But I do.
For example, ergo… I learned that word in school. What I want to say is,
‘Ergo, you must contort your life if you want to die reasonably satisfied.’
You can’t ask for it all, can you. You have to send your mind up in a
balloon and take a look around at the possibilities. When you see one that
twinkles like a penny firecracker, adopt it. Say, ‘That’s me 10 years from
now or whatever.’ Rewrite your life. I mean your future. You are what you
are right now, you are what your whiney aunt says you are, but tomorrow,
and all the tomorrows to come, well, that’s up to you. Make up a story, then
live it.
He was pleased with his thoughts. There were a lot of them there. Those
were the kind of thoughts he was sure writers have.
The next day he did not pick up his pencil. The new centerpiece of the
salon that had always doubled as his bedroom on Orchard Street was, as of
that morning, the most magical thing he’d ever possessed, an Underwood
typewriter, an Underwood Model 2, which he had found hours before in
the rubble of a fire on Mangin Street, above Delancey, near the river. The
tiny street, Mangin, already had meaning for him because he vaguely
remembered that his parents, or maybe just his father, had once lived there.
His mind harbored echoes of someone saying “In the Mangin days.” He
decided to contort that memory by telling himself it was fact that they
both, mother and father, actually had lived in the place whose charred ruins
he’d just scavenged. It didn’t matter that he could not remember his father.
He must have lived with his mother at some point near the time of his
birth. His mother never spoke of him.

When he got home to Orchard Street that afternoon with the typewriter,
he fetched a cloth from his room and returned to the stoop to rub away the
soot. It took a long time, and many neighbors stopped to observe him.
Some would wish him good afternoon but mostly they remained silent. No
one seemed familiar enough with the machine to admire it or ask how it
worked or why he wanted it.
A sudden summer shower chased Charles back up the four flights of stairs
to his room. When he was sure the Underwood Model 2 was dry—he
always added “Model 2” in his mind because it made it sound like he had
the latest, best writing machine in the country, guaranteed to bring
results—he sat down at the table before it. Though he had nothing much
he felt ready to state in black in white, he liked the fact that the typewriter
was open-framed so he could see its inner workings. He saw an analogy
with the inner workings of his own heart and mind, which, as a writer, he
knew he would be required to explore. Yes, a good parallel, he thought,
reaching for the dictionary, a relic from his school days. He made a mental
note that “analogy” was spelled with only two a’s, not three.
Charles left school, PS 62 on Grand Street, in the middle of the seventh
grade. There, as far as he remembered, he was good at poetry, mainly the
required memorizing of stanzas but also at writing. Though the school-days
memory was a candidate for future contortion, he believed deeply that he
was good at it, the writing part. What he wrote was profoundly emulative
of the works he doggedly memorized, all by 19-century guys from England.
He knew that they were important works because no one he had ever met
in his neighborhood, even all of New York, spoke like the poets did, words
that were big and deserving of five or six definitions in his dictionary, or
small but so obscure they were not even represented in the word bible.
Perhaps the poets made them up. Yes, contortion, thought Charles. There
was no shame in it. It wasn’t lying.
Certain that the writing machine would make him a writer, Charles decided
to regard his current job as a temporary circumstance. Most people,
especially since the Depression descended, were happy to have a job no
matter how hard it was, and their greatest hope was that they would always
have that job. Not Charles.

Nobody had ever asked Charles what his plans were. People in his
neighborhood were too poor to have plans. Scraping by ate up the clock.
Besides, he wasn’t an idiot. He knew he couldn’t say he was a writer until
he’d written something and someone had put it in the paper.
Charles knew about papers. Delivering them to newsboys paid his rent of
$14 a month. The smell of newsprint intoxicated Charles, who, at 24 years
of age, had neither tasted alcohol nor a woman. As he wrote in his
notebook more than once, this meant he had lots to do in addition to
becoming a writer.