Written by Spencer Koelle / Artwork by Lee Kuruganti
Wind Between the Worlds




















The Night Wind blew through the fissure between worlds and cooled Alicia Greenman's
fevered brow. Her body trembled with desire, lips moistened at the thought of fresh meat.

The thick underbrush rustled. She caught a hint of white in the moonlight. Even if it was
another rabbit, she'd spend her arrows. She needed protein.

She would have preferred a gun, but her father's hunting rack lacked firearms, because he
had liked to be "sporting." She would have preferred to stay in her downtown apartment,
but the rent had shot up, and she had inherited her father's debts along with his barren
Iowa farmland.

Some technicality had disqualified her from food stamps, and a recent merger had
rendered her job non-existent. She'd tried live on the farm but produced a total yield
measured in handfuls rather than truckloads.

The white hadn't been a rabbit. A doe strode into the clearing. Alicia sucked in her big
stomach, as if to silence it. She drew the bowstring back. The arrowhead lined up with
the doe's eyes.

The wind kicked up; it bolted. Alicia swore and ran after it. Why couldn’t things go her
way just once?

Whenever she thought she'd lost it in the tall grass, the head would pop up. Eyes
straining, she missed the pit at her feet. Her face smacked against rough stone, and she
slid down on slippery rocks. The word "cave" flashed through her mind.

She screamed and grasped air. Alicia ran out of breath and continued to fall. The moon
and stars vanished. The Night Wind carried her through tree roots, earth, and rock. Time
ran like water. Cold and hunger crushed her. She landed soft as a feather, spread-eagled
and staring up at a vast green sun.

~ * ~

Alicia blinked. The sun remained green. She rubbed her eyes. Orange clouds raced across
the golden sky. She could hear the trickling water. Salt and incense textured the air.

Her head didn’t hurt. Her vision was very vivid. She shivered, and her stomach clenched
with hunger, but her bones remained unbroken. She shouldn’t be alive now.

The arctic cold and ravening hunger confirmed it. She wasn’t dead or dreaming.

She could feel the heat of the sun, even as her insides chilled. Alicia ascended.        

Alicia shielded her eyes. Brilliant color was all she could see. She ventured a squint, and
slowly acclimated to the iridescence.

Four pillars of solid sapphire and ruby rose around her. Fragile abstract statues of blue,
violet, and white sat around them at regular intervals. An unnervingly tall fountain
reached out from a bed of blue quartz. Braziers burned with heaps of fine powder. Chunks
of orange crystal lay in a circle around the pillars.

Alicia shifted her gaze. She could see rising hills of sparkling white, striped with other
colors. A great blue mountain loomed over the valley, and two-peaked blue rock
formations clustered around it. Smoke rose here and there, and swatches of pale orange
disturbed the richer stripes.

A white leg, lined with two rows of claws, extended from behind the nearest pillar. The
body that followed was slick bright stone, eyeless and insectoid. Alicia raised her bow
and drew breath. The strange world around her could wait. Her first instinct was defense.

~ * ~

Alicia fought to engage her brain. She kept her bow trained on the creature.

The alien thing raised its head. Five oblong, pale eyes glistened on it. Mouthparts
vaguely resembling those of a lobster opened.

“Do not be afraid. I am a shaman of the Spirit of the Night Wind.” The voice was deep
and buzzing but clear recognizable.

Alicia didn’t lower the bow. She realized she was staring at a rock creature. She was the
first human ever to meet an alien life-form, and it was speaking her language. Another
thought occurred to her: an arrow wouldn’t be much good.

“How can I understand you?” she gasped.        

“The tongues of many lands whisper in the Night Wind,” it hummed. “Please, I mean you
no harm.” It bowed low. The thinner claw-like digits that lined each of its curious limbs
folded flat against them.

Alicia lowered her bow, deciding to trust it, lacking alternatives.

“You are weak and hungry. Come share my cave.”

Alicia nodded. Her eyes were streaming from the sunlight. Her mouth watered. Her lungs
ached.        

The shaman tilted its head towards the orange stains on the landscape and the twin-
peaked blue mountain. It turned back to her, claws flexing, “Do you know why you are
here?”

Alicia shook her head. They rounded a low hill she hadn’t noticed. She rubbed her eyes.
Something about the light confused the curvature of the land.

“The Night Wind rescued you before you fell to your death.” It tilted its head, and she
finally noticed its eyes as the light glinted off them, almost indistinguishable from the
more opaque white of its “flesh”.

