Distant Worlds Volume 1 Read online

  “Alicia!” Jason cried out before a wet, leathery hand clamped over his mouth and he was hoisted up by three of the hideous things. Two more creatures were already dragging Megan back to the hidden entryway by the time Jason was restrained. A moment later and they were gone, disappeared through the hidden entrance without a trace.

  Alicia stood frozen in the doorway. The only sound she could hear was the pounding of the rain on the roof and walls of the house. Storm or not, she decided, she certainly wasn’t going to spend another minute in Turlington Manor.

  Alicia ran out of the room and down the stairs without even bothering to grab anything from her own room. The heavy front doors of the house seemed reluctant to open at first, but they soon relented and Alicia stepped outside into the fiercest rainstorm she had ever seen. Raindrops struck her like hailstones and it was only with great difficulty that she stumbled down to the car and climbed inside.

  It was only then that she realized that Jason had the only set of car keys.

  She screamed and banged her head against the steering wheel, hoping to perhaps wake up from what was fast becoming a nightmare.

  The whole car shook suddenly and Alicia shrieked in surprise. She looked out the window and saw Tillis, one of the giant twins, smiling outside. His massive hands easily tore into the car door and ripped it away from the frame like it was nothing more than a dead leaf. Alicia screamed and struggled to get away, but the giant’s hand seized her by the neck and dragged her out of the car.

  “Tillis, no! Stop!”

  In her hysteria, Alicia almost didn’t recognize the voice of Caravik cutting through the roar of the rain. Fortunately, the huge servant had no such trouble and he relaxed his grip immediately.

  “Bring her inside, quickly!”

  Alicia allowed Tillis to guide her back into the house, where she collapsed in a sobbing heap just inside the door.

  “There, there, my dear,” Caravik said as he wrapped a blanket around her. She tried not to think about where the fabric came from.

  “There is no need to cry, child,” the butler said.

  “W…what is this place?” Alicia asked, her voice choking as she wept.

  “Why, this is your home. We have waited so long for you to come back to us.”

  Alicia jumped to her feet and threw the blanket back at Caravik.

  “What are you talking about?” she screamed.

  “This is your home, Miss Turlington. You were born to it, the same as all of us. But you were so special. Just as I was superior to the twins, so you are superior to me.”

  Alicia’s mind turned to the bubbling pits below the house.

  She felt cold and sick.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head weakly.

  “It has been many years since the fire took you away from us, and we have spent those years preparing for your return. We tried to keep you safe then, but those fools from Woodworth took you while the mansion burned. But now you are here again, where you belong.”

  Alicia felt tears running down her cheeks as she glanced first at Tullis’s deformed features and then at Caravik’s strangely shaped face. Hesitantly, she reached up to touch her own face.

  “Why?” she asked. “Why has it…?”

  Caravik shook his head.

  “I am afraid I cannot give you an answer, my dear. I am but a servant; that is my purpose. Perhaps it is a question you were meant to answer. Perhaps, my dear, that is your purpose.”

  Alicia put her head in her hands and sobbed. She realized now that she would be trapped by Turlington Manor forever. Even if she chose to leave, there would be no way to forget the sight of those who crept within its walls. No way to forget that she had been made by something inhuman; despite being more refined than the deformed twins or Caravik, she wondered if that made her something less than human herself.

  “You must rest now, Miss Turlington,” Caravik said.

  Alicia did not resist as the hulking Tullis scooped her limp body up and carried her upstairs. As they passed the open doorway of what had been Jason and Megan’s room, she heard a familiar noise. She peered inside to see two of the hunched creatures licking the room clean with their long tongues. The things heard the giant’s footsteps and ceased what they were doing to look up at them. For a brief moment, Alicia thought she saw something familiar about them, the angles of their faces and the look of their eyes.

  She turned away before her mind could compare the image to her the faces hovering in her clouded memory.

  Tullis placed her onto the bed gently and pulled the thick blanket over her. She listened then not only to the sound of the rain outside, but to the scuttling creatures tending to the manor, to the measured breathing of the walls, and to the low beating of the heart deep beneath the foundation.

  The sounds lulled Alicia Turlington gently to sleep as they quietly carried away the last remnants of Alicia Ross into the darkness.

  There Will Always Be Dragons

  Originally published in Lissette’s Tales of the Imagination #5 (December, 2012)

  Part alternate history, part modern fantasy, part political commentary, “There Will Always Be Dragons” tries to wear a lot of hats at one time. The original draft was much longer, featuring all sorts of meandering historical diatribes about state repression in late Tsarist Russia, but at some point, I had the good sense to realize that you don’t have to keep hitting readers over the head for allegory to be effective. Careful readers might notice some similarities between this story’s cynical protagonist and the mysterious character from the conclusion of “Rain & Iron.” Let’s just say that family traditions in Russia are quite strong…

  A priest once told Konstantin that Hell was not a place of fire, but of ice; a place so cold that the frost would actually burn the sinful flesh away from his bones. The image took hold in his young imagination and whenever he awoke during the winter night he could not tell if he was dead or alive. The fact that he later renounced the existence of God did nothing to allay the primal fear of that frigid eternity of damnation.

