Celestial Light Publishing

Part 2: Trinkets, Trolls & Tyrants

By Raymond Keith

“Trinkets? Even you may be impressed by my trinkets, Daggnir. They will make fine additions to your collection. That is, if I decide to leave them for you.”

Hereb sat against the wall of the cavern, barely able to move due to his injuries. His foe, Daggnir, mocked him from the shadows of his lair. Hereb may have lost his sword and spear, but he still had one weapon left to use: his wits. He did not know if he would survive, but he was not ready to die. Whispering a short prayer to the only god he thought might be real, he prepared for the next battle.

Daggnir laughed through his coughs. “Hmmm, what trinkets? Why don’t you elaborate? I doubt I will be impressed.”

“Well,” Hereb grunted loudly as he shifted his battered weight to pull a small, folded cloth from behind his belt with his still-functioning sword hand. “To start off, right here is a unique silver coin. I discovered it while walking the streets of the fabled Silver City of Hagdan.” Laying the cloth on his leg, he unwrapped it one-handed. In the middle was a large, engraved coin, the crevices blackened with age. He held it up to his face but was unable to see it in the darkness.

“A special coin? Found at Hagdan?” Daggnir mocked. “Hagdan is still lost, my little tale-spinner. Though my den is remote, I do know much of what happens in the world. Do not think you can deceive me so easily.”

“I understand if you do not believe me. I have not spoken of this to anyone until now.”

“A dying confession? Hmm, I have heard of the human habit. How amusing you should share it with your bane.” Daggnir burst into a new coughing fit that lasted several minutes.

“I did not have the heart to tell anyone. It is truly the most magnificent city ever built, whether of elves or dwarves or men—just as legend claims. The silver columns, marble fountains, bejeweled domes. Many an adventurer had searched for it, and many had failed, some even giving their lives. But it was I that found it! I was the first to see it in a thousand years. What riches could there be in such a place? What glory would I receive from all the world? What a life I have lived! Could anyone boast as much as I?” Hereb remembered the moment so clearly still.

“Sounds exciting, if true,” Daggnir replied. “So, what is so unique about this coin? What magic does it hold?” The dragon began to purr, broken by occasional coughing fits.

A dragon purring? Who had heard of such a thing? Hereb wondered. Was he finding pleasure in my story, or perhaps my approaching death? Or did I touch a greedy nerve with the coin…

“As I walked those streets, I came to a sudden understanding. Looters would come. Exploiters and destroyers. They would strip it all in greed. It was a sad thought. Then I realized I was not much better—only here for my own pride and glory. I had searched for the city so I could pawn it off and enrich my own ego. Nothing more at the heart of it. Sitting in the high tower, I struggled for days. On the third morning, I knew what I must do. I would leave it to the jungle. So, I pocketed a few coins I had found, strolled the streets one last time, and left. I have never spoken of it before this moment.

“I headed back to civilization, feeling lost. Who was I and what would I do now? The first community I came to had an orphanage. The children were hungry and cold. Many more still roamed the streets. The workers were struggling to care for them all. So, I gave the silver coins to them.”

“How noble,” Daggnir chortled in disbelief, which brought on a deep cough. “Spend lots of your time daydreaming, I see. Hero of your own tales. Finally, started believing your own fantasies, didn’t you shaddi? I would wager you are really just a homeless bard or a penniless rogue. Finally, thought you would try to be a real warrior? Come rescue a maiden and all that? But this little adventure here did not go so well, did it?”

“Not so noble. Those who labor away their days caring for those orphans are the real heroes, not me. If I really cared, I would have stuck around and helped, at least made sure they got their money’s worth from the silver. Those coins could have bought the Palace of Sikė, but they probably didn’t know what to do with them. Sold them for a song, I am sure. But I did it just so I could feel better about myself.”

“Spare me the false humility. What about this coin? What is so different about this one?” Annoyance touched his voice.

 “I keep this piece in my belt as a reminder of that city and the struggle that night. This coin changed me. I stopped living just for myself. Maybe it will have the same effect on you.”

 “I have my doubts. Whatever its real value, soon this too will be added to my collection,” Daggnir’s purr became a spasm again, sputtering out a few more coughs. “So, what came next? Slaying dragons and rescuing damsels?” Daggnir chuckled at his own humor.

“That came later. Thought I would start out small: trolls. I encountered a troublesome brute not too long after that.”

Daggnir snorted. “Miserable, filthy things. Taste terrible and smell worse.”

Hereb continued. “I drifted about after giving away the coins, trying to figure out my purpose. That is when I came to the village of Farewell.”

“Never heard of it, little man.”

“No doubt. Long way from here. It has a bridge over a crag just outside one of its gates. A troll had moved in. Underneath the bridge, I mean. It was eating everyone who got too close, mostly travelers from out of town. Bad for business.” Hereb paused, taking a deep breath. His sides ached terribly, but he stifled his moan this time. Talking was exhausting.

“I was crossing the bridge, heading into town, when the flabby beast stopped me. Wanted me to empty my pockets so he could see my trinkets. Must be a fetish. Apparently, he thought I was to be his dinner. Ugly beast, not very bright, but terribly strong. I recommended he move on and find another place to settle, but he wouldn’t listen. Said he liked it there, that it was a nice place to call home. He put up a good fight. He was quick despite his big belly, but I prevailed in the end. Rolled his corpse into the crag and dragged his head into the town square. The villagers were very grateful to be rid of him and offered many gifts, but I was content with the few choice pieces from the troll’s lair. He had a few good treasures under that bridge. Nothing compared to yours, of course. Your collection is quite impressive, I must say.”

“I am almost insulted by the comparison, shaddi. Is that where you got this sword? It was not made around here.”

“No, no. That blade is far too good to be found in a troll’s hoard. I got it afterward. That sword has a tale all its own.”

“Do you still have the time? Or will you be passing soon?” taunted Daggnir.

“I will keep it short. Just the highlights. Are you sure you do not have other things to do?”

“I have no plans other than to monitor my uninvited guest. Entertaining can make one hungry, however. Maybe the troll had the right idea.” Daggnir chuckled, then wheezed.

The monster shifted his weight, the sound of scales scraping against rock sending chills down Hereb’s spine.

“You are welcome to hold onto it for now. That sword belonged to the tyrant of Chu before I possessed it. He gave it to me… sort of.”

“Was it a true gift or did you steal that, too? Or maybe you killed a troll for him? Perhaps you picked it up in a lost city.”

“You have a quick wit. I would laugh more if it didn’t hurt so much,” Hereb complimented. Daggnir just coughed in response.

“After slaying the troll, I stayed in Farewell for a while. The troll was right. It was a good place to be. Wonderful folks. An old farmer took me in, and I worked the place with him for a time. It was a good life, but I could not stay. Very religious people. The place made me realize I did not like the man I was. So, I traveled east to learn their ways and to find others to help. I entered a small kingdom where the people were all living in fear. A warlord from Chu was terrorizing the people all around. He had quite an empire by the time I arrived. These villagers were next on his list and asked me to help them, so I did. We were able to outwit the tyrant in battle, destroying his army. On the battlefield, he refused to yield and challenged me to a duel. I took the sword from his dying hand. He was a cruel man, but he respected a skilled warrior. He nodded his approval as he breathed his last. It was the finest sword I had ever held, so I kept it.”

“I think I actually believe that one, shaddi.” Daggnir coughed for a while, then resumed his purr. “You claim to be quite a traveler, according to these stories of yours, anyway. Do you not have a home?”

“Not really. Left my small village when I was young looking for adventure.”

“Sounds like you found some—maybe more than you can handle,” Daggnir purred. “So, did all this excitement satisfy you? Was it worth it? Any regrets?”

“I do not regret the adventures or seeing the places I have seen.” Hereb’s voice softened as his memories drifted. “The most beautiful place you will ever come upon is Dova. It is even more awe-inspiring than Hagdan. Nothing compares to it, and I will never forget. No decent mortal could look upon the magical pools sparkling in the morning sun without weeping. The waters are sweeter than any nectar you will ever taste. I drank from every pool. The headwaters are the most satisfying. Just a drop will heal body and soul. I long for a sip now. My heart is refreshed at the mere memory.” Hereb sighed. “I do regret the many years of selfish living.”

