historical fiction | Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

June 23, 2011

From “Lebedev’s Specter” by Altos Wexan

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“He said he saw something, in the heart of the reactor, just before the meltdown,” Valerian said. His eyes seemed to grow cloudy with the weight of remembrance.

It was painful to even hear those words, after what had happened in the Ukraine. “What did he see?” Vasily asked, trying not to let his voice crack.

“Captain Lebedev…he’d gone aboard to try and stop Berenty, to try and leave the rest of us a way off of this rock. We were in radio contact the entire time. There was so much static…so much gunfire…it was hard to understand, hard to make out.”

“Uncle Valerian…what did the captain say he saw?” Vasily pressed.

“I thought I heard Petr Ulyanovich say that he could see into the pod the Elbrus IV had constructed, into the heart of its design. Something even that snake Berenty couldn’t conceive.”

“Uncle…”

“The captain said he saw a young girl. Not unlike his wife when she had been a young woman. It was the last thing he ever spoke of.”

June 20, 2011

From “The Obsidian Talisman” by Jan C. Wisniewski

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After the great victory before the city gates during the Second Siege of Vienna, King John III Sobieski of Poland, whose hussars had helped to carry the day, captured the Ottoman baggage train. He wrote effusive letters home about wagons heaped high with the wealth of the Orient that had attended Kara Mustafa Pasha and his troops.

One of his letters never made it to the Polish court at Warsaw; its courier was waylaid and robbed, either by Ottoman stragglers or the troops of Imre Thököly of Hungary, who had tried to profit while Poland was virtually bereft of troops. The letter made its way to Budapest, where it was lost in the former royal archives until a researcher uncovered it in 1916.

The king’s letter described the contents of Kara Mustafa Pasha’s personal saddlebag, with particular attention paid to a small object described as a “spiral of black obsidian or other polished black mineral.” None of the prisoners could identify the bauble or recalled seeing it before, but its place so near the Pasha, intermingled with mementos of home and family and precious jewels, intrigued the king. He declared his intention to take it with him to Warsaw.

That same researcher, granted access to the Polish archives after the fall of Warsaw the previous year, was able to trace the obsidian talisman’s path. It had followed Stanislaw II August into Russian captivity, been held at the Tsar’s court, and then captured by a German unit.

The object, whatever it was, seemed to presage the decline and eventual doom of whichever realm held it.

June 18, 2011

From “Everything is Strange” by Michael K. Pendleton II

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“You do understand that my German is rusty, right?” Benoir said.

“At least you have German at all. I studied Spanish in college.”

Pages ruffled in the log book. “25 November 1917. Still no visual contact with L.59, and no further signals from base or Tanganyika. Position is unknown due to heavy cloud cover both above and below.”

“Sounds like they were having some trouble,” said Benoir.

“26 November 1917. The order to abort was given at 8.23 this morning, but we cannot be sure that the airship is moving in the correct direction. Everything is strange.”

June 16, 2011

From “Voyage to a South Pacific Isle” by Sir Thomas Hamden Hewes

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The language was difficult for our interpreter to understand, but it seemed that there was a problem with the saplings taken by Van Der Hewe, which were the source for the mokeyfruit plants in the Royal Botanical Garden at Kew and the Hortus Botanicus in Amsterdam. The monkeyfruit trees were apparently sacred to the people of the isle, and in the act of taking his samples Van Der Hewe had attacked them and killed over a dozen for a population of two hundred fifty or less.

As a result, the islanders’ culture had become radically xenophobic in the ensuing fifty-odd years. The entrance to their lagoon was rocky and narrow, with only the Sturgeon‘s longboat small enough to make the trip; that, combined with the high cliffs around the island’s perimeter, served to create a natural fortress. The islanders were willing to parley from shouting distance, and we could observe their comings and goings on the lagoon by spyglass, but any closer risked a hail of arrows and rock.

We endeavoured to earn their trust by leaving small gifts that the ship maintained for trade with savages. Colored cloth, glass beads, and other trinkets were put ashore on a sandbar, and we observed from afar as they were examined. Blue items appeared to deeply excite them, while red was spurned. The second lieutenant tried putting ashore a salted pork carcass obtained from the Sandwich Islands, but the islanders reacted to this with horror and could later be observed burying the meat with pomp and ritual some distance inland.

Had I known of the coming vulcanism, I would have had the men’s very uniforms cut up to furnish blue for the islanders. But sadly, I instead ordered the ship to make sail, to return to a friendly port to collect more goods for trade.

May 29, 2011

From “Poison of Wazuyashi” by Mariko Alta Ballard

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The minor noble had nevertheless a fierce ambition with which he expanded and enriched his realm. But there came a time when his ambition had reached its limit, and he found himself blocked from further expansion by powerful noblemen with the ear of the Emperor.

