{"id":6103,"date":"2019-10-30T16:54:57","date_gmt":"2019-10-30T16:54:57","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/?p=6103"},"modified":"2019-10-30T16:54:57","modified_gmt":"2019-10-30T16:54:57","slug":"a-taste-of-hells-empire","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/a-taste-of-hells-empire\/","title":{"rendered":"A TASTE OF HELL\u2019S EMPIRE"},"content":{"rendered":"

Today, three story extracts from three different authors \u2013 J A Ironside<\/strong><\/span>, J S Deel<\/strong><\/span>, and Frank Coffman<\/strong><\/span> \u2013 taken from a recent anthology I edited, to give you a taste of what you\u2019ll find in there. Earlier this year, I completed perhaps my single most enjoyable editorial task so far \u2013 the anthology Hell\u2019s Empire: Tales of the Incursion<\/em>. The authors involved, mostly recruited through open calls, were delightful to work with, marvellously inventive, and eager to embrace the concept as a whole, whilst our anchor writers Matt Willis<\/strong><\/span> and Charles R Rutledge<\/strong><\/span> couldn\u2019t have been more enthusiastic.<\/p>\n

And in the process, we created something unusual \u2013 a concept anthology with wildly varying approaches and viewpoints, yet linked up to the point where the anthology can almost be read as a novel. I added intervening text to continue that fusion, and we had what we wanted. A degree of sadness followed, for this was something I had had pitched to my dear friend Sam Gafford<\/strong> of Ulthar Press, only for him to die unexpectedly in July 2019, not long after Hell\u2019s Empire<\/em> came out. Sam was a gem of a guy, and in the spirit of his enthusiasm for this book, I\u2019m going to keep the flag flying.<\/p>\n

\"hell's<\/a>
the full toc announcement before publication<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

I\u2019ve chosen three very different pieces, because that\u2019s what you\u2019ll find within. The Ginger Nuts of Horror review site said:<\/p>\n

\u201cHell\u2019s Empire\u201d combines elements of horror, history, social commentary, weird fiction, occultism and folk mythology\u2026 a wonderful excursion into the realm of fictional possibilities and is one of the best anthologies I\u2019ve read in quite some time. \u201cExcellent\u201d doesn\u2019t quite do it justice!<\/em><\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

If you enjoy these, why not buy the book? 300 pages of period weirdness, horror, mayhem and courage.<\/p>\n

\"hell's<\/a><\/p>\n

\n

Yahn Tan Tethera<\/h1>\n

by J A Ironside<\/h1>\n

Cadi Owens didn\u2019t give the war a thought as she leant into the sharp autumn wind. The fighting had been confined to the coasts and cities, and even though her brother had joined the South Wales Borderers eight months ago, the war seemed distant. Information had been sparse, and what did arrive in the Border, had stretched local credulity. Inhuman invaders? Supernatural creatures? Demons? Border folk were stoic and unexcitable in general. They spoke English when required to go to the sheep market in Hereford, or Welsh at the one in Abergavenny y Fenni. At home they spoke the inscrutable Border dialect \u2013 a mixture of the two and some much older language. For the most part Border folk kept themselves to themselves, and were Her Majesty Queen Victoria\u2019s loyal subjects only insofar as they paid their levies and caused no trouble if they were not interfered with. They would wait and see as far as the truth of war reports went.<\/p>\n

Cadi was glad Pa wasn\u2019t with her today. The cold and damp always made his leg pain him, and then her normally even-tempered father gained all the contrary moodiness of a wounded bullock. She skipped back and forth between countries as if she were still a child, rather than a grown woman of nineteen. Shadow frisked around her feet, leaping side to side with her, tongue lolling in a doggy grin that said this was fine sport. Blue, a much older dog, trotted just ahead, every so often pausing and casting a glance of disdain back over her haunches.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on, Blue, you\u2019re not so old as all that.\u201d Cadi made another neat leap as Shadow crashed heedless through a puddle and drenched her skirts. For answer, Blue curled her lip a little and lifted her leg at a tree stump, apparently considering Cadi to be wasting time when they ought to be moving the sheep. Cadi chuckled, adopting a more appropriate gait as they reached the village.<\/p>\n

