Beneath Ceaseless Skies Issue #51

Ancestor Night by Nina Kiriki Hoffman. It's Easy to Shoot A Dog by Maria Haskins. BCS Ancestor Night by Nina Kiriki Hoffman.
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• E. Catherine Tobler
• Kindle Feature Spotlight
• Product details
• Beneath Ceaseless Skies Issue # « Weightless Books

But first, I have Something To Say. Recently there has been a plague of bigoted and ignorant pronouncements about Islam and Muslims. A lot of the stories in this batch of ezines are just plain weird. Most of the stories in Beneath Ceaseless Skies are not weird, but the zine is celebrating its 2nd anniversary with a double issue. The new historical fiction zine Alt Hist is making its debut. At the same time, Realms of Fantasy is posting its final issue online.

Zines are born, zines die.

A ghostly issue, starring an excellent novella by Robert Reed. Mostly light entertainment from Cowdrey and quite a few of the other usual regulars are here as. August 8, May 29, admin 3 Comments Lois Tilton. Clarkesworld, August One of the best things about this ezine is that July 29, May 29, admin 1 Comment Lois Tilton. July 16, May 29, admin 0 Comments Lois Tilton.

Subterranean, Summer A special YA issue of this online quarterly, guest-edited by Gwenda Bond, with nine pieces of July 7, May 29, admin 4 Comments Lois Tilton.

Jabberwocky 6, July Something not quite June 30, May 29, admin 0 Comments Lois Tilton. Doug and Judy both see the future, but June 22, May 29, admin 1 Comment Lois Tilton. Stiamot is an official of the court of the Coronal, currently charged with arranging his royal progress across June 7, May 29, admin 4 Comments Lois Tilton.

Realms of Fantasy, June Seven stories in this issue — a larger number than usual, with none of them May 29, May 29, admin 1 Comment Lois Tilton.

Kindle Feature Spotlight

May 20, May 29, admin 2 Comments Lois Tilton. May 7, May 29, admin 5 Comments Lois Tilton. April 29, May 29, admin 6 Comments Lois Tilton. April 22, May 29, admin 0 Comments Lois Tilton. April 9, May 29, admin 1 Comment Lois Tilton. March 31, June 4, admin 2 Comments Lois Tilton. March 21, June 4, admin 2 Comments Lois Tilton. Realms of Fantasy, April Damnation Press is celebrating its acquisition of this zine with a dark fantasy theme issue. March 3, June 4, admin 2 Comments Lois Tilton. Tales of Dark Fantasy February 26, June 4, admin 2 Comments Lois Tilton. February 13, June 4, admin 12 Comments Lois Tilton.

February 5, June 4, admin 2 Comments Lois Tilton. Clarkesworld 53, February Two unhappy January 27, June 4, admin 2 Comments Lois Tilton. Fantasy Magazine, January This ezine still seems to be giving us original fiction every January 19, June 4, admin 1 Comment Lois Tilton. The good-story award this time goes to Subterranean; my favorite is the Laidlaw. January 7, June 4, admin 3 Comments Lois Tilton.

The best stories this time are both from Clarkesworld. Clarkesworld, January Starting out the year on a strong chord with this dyad of stories. December 31, June 4, admin 3 Comments Lois Tilton. December 16, June 4, admin 7 Comments Lois Tilton. December 15, June 4, admin 9 Comments Lois Tilton. Realms of Fantasy continued to give us stories as its teeter on the edge December 7, June 4, admin 3 Comments Lois Tilton. Clarkesworld 51, December Not so enthusiastic about the fiction this time.

He has slowly killed the town by closing November 30, June 4, admin 2 Comments Lois Tilton. A star detached itself from the firmament and began to streak down towards the western horizon. Ho snatched up his celestial sphere, rotating its silver rings to record the stolen star's position.

It disappeared into the west: Above a prefecture a half day from the Imperial City. Ho's heart sank, although the blow was not unexpected.

