Excerpt: untitled

Three saplings stand at the top of the hill. Three saplings for three brothers who are gone to war. The first is leaning and cannot stand on its own. My sister and I, we prop it up with stones. The second is gnarled and twisted and torn. It cannot grow straight. Disease has left its mark upon its bark in bulbous growths that burst, sap-dripping, heal, and burst again. The third is straight and strong, but animals have eaten all its leaves. We fear it will not live through winter, but for now it still stands strong.
Every day my sister and I tend the saplings. And every day we watch the sea. No ship comes, although ships depart. My sister is young and talks of princes and quests and returning kings. I am older. I see the women in the market crying. I see the old man in the town comforting them. The wise hag has given me a root - enough for my sister and I - should the boat we see coming have red flags, not blue. We are to eat it at the top of the hill and we will sleep before anyone in a red ship might be able to climb to us. My sister asks why it is important to sleep if the ship's sails are red. I tell her that if the ship's sails are blue, then our brothers are returning, but that if the ship's sails are red, we must go to the underworld to beg the king and queen of hell to return our brothers to us. My sister likes this tale. She prepares diligently for the journey should we need to go. Coins for the ferryman. A cup, for the water of memory. And for the queen of hell she has made a necklace of shells - the prettiest she could find on the shore. She works constantly to improve it, that it might be the most beautiful possible should we need to ask for our brothers back from hell.
It has been two years. No ship has come.

*****

In the forty third level of hell, section 17-C, sub section phi is a small demon about 3 feet high. His skin is red. He has horns, wings, a tail, and he wears a gray suit with a white shirt and a gray paisley tie. The paisley pattern in the tie is slowly moving. What at first, to the untrained observer, look like normal paisleys, show themselves, under more careful observation, to be continuously evolving fractal objects of constantly expanding perimeter.

The demon's name, for all demons have names, and if we are going to look at him, it would be best to arm ourselves with his, is Max. Max has one job and one job only. He sorts molecules. His hands are equipped with long, delicate claws that have fine tips - tips so fine that they can select individual molecules, lift them, and place them somewhere else. The molecules Max is sorting are in a box. Max needs to keep the molecules sorted in nice, neat, separated piles (his natural obsessive-compulsive tendencies made him a perfect match for these job duties).

The problem Max has is not that he must sort molecules. The problem is not even a matter of time, since hell is outside time and space and Max can speed up or slow down the process as he sees fit, being a fallen angel, he has these powers. No, the problem is that Max is one of the few competent demons in the office and most of his incompetent peers know this.

*****

Sidney climbed back up on to Tania's bed.
"Why did you scream?"
"The man in the knife looked at me."
"That is silly. It's just a carving."
"He looked at me! He turned his head and looked at me and he smiled an evil smile!"
"Look. I'll show you."
"No. Keep it away."
"Let me show you."
"I'll scream!"
"Don't scream."
"I'll scream if you show me!"
"Don't scream. If you scream I'll cut your face off."
"I'll scream and tell mother and father about the knife."
"Don't tell them or I'll skin you like the cat."
Tania's eyes went wide.
Sidney went back down to his bunk.

He was awakened the next day by his mother screaming.

*****

The dragon lifts my chin with one talon and forces me to stare into its eyes. Its eyes are the size of my fists. The talon is as long as my hand.
"Do not fear me, child. You are my guest. A guest must have a name."
Before my master bought me, before my aunt and uncle beat me and kept me in the cellar, before my mother said goodbye and left for market to be killed on the road, before my father kissed mine and my mother's heads and said he would see us in the spring, there was a cat that came to sit with me when I watched the geese. I named the cat Mao, because that was the sound it made. And I asked it, what it wanted to call me, since I had named it and felt it should only be fair that it named me. It looked at me and made the sound "mir." And so when I was alone with the cat, I called it Mao and called myself Mir. It was a name that I had been given by another. Perhaps it would do?
"Mir," I blurted out.
The dragon blinked.
I had failed. I should have told it my name. What idiot tells a dragon a name given them by a cat. The talon would pierce my chin and come out through my nose. The dragon would put my head in his mouth like an olive and my skull would go pop. I was about to die.
"That is a very old, very powerful name." the talon withdrew. "May I call you Miriam? Little one?"
"Yes sir, if it pleases you sir."
"It does. And you may call me..."
I held my breath.
"Grandfather. Yes. Grandfather will do. I trust yours are quite dead?"
"Yes sir."
"The old ones never do last very long, unfortunately. But yes... while you are here, you are my guest. You are my ward, under my protection. Grandfather will do."
Did this really happen? My mouth was dry with surprise.
"Th-thank you, grandfather."
The dragon smiled again - it was a smile.
"Now, you must be hungry. Have some food." A great paw reached out and lifted the plate, bringing it toward me. For a large creature, the dragon was very graceful.
"No, thank you, grandfather."
"Is it not to your liking? Would you prefer something else?"
"Oh no sir, it looks delicious."
"Then please, have some."
Three times. That was three times. Was it? I counted in my head. Yes. Three times.
"Thank you, sir."
His inner eyelids clicked shut as my hand reached for the food. I was failing. I was failing a test. What must I do?
"Would you..." what what what? What must I say? My master told me nothing of this. Be polite. Be polite. What does a polite girl do? I remembered my mother. My mother always offered everything she had to everyone.
"May I serve you anything, sir?"
The dragon's inner eyelids clicked back open. He raised the tip of one claw up in front of my chest. "I am actually very fond of roast apples."
I lifted the apple off the plate and pushed it down onto the tip of the dragon's claw so the fruit was impaled there. He raised his arm up above my head and I nearly dropped the plate as he breathed fire.
I took a step back and bumped into the stool I had righted and half sat, half fell onto it.
He brought the apple back down in front of my face.
"Try a bite."