Clockwork Phoenix 5 Read online

  From Mythic Delirium Books

  Clockwork Phoenix 5

  Copyright © 2016 by Mike Allen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Cover art and interior illustrations

  copyright © 2015 by Paula Arwen Owen,

  www.arwendesigns.net

  Cover design © 2015 by Mike Allen

  Published by Mythic Delirium Books

  mythicdelirium.com

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictional or used in an imaginary manner to entertain, and any resemblance to any real people, situations, or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Our gratitude goes out to the following who because of their generosity are from now on designated as supporters of Mythic Delirium Books: Saira Ali, Cora Anderson, Anonymous, Patricia M. Cryan, Steve Dempsey, Oz Drummond, Patrick Dugan, Matthew Farrer, C. R. Fowler, Mary J. Lewis, Paul T. Muse, Jr., Shyam Nunley, Finny Pendragon, Kenneth Schneyer, and Delia Sherman.

  “Introduction” by Mike Allen. Copyright © 2016 by Mike Allen.

  “The Wind at His Back” by Jason Kimble. Copyright © 2016 by Jason Kimble.

  “The Fall Shall Further the Flight in Me” by Rachael K. Jones. Copyright © 2016 by Rachael K. Jones.

  “The Perfect Happy Family” by Patricia Russo. Copyright © 2016 by Patricia Russo.

  “The Mirror-City” by Marie Brennan. Copyright © 2016 by Marie Brennan.

  “The Finch’s Wedding and the Hive That Sings” by Benjanun Sriduangkaew. Copyright © 2016 by Benjanun Sriduangkaew.

  “Squeeze” by Rob Cameron. Copyright © 2016 by Rob Cameron.

  “A Guide to Birds by Song (After Death)” by A. C. Wise. Copyright © 2016 by A. C. Wise.

  “The Sorcerer of Etah” by Gray Rinehart. Copyright © 2016 by Gray Rinehart.

  “The Prime Importance of a Happy Number” by Sam Fleming. Copyright © 2016 by Sam Fleming.

  “Social Visiting” by Sunil Patel. Copyright © 2016 by Sunil Patel.

  “The Book of May” by C. S. E. Cooney and Carlos Hernandez. Copyright © 2016 by C. S. E. Cooney and Carlos Hernandez.

  “The Tiger’s Silent Roar” by Holly Heisey. Copyright © 2016 by Holly Heisey.

  “Sabbath Wine” by Barbara Krasnoff. Copyright © 2016 by Barbara Krasnoff.

  “The Trinitite Golem” by Sonya Taaffe. Copyright © 2016 by Sonya Taaffe.

  “Two Bright Venuses” by Alex Dally MacFarlane. Copyright © 2016 by Alex Dally MacFarlane.

  “By Thread of Night and Starlight Needle” by Shveta Thakrar. Copyright © 2016 by Shveta Thakrar.

  “The Games We Play” by Cassandra Khaw. Copyright © 2016 by Cassandra Khaw.

  “The Road, and the Valley, and the Beasts” by Keffy R. M. Kehrli. Copyright © 2016 by Keffy R. M. Kehrli.

  “Innumerable Glimmering Lights” by Rich Larson. Copyright © 2016 by Rich Larson.

  “The Souls of Horses” by Beth Cato. Copyright © 2016 by Beth Cato.

  In honor of

  Elizabeth Campbell

  In memory of

  Tanith Lee

  Table of Contents

  INTRODUCTION

  Mike Allen

  THE WIND AT HIS BACK

  Jason Kimble

  THE FALL SHALL FURTHER THE FLIGHT IN ME

  Rachael K. Jones

  THE PERFECT HAPPY FAMILY

  Patricia Russo

  THE MIRROR-CITY

  Marie Brennan

  THE FINCH’S WEDDING AND THE HIVE THAT SINGS

  Benjanun Sriduangkaew

  SQUEEZE

  Rob Cameron

  A GUIDE TO BIRDS BY SONG (AFTER DEATH)

  A. C. Wise

  THE SORCERER OF ETAH

  Gray Rinehart

  THE PRIME IMPORTANCE OF A HAPPY NUMBER

  Sam Fleming

  SOCIAL VISITING

  Sunil Patel

  THE BOOK OF MAY

  C. S. E. Cooney and Carlos Hernandez

  THE TIGER’S SILENT ROAR

  Holly Heisey

  SABBATH WINE

  Barbara Krasnoff

  THE TRINITITE GOLEM

  Sonya Taaffe

  TWO BRIGHT VENUSES

  Alex Dally MacFarlane

  BY THREAD OF NIGHT AND STARLIGHT NEEDLE

  Shveta Thakrar

  THE GAMES WE PLAY

  Cassandra Khaw

  THE ROAD, AND THE VALLEY, AND THE BEASTS

  Keffy R. M. Kehrli

  INNUMERABLE GLIMMERING LIGHTS

  Rich Larson

  THE SOULS OF HORSES

  Beth Cato

  PINIONS

  The Authors

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Introduction

  Mike Allen

  And ashes coalesce into interlocked gears once more, and those gears start to turn, spreading razor-edged pinions to carry the re-formed phoenix aloft.

