A. Lee Martinez's Blog, page 25

Family Ties (short fiction)

I’d been following a trail of madness and melting reality across four states until I found her sitting in a truck stop outside of Tucson. The bell dinged as I pushed open the door. She sat in a booth by herself. A family two tables down gibbered at each other like monkeys. The servers lay curled up on the floor. The cook was burning something on the grill. I didn’t want to know what but it didn’t smell like pancakes.

I sat across from her.

“Yolanda Sothoth?” I asked, although I already knew. It wasn’t only the damage she was doing to the universe just by sitting there. She also had these weird lumps on her flesh, like her skin could barely hold whatever lurked underneath.

She drank her coffee and nodded.

“You’re father sent me to find you,” I said.

“I figured, but you can tell him to go to hell.”

“Parents, right?” I poured myself a cup of coffee. “Caff or decaff? Ah, doesn’t matter. We’ve all got our issues, kid. My Dad was a real piece of work, and Mom . . . well, I never really knew her. She lives under the sea, worshipping strange fish gods.”

I rolled up my sleeve to show the patches of greenish-brown skin below my wrist. If you didn’t know any better, you might think it was a rash.

“We’re never really far from where we came from,” I said. “Not people like you and me. If you want to even call us people. Me, I’m a hell of a swimmer, and I hear the ocean calling. Even now. Even here.”

She said, “It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” I replied. “I can’t even really enjoy a bath. Too much time in the water . . . it does things to me. So I shower, and I don’t even do that as much as I should. But that’s me. You’re different, Yolanda. And you know it. This entire universe is your forbidden bathtub, and you burn it away just by sitting there. You weren’t meant to stay here.”

The diner door opened and an indescribable thing on the threshold gurgled and howled at us.

“Shut up,” I said. “Let me handle this.”

The thing growled, shutting the door.

I reached across the table and took Yolanda’s hand. Her touch caused my skin to peel back and show the scales underneath. And the sunken city screamed for me in a song both beautiful and terrifying.

“It’s a rotten deal, kid. You don’t deserve it, but you and I both know you can’t stay here. You can’t contain it, and it’ll only get worse.”

“What’s it like?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “What you are is beyond me. I can’t make you do anything, and you can keep running, ripping apart this universe with your every step until it falls away into tatters. It’s up to you.”

The scales crawled up my arm. The dry air scraped against my skin.

“I guess I knew,” she said. “I always knew.”

She let go of my hand. The greenish-brown flesh didn’t smooth back. I hoped it might, but the change might be permanent.

She didn’t thank me. She didn’t have any reason to. I hadn’t saved her. I’d only thrown her into mysteries likely to consume the fragile human side of her parentage. Nobody could know what would be left behind.

The door opened and her father gurgled as she stepped across the threshold. And then she was gone, off to whatever horrific wonders awaited her.

The universe struggled to fix itself. The family stopped gibbering and finished their eggs. The servers got to their feet. And whatever the cook had been cooking, he threw it away, though the smell hung in the air for a while.

I studied my scaly hand. It was only two hundred miles to the ocean from here. If I got into my car right now, I could be there before dawn. The call was almost irresistible. But I ordered another cup of coffee and resisted for one more day.

The Princess and the Paladin (short fiction)

It’d been obvious from the day of her birth that the princess was a special soul. The sun started dawn an hour earlier in order to ensure it was there to greet her, and every bird in the land sang songs of her wondrousness. The mad dragon Belzanurkazah, which had spent six years terrorizing the countryside, appeared at the castle and upon setting eyes on the child had bowed her head and flown peacefully over the horizon, never to trouble the kingdom again. And the royal castle uprooted and planted itself atop a cloud, where it remained ever after, which was magical and wondrous, but also terribly inconvenient. Nobody had lived in it for years, but it was inspiring to see, floating up there.

The only hiccup in the charmed life of the princess was all the demons. Demons, like everyone else, weren’t a uniform force. Some wanted her to consume. Others sought her corruption. And others only wanted to destroy her, believing they could destroy the hope of the world with her. After years of close calls and desperate battles, the princess was hidden away to grow up in peace.

But she couldn’t stay hidden forever.

The demon lord Gurh stood at the head of his legion, having surrounded the quaint little monastery. “Are you sure she’s in there?”

His head scout nodded his twisted head. “Yes, sir. There were dozens of unicorns around the place and we spotted a maiden on the top tower, singing with the birds. And the birds sang back.”

Gurh said, “A good sign.”

