SO MUCH FREE READING BELOW
Dear Reader,
Often, preparing for the future begins with taking stock of how far we’ve come. This short story newsletter began two years ago, and every month I have sent you original free fiction. I am now up to 1,500 subscribers, and 24 short stories. Thank you for joining me for this adventure, and supporting this newsletter.
Also in 2022, I graduated with my master’s degree in creative writing, drove across the country, worked on my first film set, moved to Los Angeles, and networked my butt off. Even though I’m not certain what the future holds (as I strive to break into the entertainment industry) I’m very proud of all I accomplished to get this far.
Tell me: what wins are you celebrating in this new year?
If you’re new to this newsletter, check out my free short stories below. I also run a special newsletter for paying subscribers, where every month I send out a new chapter in my ongoing dark academic fantasy titled Bohan the Mage:
An ancient and powerful mage accidentally finds a half-human wind spirit and must help her own her powers, all while uncovering and fixing whatever is poisoning magic at Oxford.
The 13th chapter of my novel Bohan the Mage comes out this month and is available to paying subscribers for $5 a month. If you like the free fiction you receive here, please consider supporting this newsletter. Contrary to popular belief, creativity isn’t free and requires quite a bit of effort on the part of the artist. Not to mention, living in LA isn’t cheap ;-)
Read a free excerpt of Bohan the Mage, chapter 1, at the bottom of this newsletter.
S. C. Durbois Portfolio of Free Short Stories:
Fiction
Fantasy / Si-Fi / Magical Realism
Prose Poetry
FREE READING
~Bohan the Mage~
A full moon hung in the sky, illuminating the spires and domed roofs of Oxford. Down the long sides of walls constructed hundreds of years ago, paved roads carved out a modern network dotted with traffic lights. The odd car trundled through the streets, but otherwise, the evening was quiet.
A hot air balloon meandered above the roofs, its bright colors turned to monochrome shades of bluish-black in the silver moonlight. Three students occupied the basket.
“Come on, hurry up,” Zander barked at the other two students. He pressed the binoculars back to his eyes. From the other side of the lens, symbols (runic and otherwise) flitter against the glass, supposedly enchanting his view.
The basket rustled as the others work, throwing a long rope over the side. It trailed along the roofs, gently clinking with the clatter of seashells they had woven into it earlier that week.
Rebecca hugged herself against the cold.
“I don’t understand, if this is such a monumental night, wouldn’t there be more students out, doing exactly what we’re doing? Forget students, what about professors?”
“He thinks they’re scared,” Macrae said, slouching against the side of the basket with his cutting smile.
“What? Why?” Rebecca asked.
“Brandell’s lecture on Worlds,” Macrae said, and then his voice became a horse whisper as he quoted, “A night when the moonlight shines so brightly it pierces through the skin of the world, we can see to the other side.”
“But then why are we here?” she asked.
Macrae jumped up to the side of the basked, hanging onto the line connecting the balloon, and let out with the joviality of a pirate captain, “We’re fishing, sweet siren sister, and we’ll not go home without our catch!”
He then slipped his flask out of his chest pocket and toasted the moon. Bottles rattled in the basket when he jumped down. Rebecca smacked him to hide the tremor in her hand. He gave her a wolfish grin anyway, knowing he succeed in scaring her.
“Zander, if the professors of Magnicottis aren’t out here to... ‘see through the skin of the world’...then maybe there’s a reason—” Rebecca said, trying (and failing) to keep the fear out of her voice.
“Shhh! Look! There it is!” Zander snapped.
Sure enough, a faint sheen rippled over their view of roofs. Ghostly starlight flickered down the streets and alleys of Oxford as though it were underwater. Shadowed shapes swam and glided beneath them.
Zander hurried. “Come on, like we practiced.”
“I don’t think—” Rebecca hesitated, but Zander and Macrae had already taken up the incantation.
“Zenphry, enoch alung, shree meff, aspolendill...”
Silver strands like spider webs began to accumulate along the rope laced with seashells. At first, the net trailed on the roofs, and then it floated up and clung onto other things. The air balloon tugged gently where it caught.
“It’s working!” Rebecca said, peering over the side.
“Not if you don’t help us.” Zander panted. Rebecca quickly joined and their magic pooled together. The net began to glow blue. Shadowed creatures took form. Zander began to pull back on the rope, reeling in his haul, the other two helping him.
“Darton will be furious!” Zander laughed, triumphant. Fear replaced with exhilaration and Rebecca and Macrae grinned, heaving at the effort.
Below, a hand snatched the net. It was not a human hand. It pulled and the balloon yanked to a stop like a buoy caught on an anchor, throwing the three students to the edge of the basket.
Macrae shrieked with delight, hair plastered across his broad forehead.
“Ho there! We’ve got a big one!”
In the darkness and struggle of pulling they did not see that something was pulling back. The delicate silver net began to mold, muck dripping from the strands. The rot climbed, infecting the rope, infecting the hands of the students. Liver spots grew in seconds into crippling arthritis. They screamed.
“Cut the rope! Cut it!” Rebecca shrieked, cradling her hands as they dehydrated.
Zander fumbled for his pocketknife, hands twisted and barely working. The creature below kept pulling, reeling them in. Macrae struggled up from where he’s been thrown, pointed at the rope, and yelled drunkenly,
“Shentu!”
The rope frayed, snaped. The balloon jerked free and floated away with aggravating leisure. A low growl echoed through the air.
“That’s why no Magnicottis professors were out here!” Rebecca hissed; her face streaked with tears. “They knew what was on the other side. It was just an academic lecture.”
“I thought… the way he explained it, I thought for sure... ” Zander mumbled.
The balloon floated away, and none of the students noticed then that their familiar moon was now red, and the neat gleam of university roofs were no longer below.
Back in Oxford, on one of said rooftops, three professors in coats watched a sky now empty, save for their silver moon. None of them looked at all surprised by the air balloon’s disappearance. Myron’s already bear-like frame was made more formidable in his black coat, his face illuminated by the occasional pull on his lit pipe. By contrast, Gexol was positively toadlike, with his placid double chin and glasses, hands tucked into his pockets. In comparison, the third man was average, all-around average.
“You see?” Brandell asked, a neat whisky forgotten in his hand.
“This is getting out of hand,” Gexol said.
Myron let out a long puff from his pipe.
In another part of the city, where centuries ago an enormous tree had grown up in a courtyard between buildings, an altogether different being marked the disappearance of the air balloon. The tree itself was a tavern, lights hung from the branches across the courtyard. The picnic tables were filled with all manner of strange magical creatures enjoying a pint, but none of these noticed.
With a face almost human, she watched the sky with unblinking eyes. The line of her mouth hardened still further, and she turned away.