Christians dedicated to honoring God with quality fantasy fiction writing
You’re on your way to Vadra (V-aw-druh), a massive, harsh world that is in a very dangerous place–my imagination.
Yes, your stay in Vadra would have been much more pleasant just over one thousand years ago… before everything fell apart. But better late than never, right? Maybe…
Read the rest of this entry »
The first in a series, written by TerraRandom.
According to David Keirsey’s esteemed book, Please Understand Me II, there are four basic temperaments that summarize, in a broad way, all of our observable personality traits. For someone not gifted with natural empathy, understanding these temperaments have greatly improved the development of my characters. So I thought I’d relay what I know here, for anyone else who is having troubles defining the personalities of their own characters.
Underlying these temperaments are two even broader dimensions of human behavior: What we say and what we do. How we think and how we act.
This is the first of a seven part series. Hold onto your hats.
After I released my first book, Red Rain, I had the singular joy of receiving feedback from readers. What fun it is to hear from readers, some of whom may not have heard about me before they picked up my book. It’s exciting and challenging to hear what they like and dislike, and to mash all the information together in hopes of applying it to my next book.
But there’s a common theme appearing in reviews that’s throwing me for a loop. Multiple people have mentioned it, which is even scarier. They are all saying something along the lines of…
“You should explore this with a sequel.”
And my response is…
“What sequel?” Read the rest of this entry »
Each month on Holy Worlds Fantasy, our graphic artists gather to participate in a photomanipulation challenge. The judges choose a stock photo from the Art Gallery to be the featured photo of the month; participants have have a few weeks to morph the photo into a unique creation to enter in the challenge. This month’s photo was a serene shot of the butterfly house at the botanical garden in Chesterfield, MO, taken by Evening L. Aspen:
I am not a Sci-Fi writer, as you all know. I’m a fantasy writer. However, I love to examine and immerse myself in the Sci-Fi realms. Why is that? To be honest, I think that is a very easy question to answer. I love Sci-Fi because the genre challenges my mind. Sci-Fi asks questions that make you think.
“What if…?”
“If only…?”
“If this goes on..?”
These questions are the tools used by authors to help fuel the Sci-Fi genre and draw in its readers because, as we all know, curiosity killed the cat.
Winter’s Writing War was Holy World’s second writing contest. The first was in January of last year and had fivecategories; poetry, short stories, novel hooks, drabbles, and creature description. This year the contest was open only to short story under five thousand words, in three categories: Historical, Science Fiction, and Fantasy. On St. Valentine’s Day, February 14, we announced six winners.
We had a total of 24 entries. 10 in the Fantasy category, 8 in Science Fiction, and 7 in Historical Fiction. Over the next six weeks the winning entries along with their judge’s comments will be posted on the blog in the following order:
Fantasy – First Place: Forbidden, by J. Grace Pennington
Science Fiction – First Place: Resurrection Train, by Braden Russell
Historical – First Place: Mama’s Clock, by Hannah Mills
Fantasy – Second Place: The Four Choices, by Riniel Jasmina
Science Fiction – Second Place: Verdandi’s Key, by BushMaid
Historical – Second Place: The Messenger, by BushMaid
***
Jasmine Ruigrok
Runner Up – HISTORICAL
Something was brewing.
The air was thick and tainted with a heavy sense of dread. The sky to the west of Persepolis had darkened; black clouds gathering into an unnatural storm. The glittering Persian city that normally rose majestically from the desert floor seemed to be shrinking in fear from an invisible threat. People in the marketplace walked swiftly, glancing behind them furtively as they slipped into the safety of their adobe homes, sliding bars across their doors. The birds didn’t sing, yet the dogs howled mournfully whilst their owners peered out of their windows at the ominous sky and whispered among themselves.
Something was brewing…
Sand shifted beneath his feet. The man standing on a dune high above the desert metropolis surveyed the landscape with an expressionless face. His bronzed skin shone in the harsh sunlight, a stark contrast to the clean white linen of his tunic. Girding his waist was a fine belt, woven with gold thread in an intricate pattern. From it, hung his only weapon – a simple sword, its brass pommel reflecting the sun blindingly. The breeze that whipped the sand into small dervishes around him tousled his copper hair and stung his eyes, yet he made no movement from where he stood. He was watching the desert. Something was out there…
He looked up – past the city – beyond to where his destination lay in the distant horizon. Wait. Was that not a warrior silhouetted against the sky to the east? The man was obviously a soldier, the tall pole he carried likely a spear. Another movement caught the watcher’s eye, and he turned and saw the one warrior was actually first in a long line of armed men spread out across the eastern horizon beyond Persepolis: the direction he needed to go.
A loud cranking sound suddenly echoed over the golden sands, and the onlooker turned and saw the gates of Persepolis being swung open to emit a solitary rider on a black horse. The horseman did not spare his mount, but urged it forward into a gallop; flying over the desert like a thing possessed. Sand churned beneath the horse’s hooves as it strained to climb the dunes towards the waiting man. The rider –matching his steed – was dressed in black. As he drew closer, the observer could see the light glinting off the gold accents in his black breastplate and shoulder armour. A long black cape billowed out from behind him regally as he rode, and his elaborate headdress bore an obvious crown of royalty.
The copper-skinned figure stiffened, eyes narrowed upon the newcomer. As the rider reached the top of the dune and brought his horse to a skittish, the two figures eyed each other for a long moment.
“What are you doing here, Uriel?” Finally spat the rider contemptuously, breaking the silence. His gravelly voice was dripping with hate. “Come to join the armies of the true prince of Persia, have you?”
“I was on my way to deliver a message,” The man replied evenly, ignoring the question. “But it seems you knew that already.” He gestured to the line of warriors blocking his way.
An evil chuckle resonated from the dark figure, his black eyes glinting down upon the messenger. “You are right. No message passes through this kingdom without my king knowing what it is, and no messenger passes through my kingdom unless he sends them, least of all you– a worthless herald who stubbornly sticks to a forgotten king. Why should you serve him in place of a god like Ahriman?”
“He is no god, Nazar.” Uriel cut in unflinchingly. “And my message will be delivered.”
Prince Nazar arched an eyebrow at this statement. “Really?” He stood up in the stirrups of his mount and craned his neck to see out over the desert mockingly. “I don’t see your army, your many troops to help you.”
“I need no army.”
The black rider’s mocking smile vanished, his gaze wavering in a moment of uncertainty.
“Though you will do your best to stop me and learn the nature of my message, you will not succeed.” Uriel continued with a grim smile.
“Tell me the message.” Nazar demanded.
“The only person who will hear this message is the recipient.” Uriel answered shortly.
The Persian sat motionless astride his horse. Nazar felt that whatever the foreigner wasn’t telling him, it couldn’t be good. The tiniest fear pricked the back of his neck, but his anger overtook it. The audacity that he should refuse to tell him anything! Reaching down from the saddle, he grabbed Uriel by his tunic and dragged him towards his face. Panting harshly, his breath hot upon the man’s face, Nazar rasped out, “Curse you and your mindless confidence! If I were permitted to kill you I would do so now without so much as blinking, but King Ahriman told me only to detain you. My warriors will be on a constant watch for you throughout and beyond Persepolis, and I swear, I would rather die myself before allowing you to fulfil your mission.”