“Really? Well, thanks. I mean, tell it I’m very grateful.” Alicia squirmed, disturbed by the
prospect of owing a debt to a stranger.

“Why did it bring me
here?”

They followed a valley deeper into the white stone. The shaman rubbed its claws against
its mandibles, “It was easier than moving you about your world. The Night Wind has
greater difficulty moving small things shorter distances.”

“What?” She had barely come to grips with the green sun and living rocks part.

The shaman moved further ahead of her. Alicia sniffed her armpit. Could rock-creatures
smell organic odors? The shaman turned its head back. “Try to move a grain of sand half
a centimeter.”

Alicia nodded. “I see. So, there’s no great prophecy foretelling of a hero from the stars?
No quest I’ve been chosen for before my birth?”

The shaman clacked once. “I don’t believe in prophecy.”

Alicia nodded. She wished she could read its body language.

“Revelation tells me you come from a lower-energy cosmos, so you must be hungry,” the
shaman said. “Somebody with a lower body mass wouldn’t survive the transfer.”

Transparent panes of quartz acted as windows for the cave of a home.

Alicia stepped through and shivered. Maybe she would have died anyway if this Night
Wind god hadn’t rescued her, but she didn’t like the idea that the bulge around her
midriff was the only thing between her and death by “transference.”

Inside, two hearths burned with blue-green flames. More powdered crystals smoldered in
the basins of igneous rock. Four tiny creatures sat on the floor, their white “skin”
streaked with purple.

The offspring lifted their heads. A trembling passed through them. Their claws opened
wide. Their heads pulled in. She thought they might be scared.

Alicia slid her bow into her belt and raised her empty hands. The smallest figure opened
its mandibles and let out a scream like stressed metal. The offspring galloped and
stumbled into deeper tunnels, their howls echoing back to her.

From one side passage, a graceful rock-beast dashed in, armed with four obsidian blades.

Down the central tunnel, a rock-creature large enough to swallow the shaman stomped in
with a granite club. The chilly liquid from its mouth splashed on top of her head.

~ * ~

“Help,” she gasped. There was no question of fighting this thing. This was probably all a
misunderstanding. In a few minutes they’d be laughing about this, or clacking their
mandibles.

The shaman stepped in front of her. The blades and club lowered. The tension drained
out of the stone figures when the shaman whistled and clacked at them.

The creatures knelt low and clacked at her in a deferential manner, one limb
outstretched. Alicia tried to mimic the gesture. The shaman nodded, but they flinched
back from her.

“Why are they afraid of me?” she whispered.

“The Spirit of the Night Wind says it would be very dangerous for one of us to touch your
skin.”

Alicia crammed her hand back in her pocket and bit her lip. She remembered a school
field trip to Carter’s Cave, where she learned the oils on human skin could “kill” a growing
crystal formation. Then she looked at the obsidian razors and the huge club. “I didn’t try
to touch them,” she whispered.

The giant creature buzzed something. “They’re on edge. It’s been a bad year, with lots of
Beri-Bengu’s priests, bandits, and hungry beasts have been attacking,” the shaman
rumbled.

“Allow me to introduce my wife, Asheri,” the behemoth dipped its head, “and my
husband, Lorikor,” the slender creature nodded.

“Um, thank you for your hospitality, Lorikor, Asheri, and…” she realized she didn’t know
the shaman’s name, or even its gender. “—your reverence. But, is it possible for your
wind spirit to return me home?”

“Not until nightfall,” the shaman said.

Alicia held in her sigh of relief. “And, how long does a day last here?”

The shaman turned towards the depth of the cave and went silent for a while. “Fifty-nine
of your hours,” the shaman answered.

That was a deadline she could live with. Her stomach roared. All three flinched back.
Heat rose in Alicia’s face. “Sorry. That just means I’m hungry.”

“Forty-nine pardons,” the shaman said, mandibles rattling, claws scraping the ground. “I
forgot you had not dined yet. My spouses will prepare a meal at once.”

Alicia nodded eagerly.

Lorikor and Asheri scurried into the tunnels. Alicia hoped they would have something
edible to humans.

“The Spirit of the Night Wind has informed me of your dietary needs,” the shaman said,
bobbing its head.

Lorikor returned first, bearing what looked like a granite double-boiler and some dark red
crystals covered with green powder. It struck them together, trying to catch a spark.

