Hearsay Horizons

Once we could not leave and now we cannot leave. Once there was a threat that was Other, and now we are Other. Once, outside the tall walls of gold, there was an enemy we could not best. Those who came in the time before the masks dealt with strange powers. They vowed their children’s souls and their children’s children’s souls in exchange for protection against this threat, and bounty and plenty for those inside the walls. They were glad to end the threat without loss of their own lives; and if their children did not have souls, they thought this meant death. And dead things cannot have children.               Their children did not die, though their parents wished they had. They were born feral and remained feral. Mindless creatures who knew no law and knew no peace savaged those inside the city who had made their bargain. In its time, feral begat feral. An epidemic was at hand.       ...

Civilians called these gatherings lunatic’s banquets, but they were wrong. These celebrations only happened when the moon was thin and its influence as weak as it ever became—and these “banquets” were always one thrown chair from becoming bar brawls. Taverns throughout the city boiled over with guardsmen, runners, and panicked serving staff. They celebrated the waning of the moon—aware that tomorrow, the moon might be full and evil might walk.             Daline sat still within this chaos; she answered no conversation, accepted no drinks, and ignored every slap across the back and gesture to toast. She had her eyes locked on the sliver of moon visible through the window. She didn’t notice another runner leave the table until the shutters cut off the moon.           “Henrik?” She couldn’t hear herself over the tavern’s roar. She repeated herself after the man—built like an oak tree, bu...

Completes, Almosts, Nevers--the three categories of people on this side of the boundary. Completes are those living people who cannot cross the boundary. They have never experienced a close enough brush with death to become an Almost. Some live in fear of Almosts and Nevers, some are enchanted by them, and some.. some want to become an Almost.           Almosts are those living people who can cross the boundary between the world of the living and the city of the dead. They are those who have had a brush with death--the girl who suffered a stroke being born, the man who lost his job and didn’t shoot himself in quite the right way, the car accident victim who was technically dead for a minute and a half. They gain the ability to cross over to the city of the dead, to visit with those who have passed away. The shifts happen randomly, though a more experienced Almost can channel the changes more successfully, repressing those they do not wi...

Marja ran. First away, then to feel the wind in her--her hair, and then in chase. She heard the quarry's panting breaths, the crack of brush underfoot, smelled blood and fear. It knew her, knew she was coming, and Marja exalted in its terror. Marja tensed, leaped--              And she, Martha James, woke. She'd jammed her stocky body under a log in some green fuzz of forest; moss and dirt caked her broad face and made her short hair heavy. Mar--Martha pulled herself free and sat up. She frowned down at her body and slammed a fist down on her naked thigh.           "Not again! "            Martha jammed her coat into her locker; her other hand hung heavy with the weight of her gun belt and flack jacket. She glanced behind the open door, but no one stood just out of sight to laugh at her once she slammed it shut. Maybe they were all ...

Every potential operative needed 60 hours of time on the shooting range prior to graduation and assignment with no exception. Some agents, even some of the very people training others in the use, cleaning, and legality of the weapons, claimed they led to escalation in otherwise-reasonable scenarios. Some cited the increase of spectral and demonic activity in areas of high violence of any kind--whether or not an agent wielded the weapon. No matter their complaints, statistics, or actions on the field, each and every one of them did their 60. That was just a range, and those were just paper targets. Everyone had to take his turn.             Arthur knew that. He knew that he was cutting it too close; he'd have to really stretch his time to get his hours in during his last few months of training, alongside all of the other obligatory courses, meetings, and field work. He knew it each time he blew off the range to go out on the town--but when else could he le...