March 21, 2016

From “The First Story of Lwyr” by Sandra Cooke Jameson

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This is the story of the Age of Sparrows.

In ages past, before time was time and the world was the world, sparrows ruled all. They were great and all and proud and took what they would. They were the striders, and the striders were the sparrows: weak, scattered, prey.

Sparrows took llew rather than llew taking sparrows.

But in their hubris, the sparrows decided that they must be bigger still. So they grew larger an more fierce until they were larger and fiercer than any creature which has ever walked the earth. So much so that they could only eat other sparrows, who they slew in great battles.

The Great One saw this and was much saddened. He implored the sparrows to change their ways, but they regarded him not–they were the great ones now, and needed no counsel. So, in his sadness, the Great One hid himself from the world for a whole year. The sparrows, deprived of light and warmth, had to shrink in order to survive. In turn, the striders–free of the sparrows’ predation–grew and they themselves took on the role of llew, predators.

And that is why things are as they are today, why sparrows pay for the transgressions of our ancestors even unto this day, and why even the few of our brothers who are llew, like the hawk or the owl, feed upon us even now.

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March 28, 2015

From “The Mother of Sparrows” by Sandra Cooke Jameson

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In the old days, when the world was but young and the creatures were but new upon it, a sparrow approached its young mother, the Earth below, with a request.

“Mother,” it said most politely, “I have a boon to ask of thee.”

“Speak, then, little flutterer,” said the Earth. In those days, young and so very proud of her creations, she whispered lovingly to all of them in the dewey mornings and misty evenings. The stony silence she bears now is, after all, borne of the long hurt that only a mother can know, and not of hatred.

“I would like to know why it is that I must die,” the sparrow said.

“Many have asked me this before, and it has ever been a prelude to asking eternal life of me,” answered the Earth.

“I would be lying, dear Mother, if I said it were not so,” said the sparrow. “But Father ever gives off warmth and light, seemingly asking nothing in return, while thine gifts are only good for a time, until we inevitably return them to thee.”

“And yet has your Father in the sky ever held thee, ever whispered to thee, ever provided hollows in which to hide and sticks with which to build?” asked the Earth. “I think not. His gifts are fine and without recompense, but they are the gifts of an absent parent, sent instead of love rather than with love, by one who is too busy flitting and dancing for real responsibility.”

“But I also flit and dance after a fashion, dear Mother,” said the sparrow. “Surely thou can part with what it would take to show me the same regard that Father does.”

This greatly saddened the Earth. “I will make you a bargain then, sparrow. I will hold myself apart from thee and take thee not into my bosom in death. We shall see, then how much regard I show for three.”

The sparrow eagerly agreed, and that very night he sprang from the jaws of one who would otherwise have slain him. But soon he came to see he folly of his request: in holding herself apart from him, the Earth offered neither shelter nor succor. Perches and nests failed to warm, food failed to satisfy, water failed to slake thirst.

Worse, the sparrow came to see how its mate, its chicks, and all of its flock in time came to rest in the embrace of their loving mother. The sparrow was soon cut off from family and flock, regarded as a curious old outsider even by his own descendants.

After the passage of much time, the sparrow returned to his mother. “O mother, I beg of thee, take back this gift which has been my curse,” he wept. “I see now what you meant all those many years ago.”

“Do you now, little flutterer?” The Earth was much saddened in those later days, and already beginning to withdraw herself from her beloved children into solitude. “What would you ask of me now? What impossible and selfish demands?”

“I ask only to return that which I once borrowed from thee and, in my impudence, sought to keep,” said the sparrow. “I can hear the keening call of the Great Flock, and wish only to be reunited with them.”

“You see now what your pride has wrought?” said the Earth.

“I do.”

“Then embrace me, O flutterer.”

That was the last time a sparrow ever spoke to the Earth, our mother, and the last request she granted unto us. And yet we remain grateful all the same, for without her daily gifts, we would perish. And without returning to her in time, we would not have repaid all that we owe.