“I can help with that,” Alicia said holding up a lighter. The shaman translated. Lorikor
backed up. She flicked it on with a flourish.

A geyser of flame passed inches by her face. The crystals burst into yellow-orange
flames. She flung the lighter to the floor, stumbling backwards. The shaman tilted its
head and buzzed. “The Night Wind informs me the air here is more oxygen-rich than your
home.”

Alicia nodded. The shaman might have been laughing at her, though she had no way to
tell.

Asheri lumbered in carrying a stone bowl in her arms. The contents rattled in the bottom.
One of the children approached with a bowl of scraped lichens and tiny white three-tailed
fish, presumably for her consumption alone.

Asheri offered her a limestone loaf. Alicia looked at the shaman, who nodded. She took a
tentative nibble. It was surprisingly tangy and delicate. Lorikor set the fish and lichen
over the fire after rolling them in salt.

She’d never felt as famished as she did now. The food was dry and salty, the water
cloudy, cold, and refreshing. It was only after Alicia had finished that she noticed the
meager portions of her hosts.

“Do you metabolize slower than humans?” she asked, pointing to the tiny pile. The
shaman translated her statement and Asheri’s response.

“No, but we try to stretch out the few alms we receive. Our own crops have been blighted
by Beri-Bengu, the Harvest Lord.”

The meal soured inside Alicia. She sucked in a breath and hunched up. “You shouldn’t
have given me so much. Really. I was okay.”

The shaman clacked. “It was our pleasure. Hospitality is a virtue of all respectable
people.”

“If you’re sure,” Alicia said, feeling miserable.

She groped for a change of subject. “Why has this god blighted you?” It felt like a
ridiculous question, but she’d never met a family cursed with divine retribution before;
then again, maybe she had without knowing.

Alicia considered herself Christian in the “Christmas, Easter, and some kind of afterlife”
way, but she’d never thought that seriously about God, much less gods. Her mind began
to reel with the implications. She’d been saved by a
literal miracle today.

The shaman waited before answering. “The Spirit of the Night Wind is transcendent and
abstract, while Beri-Bengu is imminent and concrete.” The shaman spared a quick look for
the blue mountain in the distance, “The Harvest Lord, The Blue Father, Beri-Bengu, is
powerful with a large following and strict dogma of life and renewal.”

“It is…blasphemy to live longer than one’s natural lifespan. Of course, there’s the usual
tithes and temple-building. The high temple there,” the shaman gestured at the
mountain, “contains their chief reliquary and a Mirror of Souls.”

The shaman took another long pause, “Beri-Bengu requires more. Adults sacrifice their
parents or grandparents to bring about a good harvest and a fertile line. Those who
refuse are struck barren and blighted.” The shaman’s voice was calm and level, but its
claws kept opening and closing while it kept the mountain in its peripheral vision.

Alicia Greenman looked at the floor. “Thank you for your hospitality,” she murmured.

“Think nothing of it,” the shaman said.

~ * ~

The green sun crawled across the sky. Fatigue weighed upon Alicia. She’d helped to
replenish their bare stock of food. She’d done a variety of incomprehensible chores
involving different pools of cave-water and polished stones. The mindless repetition of
the shaman’s instructions helped her avoid contemplation.

When there was nothing left to do, the shaman told her myths about the Spirit of the
Night Wind. The trickster god had overcome stronger enemies and seduced heathens into
committing random acts of kindness.

Alicia preferred to keep active, but the shaman insisted entertaining guests was an
essential part of hospitality, and there was only so much amusement to be gotten out of
Lorikor’s juggling or the second-youngest child balancing on two limbs. The singing of the
rock-creatures was almost inaudible and made her back teeth ache.

The shaman, sensing her restiveness, took her for a walk to the temple, and showed her
the three temple relics: a bag of night-salt for embalming saints, a divining rod of solid
ruby, and a luminescent-blue sheath of crystal.

“This is the, I think you would call it a boot or glove, yes, the boot of freedom. Whoever
wears it may move about at great speeds and is unhindered by vine, bramble or stone.”

“Have you ever used it?” Alicia said, politely.

The shaman clicked, “No. It is only to be employed in the gravest need.”

She looked at the orange streaks around the home hill, and the gloating blue temples of
the Harvest Lord. “Your need seems pretty great to me.”

