I hope you’ve followed along and enjoyed the artwork by Marge Simon and the excerpts from all the super talented authors in this anthology. In part because technical issues really kicked my butt in trying to put this post together. But that’s only a small part \ud83d\ude09<\/p>\n
[\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=”2_5,3_5″ _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_column type=”2_5″ _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_image src=”https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/05\/18-Cold-Spells-1-scaled.jpeg” title_text=”18-Cold Spells” admin_label=”Cold Spells Image” _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default”][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”3_5″ _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default” hover_enabled=”0″ sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n
Excerpt from “Cold Spells” by Diana Hurlburt:<\/strong><\/p>\n Now the Huntress is the mother of mountains; all rocky places and secret caves belong to her, and she is best found striding from peak to peak with her bow, surefooted as a goat. So the traveler dedicated her quest to the goddess and implored the temple\u2019s keepers for funds to return to the City of the Gods, to measure the strange cold substance found only on the bare rock of the highest peak.<\/p>\n \u201cPerhaps she\u2019ll get it,\u201d Demetrios said, and the story was ended. People talked among themselves for a moment, conferring over the traveler\u2019s evidence\u2014her hands! Her poor feet! But who had ever heard of a white matter both hot and cold in the moment, soft on the wind and hard enough to break bones when fallen upon?\u2014and then the evening turned toward wine and song, as evenings do.<\/p>\n But Agdo leaned against the temple wall, threading black strands of hair with linden blossoms, and a spell was cast.<\/p>\n There is an argument between Markos and I whether Agdo meant to cast the spell. Sometimes we do not know the deepest intents of our own hearts, and whether Agdo meant it comes to naught: the doom was laid.<\/p>\n …<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=”3_5,2_5″ _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_column type=”3_5″ _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default” hover_enabled=”0″ sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n Excerpt from “The Moon” by C.S. MacCath:<\/strong><\/p>\n Three dreams of sorrow were given to Serkleit, Goddess of Art and Fermentation, Keeper of Caves at the Heart of the World, before her deification.<\/p>\n On the night of the first, she was a small boy running barefoot over grey dust. A veil of ice clung to the fine hair on his arms and legs. Chest muscles heaved a prayer for atmosphere that went unanswered. Above him a dog crouched, inverted, to the left of a winding road, yellow teeth bared in a downward snarl. A wolf stood to the right, suspended, howling from a place of air and sound. Serkleit reached up as he passed, hands thick with baby fat, to grasp the merlons of the towers hanging out of the meadow above. But they were far, far away, their topsy-turvyness a mockery of the safety they might have offered.<\/p>\n Boy. The word was a slickness under the heel. Boy, boy, boy, an edge on the blades of grass above. Boy, the wrong body in the mirror. Boy, the hated clothes in the press. It tolled like a bell in his mind, lived under his skin, in his bones, a corruption from the time he had emerged out of the Cosmic Mother\u2019s womb into the stars. He stopped, blood on his hands and feet, flesh under his little nails. Don\u2019t call me that!<\/em> he wanted to scream but could not and wept instead. The tears turned to diamonds on his cheeks and fell away.<\/p>\n …<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”2_5″ _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_image _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default” hover_enabled=”0″ title_text=”19-Moon” src=”https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/05\/19-Moon-scaled.jpeg” admin_label=”The Moon Image” sticky_enabled=”0″][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=”2_5,3_5″ _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_column type=”2_5″ _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_image _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default” title_text=”20-The Words of the Sun” src=”https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/05\/20-The-Words-of-the-Sun-scaled.jpeg” admin_label=”Words of the Sun Image” hover_enabled=”0″ sticky_enabled=”0″][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”3_5″ _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default” hover_enabled=”0″ sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n Excerpt from “The Words of the Sun” by Sarena Ulibarri:<\/strong><\/p>\n The sun spoke to me today, and I can tell no one. I am telling you, dear Zinnia, my beloved sister, because you know me well enough to know I am not prone to flights of fancy, that I am not the type to speak with birds or see portends in the clouds or prophecies in my dreams. And yet, the sun spoke to me. As our army marched toward Ryland this morning, dawn broke over the mountain peak and I lifted my face to its warmth, reveling in the chance to burn away the chill of the night. One sunbeam seemed to shine directly on me like a tunnel of light. I looked into it and saw the face of an old man, frowning sternly back at me. He spoke, but it was not in any language I have heard before. When I turned to see if anyone else had heard, the vision and voice disappeared, and everyone strode steadily as though nothing had happened.