Archive for Rated PG

PodCastle Miniature 82: Lord Darq, Regis and the Orb of Power

by John Nickerson
Read by Graeme Dunlop
A PodCastle Original!

“What’s wrong?”

“I just … wasn’t expecting that. Usually it goes ‘Join me and together we can rule the world’, then you heroes say ‘Never!’, and we fight. Nobody’s ever just said ‘Okay’ like that.”

“So what now?”

“Don’t know. I had a great battle planned for us, through the ice caves, over the lava lake, into the mud plains, it would have been spectacular. Now, I guess … do you want to see the inner lair?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Rated PG.

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PodCastle 353: Irregular Verbs

by Matthew Johnson
Read by Chistopher Reynaga
Featuring Special Guest Host Peter Wood!
Originally published in Fantasy Magazine.

apilar: to let a fire burn out

gelas: to treat something with care

pikanau: to cut oneself with a fishhook

It is a well-known fact that there are no people more gifted at language than those of the Salutean Isles. Saluteans live in small villages on a thousand densely populated islands; isolated but never alone, their languages change constantly, and new ones are born all the time. A Salutean’s family has a language unintelligible to their neighbours, his old friends a jargon impenetrable to anyone outside their circle. Two Saluteans sharing shelter from the rain will, by the time it lets up, have developed a new dialect with its own vocabulary and grammar, with tenses such as “when the ground is dry enough to walk on” and before I was entirely wet.”

It was in just such circumstances that Sendiri Ang had met his wife, Kesepi, and in such circumstances that he lost her. An afternoon spent in a palm-tree shadow is enough time for two people to fall in love, a few moments enough to die when at sea. Eighteen monsoons had passed in between, enough time for the two of them to develop a language of such depth and complexity that no third person could ever learn it, so utterly their own that it was itself an island, without ties to any of its neighbours.

Rated PG.

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PodCastle 351: Hoywverch

By Heather Rose Jones
Read by Sarah Goleman
Featuring Special Guest Host Amal El-Mohtar
A PodCastle Original! Welcome back to Artemis Rising, Week 3!

Elin verch Gwir Goch oed yn arglwydes ar Cantref Madruniawn wrth na bo i’w thad na meibion na brodyr. A threigylgweith dyvot yn y medwl vynet y hela. Ac wrth dilyt y cwn, hi a glywei llef gwylan. Ac edrych i fyny arni yn troi, a synnu wrthi. A’y theyrnas ymhell o’r mor. Ac yna y gelwi i gof ar y dywot y chwaervaeth Morvyth pan ymadael ar lan Caer Alarch: Os clywhych gwylan yn wylo, sef minnau yn wylo amdanat. A thrannoeth cyvodi a oruc ac ymadael a’y theulu a’y niver a’y chynghorwyr, a marchogaeth a oruc tra doeth i’r mor.

Elin, the daughter of Gwir Goch, ruled over the cantref of Madrunion, for her father had neither sons nor brothers. And one day it came into her mind to go hunting. As she was riding after the hounds, she heard the cry of a seagull and looked up to see a white bird circling overhead. She marveled at it, for her lands were far from the sea. And then she remembered what her foster-sister Morvyth had said when they parted on the shore by Caer Alarch: “When you hear a gull crying, that will be me—crying for you.” And the next morning she took leave of her household and her warriors and her counselors and rode west for the sea.
 
###
 
The scent in the air was just as I had remembered it: sharp and rich at the same time. I’d seen and heard the gulls for hours before my path topped the hill and the wide expanse of the Irish Sea spread out before me. The land curved to embrace it, gathering an armful of harbor to hold close and safe against winter storms. And there, where the hills rose past the outlet of the laughing river, the timbered walls and halls of Caer Alarch stood. My eyes were not for the court, but for the cluster of ships pulled out on the narrow slip of sand—ships with the look and build of Ireland. I let my horse pick her own way down to the shore and across the shifting flats where the tide had run low. Then we climbed the hills again to the eastward side where the gates of Caer Alarch opened.
 
The men who watched the gate I knew of old, though the last time they’d seen me I had been a wild hoyden, racing my pony along the beach and daring Morvyth to explore the treacherous caves under the cliffs. Neither one knew me at first, until I called out, “Ha, Meurig! Am I so changed?”
 
Then their faces split into grins, and one answered, “Elin!” He corrected himself quickly. “Lady! You’ve come in time, just barely.”
 
With the foreboding already resting on my shoulders, his words would have chilled my heart if they’d not been spoken with such cheer. “In time?” I asked.
 
“For the wedding feast,” came the answer. Read the rest of this entry »

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PodCastle 346: The Pilgrim and the Angel

by E. Lily Yu

Read by Rajan Khanna

Originally published in McSweeney’s Quarterly 45.

Three days before Mr. Fareed Halawi was washed and turned to face the northeast, a beatific smile on his face, he had the unusual distinction of entertaining the angel Gabriel at the coffeeshop he operated in the unfashionable district of Moqattam in Cairo. Fareed was tipped back in his monobloc chair, watching the soccer game on television. The cigarette between his lips wobbled with disapproval at the referee’s calls. Above him on the wall hung the photograph of a young man, barely eighteen, bleached to pale blue. His rolled-up prayer mat rested below. It was a quiet hour before lunch, and the coffeeshop was empty. Right as the referee held up a yellow card, a scrub-bearded man strode in.

“Peace to you, Fareed,” the stranger boomed. “Arise!”

Fareed laughed and tapped out a grub of ash. “Peace to you. New to the neighborhood?”

“Not at all. I know you, Fareed,” the stranger said. “You pray with devotion and give generously to the poor.”

“So does my neighbor,” said Fareed, “though that hasn’t helped him find a husband for his big-nosed daughter. Can I get you a glass of tea?”

“The one thing you lack to perfect your faith is the hajj.”

“Well, with business as slow as it is, and one thing and another…” Fareed coughed. “Truth is, may God forgive me, I’m saving up to visit my son. He’s an electrician in Miami. Doesn’t call home. What would you like to drink?”

“I have come to take you on hajj.”

Rated PG.

Greg Campbell, author and Navy Veteran needs your help! Click here to find out how you can help him and his children after a fire.

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