M.M. Schreier's Blog, page 12

Pursuit

She flees through the forest on bare feet, a carpet of pine needles silencing her footsteps. Somewhere behind, unseen in the darkness, The Warrior stalks her. Her heart thumps, the frantic rat-a-tat of a woodpecker on a hollow log, as she races between the trees.

A barrier of thicket rises before her, but she doesn’t slow. She trails long fingers amid the thorns, and the briars part before her. On the other side, she pauses and raises her willowy arms. The opening knits together; the brambles grow thicker, more menacing. A feral grin crosses her face, sharp teeth glint white, as she imagines the tendrils wrapping around The Warrior’s ankles, the wicked barbs tangling in his silky black hair.

Cursing the darkness that lends him strength, she sprints deeper into the wood. Her trap won’t hold him long, not with his arcane gift of shadow walking. The night is his domain, but the forest is hers. They make perfect, complimentary adversaries. Breathing deep, she tastes his scent in the air––resin and hoarfrost––and her stomach flips. He draws closer.

Deerlike, she leaps around a circle of toadstools. Another dangerous obstacle, but she doubts he’ll fall prey, too smart to be lured in by the temptations of a fairy ring. Instead, she begs aid of her tiny cousins.

Dance and dazzle, lead astray,

Make The Warrior lose his way.

Pinpricks of light giggle and circle around her head before the will-o-wisps zip off, intent on their prey. Gooseflesh pebbles her arms, for she knows her tricks will only slow, not stop him. She hopes it will gain her enough time to make the change. Lengthening her stride, she bursts into a wooded glade.

Moonlight dapples the clearing, quicksilver streaming through the broad canopies of ancient oaks. She drinks it in, chest heaving as she gulps air and wills her heart to slow. Tucking mossy green tresses behind a pointed ear, she listens. A vole rustles through the underbrush, the petals of a moonflower unfurl. No snapping twig, no muffled footstep brings dischord, yet she expects none from a man who travels through the umbra.

He comes, daughter. Change now!

She adheres to the command. Smooth, acorn brown skin, roughens to bark. Toes elongate, rooting into the soil like burrowing serpents. Arms stretch above her head, fingers branching and sprouting leaves. In the space between breaths, the daughter of the forest becomes part of the wood itself.

Sing with us.

The oaks lift silent voices, not in true song, but in cosmic harmony. It’s the melodic whisper of wind amongst the foliage, the kiss of starlight. The percussion of a thousand prickly caterpillar feet on bark, and the rhythmic turning of the seasons. It tugs at her soul, but she dares not join in. To sing means to be rooted eternal.    

In tree-form, she senses rather than sees The Warrior untangle his essence from a shadow and slide into the glade with catlike grace. A thrill runs through her, limbs shivering. Will he notice the anomaly – a single sapling amid these gnarled methuselahs?

Why do you bother with his kind?

She ignores her elders and concentrates on the bewitching darkness of The Warrior’s aura as he searches the glade. His frustration is sharp, a tang that cuts through leaf mould and the perfume of night blossoms. She laughs, celebrating her victory, knowing he only hears a breeze chattering through the canopy.

The Warrior’s spirit thins as he prepares to shadow walk. He inches toward her, and panic freezes her sap. A narrow band of black stretches across the forest floor, where her trunk blocks the moonlight. When he steps into it, he pauses, half here, half in the dark beyond.

Calloused fingers reach out and caress her bark, close tight around a branch.

“Tirim.” His whisper is rough with perilous desire.

Uncanny energy ripples through her as she changes from oak to elfenkind. His hand remains, clasped around her arm, pinning them together. Hard, black eyes fasten on green with exquisite intensity. A cloud of butterflies take flight in her stomach.

“Of all the shadows in the forest, you had to choose mine to try and walk through?”

She flashes him a rueful grin and leans closer, offering him his prize. Black eyes soften as he pulls her close. When their lips touch, the oaks once again begin to sing – a lament for their lost daughter.

*Prompt: utilize the word “prickly”

 

INSOMNIA: Dread Naught but Time

A new Scribes Divided anthology – “Dread Naught but Time” is now available for pre-order at Amazon. (Kindle only, print will be available on the release date 11/27.)

This book is special to me – not only because I really love my story in this compilation of timeless works, but because the contributors make up members of my writing family. Writers of every stripe who have come together to make a community out of a solitary pursuit.

My story – “Insomnia” – is the final tale in the book. A dark piece about image and reality, may it leave you looking over your shoulder and awaiting the sun to rise. Here’s a little teaser to whet your appetite…

 

I scrutinized her in the glass; the insomnia was wearing on her. With a bony hand she reached up, touched purple smudges under her eyes. My fingertips grazed over the delicate skin and a tickle of spidery footsteps rippled up my spine. She blinked hard and my eyes prickled with unshed tears.

Why do you torment me?  Sleep and let me be!

The nightgown slipped down over her shoulder. She yanked it back up, but not before I saw the blue-green fingerprints on her shoulder. I couldn’t glance down with her eyes fixed on me. It didn’t matter – although I hadn’t felt it, I knew my fair skin would also be bruised. My body was not my own.

 

Release Day

It’s release day for The Corona Book of Science Fiction. You can check out my story: SafeChipTM along with many other riveting tales. Pick up a copy – I promise you won’t be disappointed!

A sampler of the work of the best new writers of science fiction out there? A sci-fi selection box with a mix of hard (science) and soft (science) centres covering the spectrum of sub-genres? A brilliant anthology you’ll find hard to put down? A must read for every sci-fi fan?

All these things? We like to think so, and certainly with The Corona Book of Science Fiction we’ve tried to create something special – a multi-author sci-fi collection where each contribution embodies both great imagination and great storytelling, and which collectively covers a mix of themes from the fantastic to the topical, from AI to Z, all topped off with a last story so touching it has been proved to reduce grown men to tears.

 

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#ItsAboutTime

Scribes Divided is releasing their second anthology in November. (Check out their first volume here.) I’ve already read a handful of the stories that will be included and it promises to be a riveting book. Tales range from spine tingling horror, to classic fantasy, epic romances, and suspense that will keep you on the edge of your seat. And those are just the pieces I’ve read!

My story, “Insomnia” is a dark, twisted reflection on image and the illusion of reality.  Stay tuned for release dates!

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