To continue on his path would mean war, a war which he was ill-equipped to win. Given the choice between contenting himself with his lot or pushing forward, the noble made the ruinous choice to continue. He engaged to his court a certain magician and alchemist from Dejima, seeking to expand his power to the Chrysanthemum Throne through subterfuge and treason, the only outlets left to him.

As his own claim to the throne was weak, the noble sought to clear out all more qualified claimants through a mass poisoning of the imperial court during a gathering of the houses of the realm from which he would excuse himself. The gaikokujin magician warned him against this course but was rebuffed, and set about fulfilling the noble’s desire. He produced a quantity of poison that was tasteless, odorless, and deadly within an hour and delivered it to the noble with a second warning against its use. For his impudence, and to cover his tracks, the noble had the magician executed.

Days before the grim plot was to take effect, citizens of Wazuyashi began to fall violently ill before dying. The poison had spread, and not one member of the noble’s household was spared. Only a few of the farmers in the outermost parts of his small realm were able to escape with their lives, and their tale of horror kept all others at bay.

Wazuyashi remains abandoned to this day, a monument to those whose ambition knows no bounds and whose fates are sealed thereby.

May 28, 2011

From “The Snooze Button of Gotul” by Dewey R. Swanson

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Nevertheless, out of all the Great Cosmic Beings who ruled the earth in the Darkened Ages Past, it was Gotul who attracted the most interest. Gotul, He-Who-Sleeps-In-Darkness, was the primary Being mentioned in the ancient sources, and the one to which the various cults which tended to arise often devoted themselves.

In the old days, when the cultists vanished, it was ascribed to a variety of causes. Perhaps He-Who-Sleeps-In-Darkness had taken his faithful to the paradise of nonbeing where he was reputed to reside. Perhaps his wrath had been invoked and he had destroyed the flies that buzzed about him. Perhaps the cultists had found their supplications unanswered and had moved on to more lucrative yet still evil endeavors, such as law practice or civil service.

That ambiguity had the natural effect of encouraging another cult to sprout up, once collective memory had selectively forgotten the worst parts of the story and the occasional bloody torsos that remained behind. As such, when the latest Cult of Gotul arose in the 1970’s, its disappearance on March 23, 1976 was accompanied by a press release on behalf of Gotul issued by Featherby, Brooke & Whitmire:

“Please cease any and all attempts to contact, raise, or invoke Gotul, also known as He-Who-Sleeps-In-Darkness or Foremost-Among-Great-Cosmic-Beings. He is, as his name suggests, very sleepy and would prefer to remain asleep and unmolested in retirement. Those who disregard this warning do so at the risk of being subject to an automatic Ritual of Rending Annihilation. Gotul reminds would-be cultists that the reality of the Darkness would rend in twain the sanity of any mortal who beholds it, and suggests devotees find a less overwhelmingly fatal outlet for their spiritual energies.”

May 25, 2011

From “Galloping Hooves in the Distance” by Jordan Iverson Peers

Posted by alexp01 under Excerpt | Tags: fantasy, fiction, historical fiction, humor, New York, story |
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“People disappear all the time, especially in Manhattan,” I said. “What makes you think it wasn’t some unregistered Sphynx strangling and eating him in an alleyway?”

“Well, for one, a member of the Dakeg royal family is always accompanied by a bodyguard,” Aria said. “They’ve disappeared too.”

“I read about that,” I said, pointing to the open encyclopedia on my desk. I usually keep it out of sight, as clients tend to get spooked if they suspect I’ve ever read anything longer than a Moxie label. “He’s supposed to be accompanied by a troop of the Galloping Hooves Heavy Cavalry at all times.”

“C’mon, Mitch,” Aria said. “You think a dozen minotaurs from the O’Downl tribe in full dress uniforms armed with ceremonial but fully functional musket-axes are the kind of subtlety you need to move about unnoticed in this town?”

I shrugged. “Ever been on the square at midnight on New Year’s?”

“Dammit, I don’t need you being flip about this! A Dakeg is missing along with six mujina bodyguards, and I’m letting you in on the ground floor.”

May 15, 2011

From “Kaiser of the Roads” by C. D. Bayles

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Ramon examined the car on the precipice before the void with a steely gaze. In his eyes, the cladding and accents were of an IKA Carabela.

“My stepfather was so damned proud of that car,” he growled. “A big, shiny, American automobile to show the world that he had made his grand entrance, even if he was only a civil administrator in Córdoba. We could hear him coming from a half-kilometer away, riding that big engine block, and he’d bring in the hubcaps every night for my sisters and I to polish.”

“Why not just have you polish them outside?” Stennis asked, feeling that he should say something.

Ramon turned the full force of his baleful glare on Stennis. “He didn’t trust us to touch it. A fingerprint on that car was grounds for a beating. Knocking a branch into it got my sister Isabel a crown on her front tooth. That man wouldn’t even allow us to ride in it; the five of us were crammed into my mother’s old Model T, a prewar import! All the while he rode in his great, shining four-door coupe!”

