The Book of Skulls
by Robert Silverberg
from Del Rey
Seeking the immortality promised in an ancient manuscript, The Book of Skulls, four friends, college roommates, go on a spring break trip to Arizona: Eli, the scholar, who found and translated the book; Timothy, scion of an American dynasty, born and bred to lead; Ned, poet and cynic; and Oliver, the brilliant farm boy obsessed with death.
Somewhere in the desert lies the House of Skulls, where a mystic brotherhood guards the secret of eternal life. There, the four aspirants will present themselves–and a horrific price will be demanded.
For immortality requires sacrifice. Two victims to balance two survivors. One by suicide, one by murder.
Now, beneath the gaze of grinning skulls, the terror begins. . . .
Chapter 1
1. Eli
Coming into New York City from the north, off the New England Thruway, Oliver driving as usual. Tireless, relaxed, his window half open, long blond hair whipping in the chilly breeze. Timothy slouched beside him, asleep. The second day of our Easter vacation; the trees still bare, ugly driblets of blackened snow banked in dirty heaps by the roadside. In Arizona there wouldn’t be any dead snow around. Ned sat next to me in the back seat, scribbling notes, filling up page after page of his ragged spiral-bound book with his left-handed scrawl. Demonic glitter in his dark little eyes. Our penny-ante pansy Dostoevsky. A truck roared up behind us in the left-hand lane, passed us, abruptly cut across into our lane. Hardly any clearance at all. We nearly got racked up. Oliver hit the brakes, cursing, really made them screech; we jolted forward in our seats. A moment later he swung us into the empty right-hand lane to avoid getting smashed by a car to our rear. Timothy woke up. “What the crap,” he said. “Can’t you let a guy get some sleep?”
“We almost got killed just then,” Ned told him fiercely, leaning forward, spitting the words into Timothy’s big pink ear. “How would that be for irony, eh? Four sterling young men heading west to win eternal life, wiped out by a truck driver on the New England Thruway. Our lithe young limbs scattered all over the embankment.”
“Eternal life,” Timothy said. Belching. Oliver laughed.
“It’s a fifty-fifty chance,” I observed, not for the first time. “An existential gamble. Two to live forever, two to die.”
“Existential shit,” Timothy said. “Man, you amaze me, Eli. How you do that existential number with a straight face. You really believe, don’t you?”
“Don’t you?”
“In the Book of Skulls? In your Arizona Shangri-la?”
“If you don’t believe, why are you going with us?”
“Because it’s warm in Arizona in March.” Using on me the airy, casual, John-O’Hara-country-club-goy tone that he handled so well, that I despised so much. Eight generations of the best blue chips standing behind him. “I can use a change of scenery, man.”
“That’s all?” I asked. “That’s the entire depth of your philosophical and emotional commitment to this trip, Timothy? You’re putting me on. God knows why you feel you have to act blasé and cool even when something like this is involved. That Main Line drawl of yours. The aristocratic implication that commitment, any sort of commitment, is somehow grubby and unseemly, that it—”
“Please don’t harangue me now,” Timothy said. “I’m not in the mood for ethnic analysis. Rather weary, in fact.” He said it politely, disengaging from the conversation with the tiresomely intense Jewboy in his most amiably Waspish way. I hated Timothy worst of all when he started flaunting his genes at me, telling me with his easy upper-class inflections that his ancestors had founded this great country while mine were digging for potatoes in the forests of Lithuania. He said, “I’m going to go back to sleep.” To Oliver he said, “Watch the fucking road a little better, will you? And wake me up when we get to Sixty-seventh Street.” A subtle change in his voice now that he was no longer talking to me—to that complex and irritating member of an alien, repugnant, but perhaps superior species. Now he was the country squire addressing the simple farm boy, a relationship free of intricacies. Not that Oliver was all that simple, of course. But that was Timoth
The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror: Sixth Annual Collection
from St Martins Pr
The collaborative efforts of Ellen Datlow (horror) and Terri Windling (fantasy) are becoming something of a legend, as year after year they deliver the best horror and fantasy short fiction in a fat (500 double-length pages) anthology that avoids pigeonholes with its mingled, unlabeled sample of the two genres. As in previous years, this volume includes more than 100 pages of summaries about the year 1997 in horror and fantasy publishing, horror and fantasy in the media, and comics. The fiction includes 18 stories and 8 poems with just Terri Windling's initials, and 18 stories and 1 poem with Ellen Datlow's initials, with some (presumably dark fantasy) that are tagged by both.