  The steady clanking of steel wheels upon iron rails reminded Konstantin where he was and he rolled out of his tiny cot to light the lantern hanging nearby. He reached for the glass of vodka he’d poured before passing out last night and gulped it down. The alcohol burned his throat and forced his heavy eyelids open. He wondered what time it was.

  Someone knocked on the door to his compartment.

  “Corporal Voskresenskii?”

  “Yes?”

  “Just making sure you’re awake, sir. We’ll be arriving at the station in twenty minutes.”

  Just before dawn, then, he thought.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Konstantin made a feeble attempt to straighten the wrinkled uniform he’d slept in on the off chance that one of the officers who had the misfortune of serving in that far flung reach of the empire still cared more for a soldier’s appearance than his performance. After giving far more attention to the maintenance of his Mosin-Nagant rifle, he returned to his cot and picked up the book that had kept him company on the long journey to Manchuria. Written by a German philosopher, it made for intriguing reading with its focus on morality and judgment; his father would have liked it.

  When the train pulled into the station, Konstantin hid the book deep inside his pack and left his small cabin. A young soldier led him through several passenger cars filled with laborers who had been brought east to work on the new Manchurian spur of the Trans-Siberian Railway. Considering the conditions they would be facing in the coming weeks, many of them would never return to the families they’d left to support.

  Konstantin stepped out of the train and his muscles tightened as the frigid air washed over him. The sun would not rise for another hour and the platform was lit only by the greasy light from a large gas lamp that swung from a hook on a nearby post. There was not enough light to make visible the station itself but it was easy to spot the two army officers standing ready to receive him.


  They were both middle aged and bearded, though one was far more kempt than the other, a sure mark of an aristocratic background. Konstantin doubted that he’d ever seen a day of real combat. There was a good chance that he would end up hating him before he left Manchuria.

  “Corporal Voskresenskii, I presume?” the neat and tidy officer said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Welcome to Manchuria, Corporal. I am Captain Alexsandr Ushakov; you’ll be under my command for the duration of your stay.”

  He gestured to the other man.

  “This is Sergeant Khabalov. He will be your commanding officer in the field. I trust that you were made aware of the particulars of our situation before you left St. Petersburg?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well then. I have pressing business that must be attended to this morning. Sergeant Khabalov will see to your needs and your deployment for today. I expect a full report on your assessment of our situation by tonight, Corporal. Good day.”

  Sergeant Khabalov sighed and relaxed his posture once his commanding officer was out of sight.

  “Welcome to Hell, Corporal,” he said with a grunt. Konstantin could smell the heavy scent of alcohol on his breath. “Come with me.”

  The sun had been up for almost an hour by the time Sergeant Khabalov managed to get his squad organized and transported to the end of the rail line where dozens of Chinese peasants worked under the direction of a few Russian overseers. Konstantin watched them as he exited the passenger car. They worked at a steady, mechanical pace, wholly oblivious to their surroundings for the most part. But he noticed that every few seconds, one of the workers would cast a glance skyward for just a second or two before returning to his toil.

  “…-ing at any one time.” Konstantin realized that Khabalov was speaking to him. He doubted he’d missed anything he wanted to hear.

  “Nobody bothered doubling their guard until the third attack. I guess it was only after the second one that somebody realized it was more than a few angry farmers.”

  Konstantin took note of the soldiers standing watch around the Chinese laborers. Only a few soldiers were actually watching them; the others were scanning the skies or the tree line of the forest a few hundred yards to the west.

  “Has anyone bothered to question the locals?” Konstantin asked.

  “Of course, but these savages aren’t much help. Captain Ushakov thinks they might be involved somehow; some sort of heathen devilry.”

  “I doubt that,” Konstantin said. Khabalov resumed speaking but Konstantin ignored him, instead looking out over the empty, frigid landscape. His eyes were drawn to the forest west of them. Even from a distance he could see that it was very old, untouched by the iron wheels of civilization.

  Deep within that tangle of towering trees and twisted branches, something moved. At first, Konstantin thought it was merely snow falling from the higher limbs, a large white mass plunging towards the earth. Then it moved upward and all doubt fled from his mind.

  “It’s here,” he said, readying his rifle.

  “What?” Khabalov said, his panicked eyes darting to the sky. “Where?”

  “There, in the trees.”

  Konstantin intended to tell Khabalov to order everyone to take cover where they could, that their best chance for survival would be to flee and trust that chance would take pity on their situation, but there was no time. The air shook with a sound more furious than a hundred cannons and Konstantin could only watch in awe as a great, serpentine dragon slithered out from the cover of the forest and into the gray sky.

  He could hear none of his commander’s screaming, nor that of the soldiers and workers. His ears were still ringing from that first thunderous cry. While the others panicked and scuttled about in confusion, Konstantin stood where he was and watched the massive, white beast glide effortlessly through the sky towards them. Its long, sinuous form writhed with a hypnotic grace and were it not for the short, taloned limbs tucked alongside the body and the horn crowned head, it might be mistaken for a giant snake. Konstantin could not guess how the dragon kept aloft, for the two stunted wings just behind its forelimbs scarcely moved as it flew ever closer to them.

