fiction – Kenzie Leong's Creations

Flowers for the Pyre (4/4)

Ironically, dry firewood and kindling were among the last things Kaveh placed on and around the pyre.

“Careful!” Kaveh warned. “You’ll get splinters.”

Yin raised her eyebrow—her only one, since the left never grew back through the scar tissue. “I promise I’ve had worse,” she said, tucking the broken sticks beneath the larger branches of the nest. “We need some dry moss and grass—really you should have started with that before you built the rest. Have you never built a fire before?”

“It’s been centuries since I did this part myself,” Kaveh sighed. “I suppose it would be easier with oil, but I just… I can’t stand the smell.”

“We can fit it in underneath,” said Cassius, pausing amid his furious knitting. “We just have to make sure the pillows don’t smother the fire before it can properly start.”

“Oh, as long as we can keep the stones,” Kaveh said eagerly. “They’re lovely, and maybe they’ll keep the fire from spreading.”

“And you wanted me to keep them in a box, gathering dust.” Yin teased.

Flowers for the Pyre (3/4)

Yin followed the path up the mountain until, eventually, there was no real path anymore. Her only guide for climbing safely was the odd deer trail cutting through the undergrowth, but eventually she was left clambering over bare rock again. Clouds gathered overhead; eventually she climbed high enough for the lowest ones to dampen her hair. The air smelled of the coming spring rain.

That was good, on most days. The mountain would need rain, if it was going to replenish the flowers on Kaveh’s pyre.

By the time she reached the cloud-crowned peak, a comfortable ache had set into her limbs, offset by the cold, wet air. Her arms rippled with gooseflesh.

Standing at the top of the mountain she called home, Yin turned her single eye toward the gathering rainclouds, and called for her mother.

Flowers for the Pyre (2/4)

“Cassius?” He’d been staring blankly off into space for almost a minute, and Yin had almost missed it because he’d been sitting in her blind spot.

“Hm?”

“What are you thinking about?” Yin asked.

“Uncle,” he replied, and blinked into an expression of shock and regret.

She squeezed his shoulder. “Help me gather wood, will you?” she said. “Kaveh’s building a nest for the pyre.”

“He really is a bird.” Breathing out a laugh, he set aside the herbs he’d been sorting uselessly, and got up to join her.

Gracious Hosts (3/3)

Rahim had been little more than a boy, the first time he laid eyes upon a fairy. He’d been sitting beneath his favorite tree, an elm with ample shade not far from the home where his parents raised him. From early childhood to later youth, he had sat beneath it to read and write, until the day a deer with leaves and blossoms growing from its antlers stepped out from behind it, gazed at him for a moment, and began to walk deeper into the woods

Rahim had followed it, fool that he was, until a chorus of chittering laughter reached his ears. A crowd of fairies had crawled and slithered from the carpet of loam, grasped his clothes, and pulled him deeper into the darkness. A mortal! they had laughed. Come, come with us and serve, our lady has use for your long legs and strong back. Then one unlucky fairy had reached his hand, and found the cold iron rings on his fingers. Rahim had stumbled back onto the road in a daze, to find that night had fallen and he was very hungry.

He was not that foolish boy anymore. Against his own will, he was both a warrior and a king, with hundreds of subjects turning out to celebrate the birth of his first child. But as he watched Lady Eisendusk step into the town square like a shadow to join them, he felt suddenly very small and cold and hungry again.

Gracious Hosts (1/3)

Lord Armel fell in the late afternoon, three months after the battle began. It was a glorious fall; an enemy charge had scattered his men, and he’d met them singlehanded. Dozens of warriors had fallen before him, and in the end it was impossible to say which sword or arrow had dealt the final blow. He had died well, but he had died.

Oh, thought Rahim, as Lord Armel’s horse cantered back to the Garnian line, dragging its master’s body by one foot still caught in the stirrup. We’re going to lose.

High School Time Travelers, Part 2

“So. Spill. What the fuck is going on with you and Angelique?”

Raph fidgeted uncomfortably, and something within Erin roared out in protest at that. They were in her room, surrounded by her clutter and band posters and the stuff he kept at her house to keep his mom from throwing it away. He wasn’t supposed to be uncomfortable here.

Eventually, he took a deep breath. “I time-traveled last night.”

“I’m serious—”

“So am I,” he said wearily. “I woke up in a house I haven’t set foot in for years, across the hall from someone I promised myself I’d never talk to again. It happened, and if you’re stuck on that part then this conversation can’t continue.”

High School Time Travelers, Part 1

(CW: bullying, including homophobic and ableist language, mentioned drug use, gender dysphoria, depression)

When Angelique Lancaster dumped a backpack and a brown-bag lunch on their table before sitting down with a huff, all Erin could do was stare.

First off, she’d never seen Angelique wear a backpack before. Erin didn’t even know she owned one. It wasn’t like she needed one—there wasn’t a single freshman boy at Chapman High who wouldn’t have carried her textbooks for her, and paid for the privilege.

Second off, Angelique wasn’t wearing makeup, aside from eyeliner that looked at least two days old. She was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, for fuck’s sake—again, since when did Angelique Lancaster own T-shirts?

Since when did Angelique Lancaster even look at this table, much less schlep over and sit at it?

Spun Fur and Buneiform

It wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe if this place was my livelihood I’d start panicking or packing up, but it’s not. I’m a vet, I own my own home, and I’m not hurting if my vegetables get looted. The garden’s a hobby at best, and yeah, maybe it was Grandma’s pride and joy, but I warned her I killed my mom’s geraniums when she told me she was leaving me the house, so it’s not like she has room for disappointment.

If anything, the rabbits are lucky they picked my land to figure out civilization on, because I’m pretty sure my neighbor Carl would be dropping dynamite down the burrows in my shoes.