Shoving Uriel backwards, his rage intensifying, Prince Nazar tore at the horse’s rein in a blind fury and whirled away, galloping back towards the gates of his city.
Uriel, standing erect once more, watched the prince’s mad descent, his face still expressionless. Glancing at the watchful soldiers, he saw that Nazar was partially right. He would not make it to his destination on his own. Yet, it was vital that he deliver his message. In fact, it should have been there already.
He looked again at the city. The streets of Persepolis may hide him better than the wasted sand dunes of the desert, he decided. Should an opportunity to break through Nazar’s well placed patrols, the back alleys of the metropolis just may come in handy.
***
The goat smell still clung to him. Uriel had been smuggled into Persepolis in a covered wagon belonging to an old goat farmer, and it had been far less than pleasant. Still, Uriel did not complain as he was now in his desired position inside the city walls. With a navy blue cloak now covering his head and disguising his linen tunic, he blended into the marketplace crowds much easier.
As he walked through the market packed with bustling men and women hurrying towards the safety of their homes, Uriel kept a sharp eye on the formidable walls that ran behind the vendors’ booths. They were well guarded. Watching as he went, he could count four or five guards to a tower, two more patrolling the areas of wall between. One paused and glanced down into the open square and seemed to look straight at Uriel. He ducked his head quickly. It wouldn’t do to be seen – yet.
Uriel weaved through the crowds, heading east. The king’s palace loomed ahead, a building of monumental height and splendour, showing off the wealth of Persia in all its glory. Its tall gates were closed tightly and two guards stood at attention off to the sides. Uriel smirked a little. If Ahriman truly were a god, would he need so many soldiers to protect him?
A shrill whistle and a shout went up at the back of the marketplace and Uriel turned to see what the commotion was about. He saw a patrol of soldiers knocking people aside and shouting for them to get out of the way as they ran through the square. The lead warrior withdrew his sword as he advanced up the street.
“You!” He shouted. “You stop right there!”
Uriel didn’t have to guess. Quick as a flash, Uriel turned and sprinted down a side alley; ducking and weaving around the tight corners and under the strung laundry. The angry shouts of the soldiers rang out over the alleyways as they searched for him, splitting up and spreading out to have a better chance of finding him. Running, his feet slapping the hard packed earth, Uriel looked up to see one of the city walls looming ahead. He took a swift turn to the left, and suddenly found himself in a dead end. Heavy footfalls from the patrol were coming nearer and, with barely a thought, he took hold of the nearest doorhandle and slipped inside the adobe hut, pressing himself against the door, trying to control his laboured breathing.
Glancing around the house he had entered, Uriel’s gaze fell upon the sole occupant of the hut, and his breath caught in his throat. On the hard packed earth beside a bed pallet, knelt a young woman. Hands clasped tightly before her, eyes closed, she rocked slightly back and forth – and she was praying, her soft voice murmuring in the silence:
“אמר ליהוה מחסי ומצודתי אלהי אבטח־בו
באברתו יסך לך ותחת־כנפיו תחסה צנה וסחרה אמתו
לא־תירא מפחד לילה מחץ יעוף יומם
יפל מצדך אלף ורבבה מימינך אליך לא יגש
I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in Him I will trust.
He shall cover you with His feathers and under His wings you shall take refuge; His truth shall be your shield and buckler.
You shall not be afraid of the terror by night; nor of the arrow that flies by day,
A thousand may fall at your side, and ten thousand at your right hand, but it shall not come near you.”
Uriel stared in wonder. Even now – in this moment of extreme danger – it never failed to inspire and awe him to witness someone pray. He moved further into the room, closer to her kneeling form. The scuffing of his feet in the dirt caused the girl to look up. Though her eyes widened and her lips parted in fear at the sight of him, Uriel was hit with a sudden familiarity and recognition. He knew who she was.
He raised his hand comfortingly. “Do not be afraid, Edissa.” He said quietly. “I am not here to harm you.”
The young woman gasped. “How do you know my name?” She asked fearfully.
Uriel smiled for the first time in days. “I know more than that,” He said quietly, taking in the golden Star of David strung on a chain around her neck. “You like the name ‘Esther’, do you not?”
Uriel only had time to take in the girl’s shock when there was a hammering on the door outside.
“In the king’s name!” The guard shouted, as his men began to break down the door. Uriel braced himself against the thin boards that made up the barrier between him and the men. He was surprised that they had found him so quickly. For all his efforts, it didn’t take the soldiers long to break down the door and swarm into the small hut; swords drawn as they surrounded Uriel and the frightened young woman.
“Leave her,” Uriel intervened quickly. “She has nothing to do with this.”
The soldiers gripping the girl by both arms glanced quickly at their leader. The chief guard paused for a moment, and then grunted. The young woman jumped away from the men as they released her, moving to the farthest corner of the room with a wide-eyed expression.
“You are under arrest by the order of King Ahriman.” The head of the guard growled at Uriel menacingly.
“On what charge?” He demanded as two other guards held his arms and a third clapped irons around his wrists.
“Treason.” The guard answered maliciously.
As the soldiers dragged Uriel from the dilapidated hut and down the street, the young woman came to the door and called after him.
“I will pray for you!” Her sweet voice was like a salve to Uriel’s soul.
“Thank you!” He called back as they moved out of sight.
***
The Persian soldiers escorted Uriel to the prison beneath the glittering palace. How ironic, Uriel thought, that the worst place in the city was hidden beneath the most glorious of buildings. Like the inside of a tomb, the walls of stone rose up on either side of them as they descended to the depths of the dungeon.
The jailer unlocked a cell, and gestured for the soldiers to throw their prisoner into it. Uriel hit the stone ground hard and sat up in time to see his captor re-lock the bars securely before turning on heel and exiting the dungeons. Uriel was alone.
He turned and gazed around his cell. It was small and cramped, and there was nothing to sit on apart from the cold stone floor. There were no windows, and the entire prison seemed to be lit by a sole lamp in the entryway, its dim flame flickering and reflecting off the damp walls. The darkness seemed overpowering, but Uriel didn’t fear. He simply knelt on the rough sandstone, folded his hands, and began to pray.
***
“Why is he here?”
“Sire?”
The man’s fingers curled around his sceptre tightly, his knuckles turning white. Nazar recognized the action and quivered fearfully. His princely rank had saved him from the king’s wrath on a number of occasions, but one of these days… he shivered again.
King Ahriman leaned forward on his throne, his face darkening into a scowl. “The messenger, Nazar. Where is he going? What is his mission?” He spoke slowly and articulately as if speaking to a dim-witted child.
“I believe he said he was on his way to deliver a message, in the east.” Nazar replied at length, red-faced.
“What would be so important that my enemy would send a messenger in person?” King Ahriman muttered to himself thoughtfully.
Ahriman was a shrewd king. Nothing went on in his kingdom that he had not ordained, and messengers from his enemy were ones he could not control, and were the greatest threat to the cause he stood for. Especially this one… Uriel. Ahriman’s face contorted as though he had savoured a bad taste in his mouth. He knew that Uriel would not have been sent unless he was carrying an important message. He had to know what it was.
“Get me Melchior,” He commanded, and Nazar hurried to do his bidding.
The inner court doors swung open to permit a tall imposing figure. Swathed in a blue cloak over his gold studded tunic, the king’s head advisor inclined his head in a bow before his only superior.
