Shapers of Worlds Volume II
Also Available from Shadowpaw Press
shadowpawpress.com
Shapers of Worlds
Science fiction and fantasy by first-year guests of the Aurora Award-winning podcast The Worldshapers
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Paths to the Stars:
Twenty-Two Fantastical Tales of Imagination
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One Lucky Devil:
The First World War Memoirs of Sampson J. Goodfellow
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Spirit Singer
Award-winning YA fantasy
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The Shards of Excalibur Series
Five-book Aurora and Sunburst Award-nominated YA fantasy series
Song of the Sword
Twist of the Blade
Lake in the Clouds
Cave Beneath the Sea
Door Into Faerie
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From the Street to the Stars
Andy Nebula: Interstellar Rock Star, Book 1
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Peregrine Rising Series
Far-future science fiction duology
Right to Know
Falcon’s Egg
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Blue Fire
Epic YA fantasy
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Assignment: Avalon
Far-future YA space opera
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Star Song
Far-future YA science fiction
SHAPERS OF WORLDS VOLUME II
Science fiction and fantasy by authors featured on
the Aurora Award-winning podcast The Worldshapers
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Published by
Shadowpaw Press
Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada
www.shadowpawpress.com
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Copyright © 2021 by Edward Willett
All rights reserved
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All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
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The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions of this book, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted material.
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Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-989398-28-9
Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-989398-29-6
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-989398-30-2
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Edited by Edward Willett
Cover art by Tithi Luadthong
Interior design by Shadowpaw Press
Created with Vellum
Copyrights
“Shadow Sight” © 2021 by Kelley Armstrong
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“Ghost and Fox” © 2021 by Bryn Neuenschwander
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“Letters from an Imprisoned Wizard to a Young Queen”
© 2021 by Garth Nix
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“Going to Ground” © 2021 by Candas Jane Dorsey
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“Beneath a Bicameral Moon” © 2021 by Jeremy Szal
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“Shapeshifter Finals” © 1995 by Jeffrey A. Carver
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“Thibauld’s Tale” © 2021 by Edward Willett
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“The Cancellation” © 2021 by Bryan Thomas Schmidt
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“River of Ice” © 2015 by David D. Levine
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“I Hid in the Bathroom When the Aliens Arrived”
© 2021 by Lisa Foiles
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“The Only Road” © 2021 by Susan Forest
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“The Cat and the Merrythought” © 2021 by Matthew Hughes
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“Anamnesis in Ruins” © 2021 by Heli Kennedy
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“Angel and Monica” © 2021 by Helen Dale
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“Root Mother” © 2021 by Adria Laycraft
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“The Cool Sequestered Vale of Life” © 2021 by Edward Savio
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“The Lost Cipher of Dr. Dee” © 2021 by Lisa Kessler
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“Message Found in a Variable Temporality Appliance”
© 2021 by Ira Nayman
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“Salvage” © 2014 by Carrie Vaughn, LLC
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“Casey’s Empire” © 1981 by Nancy Kress
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“I Remember Paris” © 2021 by James Alan Gardner
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“The Chthonic Op” © 2021 by Tim Pratt
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“The Little Tailor and the Elves” © 1994 by Barbara Hambly
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“A Murder in Eddsford” © 2008 by S.M. Stirling
Contents
Introduction
By Edward Willett
Shadow Sight
By Kelley Armstrong
Ghost and Fox
By Marie Brennan
Letters from an Imprisoned Wizard to a Young Queen, and Associated Explicatory Correspondence
By Garth Nix
Going to Ground
By Candas Jane Dorsey
Beneath a Bicameral Moon
By Jeremy Szal
Shapeshifter Finals
By Jeffrey A. Carver
Thibauld’s Tale
By Edward Willett
The Cancellation
By Bryan Thomas Schmidt
River of Ice
By David D. Levine
I Hid in the Bathroom When the Aliens Arrived
By Lisa Foiles
The Only Road
By Susan Forest
The Cat and the Merrythought
By Matthew Hughes
Anamnesis in Ruins
By Heli Kennedy
Angel & Monica
By Helen Dale
Root Mother
By Adria Laycraft
The Cool Sequestered Vale of Life
By Edward Savio
The Lost Cipher of Dr. John Dee
By Lisa Kessler
Message Found in a Variable Temporality Appliance
By Ira Nayman
Salvage
By Carrie Vaughn
Casey’s Empire
By Nancy Kress
I Remember Paris
By James Alan Gardner
The Chthonic Op
By Tim Pratt
The Little Tailor and the Elves
By Barbara Hambly
A Murder in Eddsford
By S.M. Stirling
About the Authors
Acknowledgments
Introduction
By Edward Willett
Back in the sixteenth century, learned men were known for creating “cabinets of curiosities,” collections of notable objects: relics of archaeological interest, fascinating geological specimens, stuffed animals, valuable books, works of art, and more. These cabinets (at the time, the term referred to rooms, not just pieces of furniture) were precursors to modern museums. They were also a form of entertainment: “learned entertainment,” as the Royal Society in London termed it.
