Everyone's got a teaspoon of salt in their coin purse. Everyone civilized, at least. And not typical salt, either, but the magical and curative grey salt grisodate; the mineral by which tenuous civilization survives. * Steely grey grains, crushed to powder among the pence and the little farthings.
It was a summer night. Cicadas burred from ends of branches. Pixies rolled, tittered in their leafy beds. Silver-limned clouds passed over a porous, bloated moon. The little town in the valley kept silent, wrapped in mist. Far over town stood an austere, hilltop tower. Ivy and wasps' nests blotted the black eyes of its windows. Creepers cracked […]
With the man’s every step, a flat note tolled. An iron bell bounced round his neck. Faces turned, startled, shuffled away. Stoat turned from the bar, stared, wrinkled her upturned nose. She leaned to her friend, a lass wrapped in silk. “Can’t believe they allow that, here.” “What?” said the lass, distracted from her beer. […]