“Majesty,” his deep mellow voice murmured deferentially.
“Tell me, Melchior,” The king spoke. “What should be done about this messenger and the mission he wishes to carry out?”
Melchior stroked his chin thoughtfully. “If you need to know the nature of his message,” He spoke at length. “What is stopping you from torturing the truth out of him? And then when you hear what you need to know, you can dispose of the messenger once and for all.”
King Ahriman smiled cruelly. “I remember now why you are my advisor, Melchior. This is what we will do.”
The king turned and barked orders to several people in the room. As they rushed to do his bidding, Ahriman sat back in his throne with a smile. This plan could not fail.
***
“Uhhnn…” The lash bit deeply into Uriel’s back. Blood oozed slowly from his torn flesh, running down his arms and dripping to the stone floor. As Uriel watched the drops fall, his head swayed dizzily. Crouching on the floor of his cell, his lips moved silently in an unspoken prayer before the next lash fell upon his shoulders.
Nazar curled his lip in a smile of morbid glee. He was enjoying this. He hadn’t had the opportunity to inflict such damage on a king’s enemy before, and he was going to make the most of it.
“Where is your help now, Uriel?” He mocked, spitting on him as he coiled the whip ready for another lash.
Uriel did not answer.
***
He could hear voices. They were not kind ones. Uriel attempted to blink the mist from his eyes, and shake the fogginess from his head. The floor had changed, he noticed dully. He was no longer kneeling on the hard stone of the prison cell. This floor was shiny and smooth; like marble. He could almost see his face in it. The slight reflection was shattered however, by a drop of blood falling from the tip of his nose and splattering on the polished surface.
“Uriel!” A booming voice rang out about the room.
His head now clearer, Uriel raised his face to look at the one who was addressing him. Through a haze, he saw a large throne on a raised dais, the light from the braziers making the gold elements glimmer and shine dazzlingly. Upon this throne, Uriel finally recognized King Ahriman in all his royal splendour; purple robes, and flashing ornamental armour. He was flanked by Prince Nazar, still coiling the whip in his hand, mouth twisted into an evil smirk. Uriel’s gaze wandered about the glittering interior of the Persian court, taking in the other princes and officials. There was not a friendly face to be seen among them.
The guard beside him kicked him in the side where he crouched on all fours, and he groaned in agony.
“Get up and answer your king when he speaks to you!” He spoke, angrily.
Slowly, painfully, Uriel rose to his feet and stood, the guard dragging him forward by the arm towards the dais. By now he was standing before the king of Persia; looking into the cold pitiless eyes of his king’s enemy.
“I have but one question for you, Uriel.” King Ahriman said commandingly. “Answer it well, and no more harm shall come to you. You will be free to go back to your miserable home and its powerless ruler you call a king.”
A spattering of derisive laughter rippled around the room.
“However,” the king continued. “Answer me unsatisfactorily…” The king gestured to Nazar on his left. “You will be flogged one last time by prince Nazar before my executioner finishes you.”
Uriel licked his dry lips. He had barely heard the king’s pronouncement; his mind was entirely focused on the task he had been sent to achieve: deliver the message. He would not fail. Though reduced to a mere fluttering inside of him, he clung to the hope that help would come.
Ahriman leaned forward slightly on his throne, his eyes narrowing upon Uriel like a hawk’s on its prey. “What is the message you carry?”
The silence weighed heavy in the room. Everyone present seemed to draw a collective breath. Uriel, swaying on his feet, forced his eyes to clear the fog and gaze directly into the cold stare of the Persian king.
“The only person – who will hear my message – ” he got out hoarsely, “Is its recipient.”
Ahriman’s eyes turned deadly as a murmuring rang through the gilded halls, but the king merely raised a finger from the arm rest of his throne. Nazar needed no further invitation. Rushing forward, lash coiling from his fist, Nazar began to beat upon Uriel again, mercilessly. The cuts sticky with congealed blood now reopened and began to bleed again from the new wounds being inflicted. Uriel lowered his head to the cold floor as darkness encroached on his mind. It would not be long before it was over.
A metallic ssshing! reverberated around the room as Ahriman’s killer stepped forward. Through what remained of Uriel’s consciousness, he saw the orange flames of the braziers reflect in the sheen of the executioner’s sword as he drew the blade towards his throat. Nearly finished…
Suddenly there was a loud crash, and the sword paused in midair. A blood haze clouding his vision, Uriel saw that the crowds around him were frozen in shock, all staring in one direction. With great pain and effort, Uriel turned his head to see, and his breath left him in one breathy word…
“Michael…”
The giant doors of the king’s inner court had been thrown open by a solitary figure that stood in the vast entrance: a man with white blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, whose very being seemed to emanate light. In his hand, ready for battle, was a fearsome battlesword that made even the executioner’s sword seem dull and blunt.
In the resounding silence, the man’s voice rang with a magnitude like thunder.
“Let him go.”
Like a tidal wave, the gazes in the room swung from the illuminated figure to King Ahriman, who was clutching his sceptre tightly in his fisted hand, staring at the sudden intruder. Slowly he rose from his throne, his sceptre rising with him. With rage boiling within and fury plain on his face, he roared to his subjects: “Kill him!!” The voice cracking with the force of it.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Uriel’s aid stepped straight into the room just as the crowd of princes and generals converged upon him. Raising his sword high, and uttering a word no one understood, a bolt of blinding light exploded from the sword’s blade. With cries of alarm and pain, the men shrank back, covering their eyes. In the moments of confusion, the newcomer lifted Uriel from the ground with a strength of ten men, and before King Ahriman’s final gaze of unchecked fury, vanished – without a trace.
***
Standing on a dune, far from the city of Persepolis, Michael stopped. He turned and looked at Uriel now standing beside him.
“You know what you have to do.” Michael said solemnly.
Uriel straightened. His pain was abating. “Yes,” He replied simply. “Thank you for coming.”
Michael smiled slightly. “You know you always have help.”
“I know.”
“You will conquer them next time.”
Yes he would, Uriel knew. This fight was not over yet, and next time he would finish it for good. The two figures turned and looked at the black sky above the desert. Though its roiling mass had abated somewhat, the storm was still brewing. The dark presence would be waiting for his return.
“Now, go on your way.” Michael commanded. Uriel nodded, waiting long enough to watch the Prince of Peace vanish into the sea of sand, and he was alone again.
Uriel took one final glance at the city of Persepolis they had left behind, and remembered the young woman, Edissa. He smiled slightly. Her prayers had been answered, yet she would never know how she had helped. His thoughts recalled what he had spoken to her, remembering the Star of David strung around her neck. His eyes twinkled knowingly. Her daughter would make a fine queen of Persia, someday.
Then turning back towards the eastern horizon, Uriel began to walk.
***
In a small room, just off from the Babylonian palace’s balcony, a man sat bowed in prayer. His clothes were sackcloth, and his eyes were weary from many sleepless nights. His soul yearned for answers he did not know. When would God heed his prayer?
Skin clear and whole again, showing no traces of the lashing he had received, Uriel stood in the moonlit room; his linen tunic and sword glowing clean and bright. He had finally made it to his destination, and was savouring a few sweet moments of watching this man of God pray. If only he knew that his prayer had already been answered many days ago. It had just taken the answer so long to arrive.