On the journey back to the home, Alicia asked him “Don’t any other gods care about this?
I mean, why aren’t they standing up to Beri-Bengu?”

The shaman lifted and lowered its head. “The Church of Living Saints are not united
enough to challenge Beri-Bengu, and the Cthonic Flame does not concern itself with such
worldly matters. Only the power of a god can pierce the skin of a god.” The shaman
stared into the fountain for a long moment. “All I can do is serve the Spirit of the Night
Wind as best I may.”

Alicia had more questions to ask, faced with an emissary of a god that had saved her
life. The problem was picking any one of them out of the swarm.

They all died in her throat as she saw the figures cresting the nearest hilltop. They were
huge and white, like Asheri. All of them bore sharpened sapphires and blue ornaments.
The smallest of them wore a helmet of blue quartz shaped like the Harvest Lord’s tower.

The shaman’s extended claws and manic clicking confirmed her fears.

“Run,” it hissed. “Run now. They won’t dare attack you at the temple.”

Alicia wanted to run. She had never wanted to run away so much in her entire life. All she
did was quiver and sweat as the living statues rushed down, wanting her dead.
Something cool slipped into her head.

“This is my guest. My house will defend her. You will receive no second warning,” the
shaman intoned, its intelligible words overlaid with the phonetics of its native speech.

“This entity poses a threat to all life,” the helmeted leader bellowed. “We only wish to
escort her to the temple. Outside of that area, you have neither sovereignty nor
sanctuary.” It was the alien language, again, but she could understand it perfectly. The
English version overlaid with just a bit of lag, accompanied by a cool breeze in her ears.

She watched, helpless, heart hammering in her ears as the unarmed shaman stood his
ground. Asheri and Lorikor barreled out of the cave with club and flints.

The flints in Lorikor’s limbs were knocked away by an enemy spear. Asheri’s club was
yanked out of her hands by an even larger rock-person and brought down hard upon her
head. Stone cracked, pale fluid foamed forth, and one of Asheri’s eyes rolled on the
ground.

The shaman didn’t flinch. Two massive rock-creatures attacked. Their blue weapons met.
Wet shards of the shaman bounced along the ground.

In that second, Alicia Greenman stopped watching.

Alicia howled and cursed her way up the hill. She didn’t pick up a fallen weapon or look
for weak spots. She ran at the nearest blue-crested bastard and struck. The pain was
incredible. It also made no impact on her assault. Her sweat steamed and sizzled on the
wet skin of the rock-beast. It clacked in agony and spat foam. Darkness spread wherever
she touched. The joints froze.

Alicia felt her mouth stretch tight with a demented grin. She laughed and gibbered,
slapping against every one of Beri-Bengu’s paladins within sight. She tore off her sweat-
soaked shirt and snapped it at them. Her geological insights told her these wounds
would never heal. The thought brought her unwholesome pleasure.

She turned to the overwhelmed Asheri and Lorikor. The odds looked worse for Lorikor. As
she dove after his assailants, Asheri vanished in a blast of cold wind and a flash of red
light. The last of Beri-Bengu’s legion retreated. Only Lorikor stopped her from hunting
them down.

~ * ~

Alicia knelt in the open-air temple of the Spirit of the Night Wind.

“I’m not begging, you understand,” she prayed, “I just think I owe you a favor, and one
of these relics might help me do what needs to be done. If you don’t lend it to me, I’ll
just make due, but I think it might be easier for both of us this way.” Alicia sucked in a
deep breath. She wasn’t used to asking for things. “May I don the glove-boot of freedom?”

The fountain froze solid. The glass in front of the glowing blue gauntlet cracked, as did
the glass covering the night-salt.

Alicia shrugged and took them both. Part of her was drunk with terror; the other half was
invigorated with righteous zeal. This relentless ecstasy left no room for doubt or reason.

She struggled to fit the crystal shaft over her fingers. As soon as she did, it vanished to
be replaced by a pair of winged boots.

Alicia patted the lighter in her pocket. She fixed her eyes on the temple tower and began
to run.

~ * ~

She didn’t fly, but her feet barely touched the ground. The scenery flowed around her.
Beri-Bengu’s blue temple grew and grew.

She must have traveled several miles before she felt the god’s presence. It tasted of ripe
fruit and smelt of fresh-turned earth. It was a stern hand, reminding her she was a small
assemblage of fragile parts.

The land she passed bore fruit of blue, violet and gold. Crowds of happy children feasted
and chased each other.

