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Etherea Magazine #8

Etherea Magazine, March 2022. A collection of excellent speculative fiction, from authors around the globe.

Enjoy the amazing artwork supplied by highly talented artist Carly A-F

The Last Day by Andrew Hunter Murray is reviewed by Katie McIvor

THE STORIES:

Mother, I wish you good health and an abundance of corpses upon which you might smear the simmered blood and thus remain in excellent standing with our patron. Of your notoriety throughout the kingdoms, I can assure you that even in the far-flung port city of Abyssia, where I presently reside, your name strikes terror in the hearts of men – A Necromancer Need Not Be Evil, by Nick Petrou

In my awareness, old, wealthy fathers never easily relinquish their power toward the end of their lives. They’re prone to setting challenges for the heirs. As the runtish third son, I had prepared fervently for this. – The Hunter’s Spring, by Sydney Sackett

As he spoke, he looked in my direction, but I don’t know if he saw me then, if he really recognized me even though he’d grabbed me so desperately at the funeral that it left finger-shaped bruises on my forearm. “The tree saw,” he whispered. “It saw everything. It saw Shirley die.” – New Wood From Old Trees, by Timothy Mudie

Magic has a way of doing that: overflowing its container, having influences you did not intend. It’s one of the first things I learnt: magic is messy. There were traces in the stream running through the garden; in the translucently clear water and the way it sounded as if it were laughing if you didn’t quite listen. – Half Past, by Samantha Murray

She died the day after her one hundredth birthday with her hands submerged in her garden’s soil. At her memorial service, neighbors spoke of her everyday magic. One gripped a threadbare blanket Matilda had once sung a lullaby into, swearing their babies always slept soundly swaddled in its folds. – Germinating Everyday Magic, by Amanda Cook

But I’ve warded off the Hexham Greys before, insects that drill through skin in hobnailed boots (which I, alas, could not prove yet felt for certain), and I am no longer affected by a mediocre bite. I give an Aussie wave nonetheless, swatting them aside. – Blackwood Valley Guardian, by Emma Louise Gill

“The only thing funny about it is the woman I snatched it off.  Instead of chasing me or calling the cops, she just laughed.  You try to cheat me, you’ll be sorry.”  Willy’s eyes narrowed.  “How do I know you haven’t been shorting me all along?” – The Gold Chain, by Gordon Linzner

Prime Minister Manus placed her hand against the elder-tree’s trunk, closed her eyes and signed the document with her mind. Her tree-vis implant echoed in her head with the elder-tree’s approval and she watched as the mycelium web transported the agreement throughout the forest – The Ancient Ones, by Ben Gooley

They could barely afford the increase; the supply of spares on the dust sled was already short and they’d need more and more the steeper the climb grew. There were further supplies cached at three points up the chosen ascent route, hauled up by crawler, their only concession to the hostile conditions of climbing on Mars – Climbing Olympus, by Simon Kewin

Even empires need to worry about retirement planning. If you’re a two-bit Galactic Senator looking for loopholes around estate taxes—sure, you can talk to your local accountants. Maybe you have a small room of them enslaved in the basement of your villa. That’s fine. But when you reach the big time? When you need to launder money for a dirty war through twenty time-dilated shell corporations and a black hole for good measure? That’s when you call us. – An Acceptable Risk to the Portfolio, by Brian Hugenbruch

We’re given the signal to take-off. One by one, my flock soars into the sky in perfect formation. Each one is a close friend of mine, whom I’ve known for years now. Each one I’ve flown with and shared over three hundred hours of flight time with. Each one, I’ve delivered thousands of packages with; through wind, snow, rain and smoke. I’ve even spent the holidays with several of their families. I frown. Only one or two of them are going to come back unscathed. – Precious Cargo, by J.R. Rustrian