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Featuring new cover art: “Migration” by Julie Dillon.

On Freedom of Agency and the Finding of Lost Hearts

I thought about hitting him and taking what Gilga-Yar was after. But this old man had me curious, and my patron’s lack of forthrightness with me made me want all the more to know what was going on. So I took the shovel and the knife. “What am I doing with these?”

“I’ll kill you in the morning,” I mumbled into the drool I’d made on his pillow.
Grandmother-nai-Leylit’s Cloth of Winds

—all around me, a great ring of warriors, clothed in armor of polished bronze and headgear of enameled tin feathers that rattled in the wind; warriors with curved breasts and also beards, their faces lighter brown in color than my own, their hands wrapped around pennons and spears. Between them prowled small lions, feather-maned and winged, that bared at me thin fangs of sharpened emerald.

Behind us, a great hole in the ground gaped, but I wouldn't have dared look into it even if grandmother hadn't pulled me inside the tent.
Audio Fiction Podcast:
The Warriors, The Mothers, The Drowned

Podcast: Download (Duration: 32:50 — 30.06MB)

Ana thought the land of the dead would be empty, but it is full to bursting.
From the Archives:
Throwing Stones
By the end of each night I had nearly adjusted, only to be wrenched back to my natural form at the first whisper of dawn.