“Also, we’ve seen the bushes in the topiary garden move when she walks through it. I’ve seen that elephant bush bow to her several times.”

“It doesn’t seem like much protection.”

“Well, there’s the monks, sir. They’re a warrior caste. Quite capable of defending themselves against most forces. And then there’s the paladin. They say he’s the most powerful knight in all the land and that he has pledged his life in her service.”

Gurh laughed. “Paladins? Please, I eat paladin souls like candy. Righteous fools.”

The demon lord put his horn to his lips and sounded the charge. His legion poured from the woods, a tide of wings, fangs, and steel. Gurh rode at the lead on his terrible hellbeast, a mountain on legs with slavering jaws and claws that could rend stone.

The warrior monks, despite their reputations, retreated behind their walls. Gurh smiled. This would be easier than he expected. Before he could give the order to tear the place and its inhabitants to pieces, the gates opened and a young woman stepped out to greet him.

She was no frail waif, having a lean, muscular build and a determined gait. She wore robes and carried a sword in her hand.

“Don’t harm these folks,” she said.

Gurh looked into her cool, gray eyes and felt his demon soul burn. He averted his gaze. “You’re the one I seek.”

“I am,” said the princess. “I’m here if you want me.”

“You surrender yourself then?”

“No. You still must take me.”

Gurh raised his sword, and several of his legion charged the girl. Her blade sliced through them in an efficient arc, cutting them all down without a wasted move. She wiped the purple demon blood from the weapon with her robe.

“Impressive girl, but you can’t stand against us all.”

She pointed her sword at him and holy rays poured forth, melting lesser demons into puddles and sending others scurrying away. Only the most powerful remained. They rushed her in hopes of overwhelming her.

The princess slaughtered them all. It took the better part of the afternoon.

Gurh lay defeated before her. “Finish it then.”

She lowered her weapon. “Tell the others. Leave good people alone, and you have nothing to fear from me. Otherwise . . . ”

She radiated hot righteousness, burning him into a withered pathetic thing who scampered helplessly away.

The princess and the paladin sheathed her demon-stained sword and walked back into the monastery while the birds sang her praises.

The Last Day (short fiction)

Jennifer saw it everywhere, over every living thing. Invisible to everyone else, but always there, always accurate. She’d checked and double-checked. It was a bit morbid to go to the hospital or retirement homes and stalk a person who was about to expire. But it had been the simplest way to test whether she was crazy or not.

She wasn’t. The countdown never lied. And it was almost finished.

She’d known this was coming for years. As a young girl, she’d noticed that no one’s counter went past 2015. Many were shorter, but nobody made it past that year. As the years passed, the final day drew closer until today, when it was finally here.

In ten minutes, every living thing on Earth would expire. Even the trees. Every single blade of grass. Everything.

She met the girl at the park. Betty was only fourteen, but she was also the only other person Jennifer had met who could see the timers. There were probably others, but how did you bring that up? It was only happenstance that led them to find each other.

Betty sat on the bench with Jennifer. Jennifer offered her a bite of her hot dog. Betty, a strict vegetarian, accepted.

“What the hell, right?”

“What the hell,” agreed Jennifer.

She liked Betty. The kid was younger by several decades, but they had the countdown in common. They both shared the same nonchalance toward death, a thing they always saw coming but were powerless to prevent.

“How do you think it’ll happen?” asked Betty.

“Meteorite maybe,” said Jennifer.

“Can’t be that. A meteorite would be visible by now. And it wouldn’t kill everyone at once. I was thinking a disease, but diseases don’t do that either. Best bet, some kind of chemical weapon unleashed in the atmosphere. Something that’s already in us just waiting to be triggered.”

“Nukes?”

“Again. Not all at once.”

“Wrath of God,” said Jennifer. “Literal supernatural judgment passed on from on high.”

“I don’t believe in God.”

Neither did Jennifer. Fate, certainly, but that alone wasn’t proof that there was anything more out there. The universe seemed more like a machine to her, a great collection of working parts. If there was a God, He / She / They / It were great watchmakers who had wound the whole thing up and then left it to wind down.

A squirrel scampered up to her feet with four minutes left on its timer. She tossed it a nut.

“Did you say good-bye to anyone?” asked Betty.

“No.”

“Me neither. I almost told my mom, but she wouldn’t have believed me. All that matters is that they know I love them, right?”

Jennifer smiled, offered Betty the last of her soda.

“Yeah. That’s all that ever mattered.”

And the world counted down.

