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  Further Stories of the Captivating Fay Wait in the Flatland!

  An excerpt from “Glass Desires,” Available From Flatland Fiction...

  Natural elements, no matter how hot or cold, have no impact upon Fay. Having shed all her garments to supplement my warmth, Fay stands naked in the swirling snow. The curves of her hips, the bend in her lower back, the way her silver hair falls upon her breasts provide more heat than any of the garments she tossed upon me. Perhaps I am naive and timid to think that my gaze might offend Fay, for I've never seen her halos pulsate with such intensity and color. I smile. The cold hurts, but I would suffer such chill to be given such a vision of Fay.

  Fay smiles back at me. “Do you think you'll be alright now in the cold?”

  “Your magic never ceases to thrill me, Fay.”

  Fay scans her surroundings. “You'll have to accompany on many, many trips more before you start having any sense of the depth of my charms.”

  I flinch and look deep into the swirling snow. “Where do you think the shard is?”

  Fay regards the snow. “Somewhere close. The globe is pulled towards it. Can't you feel it?”

  Some of my old suspicions towards the Regent rise. “He didn't make it easy for us. All this snow makes it impossible to see. It's gonna be hard to keep track of where we've been with all this white around us.”

  Fay winks. “He's only been careful, Adam. He's chosen a safe place for the shard. All the snow protects it from eyes less honorable than ours. The snow hides any reflection the shard might sparkle. He knows how intimate all those pieces are to me, and so he places them where they'll be safe.”

  I can't feel my toes. Arguing with Fay will only lengthen my suffering. “Any idea where we should start?”

  “I thought mankind was more motivated,” Fay squints at me. “We just have to start digging.”

  I count to ten. Fay can frustrate me as much as she thrills me. We have no way of guessing the depth of the snow beneath my inadequate house slippers. I don't want to imagine how far the snow stretches in every direction.

  But Fay's optimism is bottomless. Her halos shine as she starts digging in the snow with her slender fingers. I wrap the pieces of Fay's skirt around my hands as tightly as possible and join in the search. She gasps numerous times as she pulls her hands from the snow, certain she felt that elusive shard before realizing she held some piece of twig or rock.

  My exposed toes hurt. They burn. And then, they go numb. My slippers have fallen from my feet, and the quickly falling snow covers my tracks so that I can't decide where to search for them. Worse still, those covered tracks fail to tell me where I might have already searched for another glass shard that obsesses Fay. I might be covering the same ground time and again.

  My efforts are mechanical. The cold continues to spread through me so that I tremble. I feel discomfort and hurt for the first time in my travels with Fay. I am not afraid of my mortality. I have struggled against the ailment of my tumor for too long to believe more years span ahead of me than behind. I am familiar with my fragility. I still sadden. The snow globes have always provided me with a respite, with peace. Until this cold, those snow globes had always given me sanctuary from the hurt that otherwise stains my days.

  Fay shakes me. Her hands feel warm against my shoulders.

  “Your halos are brighter than I've ever see them, Fay.”

  Fay rubs my arms. “I'm sorry I don't have more warmth to give you. You are so cold.”

  “I wouldn't complain after all the worlds you've shown me.”

  Fay's lip trembles. My heart skips to think that Fay worries for me.

  “I will warm.”

  “You're bleeding, Adam.”

  Fay points to the red trail of footsteps I have twisted in the snow behind me. The red mocks my searching efforts by only emphasizing all the snow surrounding the stain.

  “I don't remember feeling anything. I'm too cold.”

  I raise a foot out of the snow and hold my breath. A shard of glass sparkles as my heel brings it in the large, white sun's light.

  I don't flinch when Fay pulls the shard out of my foot. Her halos are now nearly blinding. She has never looked so beautiful as she does standing naked in the snow with her silver flowing hair, with motes of pearl glistening within her circling halos of gold, clutching that piece of glass close to her breast. The cold is such a minor cost for such a view.

  “You found it!”

  “Beginner's luck, Fay!”

  Fay embraces me. “You're my charm, Adam. I knew you would find it. You're my divining rod.”

  “I'm a lucky man.”

  An excerpt from “A Cruel and Burning Ice,” Available From Flatland Fiction...

  The crowd had barely finished that drink before Fay flowed into the courtroom. Women and men of the court frowned as the Fay giggled at their waists. Those in attendance gasped at how quickly small Fay hands claimed goblets brimming with ale. The Fay waited for no attendant as they shoved fine portions of turkey into their mouths. The Fay shouted on whim and clapped as random circles of silver-haired Fay dance erupted in the courtroom. The Fay sang and whistled. They stuck their tongues out at anyone who frowned upon their behavior.

  "My ancestors forgive me," King Tiber moaned, "for letting so many Fay feet trample about the palace."

  But the Fay calmed in short time, forming into a pair of parallel lines leading to King Tiber's throne, kicking the shins of any among mankind's numbers who pushed at their backs. The king stood and prepared to bellow an admonishment upon the Fay for forgetting their proper place in the village hierarchy when a breeze unexpectedly wafted into the courtroom, instantly cutting much of the heat that stifled the crowd.

  King Tiber smiled at his counselors. "It seems village rumor proves true."

  Dressed in a workman's wrinkled and oil-stained clothing, the tinker strode into court with hammers and wrenches clanging from the toolbelt wrapped around his thin hips. His beard looked as if it had not been combed for years, and his hair tangled to his shoulders. The tinker's steps were slow, and he proceeded with a stiff gait while several of the Fay walked beside him to offer a supportive hand or shoulder should their friend stumble. Many in the crowd had no desire to look long upon that miserable tinker, who showed such poor manners to attend the second sun's ceremony in such poor garb while they sweltered beneath thick robes. Few in that crowd had before seen the tinker, and the old man's appearance reaffirmed much sentiment that a tinker was a miserable manifestation of a man.

