This is Cast of Wonders, the young adult fiction podcast featuring stories of the fantastic. Welcome. Episode 631. I'm Catherine Inskip, your editor and host. Our story for today is Sometimes It Happens That Way by Jamie Lackey, a Cast of Wonders original. Jamie Lackey lives in Pittsburgh with her husband and their cats.
She sold over 200 short stories to markets like Daily Science Fiction, Beneath Seatless Skies, Apex Magazine, and Escape Pod. She has a novella and two short story collections available from Air and Nothingness Press, and has self-published a novelette, two novellas and three short story collections, including two flash fiction collections. In addition to writing, she spends her time reading, playing tabletop RPGs, baking and hiking.
You can find her online at www.jamielackey.com This story is narrated by J.S. Arkin. J.S. Arkin is a writer, voice actor, audiobook producer and narrator, podcaster, entertainer and adventurer. He has lived in beautiful, inspiring and disturbing places all over the world. and currently makes his home in Portland, Oregon, where he dodges raindrops on his bicycle and sometimes writes about himself in the third person.
His fiction has appeared in Plasma Frequency, The Best Vegan SFF of 2016, and Digital SF, among others. He has produced over a dozen independent audiobooks, and his narrations have been featured on Escape Pod, Cast of Wonders and Starship Sofa. You can catch his ramblings and some breathtaking speculative fiction on his podcast, The Overcast, at theovercast.libsyn.com. And now, we've a tale to tell.
Sometimes it happens that way. By Jamie Lackey. I stood on the platform, bundled up in one of my pa's old work coats. Its stained, fraying cuffs hanging well past my fingertips. The acrid stink of magic was thick in the air, rolling off the engine in hot waves. My ma took me by the shoulders and shook me. Her fingers cold and hard, even through the heavy coat. Your uncle lined up a good job for you out west.
She said, leaning close to shout over the steady rumble of the engine and the din of strangers' voices. She smelled like the expensive formula my baby sister needed, powdery and sweet. You work hard and we can bring you back home in a few years. She tucked my train ticket into my pocket. I nodded. The thought of leaving home made my stomach curdle like old milk on a hot day.
But I was almost 12 years old. I wanted to contribute. I was small for my age and not strong, not like my older brothers and father. But my uncle had found me a job where small was what the bosses wanted. Ma patted my head. I wanted to throw myself into her arms. Wanted to bury my face in her chest and cry. But I stood up straight, clutched my bag tight, and forced a smile. I'll make lots and lots of money, and be back before you know it.
I said. My mother wiped a single tear off her own cheek. You're a good boy. Then I climbed onto the train, and she vanished into the crowd. A girl even smaller than me, with muddy brown hair and crooked teeth, squeezed in next to me on the train. You on your way to Mill Magic Ore too? She asked, leaning in and shouting so I could hear her over the din.
I nodded. We should stick together then, she said. We can pool our money for food. I don't have any money, I said. She frowned. None at all? The mill owner sent money with the train ticket. The trip's a week long. I shrugged. All I had was Pa's old coat and my ticket. I figured the girl would leave now, but she didn't. Well then, she said, here.
Take this. She pulled a half-squashed roll out of one of her pockets and pressed it into my hand. I'll make sure you don't starve. I won't starve in just a week, I said. But... took a bite of the roll. It was stale and didn't taste like much, but was also gone much too quick. She threw an arm around my shoulder. I'm Rayanne. My name's Beau. We spent the next week together, hungry more often than not, but not nearly as hungry as I'd expected to be. Rayanne made each penny count.
and she had a knack for looking hungry and sad just outside of the dining car. We loitered near the door as the people with money for private sleeper cars... Loaded plates with bacon and eggs and thick toast coated with honey or jam. Sometimes men in fancy vests with magic ore inlaid into their buttons. or ladies in satin dresses and shimmering hats would slip Rayanne an apple. We slept on hard wooden seats and leaned into each other for warmth.
and what padding our bodies could offer, which wasn't much. Sometimes when I couldn't get to sleep for missing my family, she'd hum to me, the notes more felt than heard. Music's almost as good as magic for feeling better, she'd say, just as I finally started to fall asleep. And a mite less expensive. I'd like to be a singer someday, or maybe learn to play the piano.
My father said I'd get to keep half of what I earn at this job, so maybe I'll be able to pay for some lessons. I'd never thought about what I might do after, aside from just going home. But then... All my earnings were to be sent straight home, with no portion held back. During the day, we'd crowd close to whatever window we could get and watch the world rush by outside.
