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    Tales from Forgotten Days
    Tales from Forgotten Days
    Tales from Forgotten Days
    Ebook119 pages1 hour

    Tales from Forgotten Days

    By Kate MacLeod

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    About this ebook

    "Tales from Forgotten Days" collects five never-before-seen stories from fantasy and science fiction writer Kate MacLeod: the high fantasy murder mystery "Impostor Apparition", the western weird tale "Unsafe, Unsound", the pseudo-Egyptian fantasy "Tear of a Sphinx", the early Bronze Age fantasy "Changing Tides" and "In the Waste Places", the sequel to "Oil Fire".

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRatatoskr Press
    Release dateJun 27, 2017
    ISBN9781946552341
    Tales from Forgotten Days
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    Author

    Kate MacLeod

    Dr. Kate MacLeod is an innovative inclusive educator, researcher, and author. She began her career as a high school special education teacher in New York City and now works as faculty in the college of education at the University of Maine Farmington and as an education consultant with Inclusive Schooling. She has spent 15 years studying inclusive practices and supporting school leaders and educators to feel prepared and inspired to include all learners.

    Read more from Kate Mac Leod

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      Book preview

      Tales from Forgotten Days - Kate MacLeod

      Tales from Forgotten Days

      TALES FROM FORGOTTEN DAYS

      KATE MACLEOD

      Ratatoskr Press

      CONTENTS

      Free eBook!

      Impostor Apparition

      Unsafe, Unsound

      Tear of a Sphinx

      Changing Tides

      In the Waste Places

      Sci-Fi Serial Podcast!

      Complete Series: The Travels of Scout Shannon

      New Series: The Ritchie and Fitz Sci-Fi Murder Mysteries

      Also from Ratatoskr Press

      Free eBook!

      About the Author

      Also by Kate MacLeod

      FREE EBOOK!

      Like exclusive, free content?

      To get two prequel short stories to THE RITCHIE AND FITZ SCI-FI MURDER MYSTERIES as well as a bonus prequel novelette to the completed six-book series THE TRAVELS OF SCOUT SHANNON, signup for my monthly newsletter here.

      Thank you!

      IMPOSTOR APPARITION

      The air on the snow-capped mountaintop whirled about itself, stirring up the flakes that dusted the surface of the glacier before rushing down the mountainside, gathering speed but not warmth. It found me in the hollow between the hills out of sight from the temporary village of tents by the river and ran through me like a lance of ice, piercing my gut then melting within me, the cold spreading throughout my body.

      The shock of the cold brought me into sudden awareness, but I couldn't make sense of the world around me. I didn't know why I was in the hollow away from the tents, why there was a dead body at my feet. My thoughts kept swimming away from me, hiding behind the beginnings of a headache when I tried to catch them. I didn't recognize the woman sprawled on the stony ground, several pools of blood congealing around her. I felt like I should know her, but I couldn't bring myself to reach out a hand to brush the tangles of hair away from her face.

      Something was trying to push to the front of my mind, but it was like a shriek of urgent terror and I kept pushing it back. I was supposed to be doing something, and some part of my mind knew what it was, but if I had to let that horrid screaming fill my mind before I learned just what it was I would rather wait.

      Then I heard a man approaching. Alfreide? he called, his voice low and only half-awake. The sun had not yet risen and the world was a pattern of grays, but the east was to his back and his outline stood out starkly as he reached the top of the hill. He stumbled down the steep slope, slipping on the frost-coated grass. He had thrown a blanket over his bare shoulders but the knee that hit the ground was bare and he swore briefly, the cold driving him closer to alertness. Alfreide? he called again, his tone still inquisitive but edging into real worry with just a hint of self-consciousness at possibly appearing foolish for worrying.

      Then he saw the body and all those conflicting shades of emotion clarified into a wail of pure grief. I tried to speak his name but it died on my lips unspoken; I could not remember it. Sir? I said instead, then again when he didn't respond. But it was as if I wasn't there at all. Sobs shook his body, and his face contorted in sorrow tore at my heart. I wanted to try to speak again, to touch him, but the control over my own mind slipped and the screaming took over, stoking up the headache but not letting any articulate thought take hold. I cowered at the edge of the hollow, unable to look at the distraught man, waiting for it all to pass.