Wych Hill had only one street, cottages staggered at intervals either side of a narrow, unpaved road that was fast turning to silty mud in the drizzle. She heard children\u2019s voices raised in a singsong chant before she saw them.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re in Cymru, I\u2019m in Lloegyr,<\/p>\n

I know you for a saucy rogue!<\/p>\n

Yahn. Tayn. Tethera.<\/p>\n

Methera. Mumph.<\/p>\n

Hithier. Lithier!<\/p>\n

Your house is straw, mine is gold,<\/p>\n

In the winter, you\u2019ll be cold!<\/p>\n

Anver. Danver. Dic!\u201d<\/p>\n

Two teams spread out along either side of the street. Every time the caller \u2013 currently a skinny girl called Beca Carrag, whose pinafore skirts were mud splashed to the knee \u2013 gave a count, all the children jumped to the opposite side of the street. If you fell in the mud, you were out. If the caller forgot the count, then she was out and another took over. The winning team was the one who made it to the end with the most players still \u2018in\u2019. Cadi counted the children silently, almost without being aware of it, and frowned. Over half were missing.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere\u2019s your Billy?\u201d she called to Beca.<\/p>\n

The girl jumped, just missing the mud. \u201cHe\u2019s sickly. So\u2019s th\u2019others.\u201d<\/p>\n

The light didn\u2019t change, Cadi was sure of that, but it felt like a shadow passed over the scene and a cold foreboding gripped her. And something \u2013 something she only half remembered? \u2013 dangled for a moment on the edge of her awareness like sheep\u2019s wool caught on hawthorn. She shook the feeling off. \u201cGive him my best.\u201d Children sickened and grew well again. Why should it bother her? Behind her the chant began again\u2026<\/p>\n

(copyright j a ironside\/ hell’s empire 2019)<\/em><\/p>\n

\"hell's<\/a><\/p>\n

\n

Reinforcements<\/h1>\n

by Frank Coffman<\/h1>\n

A Tale from the Great War with Hell (being Excerpts from the Diary of Corporal [Brevet Lieutenant] Gareth Williams, Royal Welsh Fusiliers)<\/em><\/p>\n

16 June-<\/strong><\/p>\n

This has been the worst season yet in our struggles against the demon hoard and the various other spawn of Hell. Our regiment has been more than decimated\u2014just over the past two weeks. And we were at half our original strength before that.<\/p>\n

Word has it that the Scots lost half their numbers in the fighting near Glasgow and most of the Highland Regiments have retreated back whence they hail from to attempt to guard kith and kin. The cities of the North are mostly laid waste as we understand it. But news travels slowly\u2014and poorly\u2014a these days. But here near the Cornish coast\u2014not far from Tintagel\u2014we\u2019ve regrouped ourselves.<\/p>\n

Some local men have joined our ranks\u2014civilians, some actually with farm implements for weapons! \u201cSwords from plowshares\u201d I guess, so to speak. But we\u2019ve had some trouble finding actual weapons for them\u2014not that even true swords would do much good.<\/p>\n

All for now. I\u2019m tired as Hell SCRATCH that bloody word! Tired as a man alive and awake can be.<\/p>\n

St John\u2019s Eve \u2013 23 June-<\/strong><\/p>\n

There\u2019s news reported today that a new force (don\u2019t know about strength of numbers: brigade?, regiment?, company?) has actually attained a victory or two! At least holding actions are reported.<\/p>\n

One report\u2014most likely myth or wishful thinking\u2014says that one sizable \u201cHelliment\u201d (as we call them) of demons was actually defeated up near Glastonbury. Wonderful news\u2014if true, of course. I\u2019m more than weary of the other sort of news. Mum, when and if you see this journal, I hope you and young Dylan are all right. I\u2019ve heard nothing more about Da\u2019s company.<\/p>\n

