K. Marvin Bruce

  It wasn’t sunrise.   They’d been walking west all night.   The light came from a small town.   Rather like a candle in an otherwise darkened cathedral, it had appeared bright in the sky because beyond it lay miles and miles of undeveloped land.   “Up there,” Lindsey pointed toward a point in the darkness that seemed “down there” to Terah, “is St. Grosseteste.”   A few security lights, pinpoints in the distance, outlined the building like a constellation made mostly of darkness.   The ghosts and demons seemed far away with the prospect of a home.   Terah wanted to throw an arm over her shoulder, but knew it was out of the question.   “You’re sure it’s abandoned?” “No.   I know the order left it a few years ago.   The building may’ve been sold—how would I have found out?   The best we can do is hope.” “Should we try to get there before sunrise?” “No point.   Let’s find a place to get a few hours’ sleep.   And we gotta...

  Danielle stood right in front of them. “That’s her,” Lindsey asked.   “Danielle?” Terah wanted to run.   He was too close to this young woman, and the look on Danielle’s face revealed what he’d been trying to hide.   “What should I have done?   Stayed there to be questioned, prodded?   Accused?   I didn’t do it!   I panicked.   The terror of life was naked and raw.   I followed my instincts.   What was I supposed to do?   Life doesn’t come with instructions!   God, you’d think an education would give you some answers—it only raises more questions.   Danielle, I—“   He looked up the hill.   She was gone. Lindsey faced him in the moonlight.   “Terah, I can guess what you’re feelin’.   You know it can’t happen.   We can help each other, though.” He wanted to ask why she automatically discounted a relationship.   Was it their age difference?   Was she repulsed by him?   She’d only...

  Terah couldn’t see Wednesday.   He was beginning to wonder if Lindsey was stable at all.   Long ago he’d realized that what people recognize as sanity is really a degree of functionality rather than a clean bill of mental health.   No one was rational all the time.   Even Vulcans had to deal with pon farr.   And they were fictional.   Terah had known people who’d believed in aliens.   Otherwise sane, sensible, individuals.   Was believing in demons and ghosts and sprites so different?   He must’ve been thinking aloud. “In high school they told us people evolved to survive, not to reason out the universe,” Lindsey said.   “Science says evolution disproves religion, but doesn’t that challenge science too?   I mean, evolution’s based on rational observation, and that observation tells us reason’s a survival technique, not an end in itself.   Logic’s just a tool.   Even scientists fall in love.” That word in her mouth m...

  At first he accepted it, then rationality kicked in, rejecting his senses.   Immediately they disappeared.   Rationality trickled in, telling him it was mere hunger, and general depredation.   The cave hadn’t been full of little people.   They did not exist, so it couldn’t have been. “Yer awake.   Come join the party,” Lindsey said. Terah blinked, cold upon awaking in his clothes.   “What party?” “Can’t ya see the sídhe?   Oh, I forgot.   Yer trained not too.” He yawned, stomach protesting loudly.   “We’ve got more immediate needs.” She reached over and handed him something.   “Try this.” “What is it?” “They brought it.   The Irish say the sídhe live across the western sea.   They’re still here, if ya land near one of their mounds.” Terah feared she might’ve gone insane, but his hunger was intense.   He tried the mash, presented on dry leaves.   It was good.   Once he started, Terah couldn’t stop.   H...