Even more than usual, Ellen Datlow's horror selections introduce a remarkable variety of types of stories. One of the best tales is Molly Brown's "The Psychomantium," about a mirror that allows alternative time lines to intersect, creating double fates for the characters. "The Skull of Charlotte Corday" (photos included) by Leslie Dick takes an essayistic approach to a famous female assassin and some creepy details in the history of sexual surgery. Douglas Clegg's "I Am Infinite, I Contain Multitudes" is a striking body-horror tale that was nominated for a Bram Stoker Award. Christopher Harman, P.D. Cacek, Joyce Carol Oates, and Vikram Chandra contribute old-fashioned ghost stories. Gary Braunbeck's "Safe" is reminiscent of the best of Stephen King in its portrayal of realistic horror in a small town. Michael Chabon's "In the Black Mill" more than proves that Lovecraftian horror can transcend shallow pastiche. And other horror notables--such as Michael Cadnum, Christopher Fowler, CaitlÃn Kiernan, Stephen Laws, Kim Newman, Norman Partridge, and Nicholas Royle--make appearances.
Terri Windling's selections include familiar fantasy names such as Peter Beagle, Charles de Lint, Karen Joy Fowler, and Jane Yolen, and famous genre-crossers such as Ray Bradbury, Howard Waldrop, and Jack Womack. She also provides welcome space for fantasy poetry--charming pieces with images of the Trickster Coyote, Sheela Na Gig, and a mermaid, and titles like "Coffee Jerk at the Gates of Hell." The Pulitzer Prize-winning Steven Millhauser contributes an enchanting tale that originally appeared in the New Yorker. Other tales are inspired by an intriguing range of sources: Gulliver's Travels, Marilyn Monroe, the Scottish legend of the Sineater, the art of glass blowing, Aztec myth, and ancient Jewish lore.
There's no better way to take in the best of these two genres, both for the great selections and the ample pointers to 1997's novels, magazines, art, movies, and comics that you may not have heard about. --Fiona Webster
The Necronomicon : Selected Stories & Essays Concerning the Blasphemous Tome of the Mad Arab (Cthulhu Mythos Fiction Series)
by Robert M. Price
from Chaosium
Although skeptics claim that the Necronomicon is a fantastic tome created by H. P. Lovecraft, true seekers into the esoteric mysteries of the world know the truth: The Necronomicon is the blasphemous tome of forbidden knowledge written by the mad Arab, Abdul Alhazred. Even today, after attempts over the centuries to destroy any and all copies in any language, some few copies still exist, secreted away.
Within this book you will find stories about the Necronomicon, different versions of the Necronomicon, and two essays on this blasphemous tome.
Now you too may learn the true lore of Abdul Alhazred.
This book is part of an expanding collection of Cthulhu Mythos horror fiction and related topics. Call of Cthulhu fiction focuses on single entities, concepts, or authors significant to readers and fans of H.P. Lovecraft.
The Longest Way Home
by Robert Silverberg
from Eos
One of the most renowned and respected literary artists in the field of science fiction, Robert Silverberg transports us once again to a spectacular, deftly conceived world in transition -- and propels us on a remarkable odyssey of survival and self-discovery.
The Longest Way HomeThe Folk were first to arrive on this faraway planet, pushing aside the docile, intelligent aboriginal races they encountered. The 'Masters "followed to subjugate the careless, complacent fellow humans who preceded them here. And so it has remained for ages...Fifteen-year-old Joseph Master Keilloran has known only privilege, respect, and civility. Born to take over the reins of House Keilloran when he comes of age, he awakens one night in the Great House of distant relatives to the thunder of battle -- a terrifying din that has not been heard on this peaceful world since the original Conquest. All around him are devastation and death, as the local Folk rise up to wreak vengeance on the unsuspecting, unprepared Masters. With the aid of a stillfaithful servant, Joseph barely escapes with his life. But now he is stranded and alone 10,000 miles from his home.Damned by his birth and class -- surrounded by enemies who would kill him if they found him -- Joseph must now embark on a journey of unimaginable distance toward a home that may also already be in ruins. His odyssey will be more terrible -- and more wondrous -- than he ever imagined, as a world he was kept sheltered from comes alive before him. Venturing deep into the lives and cultures of remarkable Indigene peoples -- driven to hunt, scratch, and scheme for his survival -- a resourceful young Master mill be created anew as he is forced to reassess his homeworld and his place in it. Despite what is waiting for him at the finish, nothing here will ever be the same again. And Joseph will become a man before his long journey ends.MAGAZINE OF HORROR - Volume 5, number 3, whole number 27 - May 1969: Spawn of Inferno; The Sword and the Eagle; The Horror Out of Lovecraft; The Last Work of Pietro of Apono; At the End of Days; The Devil's Bride
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