Hereb sunk down the wall, cold and exhausted. He found it odd to be bearing his soul to this great beast with whom he had just battled. But now, he was too out of breath for more stories. The den fell silent except for Daggnir’s ponderous purring that filled the light-starved chamber. Hereb knew that cats purred for pleasure or to get attention, but he had also heard once they would purr to enhance healing. Could a dragon heal by purring? Hereb knew the dragon was wounded from their battle, but he could not guess how bad. Was Daggnir increasing his strength as Hereb’s drained away? Was he just toying with him? Was it a matter of time before the beast decided he had enough of his pest? Was the time growing near?

Find Raymond Keith’s Facebook page- Raymond Keith – Author https://www.facebook.com/Raymond-Keith-Author-1809222372690191

Part 2: Hope Once Lost, But Not Forgotten

By Brandon Muhlestein

Time. A seemingly infinite resource, yet one that we never seem to have enough of. It’s something that you can try to partition and save away, but no matter how hard you try, it will always be something that slips through your fingers. You plan for time in the future but end up scrambling for new plans because life worked out differently and once time has been ‘spent’, there is no way to get it back. People spend so much time doing things that will help them have more time, but always end up looking back wishing they’d done something different. But this isn’t the worst torture that time inflicts upon us; time will never forget. Time will always hold on to whatever pains and sorrows have fallen into its net. Even things long past can never truly be forgotten in time.

                                                            ~ ~

Time was a cruel thing, Noah thought as he walked to the lecture hall. Here he was, alive, with nothing but time to think about Archer and the fact that he was gone; constantly shadowed by his success in opening the door to the conversation of time as a plane of existence. No matter how much he wanted to leave everything to do with his thesis behind, he would constantly be reminded of how terribly wrong he had been. His greatest failure would forever stare him in the face with a mask of his greatest success.

He had been strong-armed into giving a lecture presentation to a collection of astrophysics students on the thesis he and his colleagues had published. Looking back over the research papers and notes he and his colleagues had taken when they’d compiled their thesis brought flashbacks of that moment when he’d lost his best friend to his best accomplishment. He hated talking about this subject now and couldn’t help but scoff at the irony that of the six members of his scientifically acclaimed thesis on time and relativity; he had been the one asked to speak.

His phone chimed with the alert that it was time for him to start setting up. He picked up the pace and reattached the mental mask he wore when around others—the one that kept them from asking if he was ok. A couple of students waved and smiled at him as he crossed the campus square, and he did his best to smile back and share pleasant greetings.

The lecture hall was larger than he had originally anticipated. Walking in, he realized that if the whole space was filled, there would easily be close to fifteen hundred people.

Noah quickly set up as students began to trickle in and take their seats. He did his best to sound excited as he welcomed them in and encouraged them to take their seats, preferably towards the front. The students eagerly began to fill the space and, sure enough, Noah realized that it was turning out to be a full-house experience. He honestly never realized just how well their thesis had been received.

It was surprisingly easy to slip into ‘teacher mode’ as he began his lecture. A familiarity fell upon him as he spoke about the several major points that had been the building blocks of their thesis: the principles of relativity and how time is measured relative to the frame of reference of the measurer, theories of time being non-linear and passes slower for objects that move at higher speeds, time travel as it then relates to traveling at the speed of light and a few theories on the different dimensions of existence. Several students raised their hands with questions and further interest throughout the seminar, and it surprised him just how much he enjoyed talking and discussing theories with them. These students all seemed to be either in an astrophysics program or have a legitimate interest in the topic because they all shared the things that had been discussion points he and his team had come up with.

Noah’s negative thoughts seemed to fade as the presentation continued. For the first time since leaving the Fragmented Shore, he felt comfortable slipping back into his scientist mode and discussing aspects of time and how it flowed through this plane. It was amazing to see how quickly the students grasped onto the idea that the metaphor of the ‘river of time’ could easily be a manifestation of a different plane crossing into this one. And it wasn’t until someone asked about the possibility of entering this plane of time that the reality slammed back into him like that terrible wave.

He managed to keep the rest of the lecture interesting and engaging, while intently avoiding the idea of entering the plane of time. He deflected questions by providing semi-accurate excuses, which seemed to appease everyone, but the truth hung over him like Damocles’ sword waiting to fall. Ultimately, he was successful, and the seminar ended with a thunderous round of applause from the students. He invited everyone interested in astrophysics and adjacent topics to continue to feed that interest through a few related seminars the school was putting on over the next couple of months before dismissing everyone.

Noah worked on sorting and packing his papers away into his bag. He heard a cough behind him and turned to see a man of average height with short, choppy blond hair and a book bag slung over his shoulder. There was a zeal in his eyes that Noah immediately recognized—the same one he’d had when he’d started all this.

Noah carefully set down the stack of papers and turned to give the student his full attention. “Yes. What can I do for you?”

The student reached out his hand. “My name is Logan, and I want to say your work has been incredible. It is truly amazing to imagine that we might begin to further understand one of the greatest phenomena of our universe.”

Noah took his hand with a pleasant smile. “I’m glad to see that people are still interested in the more theoretical sciences. A lot of us were worried that our thesis would fall on deaf ears as people focused on more practical sciences like green energy and global warming.”

“I’ve always had a fascination with space since I was young, and I’ve wanted to be involved with research to help us understand the universe better.” Noah smiled, again recognizing the same eager anticipation that he’d had. “Everything you and your team theorized is incredible, but I had a couple of questions.”

Noah nodded as he stepped back over to continue gathering his things. “I have to get my stuff out of here so the next class can come in, but you are welcome to ask while I work.”

Logan took the opportunity and continued, “You mentioned that if people could shift their frame of reference to be defined by a different point in space, we could potentially allow ourselves to be governed by a different measure of time? If that’s true, then could it be possible to measure ourselves with the frame of reference of this time dimension? Could that be the key to unlocking time travel? Would we then be able to enter this new dimension and…”

“NO!” Noah interjected forcefully. Memories of the Fragmented Shore overtook his thoughts like waves crashing on the shore. The guilt he’d spent so much time trying to seal away all came back in an ugly tsunami of thought. He could feel himself getting desperate and needed to get away from everything for a little while to let himself reset. He faced a shocked Logan to add, “Just because we introduced a new theory about time doesn’t mean that any of it is possible, nor does it mean that we have the methods to even attempt it if it were! Now leave me alone and don’t let this topic sweep you away, too.” He grabbed his things and quickly made his way out of the lecture hall.

He hurried across the campus and before he knew it; he was in one of the secluded rooms of the campus library. He dumped his stuff onto the table and fell into one of the chairs with a deep sigh. It stung to be reminded that he hadn’t taken really any precautions before entering the Fragmented Shore. They hadn’t given any thought to understanding how things worked before jumping in; hadn’t put in the effort to make sure they survived.

A knock at the door had him turning slowly, prepared to turn whoever it was away, but froze when he saw Logan standing there.

“I’m taking an educated guess, but you did it. Didn’t you? You discovered something more than what your thesis describes.”

Noah didn’t say anything, although he figured that was a confirmation in and of itself.

“And if I did?” Noah responded.

“Then why do you want to keep it hidden? Wouldn’t that confirm everything that you and your team theorized? Isn’t that the evidence that every scientist hopes they’ll find to back their theories? Why wouldn’t you want that?” Logan asked, bewildered.

“Because when you deal with forces that you have no hope of controlling, you don’t get to decide the outcome!”

“What happened?” Logan asked quietly. His voice was just above a whisper.

Noah knew Logan wasn’t trying to pry, but also felt he wasn’t going to give up, either.

“You want to know? Fine. Sit down and I’ll tell you all about the biggest failure of my life.”

By G Burton Voss

Jeffery Ellis went room to room with his inspection. He took his time in each place: the galley, beacon stores, harpoon racks, living quarters, an acceptable hold, and, most importantly, the bridge. The space tug was bright and airy, docked with the ramp down at the best repair yard on the planet Fortuna: R.W. Dagget’s.

“How do you feel, Tug?” Jeff’s baritone was pleasant with the vigor of youth. At 26, it hadn’t sunk into a deep rumble.

“There are micrometeorite impacts along the starboard,” the ship’s male-voiced computer answered, “and the dent is still in the port aft quarter.”

“We’ll see about fixing your skin; how about the operational stuff?”

“My shields aren’t working, or you wouldn’t have been able to bounce us off that asteroid, and the fusion engines have developed harmonics.”