One of the children sat alone, head lowered to the sky, as a grey, cracked figure was
dragged into a blue temple by fresh white relatives. A third adult turned the child away
from the sight and handed it a crystal treat.

Alicia gritted her teeth and ran faster.

She had favors to repay. If she could stop the slaughter of the elderly for some vague
notion of cosmic balance, that was a bonus.

Alicia bounded in through the open gates of the high temple. Light glinted from braziers
and crystalline mosaics all around her. A thousand bas reliefs depicted Beri-Bengu in a
thousand acts of generosity and vengeance. A great gong hung between the god’s two
heads. No priests or supplicants were in attendance.

“Come out, Beri-Bengu, Harvest Lord, Blue God! Come out and fight!”

Suddenly, Beri-Bengu was there.

Suddenly, he had always been there.

~ * ~

The Harvest Lord rose above her like a landmark. He seemed far bigger than the church
itself, and yet was contained within it. A forest of granite limbs sprouted from his
sprawling bulk. His two heads, handsome and beautiful for all their inhumanity, rose
above her like distant mountains. Six eyes in the right head glowed with healing blue.
The eyes of his right head blazed with the toxic orange of entropy.

Something soft and throbbing ran through his opalescent flesh. Alicia almost didn’t
recognize it in this strange context; it was living, organic, carbon-based tissue. A soft
green heart beat in Beri-Bengu’s stone chest.

Alicia Greenman took in all these details while she backed up against the wall. It was all
she could manage to keep from crawling on her hands and feet or kneeling in prayer. Cold
sweat soaked her to no avail. The oils on her skin would cause no bother to this avatar
of nature.

Contempt and pity smothered her. She strained to breathe through the divine judgment
saturating the air. Alicia was a free woman. She was a living soul. She mattered.

But what had she accomplished? The mocking thought came from her more than the
sorrowful two-headed gaze. What mark had she left on her world, asking for nothing,
getting nothing, and giving nothing?        

She bit her lip and tasted hot salt blood. She could leave a mark now. The cloud of
condescending mercy thinned a little.

“Will you relent? Will you live on incense and tithes, like the other gods, and leave the
elderly to die at their own pace?” Her words sounded shrill and harsh, broken up by sobs
of terror. She raised her lighter.

The god let out an earth-shaking sigh. It focused a fraction of will on her. She felt the
urge to die.
Her bones buzzed. The rock-food inside her stomach boiled.
Her heart continued beating. She drew a new breath of sweet, oxygen-rich air. She
lunged before the god’s enmity or her human cowardice could stop her.

Beri-Bengu tilted his heads, puzzled. She shot through the forest of limbs, which clashed
a hair’s breadth behind her, and she saw bolts of orange lightning slice into the ground
she had occupied seconds ago.

The smell of vaporized stone filled the air. Alicia raised her lighter beneath the Harvest
Lord’s pale underbelly, right at a point where stone gave way to flesh. She flicked it on.

The fire shot up high. It wasn’t high enough. She jumped and swung the lighter like a
flaming lance. Even where the blue-hot core of the flame touched, there was no sign of
burning.

Alicia swore. She dove towards the last gap between Beri-Bengu’s towering claws. Vines
of blue quarts and limestone shrubs burst from the ground. They ensnared her.

~ * ~

Alicia swung her free foot. It passed through the stony vegetation unimpeded. She
moved her other leg. The boots glowed brighter.

Alicia dove between the gap as the great claws snapped shut. She screamed as she left
strips of skin behind her, but felt grateful to be alive. She tucked and rolled behind the
nearest altar.

Alicia took two shallow breaths. Her own body shone on the great gong, along with the
shadow of her fear and the flame of her fury. She could see something hard and bright at
the center of her, a cold diamond of willpower.

Alicia flipped upright and dodged behind the next idol. Beri-Bengu’s left head glared. The
orange light struck.

The platinum statue she’d hid behind boiled for a second. She could feel the heat as
platinum vapor rose towards the ceiling.

Alicia leapt. More orange death swept along her. She could keep up activity for a long
time, but she couldn’t match the endurance of living earth. It only had to be lucky once.

Alicia glanced at her blazing heart in the shining gong. She jumped over the next wall of
trees that Beri-Bengu conjured to crush her. With a leap and twist, she reached the left
head of his fourteen-foot idol.

