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I’ve got a new story out in the latest Realms of Fantasy, “The Man Who Made No Mistakes,” which chronicles a black man with a unique time traveling ability who faces a wrenching ethical delimma.  It’s a longer story, approaching short novel length — a tale of race, murder, and the nature of sin, all wrapped into one.  It’s an idea I made a run at years ago but didn’t get quite right, and the idea stuck with me, so I made a fresh attempt at it.  It’s also accompanied by a stunning — and fitting — illustration by Billy Norrby.

The opening of the story is below.  You can subscribe to Realms of Fantasy or buy individual issues on their website.

The Man Who Made No Mistakes

Scott William Carter

It may have been the steady drone of the rain on the church roof, or it may have been the second bourbon he’d had with dinner, but Father Holder found himself dozing in the confessional.  His whole body was slumping against the heavy oak panels when the young man spoke.

“This won’t be your usual confession,” he said.

The voice jolted Father Holder awake — heart pounding, breath catching in his throat.  For a moment, looking through the thick gray mesh, he thought he’d dreamed the voice, that it was a fabrication concocted from a stomach full of beef stroganoff — but then the young man opened his eyes and Father Holder saw the bright whites, luminescent almost, surrounding a pair of penetrating dark pupils.  That’s when he realized the reason he was having trouble seeing his confessor was because the young man had skin nearly as black as the darkness.

“Oh my,” Father Holder said with a nervous laugh.  His heart was still thundering in his ears.  He also had an embarrassing line of slobber on his cheek, and he wiped it away with his sleeve.  “You do know how to make an entrance, son.”

“Sorry,” the young man said.  “I didn’t know you were sleeping.”

He had just a tinge of a Southern accent, but of a particular variety — Cajun, maybe?  It was barely there, like a radio playing faintly in another room.  Whoever he was, he certainly wasn’t from around here.  Of course, that was true of just about everyone in Las Vegas.

“I wasn’t asleep,” Father Holder said, even as he blinked away the bleariness in his eyes.  “Just resting my eyes a little.  I was — what time is it anyway?”

“Late,” the young man said.  “Very late.  Midnight almost.”

“Ah,” Father Holder sighed, and he was going to say that he should have closed the church an hour ago, but then he would have to admit he’d been nodding off.  Instead he said:  “Well.  I do need to be getting home here soon.  You didn’t start by asking for my blessing, son.  Did you really come to make a confession?”  He felt vaguely guilty for the accusatory tone, but he knew it was because he was feeling defensive.

“Yes.  Of a kind.”

“Of a kind?”

“Well . . . I didn’t ask for your blessing, Father, because I don’t think I sinned.  I did something awful, I guess, but I can’t see how it’s a sin.  I don’t know.  Maybe you can tell me.  All I know is it wasn’t a mistake.  I don’t make mistakes.”

Father Holder chuckled.  The young man didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Father Holder said.  “I assumed you were joking.”

“No.  I wouldn’t joke about this.”

“Hmm.”

“I just don’t make mistakes.  Even now, after everything, I can say it.  But maybe a mistake and a sin aren’t the same thing.  I guess that’s why I’m here.  That and to tell you my story — I want you to hear it.”

Continued . . .

It’s wet and drizzly and cool here in Oregon’s Willamette Valley — in other words, perfect reading weather.  I’ve posted the prologue and first chapter of my latest fantasy, A Tale of Two Giants, over at the Rymadoon site.  If it’s wet and drizzly and cool where you are (or even if it’s not, I suppose), I hope you take a few minutes and read it.

What is the Rymadoon site?  Well, since much of what I write is not really appropriate for younger readers, I wanted an easy way to help kids (and parents, too, I suppose) know which of my books they might find interesting.  Of course — and this is directed at you, young Johnny — you are perfectly capable of making up your own mind about what you want to read, and I certainly won’t stand in your way.  But then I can say I did my part in helping to protect the innocence of youth.  Think of it as a Surgeon’s General Warning.

(Part of this might stem from the fact that I’ve already gotten a fair amount of criticism from some quarters claiming that my first novel, The Last Great Getaway of the Water Balloon Boys, full as it is of inappropriate stuff, is corrupting young minds all over the world.  So far, however, there hasn’t been quite enough of this criticism to drum up any book burnings or even a school library expulsion or two, but a writer can dream.  Believe me, nothing would please me more than to know my book had been banned.)

Anyway, I’ll be adding to the Rymadoon site from time to time, both with books set in Rymadoon and other books for kids.  And what is Rymadoon, you say?  Well, I actually wrote a poem about it, which I put at the beginning of every book set there:

THE LOST LANDS OF RYMADOON

Fellow traveler, have you ever journeyed to the Lost Lands of Rymadoon?
Have you ever been to Morfen Sley or Ilia or the caverns of Mana Thune?
Have you ever been to Nogero or Willow Isle or the deserts of Giant Bone?
Or perhaps, like others, you’ve discovered a Lost Land all on your own.

Dear traveler, you must be warned of what awaits you in a world like Rymadoon.
There are towering peaks and deep chasms and great cities that now lay in ruin.
There are slumbering dragons and hungry giants and soldiers who never die.
There are even places in the Lost Lands where you never have to say goodbye.

Oh traveler, I fear this will not be your last sojourn to the world with the shadow moon.
I fear you will plunge into a hole or creep through a cave or sing an enchanted tune.
I fear, like me, you will find your way back here, not eventually, not someday, but soon
For no warning or caution or even a rhyme can stop you from returning – to Rymadoon!