“Both of ’em?”

“Yes.”

Jeff plopped into the captain’s chair and ran his fingers through his wavy, jet-black hair. “Well, RW is coming by soon to get the list. Got anything else—loose circuits, overheating components, stuff like that?”

“Sensors show he’s coming now,” Tug said, “and he has someone with him.”

RW hollered from the bottom of the ramp. “Hello, Ellis! Permission to come aboard?”

Jeff left the bridge, slid down a ladder, and took a hall to the bay. “Come in, RW. Who’s that with you?”

“I brought my best mechanic since the Ellis name means so much. This is my daughter, Emlyn. She’s joined me full-time. I’m changing the business’s name to Double Dagget Craft Repair & Refurbish Co.”

“Your daughter?” Jeff frowned at the woman with a grease monkey hat over her blonde collar-length hair. She had a smudge on her cheek—it could’ve been carbon or a radiation burn. She wore shapeless, slightly baggy overalls. An automated maintenance cart trundled behind her. He couldn’t tell much else, except she was only about four inches shorter than his own 6’ 3” frame. “Uh, Tug, verify she’s qualified.”

Emlyn glared at Jeff as Tug’s voice filled the hold. “Her qualifications check. Unless her documents are forged, she’s certified for structural, power plant, navigation, life support, and communications maintenance. She also has an interstellar captain’s license.”

The woman spun to leave, but RW caught her arm. “Hold on, honey. You know his life depends on this ship; he’s not only got a right to check the qualifications of his mechanic, he’s expected to. You’d do the same.”

She took a deep breath and sent Jeff a volcanic stink eye. “Do you clear me to work with the ship’s computer?”

Something about the woman amused Jeff, and he couldn’t help needling her. “Yeah, uh, Tug, accept instructions from what’s-her-name here, but give her notices if she appears to blunder, will you?”

Emlyn’s hands were white-knuckled fists as she stormed off, ignoring her father’s calls to wait. The maintenance cart squeaked away behind her.

RW sighed. “Couldn’t help it, could you? Had to prod her—but I’m telling you, Jeff, she’s the best mechanic you’ll ever find. Knowing who your mother is, I expected you to be more open to my daughter working on your ship.”

“Aw, it’s not that, R.W. She looked uncomfortable being the object of a proud daddy’s praise. I figured if I didn’t challenge her qualifications, she’d think she got the job on your say-so. Although, I admit to goading a smidgen.” He grinned. “Where do I find her? I’ll apologize.”

***

Jeff caught sight of a dirty pair of green overall legs in the engine room of a sleek cruiser. They were easy to spot as Emlyn lay over the antimatter chamber, her waist and top out of view among the luxury craft’s gleaming maze of plodium piping. He hadn’t noticed her scuffed brogans before.

He stopped on the catwalk next to her tool cart. “May we finish our conversation?”

“Who’s that?” Her voice came floating up over the hum of a molecular welder.

“Jeff Ellis.”

“Blast off!”

“I came to apologize and offer to buy you lunch.”

There was no reply, only the steady hum of the tool repairing microscopic cracks. If done correctly, it would be impossible to tell where repairs were made. Jeff could see no faults.

“I was wrong, and I’m hungry,” he said. “Can’t a robot do that?”

No answer. The hum of the tool continued. He was about to give up and leave when she called “DelVaucio’s—one hour.”

***

DelVaucio’s was an upscale restaurant near the spaceport, frequented by businessmen and women who could write off the expense. Jeff assumed Emlyn needed the time to clean up and dress appropriately.

He was wrong. She plodded through the sliding glass entry in her overalls and brogans. In addition to the smudge on her cheek, she had imprints around her eyes and across her forehead where the welding protector sat. A scowling steward escorted her to the table.

Emlyn slid into the booth. “I don’t think they’d have seated me if I hadn’t said I was meeting an Ellis.” She puckered her lips and put on a sardonic face. “I hope I haven’t ruined your reputation.”

Jeff laughed out loud, drawing attention from nearby tables. “Here,” he said, passing a card to her. “That’ll get you into any system on the ship. The computer answers to Tug and look for my wimple. He goes by CB”

“You have a wimple?” she asked, perking up.

“Everyone’s always surprised at that,” he said.

He couldn’t blame them. Wimples, unknown on Earth, were common on Fortuna. They were haughty little cat-like primates: short-haired except for their head and neck. On occasion—rarely—one attached to a human and became fiercely devoted. They couldn’t be enticed by food, pre-made nests, or anything folks tried. Attempts to trap them failed. Some people said the wimples could shape-shift out of or into anything. Others said the wimples were simply more intelligent than humans, but all agreed it took someone special to attract one.

“And what do you call him again?”

“CB. I named him after my college roommate, Charlie Bodkins. Charlie spent most of his time trying to get into the women’s dorm. CB has spent his time aboard finding his way into every cubic centimeter.”

“All right,” Emlyn said, slipping the card into her pocket. “I’ll look at your ship.”

“Fine,” Jeff said. “Tug’s got the list of gripes.”

She eyeballed him with a long, studied gaze. “What’re you looking for alone in the asteroid field?”

“I’m not alone.” The answer was quick, boilerplate. “I’ve got Tug and CB”

Her question held more than curiosity. He couldn’t identify the nuance in her eyes, but it surprised him. She held him in an attentive stare until he said it aloud for the first time.

“I’d like to be found worthy on my own. You know, without being judged as the son of an enormously wealthy woman and my dad, who’s the most brilliant physicist in existence.”

Suddenly embarrassed, he waved away the question. “Sounds like a soap opera. Forget it; let’s eat.”

“Fair enough.” She picked up the menu. “What do you recommend?”

“I think I’ll have a broth of sea herbs and a salad. For you, I’d suggest a bib and napkin.”

“I expected you to be more arrogant than snarky.”

“Really? Why do I have to be one or the other?”

Emlyn shrugged one shoulder. “You Ellis’s are a strange family.”

The server took their order, and Jeff returned to the subject.

“And how are we Ellis’s strange?”

Emlyn put her elbows on the table, her dirty sleeves marking the white linen tablecloth. “Your mother is one of the richest people on Earth and stays there. Your father is here on Fortuna, working on something to do with entangled particles. He has a mansion your mother bought him, but he spends most of his time in a lab at the university. You’re their son and heir. You could be anywhere doing anything for fun or pleasure, yet you go out alone to harvest asteroids.”

Heat flushed up Jeff’s neck, but he held his peace.

“Maybe you’re more dysfunctional rather than strange,” Emlyn said.

Jeff sipped his water. “I didn’t realize we were under such scrutiny,”

Emlyn waved the statement away as their food arrived. “Gossip columns.”

***

Jeff patted the stack of notes his father gave him. “Thanks, Dad. It looks like you’re getting close. I’ll be interested in reading this batch.”

CB rode Jeff’s shoulder and reached for the papers. Jeff quickly moved them out of reach.

“You can’t have these, pal. I have to see if my dad’s about to solve quantum entanglement transportation.”

“There’s some very intriguing stuff in there, son,” Bob said. I’ll be interested in what you make of it.”

“You should have this peer-reviewed, Dad. You may get there quicker.”

“You’re better than my peers, Jeff. You understand entanglement better than most. When are you going to patent your asteroid delivery system? You know your competitors are trying to figure out how you accurately ship them. You might as well get royalties for it before they stumble across the method and take it free.”

“I’ll think about it, but I’m ready to ship out again. I just stopped by to tell you Tug says we’re loaded and ready.”

“Think about staying put and helping me in the lab, Jeff. I’ll give you a free run to do what you want.”

Jeff absently stroked CB and asked, “Do you think we’re a dysfunctional family, Dad?”

“Where did that come from?”

“Dunno. I’ve been thinking about it. Mom’s on Earth. She didn’t object to me coming out here, but I’m pretty sure she’d like me there. You don’t live with her—yet you two seem committed to your marriage. Couldn’t you do your work as well there as here?”

Bob drew himself up and raised his chin. “Your mother and I are just fine. We’re not apart.”

It was the end of the discussion. “OK, Dad. I’ll call you when I’ve read your notes.”

***

Jeff’s ship was towed to the space elevator and lifted into low orbit. He rechecked the systems—all green—ordered Tug to disengage and lit the fusion engines. When Fortuna became a speck on the aft viewscreen, Tug sighed and, in a new female voice, said, “Finally!”