It felt both distant and too big to be real. I'd never been outside the city before. Never seen so many stars or cornfields that stretched farther than the eye could see. Never seen the mountains, sharp-edged and real as anything, standing stark and solid even in the distance. Then after a week, we arrived in Argo Springs.
About half a dozen other kids got off the train with us. A red-faced man with a walrus mustache introduced himself as Mr. Elliot and gathered us up as the train pulled away from the station. Even with the engine gone, the sharp scent of magic still lingered in the air, and a constant noise rumbled like distant thunder. What's that? Rayenne asked. The mill.
Mr. Elliot said. She peered around trying to catch sight of the mill. Is it always so loud? Mr. Elliot scowled at her. Do you always ask so many questions, girl? Rayanne shrugged. I reckon so. Won't do you good for long. And you won't have to worry about the sound for long, neither. You'll all be deaf within three days. Rayanne froze. I'd never seen her so still.
not once, not even when she was asleep. Death, she repeated, like it wasn't a word with a meaning, like it was a nonsense syllable in her mouth. The noise will rupture your eardrums, Mr. Elliot said, like she was dumb to not know this already. Like someone had ever explained to us what taking this job would mean, and why it paid so well.
Rayanne grabbed my arm. We can't do this, she hissed, low and urgent. We have to run away. I shook my head. My family needs this money. And you're willing to lose your hearing for them? They didn't even give you the money meant for your food. Her words were like a punch to the gut. She didn't understand. I could go a week without food, but my baby sister would die without her formula.
My family was counting on me. You have to go, I said, even though I didn't want that. I'd miss her just as much as any of my sisters. Maybe more. But Rayanne couldn't learn the piano if she couldn't hear. She had a dream. I didn't have anything like that. Bo, she said, her voice pleading. It might be the last time I ever heard anyone say my name. I'd never hear my mother's voice again, never hear any new songs Rayanne learned, or the rain hitting a window, or...
The birds chirping. I wondered if my mother had known when she put me on the train. I shook my head. There were plenty of people out there who'd never heard any of those things, and they didn't die of it. I've got to stay, and you've got to go, I whispered. I won't ever forget you. Tears streaked down her face, but her expression was determined. She hugged me once, hard. Then she was gone. Mr. Elliott took us to the bottom of the mountain.
where it was already impossible to hear anything other than the constant roar of the mill. The trees had all been cleared away, leaving rock and dirt and glaring sun. Mr. Elliot finally noticed Rayanne was gone and did a fair bit of pointing and shouting, even though none of us could hear him, before he stormed off. We had to hike the rest of the way on our own.
straight up the mountain in the heat of the day, and I didn't have any water or even a way to carry it. I took my coat off and tied it awkwardly around my waist. The roar built from the loudest thing I'd ever heard to even louder, to pressure, to pain. Blood streamed out of our ears, stained the shoulders of our shirts. Dust clung to our skin. Flies buzzed around our heads. I already couldn't hear them. I could feel the sound of the mill in my bones.
The stink of magic got stronger and stronger. I could almost see it, sparkling in the air like sunshine on new snow. Eventually, we made it to the mill. Two older boys gave us water and a good helping of stew with dark bread. They showed us to our bunks, communicating to each other with quickly flicking fingers. and to us with broad gestures, waving and pointing. They shut the mill down a little after sunset, and the sudden quiet was like a physical blow.
The pain didn't fade, and my ears rang, so even without the roar of the mill I couldn't hear anything else. My bunk was narrow, with a thin straw mattress and worn wool blanket. But it was a sight better than sleeping leaned against Rayanne. Still, it took me a long time to get to sleep. At least, none of the others could hear me crying.
We learned the work. Chunks of magic-laced rocks came down through the system of tunnels that connected the mines higher up the mountain in long lines of metal hoppers, then were fed into the mill itself. where huge metal hammers, each one the size of a train car, crushed the rocks into powder. It was the constant rolling impact of the hammers that... caused the roar that, within a few days, I could no longer hear, but could still feel in my bones.
The powder was mixed with water, then the slurry mix flowed down slanted troughs. One of the four adults who worked the mill with us dipped a finger into the slurry and placed it on the tip of his tongue.