Approaching the praying man, Uriel quietly bent over his hunched form and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. As the man turned with eyes full of fear and wonderment to behold the warrior, Uriel smiled at him.
“Do not be afraid,” he said softly. “I’m here to answer your prayers, Daniel.”
~
Then he said to me, “Do not be afraid, Daniel, for from the first day that you set your heart on understanding this and on humbling yourself before your God, your words were heard, and I have come in response to your words. But the prince of the kingdom of Persia was withstanding me for twenty-one days; then behold, Michael, one of the chief princes, came to help me, for I had been left there with the kings of Persia. Now I have come to give you an understanding of what will happen to your people in the latter days, for the vision pertains to the days yet future.”
- Daniel 9:12-14
Luke Alistar: I love the setting at the beginning. I’m not visual but I could see it all. Very well laid out, not too much detail but enough to get me interested. No information dumps as I’ve seen in a lot of the other entries. This is good. Farther in I’m still impressed by the setting. It captures ancient Persia so well, and I really like the idea of having a new character involved in well-known stories. Esther the Persian name she was given later in life, by the way. She was originally named Hadassah. Very intriguing ‘behind-the-scenes’ look at some Biblical events.
Bethany Faith: The beginning grasped my attention well. The main character was interesting though and I wanted to learn more about him, why he did what he did, where he came from, whom he served, and so on. I liked how it was connected to a Bible story, but it wasn’t so overtly biblical that I felt it was ‘preachy’ and sort of stupid because the author spelled stuff out. It was actually very well written in that sense; I thought it had a relatively nice balance.
Aubrey: It’s nice to see a more ancient setting used in a story. Writing was solid. It was really neat to have biblical characters appear. I like the more creative interpretation.
Luke Alistar: When characters started interacting there were a little too many creative dialogue tags and adverbs, but the dialogue itself wasn’t bad. There are some POV shifts. I felt it should’ve got more into the actual mission of the main character. As it is, it felt a little underdeveloped.
Bethany Faith: There were a few misplaced commas and long sentences where short ones would have done better and even a few dropped words, where I had to reread sentences to understand them. I think the character’s injuries went from severe to only bad enough to make him grimace way too fast, and if it were by some divine force that he received healing in that short amount of time, the author should have specified that a bit more for us.
Aubrey: Not sure I would have put the foreign (Hebrew?) characters directly in the text; it has little meaning, and nobody else’s dialog is translated. I think some of the biblical details are off. It wasn’t clear whether Uriel was an angel or a man, and it’s always been my interpretation that the passage in Daniel was a vision (therefore, Uriel would have to be an angel, not a man who appeared to Daniel physically). But that was just my understanding. It wasn’t entirely clear on some parts.
Ever since Jasmine began to read, she has loved books. What began as a love quickly became a passion. The world of books fascinates her, and she devoured just about anything and everything she was given to consume. Chief among her favourite authors are Frank E. Peretti, Janette Oke, and John Flanagan, along with many others.
She is mostly found spending time with her parents and six siblings on a small farm in Australia, where they raise sheep, chickens, a cat, a goat, and two dogs. Other interests include hanging out with family, writing short stories and poetry, graphic designing, blogging, and playing the piano/guitar. Her life’s goal to serve God through it all as a daughter of the King.
Visit her at: http://www.bushmaid.blogspot.com/
Winter’s Writing War was Holy World’s second writing contest. The first was in January of last year and had fivecategories; poetry, short stories, novel hooks, drabbles, and creature description. This year the contest was open only to short story under five thousand words, in three categories: Historical, Science Fiction, and Fantasy. On St. Valentine’s Day, February 14, we announced six winners.
We had a total of 24 entries. 10 in the Fantasy category, 8 in Science Fiction, and 7 in Historical Fiction. Over the next six weeks the winning entries along with their judge’s comments will be posted on the blog in the following order:
Fantasy – First Place: Forbidden, by J. Grace Pennington
Science Fiction – First Place: Resurrection Train, by Braden Russell
Historical – First Place: Mama’s Clock, by Hannah Mills
Fantasy – Second Place: The Four Choices, by Riniel Jasmina
Science Fiction – Second Place: Verdandi’s Key, by BushMaid
Historical – Second Place: The Messenger, by BushMaid
***
Jasmine Ruigrok
Runner up – SCIENCE FICTION
He had left me a key.
It was an old fashioned key, one that – at one time – unlocked doors by being pushed through a hole in the door, where the small teeth would catch the lock mechanism and crank the bolt open. Nothing like the flat plastic keycards everyone carried these days. This key belonged to something old. Something my grandfather had wanted me to have.
I was standing by the freshly turned grave with the other mourners clutching this key as if it were the key to life itself. My grandfather was a scientist of the highest degree. He was the cleverest man I knew: he could give the Latin name for every ingredient in the chocolate bar you happened to be munching, even if they didn’t have Latin names. He knew enough about grasshoppers to fill a library, and if you happened to get onto the subject of time and space, well… if humans were immortal you would still be standing there hearing about it long after time and space had ceased to exist. He was a master. And now, he was also dead.
I looked at the key. It reminded me of him strangely enough, even though it looked nothing like him. The sharp, energetic, blue-eyed, white haired man could not possibly be identified with this blunt, rusty and ancient key. What did it open, I wondered? I looked again at the tag attached to the oval end of the key by a frayed piece of ribbon:
The key is the door to a question.
Find me, you find the answer.
Unlock me, you’ll unlock a secret,
And the secret will end in disaster.
“That doesn’t even rhyme,” I muttered to myself for the fiftieth time. The note however, intrigued me. What was this secret that the key unlocked? What was the answer it revealed? Most importantly, what was the question? I wanted to find out.
The service was over by now, and the crowd of mourners had dispersed. Figuring it was time I left as well, I nodded solemnly to the grave in a final farewell and turned, replacing my hat on my head as I walked away. As I approached my car, I noticed a colleague of my grandfather’s crossing the street to his own vehicle.
“Cauder!” I called out, pausing for a car to pass before crossing the street after him. The grey-haired thin man with a moustache turned as he saw me coming.
“Ah, Branton,” the elderly lab assistant replied. “My sympathies; your grandfather will be greatly missed by all of us.”
“Thankyou, Cauder.” I said somewhat hastily. “However I was hoping to ask you something. My grandfather left me this key, and I was wondering if you might have ever heard him mention anything about something it may unlock, or something that he held in high enough value to keep locked up by something so old?”
Cauder took the key and inspected it closely, his telescopic retina extending past his eye to get better focus. “Find me, you find the answer.” He muttered to himself. “I do recall your grandfather saying something about a secret project, but I don’t ever remember seeing this key.” He handed back the key. “Sorry I wasn’t more helpful.”
“No, thankyou, Cauder. At least I know he was up to something.”
I waved to the old man as he went on his way, and I returned to my car. I flashed my keycard over the reader on the door handle. A chirp and a flashing green light unlocked the car, and I slipped into the driver’s seat. My hands automatically inserted the card and entered my pin through the slotted keypad on the dashboard. As the glass in front of me lit up a neon “you are here” map, I touch-selected my next destination – my grandfather’s apartment.
