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    Calamity's Child
    Calamity's Child
    Calamity's Child
    Ebook68 pages1 hour

    Calamity's Child

    By Sharon Lee and Steve Miller

    3.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Children are the glue ...
    that holds a society together...
    ...but not all children are born to fortunate times.  And not all children bring joy.

    Calamity's Child introduces two children of mischance and explores the ways in which they changed the world around them.

    In "Sweet Waters," a Liaden survey pilot discovers a planetary tragedy, only to have it take on a decidedly personal flavor when his ship crash-lands and he must make his way in a doomed culture.

    "A Night at the Opera" explores the correlation between great heart and great magic — and what price is too high to pay for revenge.

    By the authors of the Liaden Universe®

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPinbeam Books
    Release dateJul 28, 2016
    ISBN9781935224303
    Calamity's Child
    Author

    Sharon Lee

    Sharon Lee has worked with children of various ages and backgrounds, including a preschool, a local city youth bureau, and both junior and senior high youth groups. She has a bachelor’s degree in sociology and also in psychology. Sharon cares about people and wildlife. She has been an advocate in the fight against human trafficking and a help to stray and feral animals in need.

    Read more from Sharon Lee

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    3.5/5

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    • 4/5
      A very short (150 pp) work of two short stories or novellas--both excellent. The first, Sweet Water, is a bittersweet tale of a civilized spacefarer among a primitive society of hunter gatherers. It is quite a departure from Sharon Miller's normal science fiction fare in the Liaden Universe.The second tale, "Calamity's Child" is a society where magic is known and taught in college like engineering. One of the leading researchers is mysteriously killed and the lead character must investigate the murder and the cause thereof. He finds a new magical technology and a surprising murder and murderer.Both stories are well worth reading.

    Book preview

    Calamity's Child - Sharon Lee

    DEDICATION

    Dedicated to

    Glennis and Thomas

    Sweet Waters

    The trap had taken a kwevit—a fat one, too.

    Slade smiled, well-pleased. Beside him, Verad, his hunting-partner and his oldest friend among the Sanilithe, saving Gineah, grunted in mingled admiration and annoyance.

    The Skylady Herself looks after you, small brother. Three times this day, your spear failed to find its target, yet you return to your tent with a fair hunting of meat.

    The hunters before us this morning were noisy and hurried—making the game scarce and distant even for your arm, said Slade. My spear flies not quite so far.

    Verad waved a broad hand at the sky in a gesture meant to take in the whole of the world, and perhaps the whole of the universe.

    It is the trail we find today, hunter.

    Slade nearly smiled—Verad's stern-voiced lesson could have as easily come from one of his merchant uncles, for all that those uncles would scarcely acknowledge Verad human and capable of thought, much less sly humor. The humor was lacking at the moment, so Slade kept his smile behind his teeth, and moved quietly toward the trap and its skewered victim.

    If I am a poor hunter, he asked, is it wrong to find another way to take meat?

    The tent must eat, Verad allowed. Still, small brother, a hunter should keep several blades in his belt, and be equally skilled with all.

    Slade knelt on the wiry moss, put his spear down, and carefully removed his kill from the trap.

    One skill at a time, he murmured. "The tent must eat speaks with a larger voice than Slade must hunt with erifu."

    From the side of his eye, he saw his friend make the sign to ward ill luck. Slade sighed. Erifu—art, or, as he sometimes thought, magic—was the province of women, who held knowledge, history and medicine. Men hunted, herded, and worked metal into the designs betold them by the women.

    If you are a bad hunter and discourteous, too, Verad commented, settling onto a nearby rock. You will be left to stand by the fire until the coals are cold. He blinked deliberately, one eye after another.

    Slade frowned, rubbing the trap with nesom, the herb hunters massaged into their skin so the game would not scent them.

    What if I am left unChosen? he asked, for Gineah had been vague on this point. He situated the trap and set the release, then came to his feet in one fluid motion.

    Those left unChosen must leave the Sanilithe and find another tribe to take them.

    Slade turned and stared—but, no, Verad's face was serious. This was no joke.

    So, I must be Chosen. He chewed his lip. What if I do not come to the fire?

    Now, Verad stared. Not come to the fire? You must! It is law: All blooded hunters who are without a wife must stand at the fire on the third night after the third purification of the Dark Camp's borders.

    Tomorrow night, to be precise, thought Slade. He would be there, around the fire—a son of the grandmother's tent could do no less than obey the law. But...

    Sun's going, Verad said.

    Slade picked up his kwevit by the long back legs and lashed the dead animal to his belt. He recovered his spear, flipped his braid behind a shoulder with a practiced jerk of his head, and nodded at his friend. I am ready.

    *

    The scattered tents of the Sanilithe came together for Dark Camp in a valley guarded by three toothy mountain peaks. It was toward the third mountain, which Gineah had taught him was called Nariachen or Raincatcher that Slade journeyed, slipping out of the grandmother's tent after the camp was asleep. He went lightly, with a hunter's caution, and spear to hand, the cord looped 'round his wrist; the broad ribbon of stars blazing overhead more than bright enough to light his way.

    He should not, strictly speaking, be away from night camp at all. Man was prey to some few creatures on this world, several of which preferred to hunt the night. But come away he must, as he had during the last two Dark Camps—and which he might never do again, regardless of tomorrow night's outcome.

    To the left, a twisty stand of vegetation formed out of the shadow—what passed for trees. He slipped between the spindly trunks and into the shocking darkness of the glade, where he paused. When he had his night eyes, he went on, angling toward the mountain face—and shortly came to that which was not natural.

    It might seem at first glance a shattered boulder, overgrown with such vegetations as were able to take root along its pitted surface.

    At next glance, assuming one hailed from a civilized world, it was seen to be a ship, spine-broke and half-buried in the ungiving gray soil.

    Slade moved forward. Upon reaching the remains of his ship, he fitted the fingers of both hands into

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