Based on whatever he learned from that, he'd add some chemicals, which we were warned not to touch. Later, when we understood the sign language better, one of the older boys explained that The wrong mix of those chemicals could set off a magical chain reaction that would kill everything within a five-mile radius. Our job was to climb between the sets of troughs and spread a thin layer of mercury with long-handled brooms. When the slurry touched it, the liquid metal bonded with the magic ore.
creating a shimmering metallic honeycomb that sank to the bottom of the pools beneath the troughs, which we gathered and barreled to send away for processing. There were six of us learning together. Four boys and two girls, along with the two older boys and four adults, two women and two men. We could all read and could write notes if we had to.
But mostly we communicated by sign language, which we had to learn quickly. One of the women, the one who seemed to do most of the office work, assigned us each a nickname. something to use that would be faster than spelling names out. Mine was Spoon. The girls were Cup and Plate. The other new boys, Knife, Fork, and Table. We worked from sunup to sundown with staggered breaks for meals. The food was good and they were generous with it, which was good because I stole as much as I could.
and at night I'd sneak out and meet Rayanne. She only came after the mill was quiet, and even then wore thick pads over her ears. I taught her to sign, but we mostly scratched notes in the dirt. She'd realized she was trapped here real quick. She couldn't afford a ticket home and couldn't find another job, at least not one worth taking. She managed to send one letter home, but...
received no reply. I supposed that was answer enough. She'd found a tribe of fairies, and they were teaching her to survive on the mountain, and how to sing their songs. But... She knew better than to eat any of their food. It's not just your hearing, she wrote one night, the words clear in the light from the full moon. The fairies say that the liquid metal you use is poison.
That people who work the mill breathe in too much magic dust, and it's poison too. I didn't want to believe her, but I did. One of the older boys' chair was starting to tremble all the time, and... see things that weren't there he kept dropping his broom then staring at his hands as if he was surprised his fingers still existed but ma had written me a letter
Pa had been injured, but with the money I was sending back, they were making do. I couldn't quit. And anyway, chair had been at the mill for years. I had plenty of time. Knife stomped for my attention. Letter for you, he signed, and waved an envelope at me. My stomach twisted. I used to look forward to letters, but... news from home always seemed bad. Pa still hadn't found a job, and the baby was going through more formula than ever. Ma's hands had started to ache and...
Nothing but soaking them in hot, magic-infused orange water could ease the pain. Dear Bo, oh my darling boy, how we miss you. Things here remain difficult. with no changes in the state of your father's employment, my hands, or the baby's appetite. But I do have some good news. Your brother Michael is married, and you're going to be an uncle.
Do you think your bosses would send us an advance on your wages to send them on a honeymoon? I wish I could write more, but it makes my hands ache so. Love always, Ma. The cheap paper crumpled in my hand. I could almost hear Rae Ann's voice in my head. They didn't even invite you to the wedding? Just informed you about it after the fact? And asked you for even more money?
I sometimes forgot what voices sounded like. Sometimes stopped even thinking in words. Rayanne's voice was the only one I could reliably recall. Maybe because it was the last one I ever heard. It was nice to hear it, even just inside my mind. I tucked the crumpled letter into my pocket. and went to ask about the pay advance. We'd been at the mill for about nine months when Cher vanished. He'd been mostly useless for the last few weeks.
and the rest of us took turns taking care of him. I'd guided him to a stool that sat in one cobwebbed corner. His mouth had moved, but... I had no idea if he was trying to talk or if he was babbling nonsense sounds. I left him there, staring at his hands. Next time I looked up from my work, he was gone. There wasn't any way he could have gotten out without someone seeing him. It was like he'd just evaporated. I wondered if he'd shouted for us as his body disappeared around him or...
if he hadn't even noticed. I went to the office, where the woman who gave us our nicknames, I never learned any of the adults' names, Wiped away a single tear when I reported that chair was gone. That's how it goes sometimes, she signed. He didn't have any family left, so his savings will be split between the rest of you.
She pulled out a ledger. Do you want to keep the money or have it sent to your family? I knew my family needed it, but I kept remembering how Cher's mouth had moved. Had he been- Singing? I'll take it, I signed. She nodded and opened the safe and counted out my share. Even a portion of chair's savings was more than I'd ever seen before. Just how much money was I sending home? I'd never even bothered to ask. My fingers twitched. But I didn't ask, knowing wouldn't do me any good.
I offered my cut of chairs money to Rayanne for piano lessons. I'm not your family, she wrote. She'd enchanted a stick and the words that we scratched with it glowed faintly in the dirt. I don't want to take advantage of you. I know all kinds of fairy magic now. I can take care of myself. But I want you to have it. For music. I don't need it for anything, so...
