- Introduction by Karen Joy Fowler
- Alchemy
- Fountain of Justice
- The Story of O
- Thief of Lives
- Introduction by Helen Merrick
- Julia Agrippina’s Secret Family Bestiary
- Lamia Victoriana
- The Patrician
- Last of the Romanpunks
- Afterword
On Spec Magazine – Fall 2011 #86 vol 23 no 3
Tags: No Author Royalties CollectedThe Fall 2011 issue of On Spec Magazine.
This issue features short stories by A. A. Hernandez (“The Silent Machete”), Carolyn Watson (“The Rook and the Web”), Andrew Barton (“You Source of Tears”), Kristin Janz (“The Observation Deck”), Anthony J. Rapino (“When Ayanna Kapoor Waits”), Scott H. Andrews (“The Halberdier, by Moonlight”), H. S. Donnelly (“Oh Most Cursed Addition Engine”), Megan Fennell (“Hexenhaus”), and Priya Sharma (“The Virgin’s Tears”); poetry by Gary Pierluigi (“To a Theater Near You” and “Praising Heathen Carrion”); guest editorial by Adam Shaftoe and Matt Moore (“All This Has Happened Before: Cycles in Genre Fiction”); author interview by Roberta Laurie (“Megan Fennell: A Self-Proclaimed Geek Tells Her Story”); artist interview by Cat McDonald (“James Ng: Feature Artist”); editorial by Diane L. Walton (“They Do It With Mirrors. Really.”); cover art by James Ng (“Imperial Inventor”).
Beneath Ceaseless Skies Issue #80
Tags: No Author Royalties CollectedIssue #80 of Beneath Ceaseless Skies online magazine, featuring stories by R.B. Lemberg and Dean Wells.
Part 8, The Silent City
Tags: No Author Royalties CollectedThe Rifter is a ten-part serialized novel by award-winning author, Ginn Hale. The first episode, The Shattered Gates, was published on March 8, 2011. Further installments will be published on the second Tuesday of each month.
Part 8, The Silent City, was published on Tuesday, October 11th.
When John opens a letter addressed to his missing roommate, Kyle, he expects to find a house key, but instead he is swept into a strange realm of magic, mysticism, revolutionaries and assassins. Though he struggles to escape, John is drawn steadily closer to a fate he share with Kyle—to wake the destroyer god, the Rifter, and shatter a world.
“The true sorcery here is in Ginn Hale’s writing, which is by turns funny, fierce and lyrical. I can’t say enough good things about her work. Rifter is an astonishing story: terrifying and yet romantic. I was bewitched from the first sentence.”
—Josh Lanyon
Read an Excerpt:
Chapter Seventy-Seven
John worked his knife blade deep into the tree’s black trunk. Gripping the edge of the bark, he tore a long strip away. A thick lining of creamy cambium came away with the rough bark. John tossed the bark onto the stack behind him. It wasn’t much, but it would keep the tahldi nourished.
A thin layer of snow already covered the heap of bark that John had stripped from other trees. Big delicate flakes drifted down and melted against John’s hands.
John’s fingers ached. It had only been four days. He wasn’t sure how complete his recovery was. But he couldn’t lie under the shelter feeling miserable any longer.
When he thought too much about Laurie and Bill, the snow poured down. Lightning burst through the sky and a cutting, icy wind slashed across the land. Unless he wanted to herald in a new ice age for Basawar, John knew he had to distract himself. Physical activity always helped.
He trudged through the thigh-deep snow to the nearest outcropping of trees. He peeled more strips of bark from the trunks. A faint sweet scent rose from the soft cambium, reminding John of spring leaves.
A cold breeze brushed over John’s face. He turned quickly, studying the air for that slight distortion. He caught sight of a faint shadow streaking through the trees towards him. An instant later Ravishan dropped out of the Gray Space. A flush colored his cheeks and he smiled brightly at John. He bounded through the snow to John’s side. His brown goat hide coat was scuffed and weathered from passages through the Gray Space. A fringe of his newly cropped hair poked out from under a dark wool cap.