These collections might or might not have a strong central theme. It depended on the collector and his or her specific interests. Some might largely be collections of one type of thing; others might be collections of many different types of things.
Anthologies, it seems to me, are rather like cabinets of curiosities, the collector being the editor. Many anthologies have a strong central theme, such as “stories set on Mars,” or “stories about ancient deities making their way in the modern world,” or “alternate histories of the Civil War.”
The curiosities collected in such cabinets are all related to this central theme, and thus, readers know what to expect as they move from tale to tale.
This anthology, and its precursor, Shapers of Worlds, published last year, are far more eclectic. The stories collected here are stories connected not by theme but by something more concrete: every author was a guest during the second year of my podcast, The Worldshapers, where I interview other science fiction and fantasy authors about their creative process.
Both anthologies grew out of a presentation to the annual general meeting of SaskBooks, the association of Saskatchewan publishers of which I’m a member, in 2019. A publisher from Winnipeg explained how she had successfully Kickstarted an anthology of short fiction, and I thought, Hey, I know some authors . . .
I reached out to the guests from the first year of my podcast, which had begun in August 2018, and eighteen authors agreed to take part, with nine offering to write new stories and nine to provide reprints. After climbing the somewhat steep Kickstarter learning curve, I successfully crowdsourced Shapers of Worlds in early 2020 and published it through my own Shadowpaw Press last fall.
Having done it once, I thought I could do it again, so I reached out to my second-year guests. This time, eighteen authors agreed to write new stories, and six offered reprints, and that’s the volume you now hold in your hand (or are viewing on your ebook reader of choice).
To return to my metaphor, these stories are those which the authors themselves chose to be displayed in this cabinet of curiosities. The result, I think you’ll find, is as varied as the strange assortment of oddities and discoveries those long-ago collectors placed in their personal showcases, ranging from far-future science fiction to modern-day fantasy to stories of alternate histories to tales set in magical realms. Here you will find darkness and danger, but also light and hope; grimness, but also humour; rollicking adventure alongside quieter tales conducive to contemplation.
It has been a great honour both to interview these authors and to collect and edit these stories. I couldn’t be prouder to present Shapers of Worlds Volume II to the world.
And, of course, none of this could have been possible without the generosity of all those who backed the Kickstarter earlier this year that provided the funds to pay the authors and produce this book. I hope you’ll find your support was well worthwhile.
Another term for a cabinet of curiosities was “cabinet of wonder.” In the stories that follow, you will find a great deal of wonder: they are, literally, wonder-full.
Enjoy, and thanks for reading!
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Edward Willett
Regina, Saskatchewan
September 2021
Shadow Sight
By Kelley Armstrong
Empty road stretching into darkness. Water shimmering in wagon-wheel ruts. One cry from a night creature, cut short as a shadow snatches it up. On a road like this, it’s a sure bet something will swoop in to devour you. Which is why I’m walking right down the middle.
Come get me.
Please, come get me.
I’m watching the water-filled wagon ruts. No ripples. No one is here. Not yet. The full moon reflects in those strips of water, and as I watch, a second moon appears from behind the first.
I squint up into the night sky. The second moon is but a pale reflection of the first, yet it grows stronger as it moves into the forefront, leaching light from its double. I wait until it is about to intersect with the first, and then I tear my gaze away. They say that if you witness the intersection, the image will burn onto your eyes and you’ll forever see those two moons, even in full daylight.