<\/p>\n Now I know what questions you will want to ask me: Have I been sleeping enough? Am I well-nourished? Have I been checking my drinks for contaminates? And the answer to all of those, of course, is no.<\/p>\n …<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=”3_5,2_5″ _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_column type=”3_5″ _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default” hover_enabled=”0″ sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n Excerpt from “My Brother’s Keeper” by Beth Cato:<\/strong><\/p>\n Half the county figured my big brother Samuel had bricks for brains. There was mighty good evidence in favor of that, like the time he decided to walk through downtown naked simply cause it was a hot day and clothes just plain didn\u2019t feel good. But I knew Samuel wasn\u2019t a dummy, just quiet, with his mind in a different place than the rest of us.<\/p>\n So when I heard him with two speakers of dark words, I knew to hunker down and listen. Here by the barn was the most private spot on our property–or would be, if I wasn\u2019t up in the rafters.<\/p>\n I smelled the bad guys before I heard them. Mama didn\u2019t get to teach me much, but she did teach me to heed my nose when it came to good and evil and all the grey in between, and those men stank like the septic tank being sucked out on an August afternoon. I gagged against my wrist to keep quiet, Mama\u2019s old chain bracelet warm at my lips.<\/p>\n \u201cI want to kill Macaulay,\u201d said Samuel.<\/p>\n …<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”2_5″ _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_image _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default” title_text=”21-My Brothers Keep” src=”https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/05\/21-My-Brothers-Keep-scaled.jpeg” admin_label=”Brother’s Keeper Image” hover_enabled=”0″ sticky_enabled=”0″][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row column_structure=”2_5,3_5″ _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_column type=”2_5″ _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_image _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default” title_text=”22-Age of Aquarius” src=”https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/05\/22-Age-of-Aquarius.jpeg” admin_label=”Age of Aquarius Image” hover_enabled=”0″ sticky_enabled=”0″][\/et_pb_image][\/et_pb_column][et_pb_column type=”3_5″ _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default” hover_enabled=”0″ sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n Excerpt from “Age of Aquarius” by Cat McDonald:<\/strong><\/p>\n Ganymede looked at himself in the mirror behind the bottles, then at his boss, who sat over her glass of wine at the bar. She had been a young lady when she\u2019d found him, and it took a little math for him to realize that had been forty years ago. Her blonde hair had gone white and lines spread out across her face, which had come loose at the edges. He\u2019d barely noticed it.<\/p>\n He, on the other hand, hadn\u2019t aged. He woke up from dreams of Olympus some time before getting this job, and he\u2019d stopped thinking about what he was, or how old. Hazy memories gave way to a long void, and then the modern world, and the highway, and the woman who almost ran him over. Carolyn gave him a job at the bar and a room in the hotel, and forty years to try and figure the rest out. He hadn\u2019t made much headway.<\/p>\n \u201cStaying late today?\u201d<\/p>\n She sighed and held her glass out to him. \u201cJust needed a drink, sweetheart. Do you remember when we met?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI mostly just remember headlights!\u201d He started to laugh, but stopped when she didn\u2019t join him.<\/p>\n …<\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][et_pb_row _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default”][et_pb_text _builder_version=”4.9.4″ _module_preset=”default” hover_enabled=”0″ sticky_enabled=”0″]<\/p>\n If you enjoyed these excerpts and want to read more, pick up a copy of Arcana<\/em> which is available now:<\/strong><\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.rhondaparrish.com\/home\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/03\/ArcanaFrontCover750x519.jpg\")
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