I peered out my window as the car pulled up at the front of the Stellar Co. apartment building. A glittering silver tower of about a thousand solar panels and a zillion windows; the fact my grandfather lived in such a slick sterile building always came as a surprise to me. I locked my car after programming it where to park, and entered the building. The shiny steel door made an electronic zip! sound as it slid open and I stepped into the lobby.
The soles of my shoes squeaked slightly on the mirror-like floor as I went up to the reception desk. An android looked up as I approached, its wide empty eyes staring at me like the soulless machine it was.
“Good morning sir! And may I warmly welcome you to the spectacular Stellar–”
“Stop,” I told it shortly. I hated the corny welcome messages companies gave their androids these days. Since when did it mean anything coming from a piece of electronic equipment? Still, nothing had changed since the day they made mobile phones with welcome messages centuries ago and he doubted it would any time soon.
“I need access to Cedric Zale’s apartment.”
“May I see your – ”
Boop! I swiftly waved my keycard in front of the android’s face, cutting his tinny voice off midsentence.
A green light came on in the bot’s forehead and an elevator dinged! open across the room.
“You’re free to go up, Branton Zale! The door to apartment 4E will be on your right. Thankyou, and may you have a pleasant–”
The doors of the elevator slid shut.
—
Entering my grandfather’s apartment was like entering an extension of his laboratory. The second I swiped my keycard against the reader and the door slid open, I was hit by the smell of sterilizing fluid and acid. A jungle of thin pipes filled with different coloured liquids and glass flasks covered the dining table. The sink was brimming with dirty Petri dishes, spoons and scalpels, and the kitchen bench was covered in tiny bottles and vials all carefully labelled: “hydrochloric acid”, “colloidal silver”, “mercury”, and many others I wasn’t even sure what they did.
Passing through the kitchen “lab”, (I realized there wouldn’t be much else but typical science stuff found there) I moved on towards his bedroom. His bed was neatly made, and his PJ’s were folded up and placed carefully on top of the pillow as though he had just put them there. On his nightstand was a fluorescent lamp and an antique alarm clock. All just a normal bedroom.
I didn’t know what I thought I would find. Everything looked as normal as a kid with an icecream cone at a playground on a sunny day. What was I looking for, anyway? An answer to a riddle I couldn’t even understand? A fortune? A mystery?
An adventure?
I impulsively walked over to the wardrobe enclosed on the other side of the room and yanked the door open. Something heavy and scratchy fell out of it and knocked me to the ground.
“ARGH!!” I yelled, leaping out from under it like a frog out of boiling water. After jumping a safe distance from whatever “it” was, I looked back and realized it was nothing but an old woollen coat.
“Oh.” My voice echoed dully around the room. Boy, did I feel stupid. I guess my grandfather’s funeral did have a jumpy effect on me. Picking up the ugly thing, I strung it back on the hanger and made to place it back in the wardrobe with the rest of the clothes, when something caught my eye. Through the gap made by the falling coat appeared something shiny at the back of the wardrobe. Fear forgotten and curiosity aroused, I threw the coat onto the bed, and leaned forward to touch it.
The back of the wardrobe was made of cold shiny steel. I leaned back out of the wardrobe and compared it to the wall behind it. The back did not match the wall. I checked over the wardrobe, and tapped the door experimentally. It was made of a plastic fibre, and painted to look like a wooden antique. The back of it, if not a mirror – which it wasn’t – should be made of the same material.
I raked the hanging clothing aside, bunching it all up in my arms and tore it from the wardrobe, throwing it aside with the ugly woollen coat. Soon the wardrobe stood empty, and the back of it was quite obvious.
It had to be a door. The tall, impenetrable metal surface was marred only by a small hole, shaped like a circle joined to a triangle. I pulled out my keycard and waved it in front of the hole. The door did nothing. From the depths of my other pocket, I withdrew the rusty metal key. I looked at it, turning it over in my hands before I slowly took hold of the oval handle, and thrust the pointy jagged end into the hole in the steel door.
I wiggled it experimentally. The door still didn’t budge. How hard were you supposed to turn these things? After a few more ineffective wiggles, I suddenly wrenched the key into a left turn, and I heard a grinding click on the inside of the door. After a slight pause, an explosion of cold vapour erupted from the edges of the door, stinging my eyes. I stumbled backwards, blinded momentarily as the fog continued to fill the room. And then just like that, the hissing stopped. I peered through my fingers with my recovered eyes. The door was now slightly ajar. I stood slowly, and moved towards it, cautiously. I reached out my hand, and pushed – and the door gently swung open.
—
She was beautiful.
The air left my lungs in a giant whoosh at the sight of her. He skin was smooth and pale, like ancient marble. Her lips were tinged with the slightest cherry blossom pink. Long lashes graced her closed eyelids, and her honey coloured hair spilled around her face. She was breathtakingly beautiful.
She was standing upright in the centre of the tiny room behind the wardrobe. She was clad in some silver form of steel fibered clothing that encased her from ankles to neck. Was she alive? Or… dead? I found a lightswitch on the wall inside, and flicked it on. The neon beam above us flickered eerily over her cold features. In the light, I noticed a tiny bench to my right, where several papers were scattered. I leaned over one. It detailed some sort of X-rayed version of the girl, where there was a hole in her back with an arrow pointing towards it. On another sheet of paper was a closeup view of the tiny hole, with cogs and intricate gears sketched behind it. These appeared to be some kinds of plans.
I glanced up at the silent figure. What was she?
I looked again at the key, and its mysterious tag. “Unlock me, you’ll unlock a secret,” I murmured to myself. What secret? The secret of who she was? Well, there was only one way to find out.
I moved around behind the girl and found that the drawing was correct: there was indeed a small hole in the small of her back, similar to the one found in the door when I entered. I gently inserted the key into the hole, and this time knowing what I was doing, cranked the key firmly to the right.
The key moved differently than before. Instead of clicking into one place like unlocking the door, this time the whole turn made a click, click, click, click, click sound continuously as I moved it in the lock, as though I was winding something. There was a slight buzzing sound from within the body of the girl, and I hastily removed the key and moved to the front where I could see her face. The buzzing sound intensified, and I noticed that her slumped posture was gradually lifting to stand more erect as the sound grew louder. As her head lifted up, her eyes – asleep moments before – snapped open.
There was a tinkle sound as the antique key slipped from my nerveless fingers and hit the metal floor. For staring into my soul were – not two eyes – but two very small, very intense, clocks. Carefully constructed behind her eyelids were two miniature clock faces that moved by the tiniest of hydraulic arms embedded inside the corners of her eyes, which you could hear whine slightly with each twitchy movement they made. The shiny brass parts all linked up to the central iris, which on the face of them, had a threadlike hair for a minute and hour hand that was slowly counting off the seconds I stood there staring, slack-jawed.
“Who are you?”
The clarity and magnitude of her voice inside the tiny metal room made me nearly jump out of my skin in fright.
“I– Uh–!” I stammered unintelligibly.
“You are not Doctor Zale.” It stated in a clear female voice. A voice nothing like in any android I had ever seen—or heard.
“Uh, no—no I’m not, I’m… I’m his grandson, Doctor Zale’s grandson, Branton.”
“Branton.” The clock faces lit up slightly with recognition. “He spoke of you.”
“He did? But—how –” I began, when a slight beep from out in the apartment interrupted my train of thought. It was the sound of the apartment door being opened. With a quick glance at the android girl, I stepped quietly out of the wardrobe and headed out of the bedroom door to see who it was that had arrived. I instantly recognized the person picking their way across the lab kitchen.
