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There was a land of elven halls and hollows, of fairy mounds and great cathedrals underground. Hapless mortals went in and danced until their feet gave out, and sometimes they came out again. But far beyond the merriment and the music and the trapped mortals, there was a campfire, and around itThe Frequency of Compassion - Uncanny Magazine
There was a land of elven halls and hollows, of fairy mounds and great cathedrals underground. Hapless mortals went in and danced until their feet gave out, and sometimes they came out again. But far beyond the merriment and the music and the trapped mortals, there was a campfire, and around itThe Frequency of Compassion - Uncanny Magazine
Kaityn Falk loves the dark phase of the moon. It’s quiet. Soothing. Insulated in their spacesuit, comm dimmed, Kaityn sits in the rover and watches the sky. Here on Io 7, a newly discovered satellite in retrograde orbit around a dwarf planet the size of Pluto, they are the only living human in several thousand lightyears. …
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There was a land of elven halls and hollows, of fairy mounds and great cathedrals underground. Hapless mortals went in and danced until their feet gave out, and sometimes they came out again. But far beyond the merriment and the music and the trapped mortals, there was a campfire, and around itThe Frequency of Compassion - Uncanny Magazine
I wanted to tell you, in case opportunity absents itself forever, that it doesn’t matter. That your magic is algorithmic, that mine is an abstraction of reality. That yours demands cartographic soliloquies, every verse a phrase and a phase of mathematics and momentum, every word you speak a parThere and Back Again - Uncanny Magazine (non-fiction)
I wanted to tell you, in case opportunity absents itself forever, that it doesn’t matter. That your magic is algorithmic, that mine is an abstraction of reality. That yours demands cartographic soliloquies, every verse a phrase and a phase of mathematics and momentum, every word you speak a parThere and Back Again - Uncanny Magazine (non-fiction)
One does not simply walk into Mordor. We all know this, everyone knows this. The road to Mount Doom is treacherous. Every step brings confusion and terror. And yet we pretend it is so, that one can walk in, and can then walk out again, unchanged. It starts so simply, so small. You find a …
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I wanted to tell you, in case opportunity absents itself forever, that it doesn’t matter. That your magic is algorithmic, that mine is an abstraction of reality. That yours demands cartographic soliloquies, every verse a phrase and a phase of mathematics and momentum, every word you speak a parThere and Back Again - Uncanny Magazine (non-fiction)
It is January 18th. At 16:25:15, Senior Engineer Robert Brandt asks me to sit on a lab bench inside Examination Room 2 and “get comfortable.” I do not understand how to comply. The sensors implanted in my titanium casing, which covers my organic torso and legs, are not calibrated to sense minutMonologue by an unnamed mage, recorded at the brink of the end - Uncanny Magazine
It is January 18th. At 16:25:15, Senior Engineer Robert Brandt asks me to sit on a lab bench inside Examination Room 2 and “get comfortable.” I do not understand how to comply. The sensors implanted in my titanium casing, which covers my organic torso and legs, are not calibrated to sense minutMonologue by an unnamed mage, recorded at the brink of the end - Uncanny Magazine
I wanted to tell you, in case opportunity absents itself forever, that it doesn’t matter. That your magic is algorithmic, that mine is an abstraction of reality. That yours demands cartographic soliloquies, every verse a phrase and a phase of mathematics and momentum, every word you speak a part of the map, and you build …
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It is January 18th. At 16:25:15, Senior Engineer Robert Brandt asks me to sit on a lab bench inside Examination Room 2 and “get comfortable.” I do not understand how to comply. The sensors implanted in my titanium casing, which covers my organic torso and legs, are not calibrated to sense minutMonologue by an unnamed mage, recorded at the brink of the end - Uncanny Magazine
My Name Is Cybernetic Model XR389F, and I Am Beautiful
My Name Is Cybernetic Model XR389F, and I Am Beautiful
It is January 18th. At 16:25:15, Senior Engineer Robert Brandt asks me to sit on a lab bench inside Examination Room 2 and “get comfortable.” I do not understand how to comply. The sensors implanted in my titanium casing, which covers my organic torso and legs, are not calibrated to sense minute changes in pressure; …
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My Name Is Cybernetic Model XR389F, and I Am Beautiful
You’ll Surely Drown Here If You Stay - Uncanny Magazine
You’ll Surely Drown Here If You Stay - Uncanny Magazine
When the desert finally lets you go, naked and stumbling, your body humming with raw power and the song of dead things coiled under your tongue, you find Marisol waiting for you at the edge of the bluffs. She’s dressed in long sleeves and a skirt over her boots, her black hair tucked under a …
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You’ll Surely Drown Here If You Stay - Uncanny Magazine
