From 'Wondrous Strange' a Fortune's Fools origins short story about Durban Chola.

Something was amiss with the resonance here. Not just this Work, but through all the Symmetry. A memory bubbled within [^], recalling the content of the last harmonization one had shared with [=].

>>we are becoming infected by Entropy, my bond{0ne}<< insisted [=], with a welded mix of sadness and anger. >>as an Explorer I see it more than you Weavers. I experience the tiers and return to Symmetry and each return confirms again my perception. the greed of the 0nes to encompass and draw in ever more of energy into the Symmetry is having the opposite effect. each new fissure in the tiers, supposed to bring in more energy, is opening us to parasitic reflux. I have perceived it, I have recorded it, but the Influencers will not receive my concepts<<

Swirls of antipathy and frustration curled between them. In empathy, [^] harmonized and soothed, but one’s own equilibrium was not easy to maintain. If what [=] perceived was as it seemed, then all 0nes stood in danger of ultimate dispersal – of becoming eventual victims of Entropy.

>>why don’t they consider your findings? I can’t understand what they think they gain by ignoring them<<

>>they don’t ignore them [^]. they observe the entirety of infinity as if it were the Symmetry and hold that therefore, where we dwell, the equilibration of any energy excess will harmonize back into that Symmetry. they forget Infinity is symmetrical only through the process of equilibrium. so when excess causes instability, balance is restored through that process. but our Influencers do not face up to that. they prefer to give the mark of truth to those who hold we can obtain sufficient energy to replace the losses<<

Aghast.

>>how can we draw sufficient for stability from other entropic tiers? surely all we do by opening ever further Nexūs, is to allow more Entropy to inveigle us<<

>>wisdom from you my bond{0ne}, but not from other 0nes and certainly not from the Influencers<<

They shared a concurrence of harmony and [^] experienced the perceptions that had caused [=] such concern. It was not even slightly reassuring.

>>the very best we can do is avoid opening any more points of entropic access. those we have wrought might be resealed by using what energy we have gleaned from the tiers through the ways exploited by 0nes from The First Budding. if we do so, we are inevitably diminished, our Symmetry less glorious and far-reaching, but at least we are spared from Entropy<<

From 'Wondrous Strange' by E.M. Swift-Hook a Fortunes Fools story from the Scifi Roundtable's The Quantum Soul anthology.

Castel Steep was masterless, with the death of Lord Jago five winters since leaving only a ten-year-old daughter to inherit. 

The gorsedd-appointed castellan was an ambitious man of some forty summers who quickly determined the castle was his by right. Accordingly, on the eve of her fifteenth nameday, he called the Lady Melangel to his study, where she stood with folded hands and downcast eyes.

“Tomorrow we announce our betrothal.”

“If it is my lord’s will.”

As her nameday dawned, Melangel offered blood. 

The stones took her offering, while a hungry sending ripped out the castellan’s throat.

©️jj 2019

What is Guardians of Our Future’s Past by  Ross Corrigan about? Sly reptiles, revolting humans and the worst dad jokes in literary history.  I know, I know, what’s not to like?  Okay, I admit to an element of tongue resting against if not entirely in cheek. Seriously, the cover blurb goes something like this:
A little over forty-two light years from the brightest star in the Auriga constellation lies a graveyard of sorts. It is an area of space bereft of life yet strewn with the debris of a once vibrant planet. Earth.
Finally, two hundred years after Earth’s destruction, the surviving colonists discover why … and who. More, they unearth a terrible truth: they are next…