“Cauder!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
At the sound of my voice, the elderly man’s head jerked up. “B-Branton!” He stammered in astonishment. “What are you doing here?”
I frowned suspiciously. “I was… going through my grandfather’s things, which is quite a normal thing to do, considering the circumstances. Why are you here? I don’t think you’re here to do the same thing; not legitimately, anyway.”
“I—” Cauder started to speak but stopped suddenly. His gaze had shifted from my face to something behind me.
“Verdandi!” He gasped.
I turned. The girl had followed me out of my grandfather’s room and was now standing in the hallway. She made a stunning sight standing there in the uncertain light of the hall, her silver – now obviously robotic – body shimmering, long hair floating about her hauntingly pale face. She raised one hand, her wrist revolving in an impossible endless revolution, and with her hydraulic fingers, she was clutching the key.
Suddenly something clicked in my head, and I whirled back to Cauder. “You lied!” I said accusingly.
“I had to!” Cauder panicked. “You had no idea what was at stake!”
“What are you talking about?”
“Verdandi is not just another android, she’s – ”
From behind me there was an almighty smash, the sound of splintering glass and I ducked instinctively as shards flew across the room, some hitting me in the back of the head. There was a cry from Cauder as one hit his arm, but I had turned to see what had happened. One of the reinforced bulletproof glass windows that the Stellar Co. apartment building comprised of had a hole smashed through it, and Verdandi had vanished. I ran over to the window, grabbing a strut and leaned out as far as I dared over the forty story drop. Way down below I saw a flash of silver, and then it vanished.
Another moan from Cauder made me turn around. He had removed the splinter from his arm, and was wrapping his torn sleeve around the bleeding wound.
“Where is she going?” I asked curtly.
Cauder looked up with a worried expression. “To your grandfather’s lab.” He replied.
“Why? What is she? What does her name mean? And what is it you aren’t telling me?”
The old man sighed deeply and leaned against the kitchen bench. “I told Cedric it was too dangerous to meddle with, but he wouldn’t listen. He was obsessed with the idea, and even though he never dared to use the key, he wouldn’t leave it alone. I warned him countless times it was too risky to include you in it…”
A memory stirred slightly but I couldn’t place it. “What?” I burst out.
“ ‘Verdandi’ means ‘happening’ or ‘present’ in Norse.”
“I don’t understand.”
Cauder’s glassy eyes fixed upon mine. “She is Time, Branton. She is Time.”
Silence filled the room. My skin crawled. The memories of my grandfather’s passion for all things time and space came flooding back into my brain with an ear-splitting roar. What had my grandfather done? And more importantly, what had I done?
—
We were both in my car, racing through the streets of the metropolis I called home. I had my face almost pressed up against the front windscreen’s neon map, trying to navigate the route to the Stellar Co. laboratory that Cauder was giving me the directions to.
After my horrible realization in the apartment’s kitchen, Cauder and I had raced down the elevator and exited the building, ignoring the stupid android clerk waving goodbye and wishing us a “pleasant” day. Now that we were on our way, I pressed my grandfather’s colleague for more information.
“There are three keys that your grandfather discovered after many years of research into the Norse history,” he explained. “One is the Verdandi key. That is the one you have, and what Cedric ended up calling the android girl. Then there is the Urdr key, also called fate. It is the key to the past. And then, there is the Skuld key, the key to the future. However your grandfather could never find the Skuld key. He assumed it may have been destroyed over the course of time, since he never found a trace of it.”
I nodded. “Where did my grandfather find the droid?” I asked, guiding the car around a detour.
Cauder shrugged. “He would never say. I had my suspicions that he may have built her himself using some ancient plan, or maybe he had found her framework and restored her true to form.”
“So… what does she hope to find at my grandfather’s lab, and how did she even know it existed?” I asked sceptically.
The man rubbed his forehead. “She will be looking for the Urdr key. I’m guessing that whilst she was in sleep mode, her system picked up on Cedric’s voice. He always talked to himself when he was working on something.”
“What will she do with the key?”
Cauder glanced across at me with a wry expression. “Time thinks she can decide the fate of the world. I can’t be sure, but going by the last part of the clue that said ‘disaster’…”
I gulped. “You mean; erase the past with the Urdr key?”
“Yes.”
My throat was dry. I looked up at the glittering buildings we were passing by. Would they vanish from the face of the earth any second now? Would a sudden wind blow me out of existence at any second?
My voice wavered when I finally spoke again. “W-what do you we do?”
“We try to achieve the impossible: stop Time.”
—
The lab was deserted when we arrived.
“Thank God for holiday season,” Cauder muttered as we got out of the car.
God? The name made me pause momentarily. What part did He play in all of this?
However the thought was forgotten by the time we entered the building. Cauder flashed his keycard and the entrance door slid open with a familiar zip! We walked hastily past the empty reception, a lifeless android in sleep mode behind the desk for the vacation. The building was like a rabbit warren, so I stuck by Cauder as close as I could as he turned and weaved throughout the countless hallways lined with white metal doors.
He arrived suddenly at our destination, and I almost ran into the back of him as I skidded to a stop. Cauder put a finger to his lips. “I can see her,” he whispered.
Cautiously I put my eye to the edge of the window and peered into a room beyond the door. The room was totalled. It seemed Verdandi had pulled up just about everything not nailed down and had hurled it out of her way. Chairs, table legs, copper coils, cables, tubes, flasks, and one fire extinguisher were a tangled mass in the centre of the room. She was just now running her arm along one of the remaining full shelves, and scraping the entire contents onto the floor. Wherever grandfather had hidden the Urdr key, it would not remain hidden for much longer.
Cauder put his hand on the doorhandle gently. Leaning close, he whispered, “We need to find the key before she does. Else it will be all over. Are you ready?”
I nodded. Cauder pressed down on the handle and slowly eased the door open. I moved in close and slipped through the gap, ready for absolutely nothing. Would the droid try to kill me? Cauder remained by the door, ready to block her escape, but remembering how easily she disappeared out of the apartment window, I wasn’t sure the frail man could stop her if need be. I slowly edged across the room, glancing around furtively to see where in the world my grandfather would hide a key.
One of the shelves across the room where Verdandi was methodically dumping their contents, I noticed at the very top a large leather-bound book. This was odd. I had only read about books on the internet, and they were volumes that had gone out of print many decades ago after paper had become too expensive. Books were now rare antiques that people paid millions and billions for. As a scientist, books did not interest my grandfather. So why was this large expensive volume sitting on his laboratory shelf?
Caught up in the depths of my pondering, I had failed to notice that Verdandi had stopped her destructive wake. My mind returned to the present and realized she had seen the object of my fixated gaze and was now reaching up to bring the book down off the shelf.
“No, stop!” I shouted as I jumped over the pile of rubble and ran towards the table where she had placed the book. She opened it in the middle and there, pressed into the pages of the antique paper, was the Urdr key. I launched myself across the table, one hand reaching forward to snatch the key from the book when her hand shot out and latched onto my wrist. Her hydraulic-powered fingers were relentless, and though I’m no weakling, I yelled with pain as she clenched her hand tightly around my arm.
