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By Prashanth Srivatsa in Issue #461 of Beneath Ceaseless Skies Online Magazine There’s a heady blend of cardamom and cloves that go in the third, along with tea leaves that resemble charred twigs. It is the third she fears today, for the Shibra leaves demand time (time she does not have) to settle with the boiled milk. The buck-toothed General o...
Ánar’s bootheels echoed on the iron floor. What a groundbreaking honor this ceremony was for a landless tenant like him—joining old house Veivilkas, of the wolf. Such an honor that it made him leaden to think of, made him long for sleep. At the conclusion of the ceremony, he would no longer be merely Ánar from the undercity, scarab-kin, but Ánar...
“God” is not the word I’d use. But it is the only one that suffices. There are all kinds of gods: the old and the new; the useful, the useless; the capricious and the dependable; the wrathful and the meek. They all had one thing in common—whether they were created at the dawn of time when hunter-gatherers huddled in caves and cowered at the crac...