“Well,” Louisa said, staring at the vast array of cups lining the cave walls, “which one is it?”
Andy turned in place, the assorted accessories hanging from his pack protesting the sudden movement. He adjusted his glasses, bringing the hundreds of wine glasses, champagne flutes, ornate chalices, hefty beer steins, delicate tea cups, and…
It was a quiet day in the Underworld, so Charon lazed back, smoking a cigarette and gazing out over the waters of the Styx, a view of which he never got tired. Startled from his reverie, he gasped and scrambled to his feet. Standing right next to him was a new client,
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Fear constricted Tara’s throat and sent her heart racing as the plane’s turbulence intensified. Passengers gasped and objects rattled in the overhead bins.
Ironic that she would die here, thrown into the very mountain peaks she spent her entire graduate thesis studying.
“Why me?” She swallowed as more turbulence rocked her.
Peter chose a table in the back of the tavern, giving himself a wide view of the entrances. He ordered a drink and instinctively scanned the room. He noted a frail old man watching him across the way. He avoided eye contact, but the man continued to watch him. Was he being followed?
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“The taniwha traveled in the canoes of our Polynesian ancestors. They were kaitiaki, life-protecting guardians.” The stocky Islander gazed over the water, his slumped shoulders, usually strong, reflecting his regret. “The white settlers, on the other hand, brought the black rats in their boats. Those filthy predators extinguished almost all of our island’s endemic
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Namika’s tenth winter was bitter. January’s harsh winds blew into April, and she had a sickness that made her mother frown and the doctor whisper. When the first sakura buds appeared in her family’s grove, Namkia stared longingly from the window. Usually she would be helping her family prepare for hanami, the flower viewing…
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Mark hated mass tourism. My boyfriend was a zealous backpacker. He preferred the French word routard, because it implied roads less traveled and adventure under the soles of his hiking boots. We’d been in Indonesia ten days, traveling by bus and train, sleeping in modest guest houses, eating street food, and avoiding selfie snappers.
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Huey, god of mischief, peeked over the floating platform’s edge. Below, the European countryside showed patches of various greenery.
“All this flying is making me sick,” Tema moaned.
He turned to his friend. Her face had grown pale.
She put her hands over her stomach. “I think you’re going to have to lead
In northern Tanzania, almost to the border of Kenya, lies a lake shrouded in mountains and mystery. Petrified birds stand on our shores as silent witness—a warning to all who would enter.
Grass plains surround our lethal lake, a place where rivers come to die, their only escape through evaporation. With water temperatures
Huey pulled at his shirt collar as sweat ran into his golden-brown eyes. He didn’t know how much of this stifling darkness he could take.
Zip.
Huey, god of mischief, inhaled fresh air as Tema opened her suitcase. “Hiya, best friend,” he greeted her. Tema shrieked.
“Huey!” She slapped his arm repeatedly.
Still in coyote form, Huey’s paws landed on the grass of Tema’s garden. He turned back into a man and collapsed to the ground, panting heavily. The giant’s cries of “Stop, thief!” had echoed all the way up the Stairway to Heaven, but Huey was safe now.
Safe with his treasure.
“Ow! Huey moaned.
The golden surface of the waterfall shimmered as sunlight fell upon it. I gasped.
Finally, I could be cured.
I climbed over the last rock with renewed vigor, but a sudden dread settled in my stomach, stifling any previous excitement.
So many legends spoke of this place
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