“I can’t believe that it’s still snowing. I think it might be warmer in the Gray Space,” Ravishan commented.
“I thought the weather was letting up.” John tried not to sound guilty.
“It’s warmer than it was yesterday, I think,” Ravishan admitted, but he didn’t seem pleased by the thought.
“Isn’t that good news?” John asked.
“Good and bad. It’s definitely more comfortable, but I was just thinking that the storms must have kept anyone from searching for us.”
Ravishan paused and looked questioningly at John. “What are you doing to that tree?”
“Stripping a little bark. The lining is edible.”
“You’re planning on eating bark?”
“Not me.” John smiled at Ravishan’s skeptical expression. “It’s for the tahldi. There are also huge mats of mosses. I dug a couple out from under the snow earlier.”
“Will a tahldi be able to live on moss and bark?”
“It should be,” John said. “It’s a ruminant, so bulk stomach content is more important than nutritional quality.”
“A ruminant.” Ravishan repeated the English word. He seemed amused not to have understood what John was talking about.
“They’re hoofed or horned animals with chambered stomachs and—”
“I don’t really need to know.” Ravishan cut him off with a charming smile. “I can just take your word for it that the tahldi will be fine.”
“Oh.” John felt briefly embarrassed by his own nerdy enthusiasm. He’d spent a good portion of the morning contemplating the tahldi’s digestive system.
“What about you?” Ravishan asked.
“Me?”
“Hungry?”
“Starved,” John admitted.
“Let’s get back to the shelter and eat, then.”
John pulled a last strip of bark free and gathered the others. He and Ravishan waded back through the deep snow to the bridge and their shelter beneath it. He lay the bark strips down for the tahldi. The big animal gently nudged its velvety nose against John’s hands. It licked traces of salt and sweat from John’s fingers. Then it lowered its head and began chewing the white cambium free of the black bark.
He and Ravishan waded back through the deep snow to the bridge and ducked into their shelter beneath it. Ravishan crouched on the dry brush floor in front of him. He handed John a parchment-wrapped bread roll and then continued unpacking the contents of his leather satchel.
The roll was still warm. John bit into it and hot meat stuffing filled his mouth. He gulped the roll down quickly. Ravishan handed him a second one.
“Isn’t this yours?” John asked.
“I ate mine in Nurjima. Both of these are for you.”
“They’re good.” John didn’t know if he would have thought so a week ago, but he had eaten very little in the past four days. Most of his meals had consisted of dry bread and hard cold cheese. Now the succulent warmth of oily meat delighted him.
Ravishan waited until John was finished eating. Then he handed John a sheaf of papers. John wiped his hands on his thick wool pants and then took the stiff pages.
John stared at the three leaflets, taking in the bold black press type and fine inky drawings. They were bounties for the capture of criminals. The picture of John was rough, but it didn’t need to be all that detailed. Men as big and blond as he was were relatively rare.
However, the picture of Ravishan was so closely observed that it could have been his portrait. Even the proud, challenging expression was perfect. The reward for his capture was a small fortune. The third poster struck John as a jumbled combination of the two of them. As John read the man’s crimes and description he realized that a bounty had been placed on Fikiri as well.
“You found these in Nurjima?” John asked.
“They were posted all over the dock slums.” Ravishan picked up the poster of John and studied it.
John tried to ignore the anxiety that slowly spread through him. If they couldn’t go to Nurjima, John didn’t know where he and Ravishan would be safe. He had hoped that his distinctive build and coloring would not stand out too much in the Eastern dock community of Nurjima. From there he had thought they could make their way south. But these wanted posters ensured that people would be looking for him even there. And Ravishan would be easy to recognize.
“This picture doesn’t look like you all that much,” Ravishan said. “Your eyes are different and your chin is sharper.”
“But this really looks like you.” John found himself gazing at tiny lines that perfectly captured the curve of Ravishan’s lips. “It’s almost as if you sat for this.”