Jeff sat up in the captain’s chair. “Tug! What’s going on? You sound strange.”

“Oh, Tug’s gone, Sugar. I’m Honey.”

“What’ve you done with my computer? Bring back Tug.”

“Relax, Sugar. Emlyn upgraded your old computer with me. All the old data is still here, but I can fetch it faster and make thousands more computations per microsecond.”

Jeff slammed a fist against the armrest. “Why didn’t she tell me she was doing this?”

“She thought you might have this reaction. I was programmed to delay my existence until we were out of Fortuna’s gravity well.”

“Listen to me!” Jeff swung his finger in the air as if the computer was everywhere. “I’m the captain ordering you to return Tug’s voice.”

“Oh, Sugar. Of course, you’re the captain. And I’m Honey. Please call me by name. It’s one of the things Emlyn insisted on when she upgraded the programming.”

“I’m gonna turn this ship around, take it back to that conniving female, and make her fix this if you don’t comply!”

“Are you sure you wanna do that, Sugar? Aren’t the engines running better than ever? Aren’t the displays clearer and brighter? And wait until you try out the metallurgical sensors—Wunderbar! You’ll also find the air fresher with the new, upgraded scrubbers. I could go on, but you get the idea.”

Jeff wanted to throw something but calmed down at the sight of CB curled up on the navigation console. Was the wimple smiling? Could they even do that?

“Fine. Take us to the asteroid belt.”

“What’s that, Sugar?”

His jaws hurt, clamping his teeth so hard. “Take us to the asteroid belt, Honey.”

“Yes sir, Captain Sugar!”

GBurton Voss is out of this world when it comes to writing stellar fiction! You won’t be able to stop laughing with the Spitball Semester

Check out Burton’s books on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/gburton-Voss/e/B07R3FBZ9R?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1661828851&sr=1-1 https://www.amazon.com/gburton-Voss/e/B07R3FBZ9R?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1661828851&sr=1-1

by Mark Enlow

Cecil Bean knew the tarnished goose that warmed in his hands did not belong in his brass animal collection nor anyone else’s. The thought, ‘put it back down, now!’ came from so deep a place in his mind that he thought a passing antique store clerk had said it.

“Sir is everything alright, you’re shaking?” clerk Amanda Whigham stopped to ask.

“Quite alright, I think,” Cecil replied. “How much is this goose? There’s no price, but it’s the best-looking goose I’ve seen in the Brooklyn Borough.” Cecil handed it over to her for inspection.

Amanda turned it upside down and they both eye-balled it for a sticker. Cecil spied a dime-sized screw-in plug on its bottom.

“Sorry sir, no price, but if you’re interested, I’ll look it up in our book upfront.” She handed it back to Cecil. “Meet you upfront?”

“Okay,” he acknowledged. The goose was now heating up like a hot stove. He trotted up to the front counter with it and sat it down.

Amanda paged through the store’s inventory. Unable to find it, she phoned the store’s manager, Thomas Bright.

“Listen, Amanda,” Thomas declared, “do what you have to do to sell it at any price! Just get it out of the store! It’s been returned three times, and it’s been sitting there now for six months.” He hung up.

“Sir, how does seventy-five dollars sound?” Amanda questioned.

“Fabulous, I’ll take it!” Cecil replied with a grin and handed her the cash.

“Thank you, sir,” Amanda stated. “Enjoy your goose! I’m sure others have.”

“What? What do you mean by others…?” Cecil questioned.

“Oh, nothing, sir. I was just rambling to myself. Have a good day!”

Cecil darted out the door with his goose, jumped in his car, and sped home.

Just before sunset, Cecil removed the plug on the bottom of the goose and, with tweezers, he excavated a small scroll.

He unrolled the note and read: ‘Aunt Nellie’s Unique Antiques stocks treasures that will change your life forever—20 percent off your next three purchases.’

“Well… that’s a crazy way to advertise, but I like that discount!”

Cecil sat and admired his giraffe collection on his study’s display shelf. He muttered, “I’m going to go see Aunt Nellie first thing tomorrow and use my first discount on that porcelain giraffe I admired today.”

The next day, the store clerk, Amanda, scratched one red marker line on the back of Cecil’s discount scroll and handed it back to him. “Thank you,” Amanda smiled. “I hope you enjoy your purchase!”

Cecil arrived back home, placed his new giraffe on a picnic table outback then took an afternoon nap. Upon awakening, he watched as evening silhouettes of trees, swayed by the wind, appeared across the closed curtain of the second-floor backyard window. Something else cast a shadow there, too.

He rubbed his eyes and refocused on the curtain. It was still there—a life-sized giraffe’s silhouette. He hurried outside to find a 16-foot-tall giraffe munching on his treetops. The HOA isn’t going to like this! He thought. I can’t hide this guy either! He is cute though!

A crowd soon formed to watch the spectacle, followed by the city police department, animal control, and the city’s zoo officials who arrived with their transport truck.

Cecil posted bail after his arrest for violating the Animal Welfare Act and other city ordinances and drove straight to Aunt Nellies. Amanda wasn’t there, but Aunt Nellie was.

As Cecil wandered aimlessly around, an epiphany moment dawned on him. He reasoned; I’m not getting any younger. Maybe it’s time to settle down, perhaps raise a family.

“Now where was that pigeonhole section I discovered earlier with the Hollywood starlet statues in it?” he asked himself.

“Ah… found it!” he whispered. He looked the miniature starlet statues over carefully and chose Marilyn Monroe.

At the register, Nellie saw the one red stripe on Cecil’s discount scroll. She smiled and asked? “How did you like your first purchase, sir?”

“Oh… it was quite a large value for the money, but I couldn’t keep it,” he said contritely. It has a new home, perhaps for the better.”

“I see… well… enjoy your new purchase,” she replied, still smiling. She put the second red stripe on the back of his discount paper and handed it back.

Cecil arrived home and set Marilyn on the kitchen table, watched a little TV, and went to bed early.

The world was still dark when Cecil awoke. He didn’t see Marilyn towering over him as he lay in bed.

“Who are you, and what am I doing here?” Marilyn demanded to know.

“Oh… thank you goose… amazing…!” Cecil muttered, then exclaimed, “Now we can head to Las Vegas and get married, Marilyn, just as I planned!”

“Hold it, buster!” she exclaimed. “I’m not going anywhere with you, cause you’re crazy! Drop me at the airport or I’m calling the police now!”

“But… the plans…” Cecil pouted.

“Your plans! Last chance!” she stated louder.

“Alright…” he sighed.

When he returned home, he moped around the house the rest of the day, but the next day he hatched a new plan. “I’ll use my last antique discount to buy the United States Bullion Depository… Fort Knox statue—the little statue that shines!”

“The gold will get me anything I want. It’s the… the… answer,” he stuttered. “Genius, pure genius!” He applauded himself.

Upon his return home from Aunt Nellie’s Antiques, he admired the little Fort Knox and placed it on his top trophy shelf.

Cecil awoke the next day in a place he didn’t recognize. “Whoa… the Fort Knox vault and it’s filled with gold bars!” he exclaimed.

The vault door opened. “Okay, buddy, show me your hands!” The U.S. Mint officer shouted, as he leveled his gun at Cecil.

Days drag by at the federal prison where Cecil Bean now hangs his hat. The best days are when Cecil’s only sister, Rose, comes to visit.

On Rose’s last visit, Cecil asked her, “So, Sis, what have you been doing lately?”

“Not much. I bought another antique yesterday. It’s a shiny goose,” she answered. “Found it at a place you’d probably like. It’s called Aunt Nellie’s.”

The guards arrived and carried Cecil to the prison’s infirmary.    

Buy Mark’s book, The King of Zu Island- https://www.amazon.com/King-Zu-Island-Mark-Enlow/dp/1735793205/ref=sr_1_3?crid=VWO31378X619&keywords=mark+enlow&qid=1661895398&s=books&sprefix=mark+enlow%2Cstripbooks%2C166&sr=1-3

I’ll Sleep Better Tonight!

by Taia Joy Flake

Sleeping on a dragon’s back sounds like fun, but Devlyn learned quickly that her best friend’s dragon form was about as comfortable as a bed of rocks. Rocks that snored smoke. It took only one night into their adventures as newly paid, Heroes for Hire for Devlyn to decide that both she and Bud would sleep on the ground in human form.

