First Pages: Palmyra Ridge by C.M. Simpson

Palmyra Ridge is the second short story to be found in An Anthology of Worlds. It is also available as a stand-alone short story.

Chani dreams of the ritual of Severance, which allows her to leave her people's homeland, but when the company she works for moves to take her people's lands, she is exactly where she needs to be. All she has to do is convince Security Officer Asleyan that her visits to Palmyra Ridge are essential, and maybe gain his assistance in defending those she holds most dear. But the security officer has a heritage and fears of his own. Can two people from two very different cultures work together to save nation, while retaining their own sense of self and sanity?

Palmyra Ridge is a short science fiction story exploring issues of belonging, bloodlines and heritage in a changing world. It is available as part of An Anthology of Worlds, and also as a stand-alone title at Smashwords, Kobo, Kindle, iTunes, and Nook.

First Page: Palmyra Ridge

Chani woke screaming. The Ridge was gone. The shaman stood over her, the rippled blade of his wooden knife gleaming softly in the starlight.

“Your choice,” he whispered softly, fading into the growing light, and he was right.

It had been her choice and freely taken. Chani felt a sob rising from her chest and let it out into the warm air of her bedroom. Listening to its echoes soften and dim, she knew it wouldn’t be long before Security was knocking down her door. Better that she open it for them, be on her feet when they arrived.

Stifling another sob, she pushed back the cover of her bed and swung her legs over the edge so her feet touched the floor. Once upright, she paused, trying to recapture her usual façade of calm. It did not help that the soft earth-red of the comforter reminded her of the ground on the Ridge, or that its sage-green underside brought to mind the saltbush that clung to its heights.

Closing her eyes to block the comforter from view, Chani drew a deep breath and stood up. The carpet was soft beneath her feet, another contrast with her homeland. There the ground was hard and littered with stones. She opened her eyes and watched her room swim slowly back into focus. Her wardrobe was reattaching itself to the floor and the ceiling when there was a loud knocking from the door.

Security!

“Wait a minute!” she yelled, leaping from the edge of her bed and pulling her dressing-gown from its hook behind her bedroom door.

“I said, ‘Wait a minute!’” she shouted, as the knocking came again.

“Miss Riskassen-Mar, are you okay?”

Chani blushed. Now the whole floor would know she’d brought Security to her door—again. If she wasn’t careful, there’d be a residents’ meeting and she’d be asked to leave. That was always assuming her neighbors hadn’t already called one and the Committee just hadn’t gotten around to typing up her eviction.

“Miss Riskassen-Mar?”

Damn him! By all the stars and the land itself, did he have to yell so loud?

“I’m fine, thank you, fine.” 

Ah, spirit’s teeth, she sounded anything but. Fortunately, she had reached the door before he could ask her anything more. That would mean a little less ammunition for her neighbors at their meeting—if they were planning one. Chani opened the door. 

END EXTRACT

If you would like to read more, Palmyra Ridge is available as part of An Anthology of Worlds, and also as a stand-alone title at Smashwords, Kobo, Kindle, iTunes, and Nook.

First Pages: Old Magic by C.M. Simpson

Old Magic is a short tale about surviving in post-apocalyptic Melbourne by C.M. Simpson. 

After disaster and disease wipe out the world we know, powers carried by right of ancestry act as a sixth sense for trouble in a ruined city. Can she be the only one to have survived?

Old Magic is one of the short stories that will be included in An Anthology of Bloodlines. It is currently available on Smashwords, and will soon be available on Kobo, Kindle, iTunes, and Nook.

First Page Excerpt: Old Magic

Heather stood amidst the wreckage of the city in the cold, grey light of dawn. She felt the soft mist of the newly fallen rain settle on her arms. Constant and clingy, the rain reminded her of gum leaves, silver-grey with the same misty drops. It brought to mind the sharp scent of eucalypts on a damp mountainside, a scent that momentarily eclipsed the smell of sodden cement and bitumen in decay.

The rain formed a patina of dew over her hair, making the top layer matt so that heavier droplets rolled from her head and down the back of her daypack. Heather wiped a hand across her eyes, clearing away the moisture that clouded her vision, clearing the momentary glimpse of silver-barked trees from before the leaning buildings.

The north of the city was dead. She had searched it for life, just as she had already searched through its north-western reaches. She had found only the emptiness of abandonment and decay.

St. Albans, Sunshine, Footscray, Essendon and now, it seemed, central Melbourne. Once they had teemed with life. Now, they were only scars on a landscape, where the bush was rapidly moving to reclaim its own.

Heather had survived the bombings and the first wave of plagues. She had survived the petty warlords, and the anarchy that had followed the sudden loss of contact with the rest of the world. She had even survived the second wave of sickness. There had to be others.

Sighing and shaking her head so that raindrops scattered from her hair, she noticed what had once been a small cafe. Shaking her head again to clear the ghostly images of gumtrees reflected in the remains of the café’s plate glass window, Heather crossed the road towards it. Perhaps she would find food there.

The cafe made her think of drier nights when the footpaths had been full of crowds, and trams had rattled down the streets. It reminded her of moonlit walks in the parks beside St. Kilda Road, and of feeding the possums in the trees, forbidden as that was.

Clambering past the broken glass of the shattered front window, she stepped into the cafe. There were reminders of old gangs and overlords all around her. The reminders ranged from the paint-spattered walls to the bullet-riddled body at her feet. Something about the corpse caught her attention, made her pause. She moved slowly into the cafe, studying the body as she went.

The body was wrong. Something… It clicked as she reached the door leading to the back of the shop. The body hadn't started to smell yet.

END EXCERPT

If you would like to read more, Old Magic is currently available on Smashwords, and will soon be available on Kobo, Kindle, iTunes, and Nook.