St John\u2019s Day \u2013 24 June (Midsummer\u2019s Day to the pagans)<\/strong><\/p>\n

It was a glorious day today. At least as \u201cglorious\u201d as days in these impossible times will permit. Reinforcements have arrived! A sizeable regiment of men, well organized and marching into our encampment in well-formed, well-disciplined ranks. I\u2019m guessing made up of mostly Cornish chaps, based upon their accents.<\/p>\n

Their general is a most imposing fellow. He rode in at the head of the columns on a handsome white stallion\u2014reminded me of our trusty old Gwyn back on the farm. God! It seems like ages, yet it\u2019s only been a few months! I\u2019ve heard nothing of Da\u2019s unit. I haven\u2019t seen him since we lost Anglesey, and that\u2019s been three months ago.<\/p>\n

Anyway this group seems to indeed be the regiment that has achieved some defences and even victories in recent weeks. But there are some really strange things about them\u2014but what ISN\u2019T strange these days for that matter? For one thing, though obviously well-trained and hardened troops, they are totally irregular in dress, looking more like a collection of farmers or folk from small villages just finished with chores and saying, \u201cHo-hum. Might as well go off and join in that war against the Devil thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

No uniforms. But they\u2019re carrying banners. Another queer thing, the banners are not regular guidons or flags, but, rather things that hang in front of the suspending carry-poles, square in shape and held by a horizontal rod. In the old illustrations of Roman legions in books I\u2019ve read they\u2019re called \u201cvexilla.\u201d Nothing on them by way of a design\u2014only the capital letters \u201cRQRF\u201d\u2014and that ain\u2019t the \u201cSPQR\u201d that I learned in Latin class. Really odd bunch.<\/p>\n

But that general is certainly a striking fellow. About average height, dark hair\u2014but greying, looks like in his 50s, but a wiry, solidly built man. His big tent is pitched just across from our tents, with those of his men behind and around. In fact, his tent is just opposite mine.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m going to try to find out more about this bunch. Dog-tired now. We were on alert all day, and the sounds of battle echoed through the hills around our camp. But it was a bright, clear day, without much wind, and sounds will carry. All for now\u2026<\/p>\n

(copyright frank coffman\/ hell’s empire 2019)<\/em><\/p>\n

\"hell's<\/a><\/p>\n

\n

Profaned by Feelings Dark<\/h1>\n

by Jack Deel<\/h1>\n

October 7th, 1891<\/strong><\/p>\n

Ganey had travelled up from Waterford with Patrick Higgins, and they had met a third man in Limerick \u2013 a fellow named Hanlon, a friend of Higgins from some socialist society. He was a man in his early thirties, tall and thin, with a pinched, hawk-like face that Ganey didn\u2019t like the look of.<\/p>\n

Ganey tried to avoid conversation by reading the newspaper. In the centre of the front page was an illustration of a shadowy monster, shaped like a man with bat’s wings, which had been sighted in Liverpool. Had a similar picture appeared in the same paper just two years before, the monster would have had Parnell’s head, with ‘Land’ written on one wing and ‘League’ on the other, and it would have been swooping on a fainting woman representing Ireland. What a shame that the Incursion had robbed the caricaturists of their favourite clich\u00e9s.<\/p>\n

Hanlon waved to catch Ganey\u2019s attention. Ganey ignored him for as long as was feasible, and then reluctantly looked him in the eye.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know if you\u2019ve been told, a chara,\u201d he said, \u201cbut our friends want you to know that they value your hard work, and they appreciate your willingness to share your findings.”<\/p>\n

Ganey looked back to the paper, pretending to read. He spoke through gritted teeth. “They’re no friends of mine. Ten years is a long time to be left out in the cold.”<\/p>\n

“For Christ’s sake, man,\u201d Higgins said, \u201cyou’ve been vindicated. All those years in America with the spiritualists and table-tappers and medicine-men \u2013 your efforts are about to be rewarded.”<\/p>\n