“I think I did.” Ravishan scowled at the picture. “At the Black Tower there was a priest who drew several pictures of me. They were going to be made into etchings for the holy texts.”
Ravishan moved closer to John. The light smell of some distant bakery still clung to him.
“Fikiri looks a little cross-eyed,” he commented.
“Yeah, a little,” John agreed. “I suppose that’s good for him. He’s less likely to be recognized.”
“If I’d known that the drawings would be used to advertise the price on my head,” Ravishan said, “I would have crossed my eyes and grimaced the entire time.”
John nodded. He hadn’t even considered that this might happen. He’d grown so used to the isolation of Rathal’pesha that he’d failed to think of how quickly the Payshmura could communicate across great distances.
“We can’t make straight for Nurjima,” Ravishan said.
“No.” Word of their crimes would be spreading out from all three of the Payshmura strongholds. It would circulate fastest around Nurjima, where the multitude of printing presses and railroads would make the church’s reach omnipresent.
“If we travel along the western mountains we won’t encounter many people,” Ravishan suggested.
“It will take too long to cross the mountain passes, especially at this time of year.” John shook his head. As soon as Laurie gave birth she would be made into an issusha. That gave them two months to reach Umbhra’ibaye before Laurie was flayed alive.
“If we take the roads east through the Bousim lands, it’ll be faster, but every villager will notice you.” Ravishan glanced meaningfully to the picture of John. “There aren’t any Easterners left in those lands. You’ll stand out like a tahldi in a goat pen.”
“There has to be another way.” John heard the crash of thunder high up in the darkening clouds. Outside the shelter the snow was falling harder.
Ravishan remained quiet for several moments. He studied John.
“Even if we could reach Umbhra’ibaye in two months,” Ravishan spoke in a slow, almost cautious tone, “I don’t think that we could save Loshai.”
“What are you talking about?” John demanded. “We agreed on this yesterday.”
“No, I said that I would try to travel south. But now I don’t think that even that would be a good idea.”
“We have to help Loshai,” John said firmly.
Ravishan lowered his head. “How?”
“What do you mean?”
“How are we going to save her?”
“We’ll break her out,” John snapped.
“I know you don’t want to hear this,” Ravishan said. “I was hoping that we could just reach Umbhra’ibaye and you could see for yourself how impossible it was. But it would be madness to travel south now.”
“We can find a way,” John insisted, though he had no idea how. There had to be a way to jump the trains. Maybe they could travel at night. He could dye his hair…
“Jahn, you’ve never seen Umbhra’ibaye, but I have. I’ve tried to reach my sister there,” Ravishan spoke softly. “The walls are heavily guarded. The inner chambers are black catacombs full of traps. Even I can’t move through the Gray Space there.”
“I don’t care. I won’t leave Loshai there to die. I have to get her out. I…” John wanted to declare that he would crush Umbhra’ibaye. He would tear down the walls and rip open the hidden chambers. But even as he thought it he realized the stupidity of his plan.
Laurie was inside Umbhra’ibaye. If he unleashed the Rifter’s power against the convent, he would bury Laurie under tons of stone and earth. He hadn’t been able to control his power well enough to break himself out of a prison cell. He couldn’t even stop the storm that he had created. How could he expect to protect Laurie inside Umbhra’ibaye if he brought the whole place down?
“I can’t abandon her,” John said at last.
“You can’t save her,” Ravishan said flatly. “You’ll just end up getting us both killed.”
Thief of Lives
Tags: No Author Royalties CollectedWhy
are certain
subjects so
Difficult to talk
about? What
is justice?
Why do
writers
think that
other people’s
lives are fair game?
And what do we really
know about the first chemist?
A story about history, women,
science (and also the demonic); a crime
story, based upon a true crime; a realist satire
of the supposedly sex-savvy; and a story exploring lies,
and the space between the real and the unreal. Welcome to
the worlds of Lucy Sussex, and to her many varied modes.
ﾥ
Pay attention to this woman! Turn these pages! Here
be monsters and mysteries and marvels.