Either you take it or I send it back to my family. Fine, I'll take it. Then she showed me the new tricks she'd learned, using the ambient magic that drifted in the mountain air. She pulled water out of the air into my cupped palms. I splashed it onto my face and she laughed. She cupped an apple seed between her hands and blew into the space between her thumbs. When she opened her hands...
A whole apple sat in her palm. It was small and green and hard, but she made me eat it. Then she carefully saved each seed and tucked them into her pocket. Didn't you say the magic was poison? Won't it hurt you too? If she vanished like Cher, I'd never know what happened to her. It's not so bad a bit farther away. There's magic enough to use, but...
Not so much it burns your nose. It's the mill that's dangerous, not the mountain. I'd stopped noticing the burn. I hardly even notice the smell anymore. Promise me that you're being careful. She rolled her eyes but hooked her pinky with mine. I promise. We'd been at the mill for just over two years when I woke in the middle of the night to the vibration of cup.
thrashing in her bunk. Plate and I scrambled to her, held her to keep her from falling off her bed and hurting herself. Eventually, she stopped struggling. Her eyelids fluttered open and she reached out and touched Plate's cheek. Then she died. It happens that way sometimes, we were told when we reported Cup's death. Cup had family, but they didn't want to pay to ship her body home, so they took her undiminished savings, and we had a funeral.
and laid her body to rest in a graveyard just down the mountain. Rayanne planted flowers on her grave. Four months later, a rock snagged in the intake to the hammers. and the sound of the hammers hitting, metal on metal with no rock to crush between them was so loud that the ringing vibration killed Knife who was closest. Blood pooled in his ears and caked his eyelashes together. It happens that way sometimes. His family had us send his body.
A week later, three replacements arrived. They were so young, so small, I hadn't realized how much I'd grown. I'd missed at least two birthdays, unremarked by everyone. The adults dubbed them chair, cup, and knife. I wondered how many spoons had preceded me. I found a music school, Rayanne wrote. I can learn piano and composition and singing, but it's far away. I won't be able to visit anymore.
The news was like a physical blow. I could hardly remember my mother's face now, and we didn't form friendships at the mill. We worked together, took care of each other when we could, but... We didn't talk, didn't bond. I still didn't know any of the adults' names, or any of the others' real names. One of the adults was different than when I'd arrived, but...
I wasn't sure if they'd brought someone else in or if the remaining older boy had been promoted. I had no idea if the missing man had left or faded away like the first chair. Come with me. Rayanne wrote. This place is killing you. And for what? Money? My brother and his new wife had just had twins. A boy and a girl. My mother told me that they'd named the boy Bo.
They were never going to send for me to come home. I could walk away with Rayanne and be a deaf burden on her while she pursued her dream. I'm not fit for anything else now. I have to stay. This is the only place I belong. Rayanne was crying. I wished I could hear her voice one more time. It'll kill you, Beau. You'll die here, and they won't even pay to have you sent home. Maybe. If that's the case, promise me that you'll come and put flowers on my grave.
She dropped the stick and threw her arms around me, her body racked with sobs. Her breath puffed against my ear, and I imagined her begging me to come with her. calling me a stubborn idiot, telling me how much she'd miss me. Eventually, she let me go. My shirt was wet and cold from her tears. You deserve better than this, she wrote. She kissed my cheek, then left without saying goodbye. I tried doing magic once.
I couldn't hear Rayanne's incantations to copy them, but she'd told me that will was more important anyway, that the words were just a way to focus. I cupped an apple seed in my hand. I imagined the sun and rain that would nourish it. Imagined it growing full and ripe and sweet. For a moment, I thought it would work. Then my lungs spasmed.
and burning pain ripped through my bones. I coughed, falling to my knees, and leaves burst from my mouth, slick green for an instant, then going brown and dry. I suppose... That was why people wore magic buttons and hats. Why they made magic balms and lotions, but no magic pills. I curled on my side and... Coughed up leaves till only bloody spit filled my mouth. Tasting of iron and failure.