With exaggerated effort, Merl freed himself from the couch’s embrace and headed towards the only clean place in the apartment: the stainless-steel shrine to all that is edible. The refrigerator. On it was a single fridge magnet and Merl’s favourite pun: RIP boiling water. You will be mist.
The light flickered before settling. In what looked like the cold, deserted hold of the Mary Celeste, the last of the dry-cured bacon hid in a lonely corner. With some effort, Merl prised the remaining three rashers from the child and idiot-proof container, ignored the “best before” recommendation and submitted the offering to the height of rigorous scientific examination: the sniff test.
Despite curling at the edges like Aladdin’s old slippers, the liberated slices smelt okay, and Merl deemed the bacon breakfast-worthy. Left-handed, Merl draped the limp end of the offending rashers on the baking tray and pressed the start button. Thankfully, the hub-controlled grill did the rest.
Within a minute, the enticing aroma informed Merl that breakfast was ready to be served. But on what? A quick recce of the bread bin revealed two questionable choices: an aged oven-bottom muffin, which had stiffened to the point of rigor mortis, and half a pack of week-old sliced bread. Discarding the top two slices—the greenish tinge not being particularly appetising—the culinary delight was almost complete. “Now, where’s the sauce?”
Performing a forlorn peek-a-boo search for the elusive HP, Merl yanked each and every cupboard door open, one after the other. Mid peek, or boo, Merl glanced down to discover that one of his lucky socks had a hole in it and his big toe was “doing” a Steve McQueen: leading the great escape.
Luck. According to the latest datasphere propaganda, the most likely time for good fortune to unveil itself was when there was a chance meeting between opportunity and hard work. The message was unambiguous, if missing one vital ingredient: work, at least the paid variety, was increasingly hard to come by.
 All about Ross

A Bite of... Ross Corrigan

Q1: How much of you is in your hero/villain?

Well, I consider myself to be dashing, charming and, above all, delusional. Yep, I suppose there’s a bit of that in the protagonist.

 Q2: Why do you write?

Doubloons …. lots of doubloons. Seriously, I just like to paint pictures with words. I might not be any good at it—judging by the reaction of certain UK literary agents—but I couldn’t imagine a day without exploring and giving flight to my imagination.

 Q3: How much of what you write could be classed as therapy?

Well, it’s either that or the pub. Come to think of it …

Ross Corrigan is a (mostly) retired insurance guy, a former international banker and inveterate science fiction and fantasy reader. And, apparently, a writer now. Did not see that coming.

You can find him on Facebook or his own website.

The dog was laying in a patch of sunlight, twitching slightly as he dreamed. If there was ever going to be a time to climb into the orchard and fill his pockets that time was now. He shinned up the nearest fence post and dropped lightly to the ground. The enchanter’s orchard was filled with the music of bees and birdsong, but the thief heard nothing except the prompting of his own greed.

Thief suddenly became aware of a deep rumbling growl.

But the dog was still asleep in the sun. Who was behind him?

He was never to know…

©️jj 2019

The Companion Quill is here to help you wherever you are in your writing journey.

As a Writing Companion…

The thing about writing is it is a lonely road. You often don’t realise you have wandered off the track until you tumble down a plot hole.
But it doesn’t have to be like that.
Not if you have a Writing Companion.
Someone who is as invested in your story and your characters as you are, who will be there to discuss the ideas or offer suggestions as the story shapes up…but you keep full creative control.
Someone who will share the highs and lows of character and plot development – bounce ideas around with you and edit over your work between writing sessions so you are good to go the next time.
Someone who will have plot holes unearthed before your world sinks into one.
Someone who will critique and improve – help you recognise those ‘darlings’ you may have to slay, but of course it is in your hands if you do or not.
Imagine if instead of waiting to complete your manuscript before it is appraised, edited or published, there was someone who could work with you throughout the process. An editor steps in when the task is finished and consolidates the whole to their own way of working. As your Writing Companion, I can be there through the journey and work with you to give your voice its full strength.

As an Author Mentor…

If you are near the start of your writing journey and are looking to develop your style and learn how to improve ‘on the job’ rather than having to step away and take classes, why not consider having your own Author Mentor?
As your mentor, I would be with you every step of the way, from the first stirrings of a plot idea, through world building and character development. I can offer ongoing advice as you write, help to hone your prose and enhance your writing voice.
Learn how to develop characters as you write them, how to world build as you build your world, and how to use and choose language as you do so.
With the aid of a personal Author Mentor, you can become a more competent and readable writer as you explore your own writing style and tell your own story.

As an Assistant Author…

Maybe you have a story you to tell, your life story for your grandchildren or a wonderful fictional story that has been in your head for years but you have no idea of how to put it onto the printed page.
As an Assistant Author, I will help you take your story and turn it into a book. Working closely with you, I can find the words you need to bring your story into the world, ready to be edited and published.
Whether you feel you need the whole story written for you or would like to write it yourself with assistance is entirely up to you and the intensity of the support offered is yours to decide.