May 14, 2011

From “Katyushev’s Gambit” by Constantin Smith-Ulyanov

Posted by alexp01 under Excerpt | Tags: chess, fiction, historical fiction, story |
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It was all nonsense, of course. Katyushev knew how to play chess, but was nothing more than a mediocre player, without the ability or mathematical mind to visualize more than two moves ahead. That’s why he refused all offers of play outside his home town and contented himself with being the peak of a smaller pyramid.

His winning strategy came down to a keen understanding nevertheless. While most chess players sought to be like human computers, efficient and analytical, Katyushev had perfected the use of psychology in his games. He excelled at creating a complex board situation and then forcing his opponent to play against the clock, for example. In trying to puzzle out a board layout generated strictly to confuse them, his opponents would more often than not run up against the timer and have to make a snap decision–one that often led to a disastrous move, opening the way for even a mediocre player to vanquish them.

May 8, 2011

From “Major Problems” by Altos Wexan

Posted by alexp01 under Blog Chain | Tags: Altos Wexan, fiction, historical fiction, science fiction, Soviet Union, story |
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This post is part of the May Blog Chain at Absolute Write. This month’s challenge is to show a character’s approach to relationships in a short scene.

In a corner of Sasha’s basement, Mirya was sorting a pile of hand-typed literature into piles for distribution when Vasily found her. “So,” he said. “Why did the Siberian buy a refrigerator in winter?”

“Because, as a Soviet-made appliance, it was prone to overheating,” Mirya said.

“Close! Since it was -20 outside and -10 in the fridge, it was the warmest place in his igloo!”

“Very funny,” Mirya said.

“Where’s that revolutionary idealist of yours off to?” Vasily asked, pulling up a chair.

“He’s got a meeting with our sponsor,” Mirya said.

“We have a sponsor now?” Vasily said. “I’m not sure I like what I’m learning about this job after the fact.”

“I was completely honest when you came begging for work,” Mirya said, sticking out her tongue. “Wanted: ex-KGB agent to forge official-looking documents in service of sabotage, revolution, and other acts of all-around hooliganism. Well-adjusted individuals with no penchant for telling corny jokes need not apply.”

“Nothing in there about a sponsor,” Vasily said. “I have to report you for misrepresentation.”

Mirya crossed her arms. “Trying to keep me from getting work done, Vasya? That wasn’t in the description either.”

“I just want to talk, Mirya,” said Vasily. “All I have to go home to is a dank corner and a shrew of a landlady, with toaster assembly to follow at work. Being here, with you…that’s the high point of my life right now.”

“Oh, stop it,” said Mirya. “Roman wouldn’t like that kind of talk. He’s very protective, you know.”

“Roman’s not here,” Vasily said.

Mirya raised her eyebrows. “And?”

Vasily sighed. “What do you see in him, Mirya?”

“You of all people should know,” she said. “He’s everything we both left home to find.”

“A lot’s changed since then,” Vasily said. “Help me out here.”

“Roman is a revolutionary, Vasya. He believes in things passionately and he’s willing to risk everything. He’s got big ideas, big plans.”

“What about me?” Vasily said. “I’m a part of his cause. Without the passes I forged and the uniforms I found, Roman would still be sitting down here passing out cheap copies of banned books.”

“Don’t you see, Vasya? Even that was something,” said Mirya. She gently took Vasily’s hand. “You being here is the best thing that’s happened to either of us in the struggle. But you’re aimless; unless there’s someone strong to lead you, you’d just sink into a rut with only a few jokes to lighten the way.”

Vasily squeezed Mirya’s hand. “You could be that someone. You’ve always been the strongest person I know, even when we were children.”

“Like when I convinced you to steal sweet potatoes from your mother’s garden? That’s not strong, Vasya. I need someone to show me the way forward, and you do too.”

Drawing closer to Mirya, Vasily dropped his voice a note. “What about just before I left for university. The attic, remember?”

Mirya blushed. “That was just us being children,” she said.

“That’s not what you said then,” Vasily said, only a few centimeters from Mirya’s face.

“Vasya, I…we…no,” Mirya said. She pulled away. “That was a mistake. It’s different now.”

“Does it have to be?”

“I need you here, Vasily,” Mirya said. “The cause needs you here. But please don’t ask me to choose. That choice was made a long time ago.”

“But…”

“Please, just go.”

Vasily stood up and trudged toward the door. “The General Secretary’s son felt out of place riding to university in a limousine instead of the bus like other students,” he said over his shoulder. “The General Secretary told him ‘don’t worry, I’ll buy you a bus so you can drive it to school just like your friends!”

“Good night, Vasily,” Mirya said. She was able to suppress a smile until just after he left the room.

Excerpts From Nonexistent Books