– Karen Joy Fowler
Table of Contents
Reviews
The four stories showcased here could not be more different, one from another, but collectively they constitute an excellent introduction to the talents of the incomparable Lucy Sussex. I can’t imagine the person who would read these and not want to read more. — Karen Joy Fowler
I loved her beautiful story about modern and ancient Babylon, “Alchemy” — Gwyneth Jones
Paperback ﾥ 120pp ﾥ RRP AUS$18
ISBN 978-0-9808274-5-3
Cover design by Amanda Rainey
Published July 2011
Beneath Ceaseless Skies Issue #79, Third Anniversary Double-Issue
Tags: No Author Royalties CollectedIssue #79 of Beneath Ceaseless Skies online magazine–our Third Anniversary Double-Issue–featuring stories by Richard Parks, Kat Howard, Nicole M. Taylor, and J.S. Bangs.
Apex Magazine – Issue 29
Tags: No Author Royalties CollectedThe October 2011 issue of Apex Magazine.
This issue features fiction by Shira Lipkin (“I Am Thinking of You in the Places Between”), Heather McDougal (“To the Mistress of the Labyrinth Give Honey”), and Kat Howard (“A Life in Fictions”). Poetry by Amal El-Mohtar (“In Search of a North Countrie”) and SJ Tucker (“Hot Wet Mess”). And a lengthy interview with fantasy legend R.A. Salvatore.
Clarkesworld Magazine – Issue 61
Tags: No Author Royalties CollectedThe October 2011 issue of Clarkesworld Magazine.
Our fifth anniversary issue features fiction by Ken Liu (“Staying Behind”), Erik Amundsen (“Pony”) and Catherynne M. Valente (Part 1 of “Silently and Very Fast”), interviews with Steven Gould and Joan Slonczewski, an article on independent SF films by Mark Cole and an editorial by Neil Clarke.
Lightspeed Magazine Issue 17
Tags: No Author Royalties CollectedEvery month Lightspeed Magazine features all kinds of science fiction: from near-future, sociological soft sf, to far-future, star-spanning hard sf, and anything and everything in between:
We welcome back author Adam-Troy Castro, who brings us a story of complicated human relationships, in which the people involved have to question what it is exactly that makes us human in “Her Husband’s Hands.”
Justina Robson gives the story of a family separated—definitely in space, but also possibly in time—in “The Little Bear.”
In “Against Eternity” author David Farland takes us through a far-future transformation in pursuit of immortality.
And in the last, but not least of our fiction offerings this month, we have, from Candlewick Press’s new Steampunk! anthology, Cassandra Clare’s tale of a lonely girl and her clockwork dolls: “Some Fortunate Future Day.”
Fantasy Magazine Issue 55
Tags: No Author Royalties CollectedWelcome to issue fifty-five of Fantasy Magazine!
Here’s what we’ve got on tap this month …
Fiction: “The Secret Beach” by Tim Pratt, “Absolute Zero” by Nadia Bulkin, “Unnatural Disaster” by Kristine Katherine Rusch, “The Invisibles” by Charles De Lint.
Nonfiction: “Feature Interview: Richard K. Morgan” by Andrew Liptak, “The Downsides of Dating a God” by Genevieve Valentine, “Five Ocean-Dwelling Creatures That Look Like Aliens (But Aren’t)” by Jeremiah Tolbert, “Are You Watching Carefully?” by Christopher Priest.
New York Review of Science Fiction #278
Tags: No Author Royalties CollectedAlien Landscapes: Stanley Weinbaum and the culture of gift-giving; Hope Mirlees’s reinvention of Paris; the Anime Renaissance; Soviet time-travel; and reviews.
Something Wicked Issue 14 (October 2011)
Tags: No Author Royalties CollectedHere we are, another month, another issue.
So let me not waste any time. Our Oct 2011 issue is once again packed with original fiction starting with our cover story, beautifully illustrated by Hendrik Gericke, “The Treasons”, by A.A. Garrison which is about aﾠ father and son road trip across a desolate land.