“We\u2019ll see.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ganey folded the newspaper and turned to look out the window. Everything in this country seemed wet and chilled and miserable.<\/p>\n

Why on Earth did I come back? I could have just vanished, taken a new name and forgotten it all; I could have escaped.<\/p>\n

If I had, though, it would have all been for nothing. And with that, the daydream of flat, empty prairies faded. He was, once again, sixty years old, shivering on the Limerick-to-Killaloe train, and very, very tired.<\/p>\n

Higgins was in his late twenties, and slightly too old to still be so optimistic and cheerful about everything. Ganey was not the only one to remark that Higgins had the wrong temperament for a revolutionary \u2013 he was a romantic with utopian dreams, but he detested violence. He made for a passable research assistant, though, and he had made himself useful during the Dublin survey.<\/p>\n

“What’s the story with our transportation once we get to Killaloe?” Ganey asked him.<\/p>\n

“Nobody wants to go all the way to Clais Cama,” Higgins said. “There’s some bad business going on up there. Scores of paupers being turned out of their homes.”<\/p>\n

“Really? How come there was no mention of it in any of the papers?”<\/p>\n

“The Incursion,\u201d Hanlon said. \u201cThat’s the only thing the papers want to print these days. Anyway, this James Carmody fellow behind it all is a gombeen man with enough pull to keep the eviction story quiet.”<\/p>\n

There was no figure in rural Ireland quite so hated as the fear gaimb\u00edn \u2013 the gombeen man, the scavenger who profited from the misfortune of his neighbours. Such men were like crosses between usurers and class traitors, and loathed as much as both combined.<\/p>\n

“Aren’t they all,” Ganey grunted. “So, how will we get there?”<\/p>\n

“There are four stables in Killaloe,\u201d said Higgins.<\/p>\n

“Is it wise to ride around in the open when people are shooting at each other?”<\/p>\n

“Shooting?” Higgins shook his head. “Nobody’s shooting up there \u2013 the poor bastards can barely afford to feed themselves, let alone buy guns.”<\/p>\n

(copyright j s deel\/ hell’s empire 2019)<\/em><\/p>\n

\n
\n

Hell’s Empire: Tales of the Incursion<\/em> is available to purchase here:<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"hell's<\/a><\/p>\n

amazon uk<\/strong><\/a><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

amazon us<\/strong><\/a><\/span><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\n

Tomorrow, a short Halloween tale, of course…<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Today, three story extracts from three different authors \u2013 J A Ironside, J S Deel, and Frank Coffman \u2013 taken from a recent anthology I edited, to give you a taste of what you\u2019ll find in there. Earlier this year, I completed perhaps my single most enjoyable editorial task so far \u2013 the anthology Hell\u2019s … Continue reading A TASTE OF HELL\u2019S EMPIRE<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"iawp_total_views":6,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6103","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\nA TASTE OF HELL\u2019S EMPIRE - greydogtales<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/a-taste-of-hells-empire\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_GB\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"A TASTE OF HELL\u2019S EMPIRE - greydogtales\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Today, three story extracts from three different authors \u2013 J A Ironside, J S Deel, and Frank Coffman \u2013 taken from a recent anthology I edited, to give you a taste of what you\u2019ll find in there. 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Apart from that, he enjoys growing unusual fruit and reading rejection slips. He is six foot tall, ageing at an alarming rate, and has his own beard.\",\"sameAs\":[\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\"],\"url\":\"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/author\/greydogtales\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"A TASTE OF HELL\u2019S EMPIRE - greydogtales","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/a-taste-of-hells-empire\/","og_locale":"en_GB","og_type":"article","og_title":"A TASTE OF HELL\u2019S EMPIRE - greydogtales","og_description":"Today, three story extracts from three different authors \u2013 J A Ironside, J S Deel, and Frank Coffman \u2013 taken from a recent anthology I edited, to give you a taste of what you\u2019ll find in there. 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