The Companion Quill

For most writers, the first time anyone else becomes involved in their writing project is once it’s complete. Then it is read by someone else, often an editor or a beta reader, at which point any input can feel more like a deconstruction process than any sort of progression. There are many advantages to inviting someone in to share in the writing process much earlier with any book or story. Wherever find yourself in your writing journey, The Companion Quill can offer you the lift you are looking for.

E.M. Swift-Hook

They dropped her at the foot of the tree and turned away in silence. The youngest pausing to kick her in the place where her ribs were already broken and spit a gobbet of green mucus onto her face.

It was going to take a long time to die, even with bones piercing her lung and ropes so tight as to cut off circulation. One tear ran down her cheek – she hated herself for that weakness. 

She didn’t see the Forest Lord approach. But when he set his horn against her breastbone she knew herself to be free at last…

©️jj 2019

I try to stand on principles
As awkward as they are.
It always costs me to do so
And does not get me far.

I step aside when people show
Contempt or prejudice,
I call it out and say what’s what
I make clear what it is.

And there are those who half-way nod
And say it is a shame
That there are people so downtrod
And prejudice’s to blame.

But do they walk from those who spread
Such undiluted hate?
Or do they shuffle awkwardly
And hang around and wait?

So often when I make a stand
No matter what the tone,
Despite those who claim to want it banned,
I seem to stand alone.

E.M. Swift-Hook

…a door appeared in what looked like a blank wall. When she opened it the stench was appalling. She clicked her tongue disapprovingly.
‘Dirty slaves.’
For some reason that remark exacerbated my anger and I head butted her under one of her chins. She went down splat and I called for lights. To my surprise, two of the slatternly drones brought lanterns. I went into a long place, with a lot of figures chained to the walls.
‘Aascko’ I shouted. ‘Can you get Ambriel to open a Portal into our garden. I need my big medicine chest and the trunk of bandages. Plus water lots of hot water, and get our kitchen to prepare the biggest vat of warm sweetened milk they can manage. Also there’s a lot of people chained up. We need to release them.’
‘I’m on it love’ he shouted and as I turned back to the horribly foetid prison I felt the mind of Ambriel and heard his angry voice in my head. ‘Just look at the chains and they will fall off.’
I turned my gaze to the locks on the first prisoner, an emaciated green elf. As I looked, the chains fell from her arms and legs. Aanda appeared at my side with a cup of water which he put to her lips.
‘Gently little sister. Too much at once will make you ill.’
‘I know’ she whispered. ‘But we have had no water since yesterday morning.’ Then she reached for my arm. ‘Help the little one. The rest of us can wait. But she’s really sick.’
‘Where?’
‘In the far back corner.’
Aanma followed me with a light held high and we found a tiny imp with its arms around the neck of a woolly hound pup. Neither looked too good.
‘Aanma. Go through the portal and alert Owl. Owl, plus Cat with a bucket of raw meat scraps.’
He put down the lantern and ran as if his life depended on it. I looked at the chain around the two infants and as it fell apart I dropped to my knees in front of them. I held out my arms and the imp crawled shyly into them. I picked her up as gently as I could, but I couldn’t carry the pup as well. Aascko appeared at my shoulder and picked up the bag of bones and fur that was all the hound consisted of. We carried them out into the clean morning air, just as Owl and Cat hurried out of the Portal. Owl took the babe from my arms and opened her garment. ‘Don’t let her eat too much at once’ I instructed.
‘No. I know. Little by little.’
Cat crouched in front of the puppy and offered it a small bit of meat. It sniffed suspiciously before grabbing the meat and wolfing it.
‘Owl’ I said quietly ‘make sure you shade that little one’s eyes. She has been in the dark for overlong.’

