Wyngraf #1

WYNGRAF

Volume 1 - Summer 2022

AMANDA COOK DAN CRAWFORD ANGELICA FIORI NATASHA INWOOD RAJIV MOTÉ J. A. PRENTICE KATHERINE QUEVEDO NATHAN SLEMP NATHANIEL WEBB

Editor-in-Chief

NATHANIEL WEBB

Cover Artist

SÂMARA LÍGIA

www.wyngraf.com

Wyngraf copyright © 2022 Young Needles Press, individual stories copyright © 2022 by their respective authors.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover art by Sâmara Lígia.

TALES AND EPHEMERA

From the Editor

The Perils of Living with Your Human

Nathan Slemp

The Road to Fjallmark

Natasha Inwood

What We Buried

J. A. Prentice

Your Own Beeswax

Dan Crawford

Weaving Serenity

Amanda Cook

Vigil

Nathaniel Webb

Dragonsmith

Angelica Fiori

A Petrified Heart

Katherine Quevedo

Epilogue

Rajiv Moté

FROM THE EDITOR

What is cozy fantasy? As the old joke goes, ask ten readers and you’ll get eleven different answers.

For some, cozy fantasy describes a setting. Think hobbit holes and feasts at Redwall. For others, it’s about theme: tales of family, community, and personal growth. Does cozy mean stories without violence? Humorous slice-of-life tales? Is it about the homely virtues Denys Gueroult listed in an interview with J.R.R. Tolkien, home, and pipe, and fire, and bed? Or perhaps cozy is nothing more than the comfortable familiarity of the tales each of us grew up on.

So assembling a magazine of cozy fantasy—that’s our tagline, after all—turns out to be quite the balancing act. On the one hand, I want Wyngraf to reflect my own strong sense of what cozy means. On the other, its contents should capture the range and vibrancy of the fantasy community today.

And make no mistake, cozy fantasy’s moment has arrived. As I write these words, the new pro market Tales & Feathers has just completed a wildly successful crowdfunding campaign to publish two years of slice-of-life fantasy fiction. Travis Baldree’s high fantasy, low stakes novel Legends & Lattes is burning up Amazon’s sales charts. There’s something in the air—something smelling like woodsmoke and old leather, with just a hint of cinnamon…

Here, then, are the stories we chose to represent the cozy fantasy world today.

We kick off with Nathan Slemp’s The Perils of Living with Your Human, a cozy fantasy by any definition. Featuring a loyal dragon protagonist, this story of the bond between human and dragon challenges our notions of how to define and defend family (and won a Silver Honorable Mention in the Writers of the Future Contest, to boot).

But cozy isn’t found only at home. The growing sub-sub-genre of backpack fantasy takes to the road—for example, Natasha Inwood’s The Road to Fjallmark. Natasha’s lush prose transports us to the deadly heart of a blizzard, but offers safety in unexpected places.

J. A. Prentice’s What We Buried journeys to another site of wonder, this one deep underground. In glittering dwarven caverns, delving a dark hole is nothing compared to facing the secrets in our hearts.

From the sublime to the ridiculous, Dan Crawford gives us Your Own Beeswax. Owing more to Jack Vance than J.R.R. Tolkien, this comedic picaresque nevertheless presents a vibrant world of mystery and wonder (and brings back the wonderful Polijn the minstrel from Dan’s Cat and Mouse trilogy).

Dragons return in Weaving Serenity from Amanda Cook. Every parent is torn: between the sedate life of raising children and the excitement they left behind, between sheltering their children and letting them grow. But this grown-up heroine’s doubts are put to a life-or-death test.

My own Vigil, which embodies my personal vision of backpack fantasy, also features a difficult choice. This heroine is younger, caught between home and friendship on one hand and career on the other—but the choice won’t matter if her candle goes out.

After these trying journeys comes something of a palate cleanser: Angelica Fiori’s Dragonsmith, a sweet, funny slice-of-life story with hidden depths beneath its cheerful antics. Garrett just wants to live up to his family’s legacy, but smithing can get out of hand when magic is involved…

Thus prepared, we venture into A Petrified Heart by Katherine Quevedo. This is certainly the darkest story in the issue, but its rich depictions of a home worth fighting for keep it in the realm of the cozy, as does its striking final image.

Finally, in Epilogue, Rajiv Moté asks what comes next. Do bonds forged in the heat of battle still remain, twenty years after the adventure is over? Or is the magic gone?

