Beneath Ceaseless Skies Issue 84 Review

Beneath CeaselessSkies, Issue 84

Featuring “Heartless” by Peadar Ó Guilín, and “The God Thieves,” by Derek Künsken

I’ve never reviewed a magazine before, so forgive me if this is poorly-written. I’m still getting into the habit of reading short fiction magazines regularly, so this is a learning process. After reading BCS’s 84^th issue, though, I felt it was time to try to review a magazine. I liked it that much.

The issue’s cover is worth a bit of wordage. It’s a beautiful vista of long ships, with a troop of armed men on a rocky shore. A crowned, eagle-headed prow is quite prominently featured, behind which is an enormous, rather enigmatic stone tower. It looks like something you’d find in an illustrated edition of The Lord of the Rings. The cover is quite striking. It’s a shame the Kindle edition can’t display the color on the cover. It’s available in full-color right there on the BCS home page, though.

“No one asks for Death.” That’s how Peadar Ó Guilín’s short story, “Heartless,” opens. It’s a very dark fantasy about a woman (of indeterminate age), Malern, and her sister Alysa. The duo live in a magic city that is powered by “window witches,” which is a much more tame term for a human who has been forced to become a sacrificial, psychotic engine of magical energy. The wishes of the witch’s owner burn its life, so in a city like Kalegwyn, where Malern lives, life is a currency. The city is obnoxiously opulent; there are entire buildings made of solid jade, golden statues littered about, and just about everything you’d expect from a society so self-obsessed and singularly powerful. Likewise, the city is in rapid decline. Because power isolates, Kalegwyn has become a lone island of power and culture; what’s beyond its borders, no one really remembers anymore, except that it’s scary, dark, and populated by lesser humans who are jealous after the power of the Kalegwynians. Governing the city is Garvinger, the ancient, pedocidal castellan of the city who seems determined to maintain the status quo, and to keep the city “safe.” He serves as the main antagonist, and seems to personally invest himself in Malern’s rebellious criticism of the destructive nature of the city’s magical addiction.

There is a lot to like about this short, and most of all is the genuine love Malern bears for her sister Alysa. However foolhardy the girl might seem, she is devoted to her sister, even when the rest of the city seems bent on forcing them apart. Ó Guilín’s story is about the limits of familial loyalty, and about the importance of devotion. It’s also a criticism of culture-wide addiction—and given the Eurocrisis and the constant looming threat of a government shutdown here in the US, I think the criticism is quite relevant. The harder life, Ó Guilín seems to whisper, is ultimately the easier one. It just takes some love and compromise.

The second short, “The God Thieves,” by Derek Kunsken is substantially longer. It is a historical fantasy that tells the story of Mateo del Monte Feltro, a Genoese spy sometime around the renaissance. The re-envisioning of Europe here is drastic. Venice and Genoa have become the seats of power, because they have mutually learned how to weaponize the powers of the gods. There is a bit of Lovecraft here; Kunsken described Odin, one of the gods weaponized by Venice as “a gibbering monster of overripe flesh and rudderless power.” If you get the Old Ones vibe, you’re onto something. Mateo is tasked with infiltrating the Venice Secret Police, where the ‘engines’ that harness the power of their captive guards are kept, in order to steal away the secret of Venice’s newest acquired power, the Sumerian god Enlil. Mateo doesn’t like this; he has recently converted to Christianity (in this world, Christ is “The God who Does Not Fight”), and struggles with where his loyalties lie: his city, and his daughter, or with the Christ whose powers may be subtle, but whom he believes can cleanse his soul. And there’s a catch to Genoa’s request of him: in order to infiltrate the Venetian vaults, he’ll have to have part of his soul amputated, in order to make room for a lobotomized dragon soul which will give him enough power to slip in unnoticed.

You read that right. In Kunsken’s dark-aged, theo-nuclear Europe, spiritual surgery—and magical creatures—exist, and are important in the way of creating a better soldier. It’s a very interesting facet of the story, and it clearly bears resemblance to some of the experimenting the government performs on its own soldiers. It’s not nearly as exaggerated as the soldier-enhancement is in The Manchurian Candidate, but it is here in this short, and the dragon, Batu, is a wonderful character that Kunsken has realized with bright language. As Batu and Mateo attempt to infiltrate Venice, you learn a lot about this very intricate, arguably insane magical technology that might be the most interesting form of magic I’ve read of in a long time. It’s totally worth the read. Mateo’s conflict with his Christian faith and the demands of the state, and his need to protect his daughter, are very well realized, and drive the story far further, and much deeper, than I would have guessed from the first few pages.

Both stories have themes of love-based sacrifice and criticisms of today’s society. They illustrate why fantasy is still a relevant and powerful genre, when treated with intelligence and craftsmanship. I applaud the editors on their pairing of the two shorts. They complement each other well, and make it obvious exactly why I get excited when a new BCS shows up on my Kindle. Go get this issue!