Knowing we could leave Owl and Cat to it, Aascko and I hurried back into the grimness of the prison. It didn’t get any better and by the time I had seen every prisoner released I was on the verge of tears. But I pulled myself together and Aascko and I went through the Portal to our own garden where a pavilion had sprung up as if by magic and our drones were ensuring that every one was drinking warm honey-sweetened milk. My first concern was the imp, who was asleep in Owl’s arms. She looked a little better and I thought a gentle warm bath, with some herbs in the water, might help her breathing. I gave the orders for the water and left Owl to gently bathe the emaciated little body. Cat was nearby with the hound puppy asleep on her feet.
‘The imps want to come help’ she said.
‘Well. Let them. Owlet was very helpful to us when we were dealing with the captives from the cave.’

Then I began the serious work of dressing wounds, wounds caused by manacles and leg irons, wounds caused by whips and scourges. Wounds gone bad because of poor hygiene and lack of food and water. I worked for a very long time, with Aascko and Aaspen at my elbow, but eventually every creature had been seen. None seemed in danger except the imp and her puppy. I straightened my back and smiled wearily.
‘Nearly done. Just want to have another look at the imp and the hound.’
Aascko hugged me warmly. ‘That’s my girl.’
The babe had just awoken and was crying fretfully. I held out my arms and Owl passed her to me.
‘Her skin is very sore’ she whispered.
‘Oh. The poor little love. Aascko can you get the camomile oil please?’
He dashed off and I laid the mite in my lap. Her skin was, indeed, horribly inflamed and itchy.
‘Mostly dehydration’ I said sturdily. ‘I think she’ll pull through.’
Aascko returned and I signalled for him to pour some oil into the palm of my hand. He obliged and I anointed the babe’s skin before beginning to massage her gently.
‘Owl’ I said. ‘How much have you fed her?’
‘Three times. Just a very little at a time.’
‘Good. You can try her with a bit more in an hour. Until then, get a soft old sheet and we’ll wrap her loosely, and put her in Owlet’s nice soft bed. If one of the other imps will get in and cuddle her gently so much the better.’
Owl scooted off and I carried on gently rubbing oil into the baby’s skin. I felt something against my leg and I realised the puppy had crept over.
‘Lift the puppy up Aascko’ I said. ‘I think this babe needs to see that its only friend is OK.’
My Mate obliged and the imp’s eyes fluttered open.
‘Look’ I said. ‘Puppy is fine.’
The imp smiled and relaxed under my hands. Aascko stroked the ugly little pup.
‘It’s a scruffy little mutt and it niffs a bit, but it seems admirably faithful.’
‘Yeah. Can you give it a bath and dry it gently. I think the imp will only really relax with it beside her.’
‘You could be right.’ He scratched the pup’s ears and took it carefully away.
Owl came back with a soft linen sheet, Owlet’s bed, and Puma in tow. I wrapped the skinny little imp and laid her in the soft fluff. Puma climbed in with her and sat stroking her head and singing softly. I patted her crest.
‘Puma is a good imp.’
Going over to where Aascko was gently shampooing the puppy, I sat on the ground with a big soft towel in my lap.
‘It’s a girl hound’ he said, then put the wet mutt on the towel, and handed me another. I gently towelled the pathetically bony pup feeling for any injuries. I was so pleased to find that the creature was whole, if underweight and dehydrated.
‘You’ll do little one’ I said and when she was as dry as I could make her I fed her judiciously and allowed her to relieve herself before wrapping her loosely in another dry towel and putting her carefully in Owl’s bed beside Puma and the poorly imp. Puma put a small hand on her ugly head.
‘Hello Puppy’ she said softly. ‘You can go sleep now. Puma will watch over friend.’
I had to blink away a tear before I could carry on.
Ambriel beckoned me and I went and stood looking up into his face.
‘I have’ he said ‘witnessed the worst and the best today. And that imp singing to the sick one all but brought me to tears.’
‘Me too’ I admitted. ‘Do we know to whom the poorly little one belongs?’
He looked as if he was chewing something bad. ‘Oh yes. We know. Her Mother was a very young female of the People, who was gang raped by who knows who. That vermin Aasken decided the babe was unsaleable because of her light eyes and the Mother was too badly damaged by the rape and the birth to be of any value. So he threw them in the dungeon. The Mother died there. Now nobody wants the little one.’
‘Oh yes they do’ I said sturdily. ‘We want her. She can be part of our family.’
‘She can indeed’ Aascko spoke from just behind me. ‘We will welcome her. And love her. Her and her ugly canine friend.’
Ambriel smiled on us and for a moment I felt as if the sun was shining just for me. I pulled myself together and felt for my Mate’s hand.
‘I guess we now need to start sorting out the rest of the slaves. Not many are fit to go anywhere until they have at least had a good night’s sleep and a couple of nourishing meals. I just don’t know where we can put them.’
Then I had a thought.
‘Or perhaps I do.’ I looked into Aascko’s face. ‘How about next door?’
‘Why not indeed?’ Then he looked up at Ambriel. ‘A gateway in the wall over there would be an enormous help.’
The Angel gestured negligently and the wall grew a set of wide double gates.