To Budapest, with Love - Uncanny Magazine
To Budapest, with Love - Uncanny Magazine
I am seventeen. I am in Budapest, and it is the Communist era. At the airport, there were Russian soldiers with Kalashnikovs patrolling the runways. Only one airline flew to Budapest, the national airline Malév. There were few passengers. I stopped at passport control and showed my American passport. It contains a photograph of me …
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To Budapest, with Love - Uncanny Magazine
My Body, Herself - Uncanny Magazine
My Body, Herself - Uncanny Magazine
When the cave’s ceiling crumples, so do I. Through my body, stone kisses stone. I die. Afterward, footsteps pass by my head. I track them to the opposite wall, the one clear of debris. (If I’d been cowering there, I’d still be alive.) The bearer is wearing my dress, and when she reaches into the …
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My Body, Herself - Uncanny Magazine
Ye Highlands and Ye Lowlands - Uncanny Magazine
Ye Highlands and Ye Lowlands - Uncanny Magazine
Ye Highlands and ye Lowlands, Oh, where have you been? They have slain the Earl of Moray, And they laid him on the green. —Child Ballad 181, “The Bonny Earl of Moray.” Things have consequences. Kids figure that out around the time they’re old enough to realize that when they touch a hot stove, they …
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Ye Highlands and Ye Lowlands - Uncanny Magazine
Under One Roof - Uncanny Magazine
Under One Roof - Uncanny Magazine
First came the murmurs. Then footsteps above our bedroom, where no feet should have been. Josh guessed we had squirrels in the attic. “I hope not,” I said, lying next to him the first night in our new rental. “Seeing as how we don’t have a key to the top floor. Anyway, it’s just the …
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Under One Roof - Uncanny Magazine
The Witch of Orion Waste and the Boy Knight - Uncanny Magazine
The Witch of Orion Waste and the Boy Knight - Uncanny Magazine
Once, on the edge of a stony scrub named for a star that fell burning from Orion a hundred years ago, there stood a hut with tin spangles strung from its rafters and ram bones mudded in its walls. Many witches had lived in the hut over the years, fair and foul, dark and light, …
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The Witch of Orion Waste and the Boy Knight - Uncanny Magazine
The Thule Stowaway - Uncanny Magazine
The Thule Stowaway - Uncanny Magazine
I have reached these lands but newly From an ultimate dim Thule— From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime Out of SPACE—out of TIME. Edgar Allan Poe, “Dream–Land” The Poet’s Tale The dreamer, born bleak, invents an existence elsewhere. He tosses in his sleep, his hair tangled. His hands grasp at nothing, and his …
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The Thule Stowaway - Uncanny Magazine
#beautifulresistance - Uncanny Magazine
#beautifulresistance - Uncanny Magazine
Everything we believe is a story. That red in a traffic light means “stop” while green means “go.” The idea of Western scientific thinking as free of bias. That peanut butter and jelly is the perfect kid’s meal. The American dream. Everything. Whether they’re good stories or bad stories isn’t the point. What matters is …
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#beautifulresistance - Uncanny Magazine
Sun, Moon, Dust - Uncanny Magazine
Sun, Moon, Dust - Uncanny Magazine
Allpa received the magic sword from his grandmother, as she lay dying. “I’m afraid I don’t really need a sword, grandma,” he said. “No, nor do you deserve it,” she snapped at him. She was a fierce old woman with a nose like a hawk’s beak and skin falling away in folds from her cheekbones. …
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Sun, Moon, Dust - Uncanny Magazine
Making the Magic Lightning Strike Me - Uncanny Magazine
Making the Magic Lightning Strike Me - Uncanny Magazine
The client lies slumped across my shoulders. I have an arm around his thigh, another around his upper arm. His immaculately tailored silk pajamas are soft against my hand. They must feel amazing on his body. Right now, the client may as well be a loaded barbell, except his body gives and his weight shifts …
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Making the Magic Lightning Strike Me - Uncanny Magazine
Origins - Uncanny Magazine
Origins - Uncanny Magazine
I am starving. Performing miracles for you—manifesting money from the air; deconstructing diseases; repairing broken bodies, imbalanced minds—costs me energy, and entropy nickel-and-dimes my soul day by day. So my hunger never leaves me, only grows. And there is no food for me here; I have foresworn eating anyone else. I am resigned to die. …
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Origins - Uncanny Magazine
And Then There Were (N-One) - Uncanny Magazine
And Then There Were (N-One) - Uncanny Magazine
I considered declining the invitation. It was too weird, too expensive, too far, too dangerous, too weird. Way too weird. An invitation like that would never come again. I’d regret it if I didn’t go. It lay on our kitchen table for three weeks while I argued out the pros and cons with Mabel. She …
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And Then There Were (N-One) - Uncanny Magazine