It was the prefecture run by August Advisor Chuko Tsin. Every one of our people hears three stories of Agani in their lifetime: I had hoped to tell you the first story in the summers to come. It is my sorrowful task to tell you all three, instead. System, Magic, Spirit by T. Edge , from Issue But experience had taught me that dissertations on magical systems are incredibly dull for all save the oblivious nincompoop who actually believes anyone wants to listen.

No, when people ask you what you 'do', all they really want is a snappy line or two they can repeat over dinner later. Well, to hell with that. Ratcatcher , by Garth Upshaw. Virtue's Ghosts , by Amanda M. Issue 98 -- June 28, Issue 97 -- June 14, Audio Fiction Podcast Issue 96 -- May 31, Issue 95 -- May 17, Issue 94 -- May 3, Martinez, from BCS Issue 93 -- April 19, Sections of this page. Email or Phone Password Forgotten account? Beneath Ceaseless Skies The Angel Azrael Delivers Small Mercies by Peter Darbyshire The bodies of the men and women that decorated the buildings and streets didn't spook Azrael's horse any more than they spooked him.

Beyond the Shrinking World by Nathaniel Katz "Cold," our guide said to me, maybe the one word of my language he knew. Edge , from Issue 17 But experience had taught me that dissertations on magical systems are incredibly dull for all save the oblivious nincompoop who actually believes anyone wants to listen.

All who are mortal must die, but not all who die become ghosts. You did, and that is because your hopes and dreams as a living woman were so completely frustrated. Therefore, your defining characteristic is not death but rather an excess of the yin principle, which you would instinctively attempt to counter by taking my living energy.

Your present condition is not fate but rather a condition , an illness. An illness can be cured.

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I shiver and sweat all day long and the sound of the clankers makes my blood boil with fury and despair and that is a most helpless kind of combination. Olson Before Aunt Victoria, I hadn't realized that a virtue could be a curse. In the schoolyard, my friends and I had always pretended at being grownups, putting on old necklaces of our mothers' and aspiring to the greatness of colors we had heard of or invented--things like deep purple Valor and moss-colored Genius. A virtue like Aunt Victoria's, though I had always assumed, if I drank enough that one day this would no longer be true, but there had been fifteen years of drinking after we parted, plus two more after her death, and now my optimism was quite exhausted.

As this foolish hope had been all that I had to fight her with, there was nothing left for me to do tonight except the only sensible thing--I surrendered. She opens the jar to find herself on a Himalayan plain, in a time before humanity has discovered this place. The air here is cold, pinks her cheeks. She picks her way toward the pomegranate trees which line the foothills and opens a wide-mouth jar. Two pomegranates will fit inside, little else. She twists the lid into place then sinks into the dark soil at the base of the trees.

If she keeps still, the sunlight sinks through her and she hears only the wind.

II," by Michael J. DeLuca Bienor let the bottle drop from his lips. A few fingers of liquid remained in the depths, but he'd had enough to serve his purpose and to spare. His head buzzed gloriously with alcohol and loss of blood; his lips were swollen with the last flavor he ever wanted to grace them. The end was coming. He thought he could see it already in the cloudy haze above the cliffs. It looked like snow. They were all of men, clearly warriors, dressed in a strange armor.

One night in the gardens I met an artist who sketched the statues in secret. He showed me his portfolio, which contained drawings of the face of a certain statue he had sketched night after night for years. I do not know what he says, but he is forming words over the months and years. The shadows between the trees were dark and I stood between two birches, sniffing out the right way.

My tail was high. This was no headless mouse. This would impress Ingy. I," by Michael J. It sounded like the entire crew took a collective breath at the sight of her. Water streamed from her now ill-fitting gown. It seemed as though she was coming apart, becoming water as she crossed to us. Through corset and skirt, it drenched her. His uncut nails dug into the pulpy mass of muscle and tore downward. A ripping noise stopped every quill.

Blood the color of a blind man's dream flowed down his flayed arm. He took the mass and wrapped it tight around the girl's head. Muffled screams seeped out, even as the Inked Man's arm began to repair of its own volition.