Undeath and You (short fiction)

The doctor held up the crucifix from across the room. “How does this make you feel, Mr. Bixby?”

Steve shrugged. “Weird, I guess.”

“Interesting. How so?”

“I don’t know. Having a doctor waving a cross at me while I’m sitting on this cold metal table in a medical gown . . . it just feels weird.”

“Yes, but do you sense anything you might classify as impending dread or unclassifiable fear?”

“Not really.”

The doctor stepped closer, holding the crucifix out like a shield. “How about now?”

“No.”

The doctor handed the cross to his nurse and took a small coin from her. He placed the coin in Steve’s palm. “How does this feel?”

“How is it supposed to feel?”

The doctor took the coin and gave it back to his nurse. He whispered something in her ear. She nodded and left the room.

“You’ll excuse me, Mr. Bixby, but this is all unfamiliar territory. The only thing we know for certain is that you’re dead. No vital signs. No detectable brain activity. By all rights, you shouldn’t be moving or talking, but you are.”

“Uh hmm.”

Steve had figured it out. It was hard not to. The news was filled with stories of the undead. Ghosts. Vampires. Mummies. Jiangshis. Vetalas. Banshees. Nezhits. Likhos. The debate raged on. Some thought they had been there forever and only now were exposed by the age of camera phones and pocket recording devices. Others said it was something else. A new age. A time for the rules of reality to be rewritten. Nobody knew for sure.

All Steve knew was that it had derailed his life.

A new nurse entered the room. The tall, broad man carried a large ax across his shoulders. The doctor directed the weapon placed at Steve’s feet. They left the room and locked the door.

“Mr. Bixby, would you please pick up the ax?” said the doctor’s voice from a loudspeaker.

Steve did. He didn’t feel anything at first, but the air grew colder. He couldn’t see his breath (he didn’t breath anymore) but ice formed on the walls. His arm tingled. The room shrank. No, it wasn’t shrinking. He was growing.

Something burned in his chest. It wasn’t his heart. It was an overwhelming hunger. The desire to see the world awash in blood, to devour the living, to kill until there was nothing to kill. Somewhere, something was cackling with hideous glee at the thought.

That something was him.

The door opened and the nurse entered carrying a shield covered in runes. Steve smashed the little man with his ax, but the world exploded. Steve was thrown across the examining room. While he was recovering, the nurse collected the ax and quickly left the room.

Steve’s head cleared. He could still feel the bloodlust, but it was only a faint aftertaste in the back of his throat.

“Ah, yes,” said the doctor. “You are a draugr.”

“What the hell is a draugr?” asked Steve, fairly positive he was mispronouncing the word.

“We’ll get you some literature. It should be fine as long as you don’t touch any weapons and avoid collecting too much material wealth. Also, you’ll need to start seeing a therapist. It’ll help with the rage issues.”

“Give it to me straight, doctor. I’m not going to kill my wife and kids, am I?”

“Unlikely. Growing research indicates most forms of undeath, yours included, are manageable.”

It was that word. Manageable. Like undeath was little more than diabetes or genital herpes. It was something he was going to have to live with. Or not live with. However it worked now.

It was also that other word.

Unlikely.

Hook Up of the Gods (short fiction)

In the Company of Ogres

Helen and Troy’s Epic Road Quest

The demi-god watching the door glanced at Franklin. “He can’t come in.”

Grog, great god of the orcs, said, “He’s my plus one.”

“He’s mortal.”

“He was mortal. Now he’s post-mortal.”

“It’s no big deal,” said Franklin. “I don’t need to—”

Grog’s five heads sneered in unison. “He’s my plus one. There isn’t anything in the invitation that says post-mortals aren’t allowed.”

“It’s assumed,” said the demi-god.

“Screw that. If I wasn’t allowed to bring him, it should’ve said so on your damned invitation. I even RSVP’d. So don’t give me that.”

The demi-god sized up the tremendous orc deity before him and decided he wasn’t paid enough to stand in Grog’s way. “Whatever.”

Grog and Franklin walked into the party. For Grog, it was an old scene, a mixer of gods and god-like things from across the universes. Franklin’s bare soul would’ve melted, screaming, exposed to such raw divine power, but Grog put a shield around his post-mortal guest.

“Hey, thanks for bringing me along,” said Franklin.

“Forget it,” said Grog. “I generally hate these things. Nice to have someone here who isn’t a complete asshole.”

A multi-dimensional being with a thousand eyes and two thousand tentacles stumbled past Grog, jostling the orc god, spilling its nectar and rum on him.