  Troy bent to the king's ear. "You may want to consider fining that tinker for appearing so disheveled in you court."

  "What do you think of that, Wessex?" asked the king.

  Wessex bowed. "I think it more prudent to wait and see what the tinker presents to the throne. I want to see how he brings this cool to the court before I decide how we may reward or punish him."

  More Fay trudged into the courtroom behind their tinker, grunting as their shoulders strained against ropes that pulled a tall statue set atop a wheeled pedestal. The crowd held their breath as that carved ice queen rolled into view. The glimmering ice thrilled their skin as it passed, chilling their forearms until the fine hairs stood upright upon their skin. None in that crowd recognized the figure as the forgotten Kahl-Aura so dear to the Fay kind, but those who gazed upon that blue and silver woman of ice marveled at the craftsmanship that imbued such life into her form. They shook their
heads, amazed, as the statue's ice eyes appeared to wink at them. Many a man reached towards that tall woman with naked hands before the Fay sent them back behind their lines with sharp kicks to their shins and groins.

  Yet such artistic splendor was not the most amazing thing the tinker and his Fay pulled into King Tiber's court. Soothing cool emanated from that feminine figure shimmering in the light of two burning suns. Those in attendance gasped to feel the room cool so quickly that their breath frosted no matter the second sun's presence. Their crimson robes no longer felt stifling. Now, so much cloth felt welcomingly warm. Attendants hustled to fill requests for brandy, as subject raised goblets to their lips so that the liquor might inject a little warmth into their blood.

  King Tiber applauded. "Well done! Come forward, Mr. Tinker! Oh, don't bow! Just step up here to my throne so I don't have to yell! You bring me a thing more wonderful than anything I might dream!"

  While Troy clapped wildly towards the man, Wessex leveled a more appraising stare upon the village tinker. He saw the red splotches staining the tinker's sleeves. He noted the shadow that gathered beneath the tinker's eyes, the gray pallor to that inventor's skin. He watched the tinker's stiff step, and he noticed the tinker's labored breath. Counselor Wessex saw the tinker was not well, and he knew enough of the ailing to realize sickness could impact inspiration in troubling ways.

  "Just feel that cool breeze!" King Tiber grinned. "Name your fee, tinker, and I am inclined to pay it."

  The tinker bowed, grimacing as pain flared in his knees. "Perhaps it would be better if you heard what I must tell of the ice Kahl-Queen Aura and her chill breath. Wait then until to you offer me reward."

  The king turned to one of his attendants. "See that the palace fireplaces burn. These stone walls grower colder, and I'll not sleep in a cold bed as we greet another Bright Cycle. Tell us, tinker, how did you come to craft such an amazing thing?"

  "I did little," responded the tinker. "With all of the broken things in the village needing my attention, I had less time than I wished to devote to my shop's statue. Fay hands and magic have shaped most of the ice queen."

  "Fay magic?" The king's nose wrinkled and a murmur passed through the crowd. "I'm sure you fail to give yourself enough credit. You tinkers are too timid. Speak better for yourself. I'm sure you do more than you mention. What power moves in that statue's ice to so cool my palace?"

  "A dangerous power." The tinker looked squarely at his king though his old legs trembled. "A deadly power churns in the center of that chiseled ice that gives us such cool."

  About the Writer

  Brian S. Wheeler calls Hillsboro, Illinois home, a town of roughly 6,000 in the middle of the flatland. He grew up in Carlyle, Illinois, a community less than an hour away from Hillsboro, where he spent a good amount of his childhood playing wiffle ball and tinkering on his computer. The rural Midwest inspires much of Brian's work, and he hopes any connections readers might make between his fiction and the places and peoples he has had the pleasure to know are positive.

  Brian earned a degree in English from Eastern Illinois University in Charleston, Illinois. He has taught high school English and courses in composition and creative writing. Imagination has been one of Brian's steadfast companions since childhood, and he dreams of creating worlds filled with inspiration and characters touched by magic.

  When not writing, Brian does his best to keep organized, to get a little exercise, or to try to train good German Shepherd dogs. He remains an avid reader. More information regarding Brian S. Wheeler, his novels, and his short stories can be found by visiting his website at www.flatlandfiction.com.

  Other Works by Brian S. Wheeler

  Stories

  A Cruel and Burning Ice

  A Handicap of Shades

  A Voice That Summons Monsters

  Butcher, Baker and Replicant Maker

  Cat-Tooth Magic and Dog-Eared Miracles

  Empty Urns Launched Into Stars

  Given to Glass

  Glass Desire

  Glorious Gardens of Teetering Rust

  Guarded Keepsakes

  Kennel, Kingdom and Crown

  Marble Fish

  Mary, in Need of Belle

  Meek in the Fields

  Mudder Stew

  Not All Spirits Be Foul

  Opal, Is That You?

  Patriots of Griffin XIII

  Plastic Tulips

  Rooms Without Furniture

  Shadow Weapons of Doom

  Starlight, Starbright

  Stars of the Shoemaker

  The Beckford Bottom Beast

  The Dusty Dead's Revenge

  The Llungruel and the Lom

  The Warden’s Mark

  Waters and Mirrors

  Novels

  Mr. Hancock’s Signature

  The Sisters Will Dance

  Visit us online today for these and other, great upcoming stories of magic and stars.

  www.flatlandfiction.com