PodCastle 556: Shadow Boy

PodCastle 557: The Griffin and the Minor Canon

PodCastle 558: A Place to Grow

When Shadow Confronts Sun By Farah Naz Rishi [Allah] will say, “Enter among nations which had passed on before you of jinn and mankind into the Fire.” Every time a nation enters, it will curse its sister until, when they have all overtaken one another therein, the last of them will say about the first …

One Day, My Dear, I’ll Shower You With Rubies by Langley Hyde “Elusia Cooper,” she said. “I’m the only child of the accused, Verus Bloodrain.” Her father, clean-shaven and dark-haired, sat at the defendant’s bench. He looked exactly as he had when Fort Beatitude had fallen, about thirty years old, but then magic would do …

Burning Season By C. L. Clark It was burning season in Rashid. Again. Even in the shop, I could smell the smoke. Can you believe I used to like the smell of burning paper? With my eyes closed, I can still see pages glow red before they burst into flame and curl into ash until …

Words Never Lost by DaVaun Sanders Imala spat on the schoolhouse’s brittle timbers as she passed, slipping behind the Tyre Orphan School’s woeful outbuildings and through the fence. A lashing awaited anyone caught here, but she had broken her promise to meet Vachaspah one too many times. The soft crack of fledgling bone pulled her …

PodCastle 559: Dying Lessons

PodCastle 560: Suddenwall

PodCastle 561: Baby Teeth

PodCastle 562: Cooking Creole

PodCastle 563: El Cantar de la Reina Bruja

Every House, a Home By Evan Dicken “I guess nobody wants haunted houses, anymore.” Derek checked his reflection in one of the Cape Cod’s filmy windows, teasing his hair back to mussy perfection. He glanced back at me. “That was a joke, Natalie.” I gave him my best approximation of a smile. He blew out …

The Blue Widow By J. P. Sullivan It was good tea, all things considered, and I really did admire his efforts at being a good host — but the fact was, I was there to kill him. This was, unfortunately, something of a trend in the profession. He spoke with the confidence of his kind. “You’ve …

Propagating Peonies By Suzan Palumbo This time, you were a burgeoning peony at the edge of a small cottage garden, stems ladened with clusters of dark fuchsia petals. Your scent perfumed the afternoon air, enveloping me as I walked my solitary way home. I did not want to wait for you. I crept back towards …

We Head for the Horizon and Return with Bloodshot Eyes by Eleanna Castroianni August 14th, 1949 Near Kançikon, Pindhos The heart had already stopped beating — small animal in glistening glory, trapped between rosy lungs. Burgundy liver and sickly gall I passed; bones and marrow hold more secrets. Intoxicated, I shoved my hands into the soldier’s …

La Gorda and the City of Silver by Sabrina Vourvoulias I. I was born on a Wednesday, in the middle of a chapuzón. The sudden squall of sky water bears little resemblance to a thunderstorm — it’s more like a vertical flood, though very brief. I considered Chapuzón for my luchador name — I had …

How I Became Coruscating Queen of All the Realms, Pierced the Obsidian Night, Destroyed a Legendary Sword, and Saved My Heart’s True Love By Baker & Dovey No shit, there I was, knee-deep in necromantic weasels in the lair of the mad wizard-king, when Korgar and Elutriel both decided it was time to win my …

The Chaos Village — Part 1 By M.K. Hutchins The ground under Rob’s feet shifted from sand to jagged shale and back again. The mountains folded into valleys, then spiked into cliffs. The green clouds turned into triangles and tried to stab him in the back, but crumpled and fell off. Rob turned another page …

The Chaos Village – Part 2 By M.K. Hutchins Sarsa was cooking some kind of coarse flatbread — it appeared to be made of wild roots and ground wild seeds — on a griddle slanted up toward the storage pit. Her hut was mostly empty otherwise, packed up into neat baskets still sitting outside the …

All of the Cuddles With None of the Pain By J. J. Roth What is a Reborn? A Reborn is an artist-enhanced baby doll that looks and feels lifelike. Artists create Reborns as one-of-a-kind collectibles, often from ordinary play dolls transformed into art suitable for hands-off display—or hands-on cuddling. While reasonably durable, Reborns are not …

In Spring, the Dawn. In Summer, the Night. By Aidan Doyle It always seems to me that people who hate me must be suffering from some strange form of lunacy. – Sei Shōnagon, The Pillow Book, Circa 1000 C.E. On the third day of the third month, the good people of court traveled by ox-drawn …

Zilal and the Many-Folded Puzzle Ship By Charlotte Ashley When Zilal Saleebaan Kamal was six years old, she built her first ship in a bottle. It was a fully-articulated craft of sandalwood and brass with eighteen oars that rowed in unison when the bottle was tipped to and fro. Her father presented it to the …

Shadow Man, Sack Man, Half Dark, Half Light By Malon Edwards You keep running, even though you know you can’t escape the fifty-foot-tall Pogo. But you were built for this. You are taller than all of the girls and most of the boys in your Covey Four class. Your legs are longer. Your steam-clock heart is …

Blackbird Pastry by Megan Branning Sing a song of sixpence A pocket full of rye. Four and twenty blackbirds Baked in a pie. When the pie was opened, The birds began to sing. Wasn’t that a dainty dish To set before the king? A dainty dish? Oh, I suppose, but did you never wonder how …

A Whisper in the Weld By Alix E. Harrow Isa died in a sudden suffocation of boiling blood and iron cinder in her mouth; she returned to herself wearing a blue cotton dress stained with fresh tobacco. She was younger and leaner, as she’d been when she first met Leslie Bell. Her skin shone dark and …

Maiden, Mother, Crone By Ann Leckie and Rachel Swirsky The mule nipped at Marjan’s hand as she burdened it with her packs. She pushed its nose away, careful not to hurt it. She needed the mule to be well. Her life — and her unborn child’s — depended on it. She led the mule outside the stable …

Bonsai by Shaenon K. Garrity Uterine cancer, the doctor is saying, and the world ends. Stage Four. That means advanced. It means bad. Your arms and legs and throat go numb. All you can hear is his question, looping: when was your last exam? You can’t remember. Not that it matters now. In cases like yours …

The Narcomancer by N.K. Jemisin “Death is not a Gatherer’s business,” Cet said. Did the woman realize how greatly she had insulted him and all his brethren? For the first time in a very long while, he felt anger stir in his heart. “Peace is our business. Sharers do that by healing the flesh. Gatherers deal with the soul, …