      The man fell silent with such rapidity I feared that what had murdered the woman had come back for him, but when I lifted my gaze from the stony ground and frozen grass I found him with his arms around the still form of the woman but his eyes on a very different woman floating above him.

      Or perhaps not so different. They had the same long raven hair, the dead woman's in what had started out as an elaborate weaving of braids now collapsing, the new woman's left loose. The man had pushed the hair back from the dead woman's face and although he had streaked her features with more blood in the process I saw a similarity. The dead woman was a decade or two older, and even in death her face was stern and uncompromising, quite the opposite of the floating woman's beatific openness. If they had been standing next to each other I would have taken them for sisters nearly a generation apart in age, but with one dead and the other floating near the ceiling I guessed I was looking at a ghost and her antecedent.

      Alfreide, the man said, reaching up a hand to touch the glowing face. The ghost smiled back down at him, a melancholy smile, but before his fingers quite reached her there was a clatter of armor and three men came over the top of the hill, one dressed in the armor of a king's guard, the other two in trousers hastily pulled on under nightshirts. Behind them came a woman who was probably of average height but looked tiny in comparison to the towering men.

      Osgar, said the one of the nightshirted men, falling to his knees beside the grieving man and the dead woman. My God.

      So much blood, the woman said, mindful of the toes of her slippers.

      Who did this? the kneeling man asked.

      I heard nothing, Osgar said, raising blood-stained hands in despair. How can that be? I slept only over there. There was a hill between the hollow and the tent, but not a very large one. We were out of sight but the sounds of the camp waking in alarm carried clearly through the cold air.

      The wine, my lord, said the other nightshirted man, not unkindly. You drank many toasts with the queen's brothers.

      No, Osgar said.

      Osgar has no belly for wine, the kneeling man said.

      Your majesty? the guardsman asked.

      It's very subtly done, the woman said. I didn't notice it myself for quite some time, and I notice things.

      She does, the king said, giving her a momentary fond smile. His queen, then, and newlyweds at that to be so pleased at what they knew about each other.

      I don't follow-

      Alfreide drank the wine, Osgar said.

      All of it? the guardsman asked, looking down at the body with wonderment.

      She's from the north, the king said.

      He pretends to drink then trades cups with her, the queen said.

      If there had been any sound of a struggle I would have woken, Osgar said.

      And this does not look like it was quietly done, the guardsman said, crouching down to peer at the thickening blood.

      Captain, have the guards surround the camp, the king said. No one leaves until every tent is searched.

      They may tell any who questions them that they have their orders from me as well, the queen said. Should it be necessary.

      The man nodded and spun on a heel to race up the hill, voice already raised to call to the other guardsmen waiting at the edge of the camp.

      There is no weapon here, the king noted.

      But so much blood, the queen said again.

      I would like to take her body to my tent, the guardsman said as he rose from his crouch. Perhaps if I clean off some of this blood I can discover the wound. That might give us a clue as to the weapon.

      See to it, Wulfstan, the king said, then rested a hand on Osgar's shoulder. Osgar looked up, his arms tightening around the stiffening body, but then he looked past his king to the woman still floating over him like a canopy. She gave him a gentle nod and he allowed Wulfstan to gather the body up in his arms and carry her away.

      Whatever is this? the queen asked, and there was a clatter of something made of glass falling against a stone without shattering.

      A box of medicines...? the king said, squatting beside her to examine what was sprawled half-hidden in the frozen tufts of grass. The floating form kept her gaze locked on Osgar, and he seemed unable to look away from her either. I felt a stab of annoyance. The ghostly form might represent all goodness and light, but what use was it?

      I had no eyes to close or lungs to draw a deeper breath, but somehow I stilled my increasingly chaotic emotion-driven thoughts. I still felt odd, swimmy, like I wanted to lie down and let sleep take

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