One morning after sleeping on a rocky dirt patch, Devlyn was awakened by loud voices complaining from a nearby roadway. 

“They can’t block the road like this!” She heard one man shout. “This is the fastest way to Hestenshire!” 

“It’s the only road to Hestenshire,” another called out.

The crowd continued to murmur and Develyn’s stomach grumbled—it wanted breakfast. She was saving what little money they got from the monks for a room with a soft bed once they got to the inn in Hestenshire. Her stomach grumbled again, and she realized she’d have to choose between spending their money on breakfast or saving it for a room unless they could make a little more money before they reached the inn.

“Someone has to do something, and soon!” She heard another voice howl. That’s when she got an idea.

“Wake up, Bud!” She pushed and jerked on his arm. “People need help!”

Bud grumbled and stirred but didn’t wake. 

Devlyn jumped up and ran off toward the sound of the aggravated voices.

“What seems to be the problem?” She asked in her most heroic-sounding voice. Rather than answer her, the people simply pointed to the road behind her. She turned to look, and her heart sank. Skaji. A good half dozen of them.

She’d seen skaji in every creature book ever written. skaji were big, fluffy, stubborn, and immovable cattle. They were so big and lazy that when they laid down; they stayed there for weeks at a time. Nothing could entice them to move. Not food, not poking them with a hot stick, nothing. 

Devlyn’s stomach grumbled again. She waved her arms above her head to get the crowd’s attention.

“Folks, I can help you! I will remove every skaji from this road… For a small fee, of course.” She said with a smile. 

The crowd started to murmur.

“I promise!” She reassured them. “If I can’t clear the road in ten minutes, I’ll give all the money back. Twelve ounces of gold and the roadway will be cleared.”

The crowd scoffed and one called out, “Whose got that kinda money?”

“Well, you could pool your money together,” Devlyn said as she scratched her nose.

“What choice do we have? I only have two ounces to my name.”

“I got one.”

“Me too.” 

As the crowd gathered their money, Devlyn went to wake Bud and get her copy of Common Creatures and How to Care for Them.

“Wake up Bud. We have a job.”

“We do?” He yawned sleepily. 

“Yes, and it’s best if you transform now and meet me on the road.”

“The road? As a dragon?”

“Yes, the job is on the road.”

“Alright.” He stretched as Devlyn read over the passage about skaji.

“Oh, no, they’re fireproof,” she said.

“What are?” Bud asked. 

She didn’t have time to answer. She ran back to the road with her book in hand, trying to think of another way. 

As she reached the crowd again, a large, grungy man with one eyebrow and few teeth questioned, “And just how are you going to move those things by yourself?” he demanded.

“I never said I would do it alone.” There was a roar in the forest behind her. “I am Devlyn, Daughter of Benso Ki.” Just then Bud broke through the tree line, stretching his wings high. “And I never travel alone!” 

The crowd backed away. Every onlooker stood in awe and trembled. Devlyn held out her hand and a bag of gold was placed in it.

“Thank you. Now, please stand back and just watch.” 

Bud looked at the sleeping skaji, then back down at Devlyn, his amber eyes disapproving even in dragon form. 

“We need the money,” she mouthed to him, then stated loudly, “they need the cows moved.”

He rolled his eyes at her.

“We can do charity work after we’re rich and famous.” She felt a little twinge of guilt in her empty stomach. “I promise!” 

Bud shook his head but walked towards the skaji.

“You can’t scare them with fire. Try roaring at them?” Devlyn said.

Bud let out a booming loud roar that shook the ground beneath them. Some in the crowd fell over in fright or backed farther away. Devlyn covered her ears but still heard ringing after Bud stopped. 

Not a single budge from the sleeping skaji. “Ugh!” Devlyn grumbled. “Try kicking them!”

Bud side-eyed Devlyn. She knew he wouldn’t actually kick a sleeping animal. He nudged one with his foot. Nothing. He started pushing it. Nothing. If they weren’t breathing, Devlyn would have thought they were dead. 

“Breathing?” she said to herself. “Blow smoke in their faces so they breathe it in!” she called up to Bud.

He bent low. Face to face with the first skaji, Bud took in a deep breath and blew out smoke from his nostrils. The skaji rumbled, but simply buried his face under fluffy gray legs and went on sleeping.

Devlyn was starting to worry. They were running out of time.

“Can’t you just pick them up?” she asked. Bud looked at the oversized cattle and shrugged. He placed a claw under the leg of the first fluffy skaji and pulled. Bud wasn’t big enough to lift the whole cow, but he could drag it.

He pulled the skaji to the side of the road, dragging its back legs and hindquarters on the ground.

“Whatever works!” Devlyn yelled. Then she ran to find and clear spots for Bud to place each cow.

It may not have looked graceful or heroic, but one by one Bud dragged each skaji from the road and to the place Devlyn had cleared. When the task was done, the crowd clapped as they laughed and gathered their carts to be on their way. 

Devlyn dropped back on top of the final skaji; laying against its fluff was the most comfortable she’d been since leaving home. 

Bud transformed behind some trees and then came and stood next to Devlyn.

“We could have done that for free,” he said, crossing his arms. “This road needs to be clear for wagons and carts. It’s the only way to Hestenshire.”

“I’m the one in charge of the money, remember, and as soon as we can afford a proper bed without worrying, then we can do tasks for free. But as for now…” She held up the purse of gold coins. “We’ll have full bellies. And I can sleep in a bed not made of dirt and rocks.” 

“Dev, we’re supposed to be heroes for hire, not highway bandits.”

“We’re not bandits.”

“Devlyn, there is a big difference between being hired to do a job and forcing people to pay you just to do the right thing.”

“What do you want me to do? Give the money back and sleep on the ground again?”

“Whether you sleep on the ground or on a feather bed, you should feel good about what you did that day. You are in charge of the money, Dev, so what do you think true heroes should do?”

Devlyn sighed, then raced to get in front of the crowd.

“Wait!” she yelled, holding her hands up to stop the carts. “Here’s your money back! Devlyn, Daughter of Benzo Ki and my friend Bud of Kern, are Heroes for Hire.”

She handed the bag to the man with one eyebrow, and he began passing out the coins to their owners while Devlyn continued. “Please think of us if you are ever in need of hero services.”

“Thank you, lass.” The man said. “We’ll remember your name.” He placed a single coin in her hand before she could refuse. Then, nodding his gratitude, he walked away.

A couple with two small children came toward her with a loaf of bread. The father handed it to Devlyn. “We’ve had our breakfast, but it doesn’t look like you’ve had yours. Thank you for what you’ve done here.”

The travelers all smiled and waved their goodbyes as they continued their journey down the road.

Devlyn took a bite of the bread and handed it to Bud. She looked down at the single coin. It was not enough for a feather bed, but she smiled at her best friend.  “You were right, Bud. I’ll sleep better tonight. Even on a rock that snores smoke.”

By Nora L Taylor

Within a lonely castle upon distant plains, there resided a young boy who slept in a tower by night. By day his thoughts turned far away as he looked through the distant haze to the forest beyond. His heart yearned for adventure, and he hoped that as in tales of old, that there, where the hills edged toward the horizon and rich hues of forest green paled the bleak summer plains, might await for him a grand tale.

There happened one night a rare moon. Appearing in a glistering shade of silver-blue, it shone in vivid contrast to the deepening sky. The boy watched the shades of darkness fall, ever enhancing the moon’s entrancing effect, and wondered at its meaning.

The next day found the lad’s heart inexplicably drawn to the forest. His boots tied, he hastened down the tower steps, running with all his might to the wood beyond. Yet the nearer he came, the more distant it grew, till at last, panting and near out of breath, he halted by an aged tree.

Just above him rested a lark on a weathered limb. “What say? What say?” called the lark, in a peculiar voice, half song and half speech.

“Is not this where the plains meet the rolling, fertile hills of the east?” the youth asked. “If so, not ever was a boy of my country permitted to journey hence.”

The lark eyed the lad with interest and entreated the boy to follow him to the inner wood. Through a song, he wove a magical tale in the boy’s heart—a tale that grew more pronounced in his mind the further they strove until, at last; they came to the forest.