I’m incredibly proud of Wyngraf’s inaugural outing. With these stories we plant our flag and carve out our own little space in the cozy world. At the same time, I believe we’ve done justice to the wide range of what cozy fantasy can be—or at least captured a snapshot of a moment in the life of this vibrant, growing genre. I hope you agree.

Whether you do or not (especially if not!) please let us know what you think. Send your thoughts, love letters, artwork, and cookie recipes to [email protected]. Follow us on Twitter at @wyngraf. Keep an eye on our website, www.wyngraf.com, for news, giveaways, free flash fiction every Friday, and more. And when our next submissions window rolls around, I hope you’ll consider telling us your story.

Stay cozy!

Nathaniel Webb

Editor-in-Chief, Wyngraf

THE PERILS OF LIVING WITH YOUR HUMAN

NATHAN SLEMP

In the dream, Carath flew with his father. They followed one of the old patrol routes, drifting over the island with the summer sun warming their backs. As they flew, they spoke of little things, old news, old worries.

Of course, it wasn’t real. Months had passed since Father’s death, and they’d gone flying together four times since then. Someday Carath would have to set this memory aside, but not yet. Not this time.

Thunder rattled through the air, startling him out of his reverie. There was no storm in this dream, or there shouldn’t have been. As he watched, clouds consumed the sky, manifesting out of nothing. Raindrops spattered against his scales, but they weren’t made of water. They were emotions, scraps of pain and anger jittering through his mind.

With a roar, Father twisted around—but he wasn’t Father, not anymore, his memory warped into the beast the Madness had made of him, an animal hunting his own son. Carath whipped around, darting clear of his claws—

—and slammed head-first into a shelf. Wood shattered, tools ricocheted off the walls, and the scent of blood filled the air.

Carath recoiled, snarling through the pain in his nose as he scoured the room for any sign of a threat. But there was none. He was alone, in the workshop Raine had given him for his home. The only thing out of place was the shelf, and his bed of cushions, now scattered across the room. Nothing to smell but his own blood and the tang of lamp oil, nothing to hear but the murmuring of the earth.

Or… no, there were other sounds. Voices from the floor above, the rooms where the Lynwoods slept. One was Raine’s, but the other was too indistinct to identify. He’d missed them at first, but as he listened they grew louder, well on their way to shouting at one another.

Another family squabble, then. Wonderful.

Carath reached for the place in his mind where his thoughts and Raine’s intermingled. She’d closed herself off from the link, but traces of emotion still echoed through it, frustration and anger and grief.

So that was what happened. Raine must have opened her mind for a moment, probably without meaning to. That was what had corrupted his dream. Never before had it ended with… that.

Don’t dwell on what happened to him. Find something else to think about. Anything else.

A door slammed open above him, releasing the voices to echo throughout the building. Now he could tell who the other voice belonged to—Raine’s blood-sister Lisbeth.

He glared at the ceiling, and the gods beyond. I didn’t really mean anything.

As always, they didn’t deign to reply.

Raine was coming downstairs, close enough now for him to make out her words. —not like I’ve been lying around napping! I’ve got the governor to deal with, the dragons, the construction on Longreach—

All more important than the family business, right? Lisbeth asked. In case you’ve been too busy to notice, we’re running out of linen, we’re completely out of wool—

So get more!

"I’ve got more waiting for me in Laurthorpe, but I can’t pick it up with you and Ian traipsing around the island all day, not giving a rat’s ass about the situation back here!"

You think I don’t— The door flew open and banged against the wall. Carath shoved his head beneath his wing, hoping Lisbeth hadn’t noticed he was awake. I don’t have time for this, Liss. Maybe next week I can cover for you, but it’s not happening sooner.

Fine, just wander off with that lazy reptile of yours and—

That’s enough! You got a problem with me, that’s fine, but don’t you dare start on Carath!

Without another word Lisbeth retreated, her feet rapping against the floorboards. Carath uncovered his head as the door closed and saw Raine leaning against it, her eyes screwed shut. She opened herself to the link, sending sparks of anger flickering through it.

Morning.

Not a good morning, by the sounds of it. Carath formed the human words in his mind, letting them spill into the link. Forming them with his tongue was out of the question, and to human ears the language of dragons was nothing but growls and roars.

Raine’s mouth twitched. Hardly. On top of the obvious, I didn’t sleep well.