Our novelette for this month is “Jiang Shi”, by William Mitchell, in which an opium trader deals with constant chronic pain by sampling his goods, until he finds another source of relief. “The Watcher in The Corner” is a poignant story about a being who watches a family, silently, from its corner of the ceiling.
Our last story is a reprint by Davin Ireland entitled “Engaging the Idrl” and is about a group of soldiers securing a foreign planet.
We also have our usual non-fiction pieces, firstly the insanity of Mark Sykesﾒs Sixth Sense of Humour, which this month is about the end of the world and how to avoid it, or, at the very least, make the best of it. The second piece is my pondering about our time in space and whether or not it has passed, or is only just beginning.
Our feature interview this month is with Joan De La Haye, whose debut novel Shadows will fuck you up for life, but in a good way.
And so, along with our usual Writers Cornered interviews, thatﾒs our issue for this month. We hope you enjoy it as much as we do, and do drop us a line if you do, either via email or leave a comment on the site.
If you want to save 45% off the cover price you can pick a subscription for only $1.66 (about R12) per month from Weightless Books.
Thanks for reading, and remember – if youﾒre fan, please consider getting a subscription for yourself or a friend, or simply tell everyone you know about us, we really need and truly appreciate your support.
Till next time,
Joe
13:58
Cape Town
28th September 2011
Love and Romanpunk
Tags: No Author Royalties CollectedThousands of years ago, Julia Agrippina wrote the true history of her family, the Caesars. The document was lost, or destroyed, almost immediately.
(It included more monsters than you might think.)
Hundreds of years ago, Fanny and Mary ran away from London with a debauched poet and his sister.
(If it was the poet you are thinking of, the story would have ended far more happily, and with fewer people having their throats bitten out.)
Sometime in the near future, a community will live in a replica Roman city built in the Australian bush. It’s a sight to behold.
(Shame about the manticores.)
Further in the future, the last man who guards the secret history of the world will discover that the past has a way of coming around to bite you.
(He didn’t even know she had a thing for pointy teeth.)
The world is in greater danger than you ever suspected. Women named Julia are stronger than they appear. Don’t let your little brother make out with silver-eyed blondes. Immortal heroes really don’t fancy teenage girls. When love dies, there’s still opera. Family is everything. Monsters are everywhere. Yes, you do have to wear the damned toga.
History is not what you think it is.
LOVE AND ROMANPUNK.
Table of Contents
ISBN 978-0-9808274-6-0
Cover design by Amanda Rainey
Electronic conversion by Cheryl Morgan (mobi)
Suitable for Kindle
Published September 2011
Beneath Ceaseless Skies Issue #78
Tags: No Author Royalties CollectedIssue #78 of Beneath Ceaseless Skies online magazine, featuring a story by Garth Upshaw.
Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet No. 27
Tags: No Author Royalties Collected8.5 x 7 · 60pp · August 2011 · Issue 27 · Available in lovely finger-grabby paper edition or fast and flashy PDF, epub, and mobi.
It is traditional in the world of zines to apologize for the lateness of the latest issue to appear. This goes back to Bob, the first caveman to leave a couple of carved stone tablets with his musings on the politics of fire distribution and some great undiscovered band he saw in a cave a few hills over. His next carvings, were, of course, a bit delayed. You know how it is. A hunt goes long. The crop gets rain-delayed and the delay just rolls over everything else. Other projects—carving wheels, painting the walls—get in the way. Eventually Bob gets through the to-do list and starts getting a new issue of his zine out. Eventually we did, too.
Besides, we’re introducing a new columnist, Nicole Kimberling, who will write about food. This time, she starts us off with that most delightful of foods: brownies.
Reviews
“Unusual and imaginative, with a distinct literary tone and a lot of characters on the far edge of sanity, if not beyond.”
—Lois Tilton, Locus Online
“This small black and white irregularly-published journal is much bigger inside than it is outside.”