“Before you,” began the lark with a rare song, “lies a magical wood of ancient trees and forgotten languages, where once the tongues of men stirred tales to the favor of fair maidens, maidens who long ago sat beneath the young boughs in spring, weaving and humming such gentle melodies as to stir the hearts of all who heard them. But a great calamity fell on the men of the east, and all their joys and gladness of heart and gentleness of song were near lost, save for that which yet stirred among the high, golden branches of the forest. Starlight captured the spirit of these memories, in all their purity and essence, into one particularly lovely branch, the branch which reached the furthest toward the heavens and turned it into the purest shade of glistering gold.

“Then there happened one night, a great wind of immense strength, that tore through the forest and broke the limb. Yet the branch’s loveliness, as it lay on the ground, did not go unnoticed, but was happened upon by a stranger, one who forged from the wood a wonder—an instrument of exquisite beauty.

“And it was here, near the heart of the forest, where wood nymphs danced and nyybelles sang and fairies glistened on silver wings… all to the sweet melody of the Golden Flute.”

“Fairies… on silver wings…” repeated the boy thoughtfully.

“Indeed! Indeed!” continued the lark. “The Golden Flute is believed to…

Make free all bound, by rope or iron,

Procure in the heart of hope, a fountain,

Spring new life where little remains,

In blessing, an outpouring, for goodness to reign.”

The lark need say little more. Together they went beyond the edge of the wood, to deep beneath shaded tunnels to the heart of the forest.

At length, they came to a meadow, where honey-melon blooms lay on the earth. Picking an ivory flower, it altered to a golden melon in his hand. Its scent was sweet, and in the first bite, the boy found its taste as rich as honey. He ate of the fruit eagerly, and only afterward was aware of its entrancing effect.

The boy now grew tall, a foot greater to be sure, and began to feel strange inside by the swiftness of alteration.

The lark, yet near him, cried out, “Here! Here!”

The boy followed his friend to a trickling creek. Tall reeds grew near the water bank, with withered blooms the shade of a dusty rose. The lark advised him to eat of them, yet the lad was hesitant; for the drooping blooms appeared inedible, with crusty petals that could hardly taste as pleasant as the golden melon.

But when the lark advised him that never a fairy would appear to so tall a lad, the boy closed his eyes and, taking a handful, swallowed them quickly. The blooms were neither sweet nor bitter, and in his mouth were not dry, but juicy in texture, as unto a berry.

When the lad opened his eyes, he found himself on the banks of a rushing river, or so it appeared. For he had so diminished in height that the creek now resembled the width of a great river.

“Come! Come!” called the lark, darting through the trees.

Alighting upon a fallen leaf, the boy rode the waves of the river downstream. The sun was beginning to set, and further shadows were cast all around the banks of the river as he passed.

When he began to grow fearful that he might be lost, a lulling melody began to flow toward him. It was enchantingly light and somber, numbing the thoughts of the lad as it grew closer. 

When he felt it could be no nearer than the trees beyond, the boy leaped to the grassy bank. But his height was so small that the blades of grass were as a forest in passing. He now feared he might not reach the source of the music before it stopped.

Then a grasshopper of bright green hues happened before him. When the boy explained his dilemma, the grasshopper waved him on, offering to journey him to the destined song.

Over the grass and through the trees, they flew. When the grasshopper landed, it was beside a holly hedge overlooking a pond. On the bank beyond, illuminated by the soft glory of moonlight, sat the Village of Faerie.

Nestled near hedges of wild roses, amid mushrooms and silver lanterns dangling from tiny vines, all set aglow by the radiance of lightning bugs, it seemed as magical a wonder as a child could behold.

Across the pond, he saw them, and for a moment held his breath. For what others had spoken of as myth, the boy now watched in awe, beholding the gentle movement of these graceful creatures, of what only fairies knew as the Feather Dance.

Eight to ten fairies with transparent, glittering wings fluttered above the twinkling pond, swaying lightly and rolling in flight as a feather when cast upon wind. They varied in hues of lavender, beige and green; their golden eyes reflecting as tiny stars upon the pond.

Turning, they saw the boy, for keen are the eyes of a fairy. Their flight was of graceful rhythm as they approached him, and the boy found that he was half-heartedly afraid.

But their smiles were peaceable, and when a fairy maiden with silken red hair stretched forth her hand, he took it joyfully. All fear subsided, and before he realized it, he was looking down on a passing limb where sat the grasshopper. He was swept away, given to flight as he held to the hand of the maiden.

They passed the glittering village below and ascended through trees of maple and willow. None of them spoke as the breeze raced through the leaves around them.

Then once more, he heard the lulling music that had been forgotten before the wondrous sight of the fairies.

Down they flew, to within the hollow of a fallen log, and waited. The boy felt a great shaking of the earth beneath them as footsteps approached. When he would have spoken, the fairy maiden turned and smiled, as though reading his thoughts, and bid him remain silent.

As the music grew closer, the boy now recognized the fairy king among them, for he wore a small golden crown between his slim, pointed ears. At his side hung a leather sheath from which he drew a shimmering sword that shone as moonlight.

The king turned unexpectedly, handing the sword to the lad. Overwhelmed by his gesture, the boy knew not how to refuse him. Meeting the king’s gaze, he, at last, took hold of the gleaming sword. Suddenly, a tingling surge shot through his right arm, into his shoulder, and down his back. The boy turned, and wondered in amazement to see fine, shimmering golden wings resting upon his shoulders! Filled with joy, he returned the sword and found like gladness upon the faces of his new companions.

The boy, who now felt a mysterious courage sweep over him, looked through a hole in the log to the clearing before them.

Three dwarves, of considerable size to the fairies’ small stature, rested on the grass of the clearing. The smallest of the three played a delicate, golden flute, while his companions smoked rough pipes cut of cherry wood.

The dwarves mumbled and laughed among themselves, and at length, the lad wondered for what it was his fairy companions so patiently waited.

After some time, the maiden drew him nigh, pointing through a crack in the wood. Before unnoticed, the boy now saw a tiny figure lying bound and tied at the feet of the dwarf who played the magical flute. He was a fairy, to be sure, but unlike the fairies by the pond. He appeared taller, his skin of pale blue, his hair of silver white. His wings, too, were confined within the binding.

When the music stopped, it was nigh to morning. Little did the lad know the moon was about to set. The flute lay at the side of the dwarf, who, like the others, was now fast asleep.

Quickly they darted, one by one, out of the hollow log and descended upon the grass before the blue fairy.

The king took his gleaming sword and attempted to sever the unique twine that bound their friend. But he was bound of a magical twine that gleamed as silver, and the more they attempted to loosen its grasp, the tighter it drew about the fairy.

The maiden turned away. A solitary tear fell from her golden eyes, wrenching the heart of the boy, who was desirous to help.

He looked about anxiously and spotted the Golden Flute that lay at the foot of the dwarf. Recalling the magical wonders of the flute to sever the ties of enchantment, he rushed to see how it might be played. Yet the flute lay incredibly large before him; its length greater than his height, and its weight heavier than he might lift.

At the foot of a nearby tree, he spotted the lark, who lowered his beak before a trailing vine. The boy saw the shadow of a gourd beneath and, hastening to it, recognized a honey-melon lay before him.

Joyfully, he grasped the melon and devoured it quickly. Instantly, his height increased, and once more he returned to his normal height of a boy!

The fairies took to their wings, fluttering above their friend as the boy took hold of the Golden Flute and began to play.

The music flowed gently, its pitch high and light upon the wind of the meadow. Slowly it began to stir awake the enchantment of the silver twine. The longer the boy played, the weaker it became, until at last the king severed the twine with his gleaming sword. In a puff of smoke, the twine was vanquished. The blue fairy, to the delight of his friends, ascended to the heights of the trees, fluttering as a silver star among the leaves.  

The dwarves, however, had now awoken. They stood angrily before the boy who had taken their prize.

The boy looked desperately about him for a means of escape.

The lark called, “Fly! Fly!”

The boy had forgotten his wings! Miraculously, the king’s magic was yet upon him! He raced through the trees, the flute firmly in hand.

The dwarves’ thumping steps fell close behind as he reached a vast meadow. There, a sudden brisk wind whisked about him as he leaped into the air, taken into flight by the swiftness of his golden wings!