  It soars over glittering plains of ice white as death, then underneath, through blue deeps to the beautiful cities built of bone. Deeper still, through the bottom of the world and out of the mirror’s dividing plane, into the terraced gardens reflected on the other side. It hovers to observe ethereal dances performed by rulers and their courts, with soul-destroying intrigues concealed in every graceful maneuver.

  Then it rises into a different sky, wind revolving around it in ever-quickening circles, surrounded by other winged beings, some living, some dead, before it beats the thinning air with its gold and iridescent feathers and departs the worldly altogether. It pauses at a vantage outside the cosmic sphere, one that allows it to spy into scenes ranging through multiple times and impossible places. It chooses a destination, prepares to descend.

  It’s wonderful to meld again with my beloved creation and savor another flight, this one perhaps the most ambitious of all.

  I write this introduction in a state of awe.

  I’m in awe at the stunning generosity of friends, fans, colleagues, and Kickstarter backers that made it possible for me to assemble the largest, most elaborate installment yet in my imprint’s flagship anthology series.

  I’m in awe at the talent on display in these pages, and that I have the honor of being the first to showcase these stories.

  For any reader who might be new to Clockwork Phoenix, the project began eight years ago, intended as a home for works that defy genre boundaries, that stretch the imagination, that experiment with methods of storytelling yet tell stories of heartfelt impact. The name is not truly meant to describe a fantastic creature, but rather to present a striking juxtaposition not unlike “exquisite corpse.” (Interestingly, the term seems to have slunk into the zeitgeist, with actual drawings of clockwork phoenixes proliferating on the Internet.)

  Other anthologies at the time, such as Interfictions, The New Weird, Feeling Very Strange: The Slipstream Anthology, and Paper Cities: An Anthology of Urban Fantasy, explored themes and techniques similar to those that interested me, but did so with the intent to define the sorts of stories they contained. I wanted to create a book that would partake of the same beautiful weirdness without making any sort of academic statement about it.

  In fact, I was so determined to let readers glean their own way through the stories I picked that in the first three volume
s, I wrote introductions that were essentially enigmatic prose poems, as in the opening paragraphs above, and hid what few guideposts I was willing to offer within my bios at the very back of the books.

  I abandoned that tradition with Clockwork Phoenix 4.

  The first three books were released by another publisher, who became unable to continue the series due to financial woes. In 2012, two years after the appearance of Clockwork Phoenix 3, I chose to wade into the waters of crowdfunding to revive the series under my own imprint. The campaign to fund Clockwork Phoenix 4 was a resounding success, and when I wrote the introduction to that book, I chose to speak plainly about my aims as one way of acknowledging that the book’s existence was a community effort.

  As with the previous three volumes, the stories in Clockwork Phoenix 4 were reprinted in Year’s Best anthologies and nominated for awards, and, more broadly, the positive fallout from the book laid a foundation for other books, other projects.

  When I chose to ask for funds for Clockwork Phoenix 5, the book in your hands, it wasn’t in order to bring the series back from the dead but, if you’ll forgive me for hammering home the metaphor, to see how far a new volume could fly.

  I can’t fully describe how gratifying it was to see writers and readers speak out to advocate for this book and the series as a whole, how even though they perhaps could not wholly explain what made these books so special, there was nonetheless a certain je ne sais quoi they regarded with fondness and hoped to see continue.

  I certainly can’t fully convey how grateful I am to the hundreds who gave time, creative effort, and money in order to bring about more of our je ne sais quoi.

  What follows is what all that generosity has wrought: twenty stories by twenty-one authors, 96,000 words of fiction, the biggest Clockwork Phoenix there has ever been.

  Let’s capture a current of air in the curve of our wings and be on our way. We need no more force to lift us than the teasing exhale of a breeze…

  The Wind at His Back

  Jason Kimble

  Benito nudged Breezy from a trot to a canter, hoping to earn the horse her name, but the air of the scalding day didn’t want to move. The length of late-day shadows would have been a nice reprieve, except that there wasn’t anything along the road home to cast a decent shadow in the first place.

  It had been like this for nearly a week. No breeze. No rain. Days so hot they seemed downright angry, squeezing all the water out of a body as soon as the sun caught sight of you. It felt like walking outside was asking the world to crush you as brutal as any storm might. Benito was all knots and nerves, and too exhausted to fight either one.

  The long ride home was a fresh misery. As he nudged his Stetson up and wiped his brow with a handkerchief soaked through and starting to stink, Benito itched to wrangle. It wouldn’t be anything to reach out, snag a bit of wind, and turn it on himself to cut through the burn of the sun beating down.

  But it wouldn’t just be a breeze, and he knew it. Touch the wind, and he was touching all the wild up inside it. Or the wild caged up in himself. It was hard to tell the difference when you were wrangling.

  “Benito Guzman Aguilar!”

  Benito started at the sound of his name. He turned to find Casey, blocky hands on his hips, staring up cockeyed from the side of the road.

