High Caliber

The third story I sent out has now been published, and the High Caliber anthology from Cannon Publishing is available. At some point it will appear correctly on my Amazon author page.

I enjoyed writing this one, and I like the magic system. There is more to the story and setting, so hopefully I can write that someday. The start of my contribution to this anthology is below.

Drawing Fire

I was in the back room of The Weeping Cats waiting for Sikich to put me under the needle. I wondered, as I often did, where all the smoke came from and why it never left.

I was not blessed by one of the Six Gods. I had no Calling or Carving. I was merely Remade. I died, clawed my way back from inky blackness, and found my calling, if you'll pardon the expression, in another kind of ink.

Sikich was the one with the gift. As a Runecarver, blessed by Wiswi, he could make tattoos that mimicked any of the Callings. Once the tattoo was complete, the expensive inks would ignite, granting me a Stormcaller's sparks or a Starcaller's silence for as long as the ink took to burn away.

Runes were always drawn in halves. I had to press the backs of my forearms together, for instance, to complete the pattern. It was easy to line them up. They wanted to line up. Once they were close enough, the pattern would pull my arms into place. I learned to move cautiously, and Sikich, who knew his trade, made sure to place them where they couldn't be completed by mistake.

Runes only worked on living creatures. Some Runecarvers bred miniature turtles, lizards, or frogs and pressed matched pairs together. Runecarving was more versatile than most Callings, but slow and limited to what runes they had prepared. Sikich had no taste for danger. Fools like me were his palette.

And fools like the young noble pushing the curtain aside and striding out of Sikich's parlor with thin, jagged lines on his arms, chest, and hands. Boys like that had no patience. He'd play with one of the little spark runes between his knuckles, letting the pattern almost complete, almost complete, until he set it off. He'd scar his fingers for life and beg Sikich to take the rest off.

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