  “Damn you, men, stand your ground!”

  Sergeant Khabalov’s voice was muffled and distant, but clear enough to discern among the confusion. The soldiers he addressed were disorganized and frightened; some dropped their rifles and ran while others fired wildly at a target still too distant to hit by chance.

  Konstantin at last sprang into motion and seized Khabalov by the arm.

  “No! Tell them to take cover!”

  Khabalov ignored him and continued to bark at the few soldiers still capable of following orders. Somehow he managed to organize them into a makeshift line and they took aim at the rapidly approaching beast. Khabalov gave the order to fire and the air crackled with the discharge of rifles.

  Konstantin turned and dove beneath the train car that he had stepped off only minutes ago. He twisted around in time to see a burst of flame sweep across the frosty ground and engulf Khabalov and his men. Their screams quickly gave way to the loud pops of their ammunition exploding as the superheated inferno ignited everything in its ravenous grasp. Some of the fire licked the side of the wooden train car and it too began to burn.

  Before the dragon could circle around for another attack, Konstantin rolled out from under smoldering train car and ran toward the engine. But the train car exploded just as he cleared it and the force of the blast threw him to the ground. He twisted onto his back to see the dragon slithering about to make another pass at the train. Its snakelike body changed direction instantly, with almost no loss of speed. Konstantin had never seen anything move so fast.

  He scrambled to his feet and ran for the train’s engine, his ears assaulted by the beast’s monstrous roar. The air suddenly grew intolerably hot as he flung himself under the iron engine of the train. Eager flames licked at him as the dragon’s fiery breath swept over the train, setting fire to the cars that were still untouched. The fire receded quickly, unable to burn any part of the engine, but a second blast followed quickly and Konstantin felt waves of intense heat eagerly clawing at him. He wanted to scream, but he bit his tongue, fearful of betraying the fact that he was still alive.

  When a third grout of flame and heat whipped under the engine, Konstantin’s head grew light and his vision blurred. A moment later he lost consciousness.

  It was close to noon by the time Konstantin awoke with the taste of ash and soot in his mouth. He was so astonished to be alive that he couldn’t move for several minutes. When he finally accepted the fact that he hadn’t been reduced to a pile of cinders, he crawled out from under the train engine. He was greeted by the kind of sight he’d expected, the kind he’d seen many times before. Everything within fifty yards of him was a smoldering ruin and even the ground was covered with a thin layer of black ash. All that remained of the train cars were the metal wheels and hitches. Piles of charred bones were scattered haphazardly around the desolate scene and even hours after the fact, he could still see thin waves of heat rising into the air.

  “Hey! You there!”

  Konstantin turned and saw a small group of soldiers approaching. He didn’t recognize them from that morning. Several hundred feet behind them he could see the undamaged train that had brought them there.

  “Are there any more survivors?” one of the soldiers asked.

  Konstantin glanced around the blasted landscape.

  “No.”

  The soldier looked as if he wanted to ask more, but he hesitated. Before he could gather his courage, a familiar voice sounded from behind him.

  “Corporal Voskresenskii?”

  Konstantin didn’t bother answering until Captain Ushakov pushed past his men to stand before him. His eyes never drifted to the bones that lay strewn at his feet.

  “What happened here, Corporal?”

  Konstantin wondered if men like Ushakov had to practice being oblivious
. He didn’t bother answering.

  “Corporal!”

  “What do you think happened, sir?”

  Ushakov stepped forward and grabbed Konstantin by his collar.

  “Damn you,” he said, “I was told you were insubordinate but I was also led to believe that you were capable of dealing with this problem! Now you tell me what the hell happened here, Corporal or I’ll have you beaten!”

  Konstantin decided then that he hated Ushakov; there were too many officers like him in the Russian army.

  “We were attacked a few minutes after I got here. It came out of the western wood and was right on top of us before we could do anything.”

  “And yet you managed to survive?”

  “I knew how to hide.”

  Ushakov’s eyes flared.

  “Are you admitting to leaving your fellow men to die while you cowered in fear?”

  Konstantin never understood why the notion of self-preservation was only supposed to apply to officers and not to ordinary soldiers.

  “There was nothing I could have done to save them. I tried to tell Sergeant Khabalov to have the men take cover, but he insisted on standing his ground.”

  “Corporal Voskresenskii, you were sent here to kill this dragon, not flee from it like a frightened child!”

  “And I will kill it, but I can’t very well do it by standing like a fool in the middle of wide open ground waiting for it to roast me with its breath.”

  Ushakov grit his teeth, but let go of Konstantin’s collar.

  “Fall in with the others, Corporal. We’ll discuss this later.”

  “Keeping me here with the rest of your company is pointless,” Konstantin said. “I should be out there trying to pick up its trail.”

  For a long moment Ushakov simply stared at Konstantin before he narrowed his eyes and cursed.