“I won’t stop,” Verdandi’s smooth voice filled my ears, and her clockwork eyes filled my vision, seeming to bore into my brain. “I am Time. I am the beginning and the end. I hold this earth and your kind together. Without me you are nothing, and nothing is what you will now become.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cauder raise a broken chair in the air, with the purpose of bringing it down on the bots head. But Verdandi was too fast. In a flash, she had reefed the chair from Cauder with her opposite arm, and – with a fist like iron – hit Cauder in the chest knocking him to the ground.
“No –!” I groaned as my grandfather’s friend crumpled to the floor lifelessly. My temper boiled to eruption and I turned on the android in fury.
“Who—gives you—the authority—to end time?” I gasped out through my pain and rage. I tried to curl my fingers but the circulation in my wrist had been cut off, and they dangled uselessly.
“I do.”
With this statement, she reached out and picked up the Urdr key. Still dangling from her paralysing grip, I scrabbled with my free hand at the book as she lifted the key from it but it was useless. Verdandi raised her hand and carefully inserted the key into the side of her head – a keyhole my grandfather had not known about. I then watched in fascinated horror as she began to crank the key.
The ratchetting click, click, click, click, click made a continuous rattle and as I watched, the android’s eyes began to glow brightly. Through the clicking, I soon became aware of a whining sound, like a jet engine revving. I spared a glance around the room, and my mouth went slack at what I saw.
A giant vortex was forming, like a black hole at the end of the room that was beginning to suck everything out of the building. The refuse pile screeched as it was dragged towards the yawning void, disappearing inside of it without a trace. A wind from nowhere was ripping the laboratory apart, tearing at me from where I still hung, clutched in the hand of a clockwork monster. I saw the body of Cauder get whisked into the blackness, and I opened my mouth to scream, but I couldn’t hear if I made a sound. Terror was making my heart hammer against my ribs as I stared at the face that was about to kill me.
It was then I noticed the book. In my flailing, I had knocked the cover of it shut, and the embossed letters on the front of it stared up at me.
Holy Bible.
The gold typeset became a focal point for my vision as I vaguely wondered through the hellish tornado why the book hadn’t yet gone flying off into oblivion. The whining sound was growing in amplitude; higher and more intense. Tearing and grinding sounds filled the air as the walls were sucked away, the vortex growing bigger with each object it devoured. Suddenly the wind flipped the book open, and as the pages flipped, words jumped out at me in the fractional moments the pages stopped turning…
“In the beginning…”
“I am the Lord your God…”
“My times are in Your hand…”
“In the beginning was the Word…”
“I am the Alpha and the Omega, first and the last…”
A peace and knowing settled in my heart. For who else but God Himself could talk to a person in the midst of earth’s destruction? Skuldi, the future key. I had found the key that my grandfather never did. The key to the future. My future. God – He was not only the first, but the last! He chooses the end. Not this imposter. I knew what I had to do.
I turned to the liar in all its evil manipulating form. “You are not Time!” I shouted in its face.
“I am Time. I am the beginning…” The android girl’s voice rose high to eclipse the noise.
“NO! God is the one! He is the Alpha and Omega –” Fury blinded me, and hate boiled within at this vile, heartless creature that could raise itself above God. I clenched my free fist, and pounded the pale-faced freak. The tiniest crack split her cheek.
“Only God knows the time and the hour – !” I screamed into the empty air as I pounded my fist again and again into her robotic skin, the cracks growing wider as her eyes flashed. Red splattered across her face as I realized dimly that my hand was bleeding. In a final act of desperation, I picked up the Bible and with all the strength in me, drove the corner of the book into her head.
Sparks spat from her eyes, and her hand twitched erratically. I grabbed hold of her hand and tore it away from her head, the key coming loose from her fingers, and was sucked through the air, disappearing into the void forever. The ear-splitting whine from the vortex decreased, and the swirling blackness seemed to hesitate. Feeling began to return to my right arm, as I realized Verdandi’s fingers had slackened their grip. Reefing my hand from her grasp, I locked my hands around her throat and knocked her to the ground. With a sickening crack her head hit the ground, her neck jerking beneath my fingers. Her alabaster skin shattered, a chip flying from her cheek exposing the clockwork gears and workings of the robot she was.
She slowly raised a twitching arm, her finger pointed skyward as sparks flew from her entire body in shutdown.
“I-I-I A-A-M THE BEG-G-I-N-N – ” Her voice had become a metallic grating sound that jibbered and cracked; the beautiful smooth tone nonexistent.
My face set in a righteous fury, and my teeth clenched into a snarl as I retrieved the Bible once more, raising it over my head. With my last reserves, I brought it down with a tremendous crash upon her skull; a fountain of sparks spewed from the side of her head upon impact and one of her clock eyes protruded from her face. I watched with satisfaction as her circuitry shorted out throughout her body in a series of small fiery explosions and finally, the light behind her eyelids died to a deathly black. Dead eyes stared out of her lifeless face, smashed beyond repair; beautiful no more.
I looked about me, dazedly. Time hadn’t ended. The vortex had gone, vanished without a trace. The lab room was back to what it had been when we arrived; the rubble heap still in the room’s centre. I saw Cauder stir, and relief flooded my soul. He was going to be okay. My focus started to dim and my eyesight began to grow black and fuzzy at the edges. As I slipped to the ground unconscious, my final gaze rested on the Bible’s open page:
“For I know the plans I have for you; plans for a future, and for a hope.” – Jeremiah 29:11
Luke Alistar: Highly intriguing and original premise. Pretty well written. Details were interesting and captured my attention early on.I really liked the idea of the keys, thought it could make a cool premise for a highly original speculative fiction novel if expanded.
Bethany Faith: The narrative voice did a pretty good job of describing what was happening and used some good adjectives. The story itself was interesting and kept me intrigued on what was going to happen.The ending closed the story well, without leaving any really unanswered questions or making it feel like it had been cut short.
Aubrey Hansen: Nice description; quirky details that give it a lot of life. Made for a cheerfully intriguing opener. Could have cut back on the description of the sci-fi details in a few places, however. The plot with the keys of time and fate seemed a bit left-field; very mythical, although interesting. It was a good premise. Many of the plot twists were a bit sudden, although intriguing.
Luke Alistar: The ending felt contrived. Could use some work on dialogue and descriptions of actions.
Bethany Faith: Because it was written in first person, I couldn’t figure out if the narrator was a boy or a girl, which slightly distracted me from the story. Some of the dialogue seemed a bit abrupt and lacking in any emotion. The sound-words grew a bit tiring after so long. It was a bit ‘preachy’ towards the end, but it was done tactfully so I didn’t find that enough to take away from the story very much.
Aubrey Hansen: Could have cut back on the description of the sci-fi details in a few places, however. The narrator knew an awful lot about keys at the beginning of the story, but then had a lot of trouble figuring out how to use it in the wardrobe. When she opens the wardrobe, she turns the key left; when she winds the android, it’s right – inconsistency? Mention of God was abrupt; spirituality should have been worked in better.
Ever since Jasmine began to read, she has loved books. What began as a love quickly became a passion. The world of books fascinates her, and she devoured just about anything and everything she was given to consume. Chief among her favourite authors are Frank E. Peretti, Janette Oke, and John Flanagan, along with many others.