Nightmare?

Yeah. The one where I’m stuck in the ravine again.

Carath snarled. I thought we’d slain that one. Did you try to wake me?

Nope.

Why not? I could have pulled you out of it.

At least one of us should get a full night’s sleep every now and then. Raine’s eyes opened, then went wide. What happened to your face?

Ah… Carath probed his nose with his tongue and winced. His scales were gouged through in three places, one with a sliver of wood jammed in it. An accident while I was asleep.

An accident? Raine slipped around him and sucked in a breath. "What happened to the shelf?"

That would be the accident.

Carath… Raine buried her face in her hands, but he could still make out her next words. Not another thing to fix.

I would if I could. He licked the blood from his nose, then brushed it against her shoulder. I’m sorry.

No, this was my fault, wasn’t it? I know I lost control for a moment.

Well… He couldn’t help but laugh as she scowled at him. All right, you’re to blame. Satisfied?

Yep. Come here, let me see. She took hold of his nose, probing at the cuts. Got a splinter here… Sorry about that. And for hiding down here when Liss is out for blood.

You’re my wing-sister. It’s the least I can do. Without warning she yanked on the splinter, and he winced as it scraped free. Thanks.

No problem. All the same, I feel bad using you for cover. Help me with your bed?

Carath stood and swept the bulk of the cushions together with his tail. This is not normal, then? Every time I’ve seen you two together, there’s been a certain… tension.

Things have been a little stressed for a while, but no, I wouldn’t call it normal. Usually when we take shots at each other it’s more good-natured. Raine tossed the last of the cushions onto the pile and grabbed her riding coat from its peg. The leather was dyed the same bone-white as his scales. This last week, though… every time we run into each other it turns into a fight.

I didn’t realize it was that bad. Is there anything I can do to help?

Don’t worry about it. It’s just a rough patch. Happens sometimes.

Carath widened one eye, a rare human gesture he was able to imitate. You rehearsed that, didn’t you?

Raine’s face flushed, embarrassment scuttling through her mind. Okay, maybe we haven’t had one this bad. But this is how human siblings work. We spend as much time at war as we do at peace.

When dragon blood-siblings are at war with one another, nests burn to the ground.

It was a figure of speech.

I know. Either way, I want to help.

Right now, the greatest help you can give me is to take me to Aberlang by the fastest and most death-defying route possible.

If that’s all… I assume we’re not using the saddle, then?

It’ll be more death-defying to leave it, wouldn’t you say?

Carath laughed. I suppose it would.

Grinning, Raine unlatched the sliding doors at the front of the workshop and pushed them open. You’re not going to stay out of this, are you?

Why would you say that?

Because I can feel your emotions, silly.

I… The skin around Carath’s eyes flushed. It’s not our way. You don’t leave an ember to grow into a wildfire, not where family is concerned.

There are plenty of good analogies out there that don’t involve fire, you know.

True, but they’re less interesting.

She rolled her eyes. Look, I’m not going to ask you to stay out of this, but… use your best judgment, okay? And be careful.

Please. I’m always careful.

Liar. She smiled, revealing her stubby teeth. Come on, the meeting starts in an hour. I’m going to be late.

Carath bared his fangs in a grin. No, you’re not.

Taking off from within the streets of Strathpool was easy, but the neighbors always complained when he did. Apparently they thought he was going to smash through their windows or roofs as if he were a clumsy fledgling. Carath didn’t really care about their stupidity, but Raine wanted him to stay out of trouble, so that was that.

He followed her through the streets leading to Strathpool’s central plaza, minding his tail and wings in the narrow spaces. A few humans were already out despite the early hour, greeting them with raised hands and cheery voices. They carried a whiff of fear about them, but that was to be expected. Only a few months had passed since the Madness, and few humans had regained their full trust in Carath’s people.

For some—a fisherman, a mother with a son not five summers old, a soldier with burn scars lacing his scalp—the smell was so strong it made Carath’s nose itch. But they greeted him anyway. These he acknowledged, nodding to them in human fashion. They fought against their fears, and that deserved respect.

At the plaza, Carath leapt into the air, wings snapping out to catch the wind. It was a perfect day for flying—a steady breeze, cloud cover just thick enough to blunt the sun’s claws, the air cool and crisp. He couldn’t help but revel in it as they flew south. Nothing too dangerous, since Raine