The Punishing Animal
He hates the birds. There are two, a breeding pair. Their eyes are red as devils’. On land they’re stupid, little feet pushed so far back on their bodies that they can’t escape by running. Yet they glide over the water, glossy mottled boats. Their chicks ride their backs. The adults protect them, tuck black wings up to shield them from wave and ...
I called the swan down
Of All Who Dream
“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...
Seneschal of Shattered Tor
By Abhijeet Sathe in Issue #465 of Beneath Ceaseless Skies Online Magazine The foals don’t recall the age of enthrallment because we never taught them of that dark eon when the kin marched on the cities of man. I do. I was in that horde scouring the land, mindless tools of the stillborn god. We raged and reaved until one crisp winter morning whe...
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