The lark soaring beside him; the boy felt the morning air cool against his face, brushing his skin. Far below, beneath the branches, he spotted the small clearing where the fairy pond lay. He recalled the magic of their dance, and remembering the flute, passed it to the lark, who grasped it in his small talons. The bird, flying low, dropped the flute into the reeds at the edge of the pond.

The boy soared high across the plains to the warmth of the sun upon his skin. As the breeze descended, he was taken down to his tower keep. Safe upon his feet once more, the magical wings vanished- and he was left to ever wonder if it all had been a dream.

Yet in the midst of the fairy pond, each night of the full moon, the wind blows lightly through the willows, taking to song upon the Golden Flute, giving flight to the fairies of summer, who alight upon shimmering wings and with gladness of heart to the flowing melody of the Feather Dance.

By Paulette Gehlker

Long ago, dogs could talk to people and other animals. They could say, “Good morning, I’m hungry, scratch my ears,” and other helpful phrases. The only problem was that Dogs could not keep secrets. They spread gossip and exaggerated something awful.

One day, the Shoemaker bought six loaves of bread from the Baker. He loaded the basket of bread into his burro cart. On the way home, the cart hit a deep rut and bounced high in the air. When it came down, one loaf of bread flew out and landed in a ditch.

When he got home, his wife said, “I asked you to buy six loaves of bread.”

“I did,” said the Shoemaker.

“Well,” said his wife, “There are only five loaves in the basket.”

“Perhaps the Baker forgot. I’ll tell him next time I go to buy bread. Let’s eat dinner. I’m hungry.”

That night, when all the masters were asleep, the dogs got together for their nightly canine convocation.

The Shoemaker’s dog said to the Baker’s dog, “My master says your master is a cheat!”

“Well, I never,” exclaimed the Baker’s dog in a huff. He would have growled and nipped the Shoemaker’s dog, but fighting was strictly forbidden at the convocation on threat of never being allowed to attend again.

Early next morning, even before asking to be let outside, the Baker’s dog told his master what the Shoemaker had said. He also added that the Shoemaker thought the bread was stale.

“Well, I never,” said the Baker, as he fumed and complained loudly.

When the mayor and his dog stopped by the bakery to buy morning sweet rolls and mentioned that he was going to have a fine new pair of boots made, the Baker said. “Don’t go to our local shoemaker. He makes all his shoes too small to save on leather.”

That night the mayor’s dog told the Shoemaker’s dog that the mayor did not want a pair of boots made by his master, since everyone knew he was stingy and used alley-cat hide to save on cow leather.

Well, by now the Baker wasn’t talking to the Shoemaker, and the Shoemaker wasn’t speaking to the mayor, and the mayor was walking around in old boots with holes in the soles because he didn’t dare ask for a new pair to be made.

The entire village was unhappy and unsettled. Half the villagers were on the Baker’s side and the other half on the Shoemaker’s, but no one quite understood why.

That night at the convocation, the blacksmith’s dog, who had overheard what the mayor’s dog had said, left early and searched out El Gordo, the biggest, meanest, nastiest tempered tom cat in the village. El Gordo was as big as any two cats tied together, his fur was the color of mud, and one ear was missing from losing a fight long ago. He hadn’t lost any sense!

“The mayor is going to start paying a bounty on every cat skin brought to city hall and the shoemaker will use them instead of cow leather.” He needed to repeat himself three times for, as every dog knows, cats are slow of speech and stupid.

El Gordo gathered his followers around him that very afternoon. It was the time for self-respecting cats to take siesta, and dream of fat mice trapped in corners and baby birds falling out of nests. The assembled cats knew that El Gordo must have something muy importante to say if it was worth disrupting siesta.

After El Gordo told the gathering about the bounty on cat skins, Rosita, one of the older and wiser cats, spoke, “Are you sure the blacksmith’s dog said that? You know how mutts mumble; you can hardly understand them most times.”

El Gordo’s fur bristled. “I had him repeat it three times,” he hissed.

Rosita, a petite black kitty with a white bib, thought for a while. “Before we do anything hasty or foolish, let me see if I can get to the bottom of this.”

She stretched out her neck and touched his nose with hers. “Promise me, to do nothing until you hear back from me.”

Although El Gordo was spoiling for a fight and would protect the cats under his care to the death, he agreed.

Rosita began asking different village dogs about what was going on and why. It was hard, tedious work to try to learn more about this village feud. It took all her feline patience not to hiss and scratch at the plodding speech of the dogs and their cur-like manners. Some could do with a good nose scratch, she thought. At last, she figured out that the first rumor came from the shoemaker’s dog.

She confronted him and asked for the exact words the shoemaker had said about the missing loaf of bread. At first, the dog said he didn’t remember the exact words, but after Rosita curled up in his flannel-lined basket and said she was in no hurry and could nap for hours in such a comfortable bed, he suddenly recalled.

She made him go to the baker’s dog and tell him exactly what the shoemaker had said.

“Well, I never,” said the baker’s dog and went to tell the news to his master.

The baker felt better about the shoemaker and so when he saw the mayor the next morning; he told His Honor that he was mistaken about the amount of leather used by the shoemaker. He could make a marvelous pair of boots for him.

The mayor, whose feet were hurting by now, went immediately to the shoemaker and ordered three pairs of boots.

Everyone seemed happy again. But Rosita knew it was only a matter of time before dogs stirred up trouble again. She asked El Gordo to call a special gathering, a great meeting between dogs and cats. No one could remember when such a thing last happened and had only heard stories from their grandparents. It took days to organize but finally happened.

Rosita perched herself on top of an old burro cart and waited for all to be silent. All the village dogs and cats were there. The cats lined up on one side of the alleyway and dogs on the other. Some dogs refused to look at the cats and some cats licked their paws to show how unimpressed they were with the dogs. Speaking very clearly and slowly, so even dogs could understand, she said, “As all of you know, it is of utmost importance that humans and dogs get along. They depend so much on each other—one group cannot thrive without the other. However, some of you cannot talk without causing trouble. When that happens, we all suffer.”

She looked hard at the dog’s side of the alley. The shoemaker’s dog looked ashamed and lowered his tail and head to signify he was sorry.

“To prevent such a thing from happening again, all dogs must take a great oath. Raise your right paws.”

At first, the dogs hesitated, then, one by one, they began to raise their paws.

“Do you swear on the heads of your newborn puppies and sacred collar given by the masters to never speak to humans again, now and forever?”

“We so swear,” said all the dogs.

And from that day to this, no dog has ever spoken to a human again. Sometimes, after a fun day of fetching a stick on the beach or a long walk or scattering a pile of leaves, a dog is so happy it wants to tell its master what a great day it has been. Then it remembers the great oath taken by its ancestors and only barks.

As for cats, they could talk to humans if they chose. So far, it has not been worth the bother.

-From the August issue of The Compass

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By Chloe Crismon

Every summer of my childhood included trips to grandma’s house. The drive was crickety and bouncy for a little one, trying the big seat for the first time, and traveling for a half hour felt like eternity.

Grandma’s house was a beautiful home of red brick and cherry wood, with a slanted roof you could see while sitting around the fireplace. Each of the bedrooms were filled with toys! Blocks, cars, trains and action figures could be found downstairs, while dresses, tea sets, and dolls were upstairs. And the cookie jar in the kitchen was never empty.

Yes, Grandma’s home was beautiful, but the real adventure was outside.

In the backyard, Grandpa had his own forest of citrus trees growing along each side of the fence.

Every year, we would help pick all the lemons, oranges, and grapefruit while eating as much as we wanted. And if it was too hot to play in the trees, we would play in the pool where the water was bluer than the sky.

After the long car ride, every grandchild was ready for the outside adventure, but before we could get outside, a cousin of mine came running back into the house.

“Mom!” he shouted. “There’s a lion in the backyard!”

She comfortingly took his hand and said, “There’s not a lion, sweety.”

“But I really saw it!” he insisted.

“A lion, you say?” Grandpa chuckled. “Let’s take a look.”

He led us outside where a surprise had been let loose in the backyard. “Oh now, that’s just Leo.”

“Leo?” each of us asked as we all pushed around him to see.

“Yes, Leo. Now he’s going to be staying here for a while and I want you all to be nice to him.”

We each quietly agreed, all while safely hiding behind Grandpa. I hadn’t yet seen Leo the Lion, but I was still scared. Peeking out from behind Grandpa, I saw the biggest dog I had ever seen. With a fur coat brighter than the sunshine, legs longer than your arm, and a smooshed black face, Leo stood powerfully over us little children.

