The Shill and the Purblind

It's a little exposition-dense. A kink I'll work out over the drafts to come. For now, since it's been so long and I know you need something to live on—talking to you Dave—enjoy this bit of fiction from The Shill and the Purblind.     My mother was a slave, Idun Verdandi recited. My mother tried to … Continue reading The Shill and the Purblind

In Celebration of World Poetry Day

Swelling Hour Swelling hour, ebbing light Dusk of night—deep and deeper still, Stealing light as May’s shifting breeze Steals sound: still and deep and silent. Still in swelling hour’s silent depths May’s maternal night shelters The fugitives of ebbing light. Blades of night-dark pasture stretch And reach and reach and grasp Then bend and sway … Continue reading In Celebration of World Poetry Day

Einar, the Ungelīc

Einar sat back on his haunches, elbows resting on his knees. The view from his perch on the scorched black hill showed him a valley of the dead. Heat rose in soft waves from open bodies, turning the cold air foggy. Even the rain took on a red glint as it crossed the warm front. … Continue reading Einar, the Ungelīc

Idun Verdandi, an Ísigstān Slave

Idun Verdandi was born in the Ísigstān kingdom. Idun was born a slave in the house of the Vetr Sun, living in the very same castle as the hēahcyning himself. This knowledge was no comfort. Idun had once been told the story of her beginning. Her mother, also a slave, had tried to first hide Idun, then … Continue reading Idun Verdandi, an Ísigstān Slave