“Ah, jeez, guy,” said the being. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there, pal.” It lurched away drunkenly.

Grog grabbed some napkins from a passing server and dabbed at the liquid on his armor. The point of these mixers was for gods to chat it up and kick back. It wasn’t always easy being a god, and a universe wasn’t easy to manage. Here, they didn’t have to worry about blowing up worlds with a careless act. Here, they didn’t have to face the dilemmas of power and what to do with it. Here, there were no mortals to watch over and for a while, the concerns of everyday omnipotent immortal life could be put aside.

It was just a shame he didn’t like them more, but Grog didn’t like many people, mortal or immortal.

A comely goddess of oblivion, shimmering like an ocean of stars, sidled up to Franklin. “Well, hello, you delicious morsel.”

“Beat it,” said Grog. “He’s with me.”

The goddess shrugged and walked away. She continued to eye Franklin from across the room.

“She probably just wants to devour your soul.”

“Might we worth it,” said Franklin.

Grog chuckled.

He stepped aside as the Red Goddess helped herself to some punch.

“I hate these things,” she said.

“Who doesn’t?” he replied.

“You’re an orc god, aren’t you?” she asked. “We have orcs in my universe, though they don’t have a god to call their own.”

“I’m not looking to expand,” he said. “I don’t like the ones I have.”

The Red Goddess laughed. “It isn’t always easy, is it? Keeping these mortals from screwing everything up.”

“Tell me about it,” said Grog. “Ungrateful bastards.”

The goddess raised her cup. “I’ll drink to that.”

He tapped his plastic cup against hers.

A little while later, Grog pulled Franklin aside. “Hey, Frank, I think I’m going to take off.”

“Okay.” Franklin slammed the last of his drink and finished off a pig-in-a-blanket. “I’m ready.”

“Uh, yeah.” Grog’s second and third heads nodded toward the Red Goddess waiting for him by the door. “I love you, buddy, but this might be a third wheel situation.”

“Oh.” Franklin nodded. “Sure, I get it. I’ll get somebody else to take me home.”

Grog slammed his giant hand across Franklin’s back, and Franklin fell on his face. “Cool, buddy. You’re the best.”

“No problem,” said Franklin. But Grog was already out the door.

The shimmering goddess stood before Franklin. She smiled as she took his hand and helped him to his feet. Her touch was warm and a tingle ran up his arm.

“I couldn’t help overhearing,” she said. “Do you need a ride?”

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

“Nonsense. It’s on my way.”

“I didn’t tell you where it was.” He didn’t know himself. He was only a post-mortal. He didn’t understand the multidimensional omniverse. He thought maybe his universe was to the left of that one with all the vampires, but that might have been completely meaningless.

“My dear boy, everywhere is on my way.” She put her arm around his shoulder and pressed her tender body against him. It was like getting a hug from the sun. Warm and enticing and fatal in large enough doses. “We’ll have to stop by my place along the way though. I do hope that’s okay.”

Franklin, who by all rights should’ve fallen into oblivion long ago, figured there were worst ways for a post-mortal to end his time in this omniverse. The sparkling eyes of the goddess alone held wonders that priests would die to know or NOT know, depending on their particular theology. There was no telling what other secrets her body might hold.

“Sure. Why not?”

The goddess took his arm, and they strolled out the door.

Storybringer (short fiction)

It was my job to carry the stories from town to town. In each village, the people would gather at my approach. It was an event. Not quite a festival or a feast, but something to look forward to. A young man or woman would run up to me and take my traveling bag and show me to my host. I would be fed, my clothes mended, and other needs attended to with whatever means the townsfolk had available. In the highlands, it was opulent steak and finest wines and a warm bed in a room of my own. In the lows, it was bread and water and a straw mat in an old barn. I took these gifts in the spirit they were offered.

In return, I brought them the stories.

“There once was a woman with three wicked stepsisters . . . “ I said.

“Ah, we’ve heard this one before,” said a young man.

The rest of the crowd hushed him, but I held up my hand and nodded for him to speak up.

“It’s an old story,” he said.

“I’m an old woman,” I replied. “Perhaps I’ve simply run out of stories.”

A murmur ran through the crowd. None of them cared. They would have been happy for me to tell the same story again. And again. And again. But not this boy.

“You can’t run out of stories,” he said.

“Can’t I?”

“No.”

“Then tell me, how does this one go?”

The crowd turned to him, that hunger across each of their faces. I’d seen in a thousand times in a thousand villages.