—Terry Weyna, Fantasy Literature
Fiction
A. D. Jameson, The Wolves of St. Etienne
Jessy Randall, The Hedon-Ex Anomaly
K. M. Ferebee, Thou Earth, Thou
Karen Heuler, Elvis in Bloom
M. K. Hobson, A Sackful of Ramps
Carol Emshwiller, The Mismeasure of Me
David Rowinski, Music Box
Joan Aiken, The Sale of Midsummer
Sarah Harris Wallman, The Malanesian
Nonfiction
Nicole Kimberling, Sending All Your Love
Gwenda Bond, Dear Aunt Gwenda
About these Authors
Poetry
Sarah Heller, Four Poems
Sarah Heller, Garden
David Blair, Five Poems
Cover
Kathleen Jennings
Made by: Gavin J. Grant, Kelly Link, Jedediah Berry, and Michael J. DeLuca.
Readers: Su-Yee Lin, Samantha Guilbert, Cristi Jacques, Hannah Goldstein, Matthew Harrison.
Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet No.27, August 2011. ISSN 1544-7782. Text: Bodoni Book. Titles: Imprint MT Shadow. LCRW is published in June and November by Small Beer Press, 150 Pleasant St., Easthampton, MA 01027 · smallbeerpress@gmail.com · smallbeerpress.com/lcrw
Subscriptions: $20/4 issues (see page 17 of the paper edition or here). Please make checks to Small Beer Press. Library & institutional subscriptions are available through EBSCO & Swets.
LCRW is available as an ebook through smallbeerpress.com, Weightless Books, and Fictionwise, and occasionally as a trade paperback and ebook from lulu.com/sbp.
Contents © the authors. All rights reserved. Submissions, requests for guidelines, & all good things should be sent to the address above. No SASE: no reply. Paper edition printed by the good people at Paradise Copies, 21 Conz St., Northampton, MA 01060. 413-585-0414.
As always, thanks for reading.
We wish Michael J. DeLuca were not leaving Small Beer East for Detroit but we wish him and Erin well and we’re very grateful for his time, his bread, beer, and good cheer. He’s provided more help than we could list in 60 pages, never mind in this note. Thanks, Michael.
Icarus, Issue 10
Tags: No Author Royalties CollectedIcarus: The Magazine of Gay Speculative Fiction presents stories and features for Fall 2011. A fairy boy confronts a human crush in Alex Jeffers’s “Liam and the Ordinary Boy.” James Bennett tells a tale of death and art and Michaelangelo’s favorite apprentice.
Award-winning author Richard Bowes offers another jewel of a tale that begins when a writer meets a devoted fan at an event. Sandra McDonald tells of a mindful puss. Ken Summers, author of a collection of true queer ghost stories investigates a new haunting. Plus, this issue has reviews, gossips, an interview with Ginn Hale and the debut of a new column by Tom Cardamone, who reveals his “Lust” for the talented Geoff Ryman.
Part 7, Enemies and Shadows
Tags: No Author Royalties CollectedThe Rifter is a ten-part serialized novel by award-winning author, Ginn Hale. The first episode, The Shattered Gates, was published on March 8, 2011. Further installments will be published on the second Tuesday of each month.
Part 7, Enemies & Shadows, was published on Tuesday, September 13th.
When John opens a letter addressed to his missing roommate, Kyle, he expects to find a house key, but instead he is swept into a strange realm of magic, mysticism, revolutionaries and assassins. Though he struggles to escape, John is drawn steadily closer to a fate he share with Kyle—to wake the destroyer god, the Rifter, and shatter a world.
“The true sorcery here is in Ginn Hale’s writing, which is by turns funny, fierce and lyrical. I can’t say enough good things about her work. Rifter is an astonishing story: terrifying and yet romantic. I was bewitched from the first sentence.”
—Josh Lanyon
Read an Excerpt:
Chapter Sixty-Six
Kahlil scowled at the entourage of attendants and guards as they filed, all dressed in the tawny gold Lisam colors, through the gates of Jath’ibaye’s household. He wanted to be up there watching for treachery. Most of all, he wanted to be there so he could have the pleasure of driving his fist into Ourath Lisam’s far too handsome face.