She is mostly found spending time with her parents and six siblings on a small farm in Australia, where they raise sheep, chickens, a cat, a goat, and two dogs. Other interests include hanging out with family, writing short stories and poetry, graphic designing, blogging, and playing the piano/guitar. Her life’s goal to serve God through it all as a daughter of the King.
Visit her at: http://www.bushmaid.blogspot.com/
Hurrah! It is the day you have all been waiting for. Well, I have been waiting for it anyway, even if you haven’t been. However, before you get to see who won, you must humor me by sitting through my typical monolog. 
In January we launched the 3rd HW coloring contest, set to end in February. However, due to the WWW that was going on, we extended the end date for another month of coloring excitement. We ended up with a total of 45 entries. These submissions were subjected to a five phase judging system of which you are, by now, all familiar with. Judging these pieces were my two lovely assistants and faithful friends Celestria and AzlynRose. Once again these girls spent hours (and days) with me going through the submissions. They deserve the praise and adoration of many not just because they are troopers, but because they are very dedicated to the Coloring Contests. None of this is possible without them.
Winter’s Writing War was Holy World’s second writing contest. The first was in January of last year and had five categories; poetry, short stories, novel hooks, drabbles, and creature description. This year the contest was open only to short story under five thousand words, in three categories: Historical, Science Fiction, and Fantasy. On St. Valentine’s Day, February 14, we announced six winners.
We had a total of 24 entries. 10 in the Fantasy category, 8 in Science Fiction, and 7 in Historical Fiction. Over the next six weeks the winning entries along with their judge’s comments will be posted on the blog in the following order:
Fantasy – First Place: Forbidden, by J. Grace Pennington
Science Fiction – First Place: Resurrection Train, by Braden Russell
Historical – First Place: Mama’s Clock, by Hannah Mills
Fantasy – Second Place: The Four Choices, by Riniel Jasmina
Science Fiction – Second Place: Verdani’s Key, by BushMaid
Historical – Second Place: The Messenger, by BushMaid
Riniel Jasmina
Runner Up – FANTASY
There once were three young ladies who knew what made a perfect man. They were determined to marry well, so their mother gave them their purity as a dowry and warned them not to make any decision too lightly. The maidens kissed their mother goodbye and assured her of their safety. With that, they were on their way. They had not gone very far when they happened upon a shepherd that lived just outside the town.
“What are you looking for?” he asked.
“We’re off to the market, looking to sell some wares.” the oldest blurted out. Her sisters held their peace.
“Be careful that you ask a high price for your wares.” he replied. The maidens nodded and continued on their way.
“Why did you tell him that?” the second sister asked.
“Momma told us to be prudent.” the elder replied. “Such a man need not know our business. He is not for us. A simple shepherd couldn’t possibly be right for any of us. What does he have? No, I will know my husband when I see him. He will give me forever.”
The walked a while until they heard the sound of footsteps behind them. They turned to see their youngest sister coming down the path to join them. She had been slowed done because her petticoats were sewn full of standards and they make one take deliberate steps.
“Now what are you here for?” the second sister asked.
“Momma said I could come with you.” the youngest returned.
“Oh, but she knows you are too young. You will simply slow us down.” the oldest said. She continued walking without a care. The others followed with the youngest taking deliberate steps and keeping up as best as she could. It was not long before they passed a man along the road who was a truly handsome devil.
“Greetings ladies.” said the devil, bowing with a flourish. “Where are you off to?”
“We know what makes a perfect man, so we’re off to get married.” the oldest blurted out.
“Oh what good fortune!” the handsome devil replied. “I have a mind to marry as well and when I saw you I finally knew what makes a perfect woman who could share all my moments.”
The oldest sister was flattered. “Moments do make forever.” She thought to herself. And so she parted from her sisters and went off with the devil to share moments. She soon spent all her moments and had none left for forever. Her husband blamed her and soon sought moments elsewhere, but for her, it was too late.
“Keep moments and forever.” thought the second sister. “I want to find joy.”
The other three continued on. The elders in front and the youngest taking deliberate steps. It was some time before a man on a horse approached them on the road.
“Why hello, my name is Skins. Where are you off to?” the man asked, tipping his hat.
“We know a perfect man is more than moments, so we’re off to get married.” the second said cautiously.
“Most wise of you.” Mr. Skins replied with a smile. “As it happens, I am looking to share a thousand pleasures. I would be honored to have them be with you.”
“Well,” thought the second sister. “pleasures are longer than moments. And what is joy without pleasure?” So she agreed and they were soon married. They shared a thousand pleasures but pleasures, like sweets, are not always healthy. They both became very sick and were not well enough for much pleasure at all and were really quite miserable.
The third sister had waited for the youngest to catch up before they continued.
“You know,” she said to her sister. “I don’t see that moments and pleasures are very wise pursuits. I’d much rather just have everything I need.”
Her sister nodded and was about to reply when an enormous carriage pulled up drawn by four noble horses.
“Fair maiden,” a man said from inside. “Where do you go with your young sister?”
“I know what makes a perfect man, so I am off to be married.” she said resolutely.
“How interesting.” the man replied. “I desire the exact same thing.” he opened his carriage door reveal sparkling gold walls and lush purple cushions.
“I have noticed,” she returned. “That moments and pleasures are of little good.”
“As have I.” the man said. “But if you will have me, I will give you the world.”
The maiden thought a moment. “If one has the world,” she said to herself. “What is left that one would need?” So she climbed into the carriage and bade her sister farewell. They were soon married and she was given the world but she soon realized that no one is a true friend to one who has the world and her husband was too busy to notice.
The youngest sister had watched her sister go and soon started back toward home. Her feet had grown weary so she finally sat on a log by the road and waited. Soon the shepherd from the edge of the town came walking down the lane.
“What are you looking for?” he asked.
“My sisters set out to be married but I don’t want to be like them so I’m going to sit and wait.” she replied.
“Where have they all gone?”
“They have gone to moments and pleasures and the world but I want forever and joy and what I need.”
“I see,” said the shepherd. “There is a word for that.”
“Is there?” the young maiden asked.
“Best.” replied the shepherd. “Best doesn’t give his bride to moments and poor pleasures and the world. Best protects her from them.”
“And Best gives her forever and joy and her needs, even when they are hard?”
“Of course. But come, who do you wait for here?”
“You.” she replied, putting her fair hand into his rough and scarred one.
He took her home to her mother who soon saw her daughter happily married. The shepherd took her to him home and loved and protected her so that when even the world fell they were safe together. And they are still together today.
Luke Alistar: This one is charming. Overall it’s a lovely little tale that gives me a bit of nostalgia for the old, humorous, and well thought-out fables my mother used to read me.
Aubrey: I personally love “allegories” written like a fairytale, so I’m partial to this one. Good message and fairly solid writing.
Bethany Faith: It had a cute sort of parable feel to it, which was unique and enjoyable. It was a nice read, for the most part.
Luke Alistar: A little confusing at the beginning as to just how many sisters there are, and some of the writing is pretty rough.
Aubrey: Some typographical errors and a few rough spots. Could have been polished just a bit more to make it truly charming.
Bethany Faith: Some of the descriptions were sort of hard to understand; they needed to be revised a bit more to be slightly more coherent or flow better. I sort of wish it was written in more of a ‘story’ format with more description and attention to detail, but I also liked the writing style of this.