He said, “What if her sisters are only wicked because she put a curse on them?”

The crowd had mixed reactions to this idea. Some found it intriguing. Others disturbing. And still others wondered why they should care.

“What if?” I asked. “And why would she do such a thing?”

The boy thought about this a moment. “Because she knew the prince was riding through town, and she wanted everyone to tell him how nasty they were so that he would feel sorry for her.”

“So she’s the villain then?”

“Maybe.”

There were those who were aghast at such a thought. They were old comfortable folks in their old comfortable ways. They would never like a change like this. But for the others…it was something new. Something to be discovered.

“Did the prince fall for her scheme?” I asked.

“Yes. He took her off and married her.”

The audience said nothing, but their dissatisfaction was obvious.

“But on the way to the castle, the carriage broke down,” he said. “And a monster appeared and told her it was there to eat her for her scheming ways.”

“And did it?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No, because she was too smart. The monster couldn’t touch the pure of heart, and the good prince, beguiled by her beauty, stood in its way.”

It was my job to bring the stories from town to town, but I was getting old and the road was getting longer.

“Go on,” I said.

The boy told his tale. It was not the most original, nor the most subtle, but both were often overrated virtues to spinning a tale. All that mattered was that the people listened.

And listen they did, as did I.

There would always be a storybringer.

Chasing Monsters (short fiction)

Helen and Troy’s Epic Road Quest

 

Nigel Skullgnasher led the way, slicing through the jungle overgrowth with his enchanted ax. “How much farther?”

Peggy Truthstalker said, “Don’t know. But it’s this way.”

Nigel wiped the sweat from his face. They’d been tramping through this jungle for days. He was hot, hungry, and impatient.

“This is almost as bad as that Ecuadorian death flower,” said James Eyestabber.

The three orcs were the last of The Wild Hunt still on the job. A few of the club had been killed. Others sidelined by serious injuries. Most had simply gone back to their lives and jobs.

“This has to be my last one,” said James, bringing up the rear. “Gary wants me home.”

“Well, la de da,” said Nigel. “It’s just the end of the world we’re trying to prevent here, but Gary is lonely.”

“Oh, screw you,” said James. “Some of us like our partners.”

Nigel grunted. He had once loved his wife. Maybe he still did. But it’d been two months since he’d walked out the door, dispatched by his gods, now by the NQB. He’d called her exactly twice since, and she’d yelled at him. She didn’t care he was saving the world. She only cared about the mortgage and how long he planned on traipsing around South America, having fun, killing monsters.

She didn’t understand. It wasn’t fun. It was necessary.

“Oh that’s bullshit,” said Peggy.

He hated when she read his mind like that. The spirits were lousy at giving directions, but they sure as hell loved giving marriage advice.

“You’re not here because you have to save the world,” she said. “Yes, there’s another apocalyptic monster somewhere out here, but there’s always a monster. You’re just running from your problems.”

Nigel’s marriage had been lousy for some time now. It was orc nature to see life as suffering, a series of painful trials to be endured. But some pain was more irritating than others.

“You need to talk to her,” said Peggy. “You can’t go chasing monsters forever.”

Nigel had quietly been hoping one of these hellish abominations would do him in before he had to deal with his personal life. He’d survived so far. Death delighted in taunting him, but it wasn’t going to offer him an easy out.

He cursed his gods and spat. Peggy and James echoed him for reasons all their own. The heavens rumbled back at them as their savage gods returned their scorn. There’d be no help there. In the end, an orc could only rely on himself and his tribe. And even the latter was considered a sign of weakness.

They broke through the jungle, coming across a decaying ziggurat under the burning sun. The bones of hundreds of skeletons littered the ground.

“The spirits say this is the place,” said Peggy.

“No shit,” said Nigel. “So where’s the bird?”

A great monster of red and black feathers soared overhead. It landed atop the ziggurat and screeched. The skies darkened as the eclipse began. If the bird wasn’t dead within twenty minutes, it’d never end.

“Don’t suppose the thing will do us a favor and come down here?” said James.

The terrible sun eater folded its wings around itself and glared down at them with its bright yellow eyes.

“Didn’t think so.”

The tired and irritable orcs climbed the stairs and killed the creature with a minute to spare.

Nigel wiped the blood off his frozen ax. “Are you okay?” he asked James.

“Yeah. How’s Peggy?”

During the battle, she’d been knocked off the top and tumbled down the stairs all the way to the bottom. From up here, her leg bent at a weird angle, but it was only a few broken bones. She waved up at them.