  “Now I know you weren’t going to be the sort who rides right by his husband without so much as a hello,” Casey chided, crossing out of the knee-high corn. He wiped the dirt from his face with his unworn work shirt before stuffing it into the back of his trousers. Benito pushed the memories of dread back where they belonged and gave his own crooked smile. There wasn’t much that ended a dark mood better than watching Casey wipe down after a long day in the sun.

  Benito was about to banter back when he found himself under one of those long shadows he’d been hoping for earlier. Except the closest tree was the Seeder grove at least a mile back. He spun in his saddle, hand snapping for his pistol.

  The Mestrovich girl jumped back with a squeak and dropped the gnarled tree stump she’d been carrying. Breezy reared up at the massive thud and dust cloud, but she was solid, and it only took a quick pull on the reins to steady her.

  “Careful sneaking up on a body, Sarah,” Benito said, fighting to slow the pounding of blood in his ears even as he stroked Breezy’s neck.

  “Sorry, sheriff,” Sarah returned shakily. At nearly ten feet tall—one shy of having a foot for each year on her—the girl was already a mountain. Still, those saucer-plate-wide blue eyes worked as well for the giant child as they did any of her human schoolmates.

  He'd almost drawn down on the girl. Scared her as well as if he had. Her fear, her hurt right now was Benito’s fault. But he’d given that up, promised it away. No more hurting. No more children crying and screaming and begging for their parents. The pounding surged back up in his ears. It was hard to breathe. If he just grabbed a little wind it would be easier, surely. The howl would drown the pain or drown him in pain, and maybe it didn’t matter which.

  “Don’t listen to him anyhow, Sarah,” Casey offered, his light tone bringing Benito back like always. Benito breathed air that wasn’t touched by any of the anger and fear and panic. He shoved those things away. Locked himself off from them. From the world. Focused on Casey’s tanned, callused hand on his knee. Breathed again.

  Casey moved his hand to rub Breezy on the nose as he crossed the road to the girl. “Any sheriff that lets a giant sneak up on him deserves himself a start, don’t you think?” he said.

  Sarah giggled. “I reckon so,” she said. Her smile was the last of what Benito needed to seal off the rough parts of the world. His ragged breath steadied as Casey patted the young girl’s hand. Casey gave Benito a wink. No harm done.

  “Natalia has family from back east coming in a few days,” Casey explained. “I offered to watch little Sarah for the day so she could get her house in order without any other distractions.”

  “I pulled the stump all by myself!” Sarah announced, moving close to show Benito the mass of gnarled and torn roots. He had to crane his neck up even from Breezy’s back to give the girl an encouraging smile.

  “Yes, you finally got the last of the hickory you knocked over last winter,” Casey quipped. The young giant blushed. Casey waved it off before Sarah could get herself worked up again. “You’ve been a big help, little one,” he offered. “Now I think it’s about time you hurried home for supper, don’t you? Just drop the stump in the wagon before you go so I can get it back to the house.”

  Sarah kicked up dust as she sprinted to the wagon. She chucked the stump into the back. The struts squealed in protest, but the giant girl had already turned about and was barreling home fast as her oversized legs could take her.

  “Just don’t crush the corn on your way!” Casey yelled after her, but Benito doubted Sarah could hear him over the thunder of her own feet on the ground.

  “You want one now, don’t you?” Benito said with a smirk, jabbing his thumb at the retreating child.

  “Bite your tongue and swallow it,” Casey returned, smacking Benito’s shin playfully. “If we get our own, we can’t send her home.”

  Benito nodded, letting somberness fall into his features. “That’s the second one today almost set me off,” he admitted quietly. At Casey’s look, he added, “Mei Wu.”

  “What bit her this time?” Casey asked with mild amusement.

  “Joint snake,” Benito answered, Casey’s smile pulling out the glib. “Fool girl’s bound and determined to prove herself braver than those Knox twins. She cut the thing in half when the boys went running, but didn’t know that’s no more than a nuisance to their kind. Snake joined back up when she wasn’t looking. If I hadn’t been riding by …”

  Benito felt the slight throb of his pulse at his temples and shook his head. That hurt wasn’t him. “Yuna got her fixed up,” he said, forcing a smile.

  “That’s why we love our Doc Hayashi. And you?” Casey asked, green eyes pinni
ng him.

  “I’m fine,” Benito said, swatting at the worry in the air with one hand.

  At Casey’s tug, Benito swooped his leg over Breezy’s back. He landed with an easy bend in his knees right in front of Casey, whose sandy brown beard split with a grin. Casey used his shirt to wipe the sweat off his brow again. Benito grabbed the other end. He pulled Casey close, lacing his fingers in the wet small of his husband’s bare back, then kissed him. Snake bites and guilt-panic and troubling heat waves fell off the wagon of Benito’s mind as beards skritched along lips. Casey smelled like loam and prairie grass after a storm.

  Casey squirmed away with a chuckle. He tapped Benito’s badge with one finger. “That gets a might warm when you’ve been in the sun too long,” he said, brushing his thumb through the soft hair of the matching spot on his own bare chest.