I'd been at the mill for five years when I started hearing the whispers. The floating sparks of magic were speaking to me, offering up their secrets. Sometimes they spoke with Rayanne's voice. She wrote me letters. She enclosed sketches and pressed flowers and a four-leaf clover she found. She signed each one with the words, Still waiting. My mother wrote,
to ask for another advance. My father was losing his hearing, but there was a magical device that could help. They just needed a month's worth of my wages. I laughed so hard that my sides hurt. I asked for the advance. The woman in the office, she was still the same, just with more gray in her hair and sadder eyes, shook her head. There's a policy against advances.
after you've been here for four years. It didn't feel fair, but I could understand the logic. I'd beaten the odds for too long, and they'd catch up to me soon. I could vanish at any time. None of the others who'd come up with me were left. The woman coughed, then patted my shoulder. Is it urgent? I could send some money. You're a good kid, a good worker. And if I vanish tomorrow? She shrugged. I can afford it. So could the company. She laughed, but it ended in another cough. It's not urgent.
I said. My father could live without a fancy magic device to let him hear. They'll be fine. They need to stop relying on me anyway. I would give you some money. If you want to leave, she signed, go to that girl that's always writing you. The whispers would follow me. They were part of me now. Or maybe I was... Part of them. Either way, I wasn't taking them to Rayanne. Wasn't making her watch me go. I shook my head. It's too late. The woman nodded.
Sometimes it happens that way. The sparks had stopped whispering. They sang now, and always with Rayanne's voice. It made me happy to hear them. Sometimes they showed me visions of her. Sitting at a piano, scribbling notes on brittle yellow pages, walking down the street, talking with other girls. Laughing over steaming cups of tea. Writing me letters. Still waiting. Sometimes I saw my family. They had a bigger apartment now.
My mother wore a hat decorated with magic-infused feathers. My father's vests had magic ore inlaid into their buttons. My baby sister was taking riding lessons. My niece and nephew looked plump and happy I hoped they'd put something into savings The mill was thin and faded around me flooded with too many sparks to see past. I could see every one that the others breathed in, but not back out again. One of the others guided me over to the stool in the corner.
I hoped the next spoon would leave before he ended up here. I saw Rayanne again. She was sitting in her room, curled up beneath a blanket and staring out the window. I reached through the sparks. And I was there, with her, in the banked fire in the fireplace, in the soft swirl of the steam rising from her teacup. in the fibers of wool in her blanket. I touched her cheek. It wasn't enough, but it was something. Sometimes it happens that way.
I let go. This is a brilliant, bleak and heartbreaking story. Filial duty keeps Beau working, even when he knows it's killing him by inches. Right from the start, we see the callousness of his world, how he is treated as disposable, and how he has already internalised that message. There's a line fairly early on when they first realise that the mill workers lose their hearing. Rayanne couldn't learn the piano if she couldn't hear. She had a dream. I didn't have anything like that. And that...
That shouldn't matter. Beau shouldn't put himself behind his family's needs, impoverished or otherwise. He shouldn't need to sideline his own health and well-being. Is it laudable that he does so for a family that neither appreciates nor deserves his sacrifices? Does it show his strength of character? Maybe to a degree, but for me, all I can see is how he is used and taken advantage of.
chained into a servitude that he cannot escape, institutionalised for others' gain. In spite of this, the story holds moments of tenderness and found family inside the mill. It's moving and raw. showing the value in the smallest acts of friendship and compassion and reminding us that no one is worthless, no one deserves to be abandoned or discarded. You don't need big dreams to have a future worth fighting for.
Join us again soon. We love bringing you the best audio fiction week after week but we can't do it without your support. Your donations pay our authors, our narrators, our servers and our staff. Please consider supporting us with a monthly donation through either PayPal or Patreon. You can also review us on Apple Podcasts, request us on Spotify and consider the stories we publish for award consideration. There are lots of ways you can help.
You can join the discussion on the EA Discord and visit us on bluesky at castofwonders.org. Come say hello. Cast of Wonders is brought to you by Editor Catherine Inskip, Assistant Editor Alicia Caporasso, Associate Editors Rebecca Arm, Tanya Adelit, Amy Brennan, Kappa Cobb, Becca Miles, Ray Oh, Samuel Poots, Emma Smales, Denise Soudel and Rin Yee. Our editorial assistant is Amy Brennan and our audio producer is Jeremy Carter.
Cast of Wonders is part of the Escape Artist Foundation, a 501c3 non-profit, and this episode is distributed under the Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial No Derivatives 4.0 International License. That means you can download or listen to the episodes on any device you like but you can't change it or sell it. Our theme music is Appeal to Heavens by Alexey Nov, available from Promo DJ or his Facebook page. Thank you for listening.