Is that true? I don’t know, and I don’t care. Only a fool tempts fate, and we Rileys are not fools. If I had to look at the double-moon, I’d take that chance, but if there’s no reason to do it, then it’s like sticking your hand in a fire just to see if it’ll burn.
Most folks don’t need to worry about gazing on a double-moon because most folks only ever notice the one. Rileys are different. We see the shadows. We see that second moon, emerging as a pale ghost of a thing and then gaining strength until it overtakes the moon itself.
People have those shadows, too. A second self that hides behind us, wispy and insubstantial. Normal folks sometimes catch a glimpse of it, that moment when they think a person isn’t quite what they seem to be. But then the shadow disappears, and they tell themselves they were imagining things. They weren’t.
Once, a friend took me to a church revival. I wasn’t much interested in the sermonizing, but I was tempted by the promise of sugar jumbles. Sadly, to get the cookies, I had to sit through the sermonizing. I remember the preacher going on about people’s secret selves. Their dark and sinful innermost selves. That’s when I realized that even normal folks know about the shadows. They just can’t see them.
I can’t reckon what that must be like, meeting a person and knowing they could be the sort who’d knife you in the back or the sort who’d give you the shirt off their back, and not seeing their truth until it’s too late. Until their knife is sticking between your ribs. Or until you’ve planted your knife between their ribs, mistrust and suspicion guiding your hand.
The problem with the shadow sight is that it’s only really useful if you’re willing to let your own shadow grow, just a little. We Riley women do good with our gift, but to do good, we also do bad.
Rileys are hired killers. My auntie May says “vigilantes,” but that’s only because she likes fancy words. Nothing fancy about killing.
If you’ve lived in this part of the world long, you’ll hear whispers about us. A family who’ll kill someone who needs killing. Just don’t try saying that person did something they never did. This family will know the truth, and if you lied, they’ll keep your money and warn the person you wanted dead.
To hire a Riley, you need to find one of our confederates. You’ll never actually meet us. Never even hear our name. That’s what keeps us safe. Folks expect they’re hiring men. Brothers and fathers and sons of some magical family. The Rileys are just a house full of women, running a ranch after their menfolk died on the road west. They do all right by themselves—got a nice house, and they’re always buying up land and paying good wages to their cowboys—but that’s because their menfolk left them a ton of money.
We Rileys hide in plain sight, and that’s what I’m doing tonight. Just a girl, not yet twenty, walking down a dark road, looking nervous as she tries to hide the jangling of her market coins.
Come out, come out, wherever you are.
I squint up at the moon as its shadow self disappears. It’s a cool night. Crisp, Auntie May would say, and I’ll admit that’s a good word. Like biting into an apple, sharp and sweet and cool. When I smell apples on the breeze, I’m not sure it’s real or my imagination. It’s the right time of year, and I’ve been waiting for our orchard to ripen so I can start baking my apple pies. My apple pies are famous around these parts, and I make nearly as much in a season as I do with a killing.
Brush crackles to my left. I tense, fingers itching to grab my knife. I have to remind myself this is what I want. To be spotted. To look innocent and defenceless.
I push aside those nasty fears of someone stalking me from the bushes. Heaven forbid! Back to thoughts of apple pie, which makes me think about the harvest dance, which makes me think about Johnny. He’s going to ask to woo me again, and I’m not sure what I’ll say this year. Riley women can marry, if they want, but that means leaving home to be a regular person, coming around for Sunday dinner with the family. Is that what I want? I don’t quite know yet. I reckon I have a year or two before I need to decide.
Another crackle, this one to my right, which does give me pause. I force myself to keep walking. Gran trusted me with this job, a very important one, and if I pull it off, I’ll be a grown woman, ready to take on grown-woman jobs at grown-woman pay. While Johnny seems a fine boy—with hardly any shadow at all—I’d like to explore my options, as Auntie June would s
ay.
The woods have gone silent. I cast out the fingers of my magic, tickling over the road. Shadows to both my left and right. Two. Or is that a third? My fingers itch again for the knife.
Patience.
It was yesterday morning when the job came in. One of our most trusted compatriots, Paula James, rode all night to bring us the news. Two families of settlers murdered on the road west. Their guide claimed they’d been set on by a raiding party while he’d been off scouting the road ahead. The family’s relatives over in Concord were sure the guide murdered them in their sleep and stole their money and valuables. Those relatives wanted to hire us to put things right.