“You know, she’s right,” said James. “You can’t keep running away.”

“I know.”

Nigel slung his ax across his back. He and James limped their way down the steps. Nigel thought he might die in this forsaken jungle. But he was an orc. He didn’t have that kind of luck.

The sun came back in the sky, burning them with its cruel heat as they dragged themselves back to civilization.

Among the Gods (short fiction)

Helen and Troy’s Epic Road Quest

During winter break, Troy Kawakami discovered he had a nemesis. He was surprised as anyone.

“Don’t I know you?” Troy asked of the broad-shouldered man standing on the porch. “It’s Smith, right?”

“Perhaps.”

“Yes, you fought the cyclops,” said Troy. “I don’t usually forget a face. Glad to see you’re okay.”

“It was only a few broken bones,” said Smith. “A ruptured spleen. Some severe head trauma.” He shrugged. “But thank you for your concern.”

“No problem. Something I can do for you?”

Smith said, “You can be destroyed.”

Troy nodded. “I see. Come on in. Mom and Dad aren’t home right now.”
Smith followed Troy into the living room, where they took a seat across from each other.

“It’s nothing personal,” said Smith. “As you might recall, the gods decreed if I could defeat seventy-seven monsters, I could join them in the heavens. Unfortunately, my encounter with the cyclops ended that particular quest. Have a kink in my shoulder that makes monster slaying tricky at this point.”

He rotated his arm and winced.

“Sorry to hear that,” said Troy.

“I petitioned the gods, and they set before me a new task. If I can prove myself the most perfect mortal on this world, then I can join them. To do so, I must destroy those mortals who challenge me for the title. You, Troy Kawakami, are one of those mortals.”

Troy laughed. “I’m not perfect.”

“Close enough as far as the gods are concerned. And I don’t mean to rush you, but I have a long list here and very few of these opponents live near one another, so there’s an unfortunate amount of traveling involved. After you, I’m off to Tibet.”

“Sounds tiring.”

“Racking up the frequent flyer miles,” said Smith. “So how do you want to do this?”

“There’s more than one way to destroy someone?”

“Ah, yes, sorry for the confusion. I only need prove myself your better in some way. So what shall it be? Knife fight? Arm wrestling? Spelling bee? Trivia contest? The choice is yours as the challenged.”

“And if I win?”

“You won’t.”

“But if I do?”

“Then my quest becomes yours. But don’t think you’ll take my rightful place among the gods.”

“Gods forbid,” said Troy shuffled a deck of cards on the table. “High card wins then?”

Smith reached across the table and grabbed Troy’s arm. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?” asked Troy. “If you truly are destined to join the gods, then how can you lose?”

Smith released Troy. “Fine.”

Troy shuffled. Smith cut the deck. They drew. Smith’s three of spades beat Troy’s two of hearts.

“Ah, shoot. Looks like you win,” said Troy.

“I did?” Smith smiled. “Of course, I did! I am the most perfect mortal. I can’t lose. No hard feelings!”

“No hard feelings.” Troy shook hands with Smith as they parted ways. “Good luck on your quest.”

“Luck is for lesser mortals.” Smith picked up his suitcase and trod to the waiting taxi.

Troy closed the door and, smiling, tossed the king of clubs he’d palmed onto the coffee table.

Deathless (writing)

The dilemma all continuing universes / ongoing series must face is how to keep the drama when death is no longer an option. This is a dilemma that comic book superheroes have faced for decades, and which is even now, complicating things as they continue their dominance on the big screen. The math here is simple. Killing characters is one of the easiest ways to raise the stakes, to make the bad guy look bad, to make the good guys seem in trouble. It signals that things are getting serious and that there’s no going back.

Except there usually is.

And here’s the problem with any sort of shared continuity and ongoing property. Many writers are not equipped to deal with a deathless universe. Most of the audience has been conditioned to think of death as a real threat, and why shouldn’t they? In most genres, killing a character is a permanent thing. You can’t kill them off casually, and if you do kill them off, it’s almost impossible to bring them back plausibly. That’s not how real life works.

But fantasy, in all its myriad forms, isn’t bound by the laws or reality AND superhero fiction is such an Anything Goes genre that bringing characters back from the dead is neither difficult nor even implausible. That doesn’t mean it should be done frequently. Or, if it is done frequently, that death should be viewed by anyone as more than a slap on the wrist.

