“Your grandmother is in this blade,” says Rainn’s father. “Its bones are her bones. You will never sharpen it, and while your heart beats it will not break.” He finishes running his little lathe over the tang and nods.
Rainn caps the mold and they take the handles to walk side by side. The kiln’s not lit, but he can already feel the draw from the chimney: tugging his hair, begging at him, promising fire.
“It’s hungry,” says Rainn.
“Good,” says his father. “That’s the first thing it should know.”
They leave the china in the oven and shut the door.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
On meeting, Regen and Miss Chamuel are struck by an undeniable love, pure and trembling, so intense that it must be contained. It’s not filial or sexual. It’s just the sudden knowledge that they will stand, when necessary, two against the world.
Miss Chamuel never grants favors in their classroom; Regen, unlike most first-graders, never asks. Sometimes, when his mother is late, they’ll hold hands and wait together. That’s all.
But when he goes missing, Miss Chamuel knows before the newspapers do. She contacts a substitute. She dons her coat and hat. She unwraps her sword, and goes after him.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Cosette counts stars until they go away. There’s a vastness opening somewhere behind her, throwing light in the sky and shadows on the ground. This is good, because the leaves are gone. When she looks up the trees are white and gold.
They’re not dead people anymore. They’re stands for cages, and in the cages are birds. The birds are screaming pretty screams. Cosette doesn’t like them (and suddenly, by contrast, likes other things instead: darkness, names, the tangy smell of the man bleeding).
She sets Millicent down. The screaming stops. They walk together, Cosette following her shadow, Millicent following her.
Friday, February 24, 2006
The crank key looks like the ones on old tin windup toys, except this one detaches when you’re done. Crane pops it out, and sets the ambulance chaser next to the dark red puddle (not on top; don’t want to gum up the jonnenry). It peels out with a whine, leaving a hot magnet stripe.
“You’re sure it’ll find him?” asks Dogcatcher. Crane’s silent. She tests a spearpoint. “I don’t like these gadgets. Still weather and an arm to twist… I mean, what are you charging for, if it does all the work?”
“We don’t win,” grunts Crane, “you don’t pay.”
Thursday, February 23, 2006
LET’S PLEASURE THE ECHO OF STROLLERS and in Kyoto, Jewel rides easy on the cultural shockwave. She’s still unsure whether it’s offensive to call it “Engrish,” but there’s so much of it, on buildings, plaques, t-shirts and windows–
“Kino,” she says, playing with the runes in her pocket.
“Mmm,” he says.
“What do you do with a wasted language?”
“Recycle it.”
“Right.” She pulls the runes out: Ansuz, Raidho, Thurisaz. “Use it to hold the words that aren’t meant for conversation.”
“Curse words?” He tilts his head. “Magic words?”
Jewel looks around again, seeing abjuration, invocation, bindings and secret names.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
The broken links ricochet, ping and thud, knocking ninjas cold.
“Wait a second,” says Alex. “Wait!” The remaining ninjas hesitate. “That was impossible,” he says flatly.
“We do that a lot,” says Toe.
“No, we’re improbable. But Daniel just snapped that chain in about eighteen places at once. Strings don’t break like that.” Daniel grins and shrugs; Alex looks around. “Somebody back me up?”
Tyler frowns. “Well it’s not a string, is it? Each link has discrete velocity, integrity–” The bravest ninja decides to leap forward, sword up, screaming. He gets his legs broken.
“Quiet!” Toe scolds. “We’re having science time!”
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Eddy made a lot of money this year and he’s going to make more. He can see a structure to things, now: people, institutions, certain days. All he has to do is walk up and hold out his hands.
The tailbrain’s paid for itself a dozen times over, and it wasn’t cheap. Eddy buys clean yellow Peruvian, keeps a string of boys, eats real horse steak. He can even afford the icy wash that wrings his muscles clean every morning.
Eddy doesn’t know how to ask his tailbrain what his body does at night, but even if he did, he wouldn’t.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
“Tiger Style!” snaps Master Whung. His acolytes wield bamboo brushes and mousse, shaping an elegant, low-maintenance look that shows off his highlights. Master Whung’s style will retain bounce and body even after a hard day!
Master O’Connell chuckles. “Mantis Style!” His assistants whirl like leaves on the wind, leaving the Master with a daring ‘do that will have all eyes on him–a waxed, glossy heavy hold!
The two men size each other up. Suddenly, Master Whung leaps forward, drawing twin butterfly combs. Master O’Connell punches him in the neck, and he dies.
Listen, you don’t fuck with Mantis Style.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006