The BCS Audio Fiction Podcasts are on hiatus for a few issues. In the meantime, peruse our episodes from last winter for audio fiction by E. Catherine Tobler, Tom Crosshill, Yoon Ha Lee, and more.

The Storms in Arisbat

Semira made her way to him, unsteady as if on a rocking deck. He took her outstretched hand, and the point of contact became an anchor, and axis; something steady to work around. The fear didn’t abate, but its quality changed: from dread to dizzy panic to the icy clutch of despair. Semira thought of rushing winds, coming and abating, and of sudden downpours of rain. Of storms.

The bit of his soul he’d used was old, then; just significant enough that its sacrifice fueled the spell.

For a frozen moment, I glanced between the murder-sharp blade of my athame and Bastien's stricken expression, trying to reconcile the two. Part of me wasn't sure why I hadn't slit his throat for everything he'd done and all the people he'd betrayed. Because he didn't do any of that, the rational part of me insisted. Trouble was, I remembered him stabbing Annie in the arm on the Day of Glass, and what Gretchen had become after he got to her in Gabbleford.

That had been a different life—a different world—and besides, that Jorge was dead. I'd killed him myself.
From the Archives:
Bread and Circuses
She and I made bread every day knowing that if the grain didn't ripen, we were next in line to be cut down.