The Marvel Cinematic Universe is already struggling with this problem. In Avengers, Agent Coulson dies, serving as the dramatic plot point that forces the Avengers to work together to save the world. It’s powerful, dramatic. Coulson was the only character to appear thus far in all the Marvel Cinematic movies. He’s the connecting character, likable, and meant to be a sort of everyday Joe in the middle of this madness. His death should mean something, but he’s also a popular character and someone it’s easy to spinoff into his own show. These two conflicting elements mean a choice has to be made. Kill him and leave behind a lucrative franchise OR don’t kill him and do that spinoff.

Unsurprisingly, they went with the third option. Kill him AND still use him for that spinoff. It’s a cheat, but in a universe of gods and aliens, high technology and magic hammers, it’s not the worst sin.

The worst sin is repeating the same hollow death scene again and again.

Nick Fury “dies” in The Winter Soldier, and is immediately back before the end credits roll. Loki “dies” in The Dark World, but, nope, not really. Groot “dies” in Guardians of the Galaxy, although a passing familiarity with the character means knowing death is hardly permanent for the big guy. Still, most people aren’t familiar with Groot. Most people assume a death is meant to have some degree of permanence. Heck, even Spock was polite enough to stay dead until the start of next Trek movie, and the entire plot was about bringing him back. If someone doesn’t “die” for drama during Age of Ultron, it’ll be a genuine surprise.

This is nothing new. As a long time superhero fan, I’m used to such empty drama. Death in a superhero universe, no matter how heroic or tragic, is rarely permanent, and watching a character die isn’t particularly exciting or interesting, with the exception of obscure characters (who I happen to generally like) who have a stronger tendency to stay dead. This is why I don’t actually read many superhero comics at this point, especially from Marvel or DC. The drama is artificial and it feels like it. It’s hard to be invested in a character’s death when there’s no reason to believe it will take. It’s empty.

Granted, this isn’t unique to comics. Indiana Jones isn’t going to die in his movie. Remmington Steele wasn’t going to perish during any of his adventures. Scooby Doo is not going to be electrocuted by the 10,000 Volt Ghost. But each of these characters are written with this in mind. Yes, Indiana Jones’s life is threatened as he sword fights with Nazis or outwits deadly traps, but the conflict is not whether Jones will die but the exciting manner of his escape. The danger is there as an obstacle to be overcome, and we all know that. Just as we know that it’s unlikely the last Batman story is going to be one where he’s shot in the back by a nameless goon.

Treating death as anything more than that in an ongoing universe (especially an extremely fantastic one) is a waste of time. The audience will buy it for a while, but all but the most foolish will begin to see the pattern. It’s a running joke in superhero comics that death is a revolving door, and it’s well on it’s way to becoming the same thing in the superhero movies. Whether through reboot, retcon, or just plain “A Wizard Did It” writing, it’s hard to view death as dramatic when it’s so obviously impermanent.

That’s why writing any kind of ongoing adventure series requires a different kind of plotting. It isn’t about killing characters, but about creating memorable obstacles. We know Indiana Jones isn’t going to be crushed by that boulder rolling after him. It’s his daring escape that holds our attention, not his imminent demise. Older superhero comics definitely understood this. All those weird classic covers where Superman has a lion head or where Batman is wearing a weird costume, are designed with this in mind. Yes, they’re weird, but they work because they don’t lie to the reader about characters dying. They intrigue, and they do so by admitting from the get go that neither Superman or Batman are going to die.

In my own stories, I sometimes get pinged for my reluctance to kill characters I like (or even characters I think have potential to tell more stories), but I don’t have any plans to change that. I like having options. I like creating characters that are worth living with, not just designed to die for drama. And I write mostly standalone novels.

It can be difficult for a writer to not rely on their old standbys. It can be hard for the audience to grasp. A Game of Thrones is considered mature because it’s willing to kill its characters, but at least it kills them. They don’t show up a week later, unscathed. It might seem like empty drama to me, but it follows its own rules. If death is meant to be dramatic, then it must have some element of permanence, and in a shared universe, permanence is all but impossible. Inevitably, some writer will come along who likes Character X and brings them back, no matter how permanent their death might have been intended.

So my advice (which I doubt anyone important will see, much less listen to) is understand this. Death is mostly toothless in an ongoing, shared universe, and there’s nothing wrong with accepting that so long as you play fair. Instead of attempting to shock the audience by killing a beloved character, just give the protagonists interesting obstacles to face. Have the specter of failure be their greatest foe, not the Grim Reaper. Otherwise, you end up with hollow stories and an audience losing investment with each false death they have to sit through.

