Are you the Beowulf who took on Breca in a swimming match on the open sea?”
The festive hall quieted. Unferth, that envious rat, who had remained silent throughout the hero’s introduction, now sought to sow discord. Beowulf’s boasts had convinced King Hrothgar, and everyone else in the mead hall, that he’d be
“So why Tarshish?”
The man’s shoulders tensed, but he continued counting out the coins for my fare. Finally, he shrugged. “I hear it’s nice this time of year.”
“Right.” I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Tarshish, nice? Either the man was greatly misinformed—no one went to Tarshish on holiday—or…
On his way into town one hot, sticky Saturday, Paul Bunyan stopped short at a river. Well, not short—Bunyan was a giant who towered over the forest’s biggest trees. He didn’t do anything short. He did stop, however, and point to a logjam in the river, made of oaks and pines
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“My king, I will be the one to find the answer to Merlin’s riddle,” Sir Percival yelled back to Arthur. He galloped ahead of the other knights as they made their way through the dark forest.
Sage, the king’s squire, looked over to his lordship. “Sir Percival seems quite eager to gain
Joyful laughter fills the air as my men arrange carts filled with their wives, children, and the spoils of war at the edge of the battlefield. Their families need to be here to witness when Briton claws her way from the eagles’ talons.
I can almost taste victory on my tongue, sweet
I found the body at dawn.
The sailor was slumped against the wrecked stern in a bloody pulp. He clung to the humble fishing boat’s planking as the chilled waters of Lake Erie lapped the crumpled hull.
Poor soul.
Bart, my beagle, set his paws on the top rail of our small fishing vessel.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
Waves hit against the side of the Friendship. Slap. Slap. Slap. We are an invader in their domain. My stomach roils, and I clamp a sweaty palm over my mouth. I wouldn’t lose much in the way of food if I retched, but it’s the principle of the whole thing.
Gaul,47 BC
Scents of olive oil and flour tickle my nose as I set up my bread stand. Caesar’s statue rises above me, a constant reminder of who’s in charge. That I can never escape those who are always watching. I send a prayer to the gods thanking them for the coolness of the
Thomas snuck into the graveyard at midnight.
Carrying an oil lamp low in his left hand, he hoisted the shovel in his right and slinked among the tombstones until he located his prize—a mound of dirt, newly churned, resting at the foot of a humble marker. The lantern’s quivering flame danced across
Big Ben chimes the hour. One. Two. Three. Four… all the way to nine. Nine in the evening. But it seems darker. Blacker than midnight. Not even a candle allowed. Shadows lie heavy over London, suppressing all thoughts and laughter. I toss off the covers, trying to free myself from the constricting bed clothes.
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“It’s too quiet.” Uchu leaned forward. The stone palace’s open balcony emphasized the unnatural stillness within the Kwaco. “The animals aren’t speaking, Ayara.” She caressed the feathered head of the red macaw perched on her shoulder. “Where is everyone?”
The bird nuzzled her, burying her beak in Uchu’s long braid.
Though the presence
Manitoba, November 1955
The class goes silent. Just one word out of place, but that’s all it takes. She looks round to see they’ve all noticed. Of course they have. And most importantly, Johnson has. I don’t call him our teacher, because he doesn’t teach us anything apart from who we aren’t, and
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