Read Online Beyond the Pale: A fantasy anthology by Nancy Holder, Kami García, Saladin Ahmed, Jim Butcher, Jane Yolen, Heather Brewer, Rachel Caine, Gillian Philip, Peter Beagle - Free Book Online

had
already begun to call it—he called them to him, saying, “I will see you
home, as soon as you will. But I will not come there again.”
    Keawe, already busy about his boat, looked
up but said nothing. Kokinja asked, “Why? You have always been faithfully
worshipped there—and it was our mother’s home all her life.”
    The Shark God was slow to answer. “From
the harbor to her house, from the market to the beach where the nets are
mended, to my own temple, there is no place that does not speak to me of
Mirali. Forgive me—I have not the strength to deal with those memories,
and I never will.”
    Kokinja did not reply; but Keawe turned
from his boat to face his father openly for the first time since his rescue
from the storm. He said, clearly and strongly, “And so, once again, you make a
liar out of our mother. As I knew you would.”
    Kokinja gasped audibly, and the Shark God
took a step toward his son without speaking. Keawe said, “She defended you so
fiercely, so proudly, when I told her that you were always a coward, god or no
god. You abandoned a woman who loved you, a family that belonged to you—and
now you will do the same with the island that depends on you for protection and
loyalty, that has never failed you, done you no disservice, but only been
foolish enough to keep its old bargain with you, and expect you to do the same.
And this in our mother’s name, because you lack the courage to confront the
little handful of memories you two shared. You shame her!”
    He never flinched from his father’s
advance, but stood his ground even when the Shark God loomed above him like a
storm in mortal shape, his eyes no longer unreadable but alive with fury. For a
moment Kokinja saw human and shark as one, flowing in and out of each other,
blurring and bleeding together and separating again, in and out, until she became
dazed with it and had to close her eyes. She only opened them again when she
heard the Shark God’s quiet, toneless voice, “We made fine children, my Mirali
and I. It is my loss that I never knew them. My loss alone.”
    Without speaking further he turned toward
the harbor, looking as young as he had on the day Mirali challenged him in the
marketplace, but moving now almost like an old human man. He had gone some
little way when Keawe spoke again, saying simply, “Not only yours.”
    The Shark God turned back to look long at
his children once again. Keawe did not move, but Kokinja reached out her arms,
whispering, “Come back.” And the Shark God nodded, and went on to the sea.

 
 
 
 
 
 
    misery
    ~
    by Heather Brewer

 
 
    Misery was a strange name for a town, and
Alek wasn’t at all certain that it was fitting. He had, in the year that he’d
called Misery home, experienced nothing worse than a strange sense of loss. An
odd, unexplainable grief wafted through its windows and doors at all hours, as
if the town’s inhabitants had been glazed in a thin film of sorrow, and
perhaps, regret. But even with that strange, ever-present gloom, the town’s
name had never made much sense to Alek at all. No one who lived here was
miserable, exactly. They were simply were . Nothing more. Nothing less.
    And, just as Misery simply was, so too
were its citizens. Alek could not recall, no matter how terribly he strained to
do so, his life before he had called Misery home. Nor could he recall having
moved here. Not exactly. One day, he wasn’t here. He was somewhere
else—somewhere, he could recall, with many colors. And the next, he was
not.
    He supposed he should be grateful for
remembering the colors of his past. The only colors in Misery were black,
white, silver, and a palette of grays. Apart, of course, from the eyes of all
who lived here. Alek’s eyes were a vibrant green. His best friend, Sara’s, were
bright blue. He loved looking at his neighbors’ eyes. They were a brief
reminder of something before Misery. Something which Alek could not recall, and
could not identify