Beri-Bengu’s orange eyes glowed. Alicia let herself fall. The power of death shot forth,
and she struck the gong on her way down.

A deep, perfect noise echoed through the church. Orange lightning struck the gong, the
mirror of souls. It refracted through the god’s left head and shattered the right head
behind it.

The headless body bucked and swayed. Shards of god ricocheted around her, and one cut
open her right breast. Alicia pulled out the shard and howled in pain. She couldn’t worry
about pain now, drunk with adrenaline. She charged again.

The blind limbs smashed and flailed around her. She hopped onto one of the limbs,
jumped before its claws could take hold, and landed onto Beri-Bengu’s massive chest.

Foaming white blood sprayed everywhere. Still, the flow was slowing. She could see
molten rock bubbling out of the necks as the harvest lord regrew his heads.

Alicia hammered the shard of god’s flesh against the translucent wall until it shattered.
She pushed aside the tissue shielding the beating green heart and drove the fragment
into it.

The Harvest Lord’s regeneration slowed but did not stop. Alicia grabbed another chunk of
its crystalline carapace and hacked at the connecting tendons and arteries. Scalding body
fluids washed over her bare skin, but Alicia only gripped her weapons tighter.

She wrenched out the heart and tossed it onto the cold, hard ground. It splashed,
venting blood, wriggling. She sprang down in three hops, using the heart to cushion her
fall.

It still writhed. The limbs of the god stretched toward it. The heart stretched a chunk of
arterial tissue towards its body, longing for reunion.

Alicia dragged it away. She would do whatever she could to keep the god from becoming
whole. Stifling her gag reflex, Alicia lifted up the hot squirming mass and bit into it. It
tasted of autumn smoke and fine spring days.

The body twitched with every bite and chew. When she had swallowed the last bit of
heart, Beri-Bengu almost stopped his struggling.

She scattered the night-salts on his death wounds, just to be sure. The braziers went
out, the remaining idols melted, and the church began to crumble.

~ * ~

Alicia ran away from the church and fell to her knees, panting and gasping. She looked at
the orange blights in the distance and the crowd of rock-people watching her nervously.

“Beri-Bengu is slain,” she said, and heard the echoes of their clicking high-pitched
language in her voice. “Burn incense and give alms, but never again let a god demand
your blood.”

She clasped her hands and prayed “I would see his harm undone.”

A chill breeze blew in her ear. All she had to do was raise her hand.

Alicia stuck a fist into the air. The crowd flinched back.

The last remnants of heart roiled within her, and the sickly orange turned to vibrant blue.

Alicia remembered the pain of her bleeding breast. Just as quickly she touched a hand to
it; she found only a deep livid scar. Alicia didn’t wait for the rock-people to welcome her
as an otherworldly savior or attack her as a deicidal maniac. She ran all the way to the
temple of the Spirit of the Night Wind, fist upraised, crops flourishing in her wake.

As the land blurred past, the green sun crawled down the yellow sky. Asheri reappeared
with a flash of blue at the point where she had dematerialized during the fight with the
paladins of Beri-Bengu. When Alicia reached the temple, she collapsed in a painful
cramp, panting and heaving. She rested until the sluggish sun departed from the sky.
With another movement of her fist, she covered the shaman’s hill with brilliant flowers
and fruiting trees.

She pulled off the glowing boots and set them back within the reliquary. The glass
healed over, and a fresh bag of night-salt appeared.

“This is a debt repaid,” she said, “and then some.”

The wind blew. She took that for an acknowledgement.

“I’ll call us even if you can take me home and learn from Beri-Bengu’s example.” A tiny
breeze teased her curly hair. “And, maybe leave the way open? So I can visit some day?”

A small whirlwind circled the temple, rich with kind laughter.

Alicia braced herself, and heat slammed into her as she whipped through the worlds.

~ * ~

Alicia arose from the wilderness outside her farm, trembling. She grabbed a handful of
wild raspberries, more from thirst than hunger. As she staggered home, she wiped her
sweat-soaked brow. Half-formed thoughts of gods and worlds circled in her head.

Lost in theological confusion, she spat out a raspberry seed. It burst on the ground and
sprouted into a new raspberry bush.
THE LORELEI SIGNAL
Spencer Koelle is an intersectional feminist who bites
when cornered. His favorite author is Garth Nix, and
he thinks a happy story is one where the heroine
eats the bad guy.

For more information, go to
www.spencerkoelle.com