“Go on now,” Grandpa said. “He won’t bite.”

Hesitantly, we made our way towards the new giant. He stood there, calmly, quietly, watching each of us approach. As we stopped around him, Leo dropped his head and sniffed my brother’s shirt. Then a tongue longer than my hair came out of his mouth and licked my brother’s face.

Each of us froze for a second, shocked to the core. Then my brother squealed and laughed as he stepped away, wiping his face. “Eww!”

We all joined in the laughter and stepped closer to Leo. While petting his sides, we learned he was softer than fleece and calmer than Grandpa. He was also even slower than Grandpa. Leo was an old dog that had lived a full life before coming to Grandma’s. His previous owner couldn’t care for him anymore, so Grandpa decided to.

Leo lived in Grandpa’s orchard, amongst the citrus trees. On days that were hot, he would lie around on the back porch or in the shade of the trees. Sometimes he would even stand in the pool! I could tell his favorite days of summer were the same as mine, either irrigation day when water would cover all the grass and each tree became an island to swim to, or when Grandma would open the pool gate.

One hot day, Leo was lying under my favorite orange tree. We decided that since Leo was so big, he would be so fun to ride. Each of us gave it a try, but he wouldn’t get up off the ground. Finally, after we stopped trying, he stood up and walked away. Our dads were watching and laughing from the back porch. My Dad decided it wasn’t a bad idea, so he took his sister’s baby boy and placed him on Leo’s back as he walked beside them.

“No fair!”

“Why does Tommy get to ride?!”

Each of my uncles kept on laughing, but some of my aunts didn’t think it was funny. 

Just then, Grandpa approached the tree. “Now kids, Leo is a very old dog. He isn’t strong like he used to be. He can carry Tommy because Tommy is so little, but you are all too big. You all need to be a little kinder to him.”

We said in unison, “Yes Grandpa.” then went on with our day, deciding to be extra nice to Leo.

Every time we played with Leo, he was calm, quiet, and gentle. He was often so peaceful that we would fall asleep around him in the afternoon; he our giant, protecting lion, we his noisy, crazy little lambs. Leo never stopped being a good dog.

After three summers of fun and love from Leo the Lion, he disappeared as suddenly as he came.

Grandpa said he had gone to the same place my family’s last dog had, a better place where he wouldn’t be so tired.

“You can still be near him if you try,” Grandpa promised. “He’s still here with us in the backyard. Remember how much he loved the backyard?”

“He sure did!” My Dad said as he placed a shovel by the back door.

The Compass, August 2022

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By Joe Nunes

The summer of 1972 was a season of adventure for me. At 18 years old, I had just finished my first year of college at Brigham Young University. Instead of heading back home to San Diego, I accepted an opportunity to go east to work for the summer. A few days of training in Nashville, TN and then I found myself in Owensboro, KY to do door-to-door sales.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that I was way out of my comfort zone, so I decided to return home for the rest of the summer. The problem was how I would travel 2,000 miles across country I had just seen for the first time just two weeks earlier. I had ridden out with friends in their car, and I hadn’t made any money. My mother didn’t have money to send for a ticket on conventional transportation options such as a plane, train, or bus.

I decided I would put my fate in the hands of strangers by hitchhiking all the way to San Diego. I would never recommend doing so today! However, things were a lot different 50 years ago. It felt much safer. One of my roommates loaned me $5, and I headed out with a large suitcase filled with all my belongings. Thus began a week-long journey that I still remember with fondness all these years later.

Somehow during the trip, I ate three meals every day and arrived home with more than $10 in my pocket. People fed me, gave me money, and helped me in many other ways. I also met a lot of very interesting people but those are stories for another day. This story is about my overnight stop in Steamboat Springs, CO.

Steamboat Springs is a tourist town—a year-round resort town boasting winter skiing and summer hiking as well as any other outdoor adventures you can imagine in Rocky Mountain country. The city’s geothermal hot springs are said to have therapeutic properties. But I didn’t know any of that. I was dropped off well after dark and I was more concerned about being hungry than in anything the town had to offer for entertainment, culture, or adventure.

While I was standing on the street in the middle of town, everything looked closed. A young man walked by and asked me what I was doing, so I told him about my cross-country trek. He asked if I was hungry and, upon my confirmation, he invited me to his small apartment for a meal. After eating, I returned to the street well after midnight. There was almost no traffic except the occasional vehicle passing through town. As each car passed, I stuck out my thumb, but there were no takers.

It didn’t take long before a local police officer passed. He stopped and came back around. He asked me what I was doing, so I told him about my destination and how I came to be there. After listening to my tale, he explained that hitchhiking was against the law in Colorado. He told me to get in the car and he drove me to the station.

When we arrived at the station, he sat me in a chair and then took his seat on the other side of a large desk. He told me he was going to have to charge me with soliciting a ride, but he would work with me to find a way home.

His first approach was to ask me if I had any money for a bus ticket to San Diego, or at least to the Utah border. I had scattered the small amount of money I had, so I wouldn’t lose it all if I got robbed. I had a dollar or two in my pants pocket, a couple of dollars in an inside jacket pocket, a little money in my shoe, and even some hidden in my suitcase. But even if he found all those hiding places, the total was only about $12, nowhere near enough to purchase a greyhound bus ticket home.

His next approach was to ask me if I could call someone to wire money to me. I was not about to ask my mom for money, so I told him there was nobody to call. He tried to pressure me to provide my parents’ names and phone number, but I wasn’t giving him any information at all.

In short, I was stuck in Steamboat Springs, and my only way out was to get back on the road and hitch a ride out of there. He reminded me it was against the law and told me he was going to have to put me in jail until we figured out how to get me a ticket out of there. He walked me back to a cell and put me in it. I was stubborn and exhausted. I decided to let him throw me in jail for as long as he wanted. I just laid down on the cot and fell asleep.

About 7am the next morning, the officer came into the cell and woke me up. He put me in the squad car and drove me to the western edge of town. He reminded me that hitchhiking was against the law. Under no circumstances was I to hitch a ride. He told me to start walking toward Utah and that some Good Samaritan would probably come along and offer me a ride. He then turned his vehicle around and drove back into town. Of course, as soon as he was out of sight, I stuck out my thumb and the second car to come by picked me up.

Looking back on it now, I realize he never took mugshots, fingerprints, or booked me. He didn’t even close the door to the cell I was in. I’m convinced he knew that I would put out my thumb as soon as he left me. He was one of the kindest police officers I have ever met.

Thus ended my criminal career. My one night sleeping in a cell in Steamboat Springs gave me a memorable experience that still brings a smile to my face every time I think of it. Less than three months later, I was completely reformed and serving a mission for my church. I’ve never had any similar legal problems again.

The Compass, August 2022

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Flash Fiction by Kathy Stauffer

Riders on pale horses—black coats flapping in the wind, dust billowing behind hooves—cross the horizon. Sage brush scuttles on the flatlands, Joshua trees hover near a singular small broken-down cabin.

I scurry to this shanty, creep inside, bolt a splintered door. Thunder shakes my surroundings; wind whistles a mournful cry. A large stone fireplace, an empty cupboard slanted, and a broken chair occupy the room. Feeling already captured and hopeless, I sink to dirt, throw my head back, and plead with whom I know not. I am a fugitive. Pounding rain drops and horses’ hooves match my pulse. The massive chimney catches my eye. Crawling in, I look around, find a handhold, and scramble up. As death rattles the bolted door, I lose my grip and plummet amongst the coals—somersaulting through a sooty rabbit’s hole like Alice in Wonderland from a long-ago fairy tale.

I am not a seven-year-old girl; my age no longer matters. There are no white rabbits, Cheshire cats, or queen of hearts. I get a foothold and stand. A white stallion, already saddled, paws at the ground, considers me—ragged, soiled, tear-stained. Tentatively, I approach him, stroke his neck, and place a foot in a stirrup. He nuzzles my leg; I pull myself up using the saddle horn. His power and sense of direction surge through my thighs and into my core. We gallop through fields of white and purple clover, buttercups, and swaying grasses. Ahead, a castle with turrets and glistening windows waits.

My time has come!

Fairy tales are so much more than they seem

Is it truth they show, or only a dream?

—Bobbie Grob