Keelah Se’lai

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

LEE

 

The Postponed Dead (short fiction)

Helen and Troy’s Epic Road Quest

The sea lord emerged from the waters and stepped onto the sandy shore. Kelp and barnacles covered the giant. Starfish tangled in his beard, and dozens of urchins had taken root on his back. Behind him, his army trudged. He bellowed his war cry. He raised his trident to the skies and laughed heartily. “Come then, ye cowardly gods! Send down your champion that I might best him before your very eyes!”

The seas boiled with his rage.

A woman in a dark suit that he’d failed to notice cleared her throat.

He lowered his gaze to her. “Can I help you with something?”

She removed a notebook from her jacket pocket. “Sea Lord Soonamis, I presume.”

Soonamis nodded. “I am. And you are?”

“Agent Campbell, National Questing Bureau.” She handed him a card. He took it, delicately, between two immense fingers. She’d had the foresight to laminate it to keep his eternally wet hands from smearing it. “As I understand it, you’re here to conquer the surface world. Is that correct?”

Soonamis nodded. “You understand correctly. When the moon aligns, when the stars are right, the seas spit up their dead, and I rise to lead them in conquest.”

“Right. Moon. Stars. Conquest.” Campbell scribbled something in her notebook. “And a champion arises to challenge you to a one-on-one fight on the beach, besting you in single combat and driving you back to your watery realm.”

“Yes, that’s how it usually goes,” said Soonamis. “But not this time. This time I shall crush the champion and sweep across the world.” He glanced around the empty beach. It was a bit early, and not unexpected that there wouldn’t be many people here. Just a pair of joggers and Agent Campbell. “Are you that champion?”

“Me? No. Sorry.” She tucked her notebook away. “I’m afraid there’s been a scheduling conflict.”

The sea lord scratched his soggy beard. “What?”

“There’s this cursed hat that needs to be destroyed and priorities had to be shuffled.”

“A hat? I would think me and my army of the drowned would rate higher than a hat.”

“It’s a very nasty hat.”

He couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not. She had that kind of voice.

“Now see here, I’ve spent the last two hundred years walking the seabed gathering all these poor wretches for my legion, and now, there’s no champion to fight?”

“Sometimes, these things just don’t work out,” she said. “Could you possibly come back next week?”

Soonamis snarled. “I don’t see why I have to be the one to reschedule.”

“It’s an inconvenience,” she said. “We acknowledge that.”

The sea lord leaned down and whispered. “I know you’re just doing your job, but I’m quite peeved here. Do you have any idea how dull these guys are?” He jerked his trident at the army of dead behind him. A soldier with sallow skin and rusted armor. A privateer captain who had once terrorized the seas. A man in tattered cabana wear and one flip flop. A hundred others gathering on the beach. Endless others lurking just below the choppy waters. All wore the same dazed expressions on their waterlogged faces. “It’s just that this is really the only outing they get, and, believe me, you do not want to hear the dead bitch.”

The privateer captain groaned. Brackish water dripped from his lips.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Steve,” said the sea lord. “I was talking about the other ones. Not you guys. You guys are cool.”

The cabana wearing tourist gurgled.

The sea lord nodded. “Yes, of course. I’ll ask. Is it possible to skip the champion bit? Just get on with the conquest?”

Agent Campbell shrugged. “How would that look?”

Soonamis nodded. “Bad form, I suppose.”

Steve moaned.

“Well, I can’t just ignore thousands of years of tradition, can I? Without rules, we’re little more than savages. You can see what I have to work with here,” Soonamis said to Campbell.

“Let me see what I can do.” She walked away and made a call.

The wretched warrior in rusted armor hissed. His eye popped out, and he let it hang there.

“We all know what you think, Tim,” said Soonamis, “and when you’re lord of the drowned dead, we’ll do that.”

Tim turned and trudged back toward the ocean.

“Seriously, screw that guy,” said Soonamis. “Am I right, Steve?”
Steve gurgled.

“You know it,” said Soonamis

Campbell returned. “I can get the wait down to four days. Best I can do.”

Soonamis shrugged. “Well, if it’s the best you can do, it’s the best you can do. I’m not happy about it, and I’m going to file a complaint. Don’t think I won’t.”

“Yes, sir. We understand.”

The sea lord returned to the depths while Campbell stood silently on the beach, perhaps enjoying the sunrise. Perhaps not. It was impossible to tell.

She had that kind of face.