Mechanized Masterpieces: A Steampunk Anthology by Alyson Grauer, Anika Arrington, Aaron Sikes, A. F. Stewart, Scott William Taylor, Neve Talbot, M. K. Wiseman, David W. Wilkin, Belinda Sikes Page A
Authors: Alyson Grauer, Anika Arrington, Aaron Sikes, A. F. Stewart, Scott William Taylor, Neve Talbot, M. K. Wiseman, David W. Wilkin, Belinda Sikes
Tags: Cyborgs, Airships, Jane Austen Charles Dickens Charlotte Bronte expansions, classical literature expansions into steampunk, Victorian science fiction with classical characters, Jane Austen fantasy short stories, classical stories with steampunk expansion, steam engines in steampunk short stories, steampunk short story anthology, 19th century British English literature expansion into steampunk, Frankenstein Phantom horror story expansions, classical stories in alternative realities
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and leaned all my weight into one mighty heave. With a jerk, the rope cinched around my fingers. It shot straight up in the air, and me with it. I screamed as muscle and tendon ripped from bone. I hung like a kite tethered to the earth by a string. Buffeted in the whirl of wind and water, I thought Rowland’s rope would surely sever my fingers. Then, of a sudden, it went lax, and I dropped again into the surf around the lighthouse.
The tide had risen several feet—enough for me to survive the fall. The surge tossed and rolled me along what had once been dry ground. I snatched a scant breath before the opposing force sucked me back. The ground beneath me disappeared. I had been towed beyond the ledge and into open sea.
It seemed everything slowed, then, like a wind-up toy at the last of its spring. I can still recall every thought, every tick of that internal clock, every sensation of that second of time.
I knew my life over. My thoughts flew to Yvette. Perhaps I would soon greet her beyond the veil of death. My soul already reached out to her, grateful—almost eager.
And then I felt the fierce yank of the rope securing me as it reached its extremity. It forced out what air remained in my lungs.
The realization flooded me that I yet could live, were I of a mind. The next instant, ferocious pain bloomed throughout my body as, unable to wrest me free, the enraged sea hurled me against the jagged stone of the cliff-side.
Everything went black.
How I survived, I can only surmise. I came to my senses as I again scraped along the ground in the roaring surf. I grappled the line and pulled myself forward to the door of the lighthouse. The currents swirling around it had brought me again into the leeside.
Agony screamed through me. The clear water rushing over me washed pink, and then red, back into the sea. My right arm hung uselessly at my side. I half-swam, half-crept through the portal in a desperate bid to escape the pummeling of the surf. Safely inside, I attempted to rise, but a white hot, searing pain nigh overwhelmed me, and my legs crumpled beneath me.
I forced myself calm. I pushed back hair and blood and water from my eyes. My line still flailed in the surf. I hauled in first it, then Julian’s tether. The ragged and frayed end drew my gorge.
I managed to force the door closed. The hurricane hurled itself impotently against the immutable stone of the lighthouse, its deafening bombardment at once stifled when I sealed the breach.
I leaned back against the door, panting for breath. The water reached to my chest. My mind raced as I groped about for some means to rescue Rowland. However, every attempt to rise resulted in failure. My determination, my denial of the excruciating torment which constantly assaulted me—useless. I could not stand. I could rescue no one. I doubted I had saved myself.
Bertha crouched upon the stairs where I had left her. She shivered uncontrollably. Terror filled her eyes as I dragged myself toward the steps and higher ground. Wild and feral, her arms clamped about herself, she rocked back and forth, keening. Weeping. Muttering incantations beneath her breath.
Not yet midmorning, what little daylight remained faded as the heart of the storm approached. I felt the encroachment of a long, oppressive night ahead.
Sun had surrendered to Wind.
Every night for the past fourteen years, I have relived that storm. Every time I lay my head upon my pillow, darkness enfolds me. Just as in the hurricane, I plunge into the depths of excruciating pain without any hope of relief.
Nightly, as my eyes grow heavy, I curse Yvette for saving my life, and Bertha for not taking it. Alone with my wife as the storm raged, I prayed for death, but death would not come. I prayed for unconsciousness, but that, too, was denied me. Throughout endless hours, my thoughts tormented me as the gale battered the island, as they plague me even still.
I should have saved my brother. Instead, I sacrificed Rowland to
The tide had risen several feet—enough for me to survive the fall. The surge tossed and rolled me along what had once been dry ground. I snatched a scant breath before the opposing force sucked me back. The ground beneath me disappeared. I had been towed beyond the ledge and into open sea.
It seemed everything slowed, then, like a wind-up toy at the last of its spring. I can still recall every thought, every tick of that internal clock, every sensation of that second of time.
I knew my life over. My thoughts flew to Yvette. Perhaps I would soon greet her beyond the veil of death. My soul already reached out to her, grateful—almost eager.
And then I felt the fierce yank of the rope securing me as it reached its extremity. It forced out what air remained in my lungs.
The realization flooded me that I yet could live, were I of a mind. The next instant, ferocious pain bloomed throughout my body as, unable to wrest me free, the enraged sea hurled me against the jagged stone of the cliff-side.
Everything went black.
How I survived, I can only surmise. I came to my senses as I again scraped along the ground in the roaring surf. I grappled the line and pulled myself forward to the door of the lighthouse. The currents swirling around it had brought me again into the leeside.
Agony screamed through me. The clear water rushing over me washed pink, and then red, back into the sea. My right arm hung uselessly at my side. I half-swam, half-crept through the portal in a desperate bid to escape the pummeling of the surf. Safely inside, I attempted to rise, but a white hot, searing pain nigh overwhelmed me, and my legs crumpled beneath me.
I forced myself calm. I pushed back hair and blood and water from my eyes. My line still flailed in the surf. I hauled in first it, then Julian’s tether. The ragged and frayed end drew my gorge.
I managed to force the door closed. The hurricane hurled itself impotently against the immutable stone of the lighthouse, its deafening bombardment at once stifled when I sealed the breach.
I leaned back against the door, panting for breath. The water reached to my chest. My mind raced as I groped about for some means to rescue Rowland. However, every attempt to rise resulted in failure. My determination, my denial of the excruciating torment which constantly assaulted me—useless. I could not stand. I could rescue no one. I doubted I had saved myself.
Bertha crouched upon the stairs where I had left her. She shivered uncontrollably. Terror filled her eyes as I dragged myself toward the steps and higher ground. Wild and feral, her arms clamped about herself, she rocked back and forth, keening. Weeping. Muttering incantations beneath her breath.
Not yet midmorning, what little daylight remained faded as the heart of the storm approached. I felt the encroachment of a long, oppressive night ahead.
Sun had surrendered to Wind.
Every night for the past fourteen years, I have relived that storm. Every time I lay my head upon my pillow, darkness enfolds me. Just as in the hurricane, I plunge into the depths of excruciating pain without any hope of relief.
Nightly, as my eyes grow heavy, I curse Yvette for saving my life, and Bertha for not taking it. Alone with my wife as the storm raged, I prayed for death, but death would not come. I prayed for unconsciousness, but that, too, was denied me. Throughout endless hours, my thoughts tormented me as the gale battered the island, as they plague me even still.
I should have saved my brother. Instead, I sacrificed Rowland to
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