I beckoned to Cat, who was hovering.
‘We need a place for the rescued ones to sleep.’
She was quick on the uptake. ‘My old nest is built on the archaic model where all the walls can be rolled away. I’ll get the drones on it. And there are portable cots in store and many blankets and pillows.’
She bustled off and Aascko scratched his crest.
‘She looks so much better’ he said meditatively.
‘She can help somebody. Makes her feel needed. She is always going to be frail, but the more useful she can be to us the happier and stronger she will become.’
‘Very true, little Huntress’ Ambriel was expansive. ‘And now I must leave you. I am summoned to give an account of today’s happenings. It isn’t going to go down too well…’
I looked at him straitly. ‘Do you think you could manage to take off without overturning the cradle?’
‘I could.’
‘Well do so then…’
He actually laughed and patted my crest before lifting off with minimal disturbance. Aascko swatted my backside quite hard.
‘Will you at least warn me before you pick a fight with an Angel.’
‘Wasn’t picking a fight. He knows how I feel about excessive downdraught, but this time I really was thinking about the rescued ones and the babes.’
‘Oh. OK. I think.’
I laughed and went to check on the basket of sleeping imps. Puma was asleep now, but it was noticeable that she had a protective arm around the tiny imp and the other hand on the head of the pup. Tiger and Owlet sat beside the basket.
‘We keeping watch’ Owlet whispered.
‘Good imps.’
He pulled on my hand. ‘Mother. Do that baby one have a Mother or a Father?’
‘She didn’t. But she does now. She is your nest sister now.’
‘Good. Do she have a name?’
‘No love. Why?’
‘Me and Tiger and Puma wants to call her Silver because of her eyes.’
‘Very well, then. We shall.’
He and Tiger turned faces of shining joy towards me and I rubbed their crests. Owl arrived beside me and indicated she would like a private word.
‘What is it?’
‘That imp. Is she blind? I wondered because of how light her eyes are.’
‘No I’ve checked. She can see fine. I can understand your thought, but she isn’t an albino, just pale. By the way, Aascko and I have adopted her. Her name is Silver.’
Owl embraced me.
‘I hoped you would. The imps and I already love her. But why Silver?’
‘The imps named her for her eyes.’
Owl had recourse to her kerchief. ‘Sometimes those little sods amaze me.’
‘Me too. Me and the Angel Ambriel.’

From Aaspa’s Eyes by Jane Jago

We were in a bind. Halfway between nowhere much and someplace else – with a dead car.

The huge lorry that lumbered out of the thickening twilight seemed like a gift from the gods, and Maybelle ran out onto the track waving frantically.

A man leaned out of the truck.

“You looking for a ride?” he smiled and offered a helping hand.

Is not easy to drive a lumber truck when you’re barely five feet tall, but Maybelle managed. I sat in back with a Colt 45 stuck up the nose of the man who put his hands on my sister.

©️jj 2019

Age has dropped a wrinkle here
And splashed a brown spot there
It’s put some flaps beneath my arms
And made my chin grow hairs
As my skin has thinned and dried
My ass has gotten fatter
Fortunately age has taught
That shit like that don’t matter
As long as I have eyes to see
And still a heart to feel
I can ignore the signs of eld
And keep it strong and real
It is my wish to dance and sing
To spend and never save
To love and eat, and drink too much
Go laughing to my grave

©️Jane Jago 2019