Dark Tales Of Lost Civilizations by Eric J. Guignard (Editor)

man, one who lived nearby, a temporary and futile gesture; he was the first of many men who would be there for her. And that was fine with me. They each had their own paths and I was happy to forever leave this place.
    I went south, to the warm, temperate climes of Oz. There I stayed, powerful and resplendent. And my sisters you know, too. You know them, in fact, better than I. You know of Momba and Sally and even of Locasta, though you call her for me. You gave her my name. But I am the Glinda. I have the power. And of them all—of everyone in Oz—I am the power. I am the potential, I am the kinesis, I am the future. Or so I thought.
    Perhaps in absolute power I became complacent. I rested too much, on my many laurels. For now I am oblivion, doomed to be forgot. West, North, East—you remember them, each and everyone. You remember them, their deeds and their infamies, their smiles and their silver slippers. But do you remember me? The good witch, the sorceress of the South? The goddess of all Oz? No. They have their legacies; and perhaps they alone are mine. For I see now that power is nothing. Even when it is absolute. It is still intangible. Memory is all. To be forgot, like me, to be disregarded and left out, left behind, that is the fate of so many of us. To be forgot, to never be thought upon. No one will lament my passing; no one will even know I am gone. I simply will go. Too late I have learned that to have power is not to have time immemorial; it is not to have legacy. Such things are made of sterner stuff than power, and for all my might—for all my deeds, both good and ill—I leave nothing behind to mark me, nothing behind to show I was here. All I was, all I am, will simply, quickly, be forgot. Too late I have learned.
    To be remembered . . . that is true power.
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    Michael G. Cornelius is the author/editor of eleven books, several plays that have been produced on stage, and numerous stories, poems, and essays. His books have been sold to Chelsea House, McFarland , the V ineyard Press, Variance Publishing, SynSine Press , and shorter works have been sold to or appeared in works from University of South Carolina Press, Lethe Press, Alyson Press, Dark Scribe Press, Jan van Eyck Press , and others, and has appeared in such journals and magazines as Americana, Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine, The Spillway Review, Velvet Mafia, Lachryma: Modern Songs of Lament, Clever Magazine, CreamDrops, From the Asylum, Scroll in Space, The Piker Press, The White Crane Journal , and more. His work has received dozens of favorable reviews in national magazines, journals, and newspapers. He was a finalist for the Lambda Literary Award in 2002, and has also been nominated for an American Library Association prize, an Independent Press Award, and others.
     

 

     
    Jamie Lackey
     
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    I had only recently become acquainted with Jamie Lackey’s short fiction, but what I’ve read, I’ve loved. Needless to say, I was thrilled to unexpectedly find her submission to this anthology sitting in my in-box one morning. Unfortunately, that first story did not fit the theme of this collection quite right, so Jamie went back and wrote up this next little masterpiece in just a few days. Rewriting the exploits of the Spanish explorer, Hernán Cortés, Quetzalcoatl’s Conquistador is wicked and brilliant. Beware the ones you trust—Quetzalcoatl may be coming.
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    Hernán Cortés took a long drink of the fermented cactus juice the natives called octli. It was a far cry from the fine Spanish wine that he deserved, but there was none at hand and he needed a drink. His relationship with the governor of Cuba had soured, his men only served him because he’d scuttled all their ships, and now Marina, his native concubine who’d been serving as translator and advisor, was dying.
    He was feeling a bit odd, himself. He could only trust that God would protect him from whatever afflicted the woman.
    He stormed through the