QSFer Rem Wigmore has a new queer solarpunk book out (bi, nb, gender fluid, trans FM, trans MTF), Orfeus Tales book 2: Wolfpack.
Orfeus the hunter is searching for redemption in the wake of destruction…
Orfeus has always loved grand gestures. And what could be grander than risking her life to gain entry to the fabled Cloud Forest to find one of humanity’s greatest losses and make a gift of it to her beloved? But the cost proves higher than she could have ever imagined and now she is on the run, navigating a whole new world of danger with few allies and even fewer friends.
Arcon, the Cloud Forest’s mechanized guardian, is determined to track her down, even if it means destroying everything in their way. Even if it means convincing Jean, a traumatized young trans man escaping a cult, to host them in order to complete their mission.
Can Orfeus figure out a way out of the mess that she’s created and work with the Order of the Vengeful Wild and their allies to fix what she’s broken before their world is pushed once more to the brink?
Get It At Amazon | Publisher
Excerpt
Worst of the shadows that lurks in the Green
Best of us, dear wolf –
Damn it all, this isn’t anything. The words will come back eventually, won’t they? If I leave, will the songs come back?
- Orfeus’s notes
The thing with Faolan was a mistake. Orfeus was well aware of that.
He had kissed her once, tender and yearning, after they’d taken down Significance O’Hallow. That time, Faol kissed like he’d never kissed anyone before and never wanted to. Like Orfeus was the first and only thing that mattered.
And then that night Luga died, thrusting the sword into his own chest when it became clear he couldn’t convince Orfeus to kill him in the proper brutal Order way. Luga the old Leader, Luga who was practically Faolan’s father. Orfeus let him die and let the Order think she’d killed him, so she could become Leader. How else could she try to make something good of this pack of monsters?
Orfeus would never forget the look on Faol’s face when he saw. That sight, his eyes wide and mouth dropping open and the slow step back: surely some of the old poems and songs she’d memorised had to have been erased from her mind for her to be able to still bring that moment back, again and again, in such perfect clarity.
Two months later, they strode the halls hating each other, Faolan following Orfeus’s orders and glaring holes into her back, until almost inevitably they fell into bed.
It was a selfish thing Orfeus was doing. Aside from his hatred, Faol was the most loyal hunter she had. It had been Faol who initiated it, yet still this relationship was uneven. Unhealthy. Did Faolan know she could say no whenever she wished? Orfeus hoped so but couldn’t be sure. Couldn’t quite be sure, and yet still she dove into his arms and took any comfort she could against the harsh world. Hungry and greedy, she had no plans to stop.
And here they were.
Faol’s quarters were smaller than Orfeus’s, but larger than the little cupboard Orfeus had when she first arrived. Three rooms, the first a place to sit and eat or think, with a wolf pelt hung up on the wall next to Faol’s fearsome collection of weapons. Orfeus was familiar with this room by now, but more familiar with his bed.
She tugged him there now, peeling off his workout shirt as Faolan, brow furrowed in concentration, struggled with the straps of Orfeus’s light armour.
“The mission was awful,” Orfeus said. They were always awful, either dreary with routine or stained with blood. She stepped back to give him room and Faolan got the straps free: her armour fell to the floor, breastplate and then the segments from her arms, legs and shoulders. Orfeus stepped over it to kiss Faol again, pushing her more gently against the wall, tugging at her hair. It was nearly long enough to tie back now. “People are awful.” Orfeus kissed her neck, tasting the sweat there. “What we do is awful, and everything is awful, and that’s all there is.”
“All?” Faol said, the puff of his breath light against her hair. Faol stepped to one side, and Orfeus backed away and let her.
Faolan picked up the plant Orfeus had left by the door and settled it on a bench. She filled a bottle in the washroom and watered it.
Orfeus watched this, charmed. “And you told me you were a poor gardener.”
His shoulders went rigid for a moment, and he cast her a wide-open look, face soft with surprise. “You remember that?”
Orfeus pressed her hands to her thighs and shrugged. Think of something. “That was back when I was still terrified of you and how easily you killed,” she said, which wasn’t untrue. Faolan gripped the bottle of water tightly enough it let out a sad little wheeze of air.
She put it carefully down.
“But no,” Orfeus said. “I know that’s not all. I know, really.”
Faol stepped forward, slower now. His undershirt was stained with sweat, straining with muscle. A compact chest and broad arms and the notch in his arm where his gauntlet dug in. She shouldn’t find every single thing about him charming.
“I’ll remind you?” Faolan said.
“I forget very many things,” Orfeus agreed. “I’m a terrible Leader.”
“Don’t say that,” Faol whispered, and kissed her hot and sweet. Always baffling when Faol was sweet. “I didn’t mean that. You’re a good Leader. You’re good.”
Orfeus didn’t argue in case he changed his mind.
She slid her hands under Faol’s shirt instead, exploring, and he huffed out a breath against her neck, amusement or irritation, and lifted her up. They tumbled into bed.
Afterwards they lay together, quiet. Orfeus always seized the opportunity to lie with her arm around Faol’s shoulder or snuggled up against his chest, because she was hungry, hungry, and would take anything.
One day, one day, that was the beat her heart moved to, but these days she wasn’t sure what it was she was moving towards, or if it was anything good.
After too short a time, Orfeus pulled away from his warmth, pushing the covers off her. She sat on the edge of the bed, yawning.
“You’re leaving?” Faolan said, and she tried to figure out whether that was a note of disappointment in his voice.
Author Bio
Rem Wigmore is a speculative fiction writer based in Aotearoa New Zealand, author of the solarpunk novels Foxhunt and Wolfpack, both from Queen of Swords Press. Rem’s other works include Riverwitch and The Wind City. Their short fiction appears in several places including Capricious Magazine, Baffling Magazine and two of the Year’s Best Aotearoa New Zealand Science Fiction & Fantasy anthologies. Rem’s probably a changeling, but you’re stuck with them now. The coffee here is just too good. Rem can be found at remwigmore.com or on twitter as @faewriter.
Author Website: https://www.remwigmore.com