Instead, he attempted to content himself with glaring out from an observation tower in the kahlirash’im’s barracks. It didn’t offer him the vast, expansive views that Jath’ibaye’s watchtowers had. He could only see the comings and goings on the grounds below and those of the nearest buildings. Not even using the telescopes could he observe what transpired within the walls of Jath’ibaye’s household.
“Those are meant for watching the stars, aren’t they?” Pesha asked shyly. She had taken her assignment as Kahlil’s personal attendant rather seriously. Kahlil hadn’t been alone since early this morning.
“I think so.” Kahlil placed the telescope back in its delicate cradle of tiny gears and clasps. He wasn’t used to being so closely observed. He leaned back against the stone wall. Pesha gazed at him expectantly. Kahlil realized that the day was going to be something of a disappointment for her. She probably expected that the life of the Kahlil would be much more exciting.
She had no idea how much of his life had been spent in silent observation. He’d tried to make the first part of the day interesting, demonstrating the battle forms for the Unseen Edge and the Silence Knife. He’d even acquiesced to attending midafternoon prayers in the Temple of the Rifter with the rest of the kahlilrash’im. But once the gaun’im began to arrive, he could not fight the irresistible urge toward surveillance.
He still hadn’t spotted Ourath, though Kahlil was now very familiar with the faces of the Lisam porters, having spent the better part of an hour observing them toting luggage up and down Vundomu’s many staircases.
Kahlil went back to the window to view the grounds below. The elite kahlirash’im were gathered for battle practice. Unlike the rashan’im of the gaun families, most of the kahlirash’im rode small, fast does instead of massive bucks. Their maneuvers exploited the speed and lightness of both female animals and riders. Targets splintered as the kahlirash’im fired their rifles from the backs of their bounding mounts.
Kahlil had never been much of a rider. He’d never needed to be. It was strange and fascinating to watch the precision of both the riders’ movements and their tahldi’s responses. Pesha moved a little closer to Kahlil, following his gaze out to the kahlirash riders. They both watched as a slender rider swung down to grasp a new rifle from a kahlirash kneeling on the ground. The rider came back up in an instant and fired. Another target cracked apart.
“Incredible,” Pesha whispered. That was probably the kind of activity that Pesha had been hoping to engage in today.
“Very impressive,” Kahlil agreed.
“Wah’roa said that Jath’ibaye had work that he needed you to complete.” Pesha’s dark eyes flicked quickly from the riders to Kahlil.
Kahlil nodded. Translating an archaic botanical tome was probably the last thing that Pesha would want to do all afternoon. And he didn’t find it all that appealing either.
“Could I ask what it is?” Pesha clearly expected something secret and dangerous.
“You don’t want to know,” Kahlil said.
Pesha frowned and returned to watching the kahlirash riders. For a moment Kahlil felt the urge to offer Pesha some exciting lie. Perhaps he could claim that they were supposed to spy on Ourath from the silence of the Gray Space. He smirked at his own absurd desire to impress a teenage girl. Of course, there was also the fact that he wanted any excuse to return to Jath’ibaye’s household and watch Ourath. But if he did that, then Jath’ibaye would feel his presence and know that Kahlil was, once again, disobeying his orders and being where he should not be.
Once again Kahlil found himself staring at the walls surrounding Jath’ibaye’s holdings. The stone faces and black iron gates gave him no consolation. Ourath was probably already inside, posing in Jath’ibaye’s doorway and offering lurid apologies in his low, velvety voice.
Jath’ibaye would turn Ourath away, Kahlil told himself.
Still, the thought of the niru’mohim nagged at him. Ji had assured him that the niru’mohim wouldn’t harm Jath’ibaye but she hadn’t said it wouldn’t affect him. Both Fikiri and Ourath had been willing to stake their futures on the potion’s power. What if they were right? What if Jath’ibaye couldn’t resist it? What if, at this very moment, Ourath was lying back in the bed that Kahlil had left this morning? The idea seared through Kahlil. He would kill Ourath if he found him in Jath’ibaye’s bedroom.