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Category:
Fantasy
Publisher: Amazon (2nd Edition)
ISBN-10: 1977027512
Type: Fiction
Pages: 384
Copyright: (August 1, 2000)
ISBN-13: 9781977027511
Price: $0.99 (eBook)
SF and Fantasy Short Stories themed around hauntings.
C Penn at Wordweaving wrote of the original edition that "THE LIVES OF GHOSTS AND OTHER SHADES OF MEMORY by Loren Cooper is a haunting reminder that ghosts aren't the only things that trouble us. Blurring the lines between the genres of fantasy and science fiction, and likewise the lines between good and evil, THE LIVES OF GHOSTS AND OTHER SHADES OF MEMORY offers sweeping philosophical questions of history and human culture. Comprised of eleven short stories, each is riveting in its intensity, fascinating in its depth, mesmerizing in its narration. Very highly recommended. "
Excerpt
From the title story:
For a year that would see the beginning of one of humanity’s largest mass insanities, 1914 had a way of producing incongruously fine weather. And in Sarajevo, June 28, the crowds enjoyed the full measure of the sun’s beaming warmth.
Had Leonidas been present to enjoy the day, even he would undoubtedly have been kindly inclined toward Apollo. I happen to know, since he mentioned the weather once after witnessing one of Ferdinand’s assassinations. Ferdinand himself must have made an impression, since Leonidas had been willing to admit, despite the fact that his gambit had failed that day, that Ferdinand did die well.
Leonidas has always respected that sort of thing.
I wasn’t there as a Player this time, or even an Agent, though I had taken my turn on this dance floor before: successfully and unsuccessfully. Win some, lose some.
On this occasion, I had been invited to this particular Line by Richard of Gloucester on a private matter. Since I had no intention of bringing the Game into this Line, I dawdled idly, looking for Richard. He has always had a weakness for certain windmills, so I expected to see signs of some of his Agents sharpening his lancehead in a corner somewhere. Richard would charge full tilt at Sarajevo time after time, having racked up a larger total of saves for Ferdinand than any of us. I also kept an eye out for the opposition, since there were a number, Frederick among them, who were irritated at Richard’s penchant for nipping the whole thing in the bud. Frederick liked to let the entire game run well into the second quarter, then nudge events toward the Kaiser. Awfully nationalist of him, but he’s not a bad guy despite that.
I spotted movement in the upper floor of a dusty hotel on the edge of the parade route. Not as good for a sniper position, but it would have potential for observation. I decided to ease up there and see if Richard had taken it for a base of operations, or if one of the others could point me in Richard’s direction. Everyone should know that I had no intention of Playing, this time around, so if I could stay out of the crossfire, I should have no problems unless that room happened to belong to a bunch of outraged Serbs. And even if it did, the advanced armorsuit I wore under my clothing should stop all but the inconvenience of any weapons the natives would have at their disposal.
Considering the possibility of stumbling into a crossfire, I kept a cautious eye peeled as I stepped through the front door and the lobby beyond, but grinned when I saw Howard. Richard had a certain consistency in his choice of Agents that I couldn’t help but admire, and Sir John Howard is perhaps the best of a capable lot. I nodded to him, and he returned the barest fraction of a response, waving me up the stairs with a single curt gesture.
My brow creased slightly as I absorbed this. I knew Sir John fairly well, and admired him as a study in the classical virtues as well as a good number of the modern ones. I took the stairs two at a time, suddenly concerned that this invitation of Richard’s had more serious implications.
I stopped at the door and knocked before entering, both as a gesture of respect and because Richard was one of the most directly dangerous Players. Years of personal participation in the Game at a level most of the other Players never experience first hand (preferring to rely strictly on their Agents for the actual dirty deeds) had honed his already awesome personal competence to a level well beyond the mortal pale. Of all the Players only Musashi or Achilles stood any chance in hand to hand, though any number of subtler Players would never come that close in the first place.
“Come.”
I opened the door and entered the room slowly. The furniture had been rolled out of the way. Richard’s back faced me as he leaned on the sill, looking down over the gathering crowd. A naked broadsword leaned against the wall on one side of Richard, a bolt-action Mauser mirroring it on the other side. Noting these things, I waited for him to speak. Though I thought I expected the worst, he surprised me.
“Why did you do it?”
His voice had a certain deadness of tone that sent a shiver of adrenaline through my body. “What?”
He turned, and past him I could see a bulky silhouette shrug into an empty window in a building on the other side of the street. Then I saw the darkness in Richard’s eyes, and I knew myself for a dead man. “Richard...”
One hand drifted down to the hilt of the broadsword.
I reached for the Fires, hoping to open a Corridor. If I could make him pursue me to my own ground, perhaps I stood some small chance of surviving this. My eyes widened in surprise as I felt a great cold where the Fires should have burned. I hadn’t known that it was possible to cut a player off from the Fires of Eternity.
He swept the sword up and across in a slash.
I lunged toward the furniture, hooked a chair and threw it back as I felt the heat of blood curling down my ribs. My upper body felt chilled, not a positive sign, that damned sword having apparently peeled my armorsuit back as easily as it had opened my flesh.
Well, hell, I didn’t have any exclusive rights to high technology, though I thought Richard more faithful to the Rules of Play than to bring OutLine technology into the Game, even if only in the form of a blade with a monofilament edge.
On the other hand, killing another Player was considered something of a technical infraction as well.
He backhanded the chair out of his way absently, his return stroke splintering the bones of my left forearm.
I threw myself back, toward the window. I grabbed the rifle with my right hand as I twisted, rolling over the sill to hit and slide along the overhanging porch. I had an idle curiosity as to how I might be able to work the action of the rifle with only one arm. I didn’t even know if Richard had loaded the damned thing, but taking it seemed like a good idea at the time. As I collected numerous splinters from the rough-cut shingles on my way to the ground, I caught a glimpse of that building across the street and saw the long tube extending out past the blowing curtains.
Funny, the things you remember after times like that. The scene remains frozen in my mind: Richard with one foot on the sill, his sword weeping my blood all over the shingled roof of the porch; the glint of sunlight along the barrel of the recoilless rifle across the street; myself, scrabbling down the incline, hopefully to drop into the street below and at least delay the inevitable, incredulously wondering what I could have done recently to piss anyone off this badly, much less Richard.
Then I heard the hiss of the projectile as I rolled over the lip of the porch roof, and the building exploded. Everything lost focus for a while, and when I came back to consciousness I could smell scorched meat. Most of the harsh smell probably came from me, since I seemed to be half-buried under a burning building.
The sound of the fire consumed most of my attention, so I couldn’t tell if the crowd was gathering to try and pull anyone out of the fire, or if they were just opening bags of marshmallows. Either way, I didn’t really want to rely on the good will of my fellow man or their primitive medicine.
With the more mundane flames vying with Richard’s handiwork for what little remained of my hide, I reached for the Fires of Eternity again out of desperation. They came raging to my hand, and I spent most of my remaining strength opening the Corridor. I dragged myself into it carefully, leaving Ferdinand to his fate, and somnambulated as far as I could. On the ragged edges of consciousness, I headed for a certain Line that featured excessive kindness as one of its predominant traits, but I didn’t make it that far.
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