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March 3, 2015

From “The Illusive Elusive Sparrows” by Sandra Cooke Jameson

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In what became an internet sensation, an ornithologist once wrote about a colony of sparrows who, due to a genetic mutation exacerbated by the founder effect on their small offshore island home, could not sing within the range of other sparrows’ hearing. Forced to inbreed, their population grew smaller and smaller due to infertile eggs and the slow arch of time.

These birds–the “loneliest sparrows on the planet” were the subject of a documentary, a Kickstarter, and even some internet innovations aimed at making their high-pitched songs understandable to mainland sparrows (who could presumably then flit over and add fresh new blood to the isolate population dynamics). But the sparrows proved elusive; the island often varied from description to description, and those islands matching the descriptions often contained no sparrows. Those that did typically featured thoroughly natural birdsong audible to human and bird alike.

There was a reason. The ornithologist’s piece had been a fabrication–they claimed it was a piece of fiction, though they’d had no qualms about basking in the adulation of internet denizens.

The elusive sparrows were in fact illusive sparrows, more a metaphor of the longing of human nature to fit creatures into anthropomorphic narratives than anything else.

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October 10, 2014

From “Last of the Huia, Last of the Laughing-Owls” by Sandra Cooke Jameson

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“I have heard the two-legs talking,” purred the cat in a voice both soft and satisfied. “You are to be taken to a great pride-leader of theirs as a prize and curiosity.”

“It matters not,” replied the Huia male, gently rubbing his thick beak against the dark plumage of his mate, “as long as we are together.”

“Oh, you will be,” said the cat, shifting her balance slightly as the ship bobbed amid light waves. “The two-legs will stuff you with sawdust and wires, side by side. I have heard of it from toms in port.”

“As long as we are together,” the female huia said. She cooed softly and returned her mate’s gesture with her long beak like a curved needle.”

“Bah, such mawkishness is no kind of sport,” snarled the cat. “No wonder your kind is rare enough to be a curiosity.” She turned to the next cage in the ship’s hold. “What about you, owl?” she said. “How does it feel to be among the last of your kind, taken from your home to be stuffed by a pride of two-legs?”

“Ah..ahah..AHAHAHAHAHA!” one of the owls cackled. “Hehehehe…you want to have a bit of sport with us, two-legs, is that it? Maybe agree to, heh, open our cages and let you end our misery early? AHAHAHAHA!”

“And why not?” said the cat, speaking the patois common to predators in a low and mewling voice. “A quick snap…I would do it clean. You’d die a warrior’s death. Who knows, you and your queen there might even best me and fly away to safety.”

“Ahahaha…AHAHAHA!” cackled the female laughing owl. “We’ve heard things as well, you know. There was a sort of…ahahaha…little bird that once lived not far from where we did. Killed by cats they were, all of them! And do you know what the two-legs did in return? They killed the cats, all of them!” The owls chortled together.

“So…ahaha…so you see, cat, we may be bound for a stuffing, but you’re surely not” the male cackled. “Eat one feather of ours or our amorous fellow-passengers and the two-legs will snuff you out like a blind cricket!”

The cat hissed and snarled in return. But, recognizing the futility of the gesture, it turned and sulked out of sight.

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August 8, 2014

From “The Sparrow-King” by Sandra Cooke Jameson

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The Tale of Brnin, Riau of the Sparrows

In the oldest times of which out legends speak, the time of the Fledging, birds were the only beasts that roamed the earth. All else was small and scuttling ysgly, prey, or esgyn, the perches that grow and sway and bring forth bountiful harvests of food. The affairs of birds were managed by the Great Council, which selected one of its members to rule for four seasons. The Great Council consisted of the largest and heartiest of birds; some like the eagles and owls were faethwr, predators on their fellow-birds, while others like the crows and gulls were amh, and had no interest in eating other birds but would steal from them and defend themselves against incursion.

No sparrows sat on the Great Council, for they were too small; their interests were represented by the larger amh. Each member of the Council was the riau, or king, of their race. The riau came to power in various ways: the eagles sent their best hunter, the owls sent their eldest, the crows sent their cleverest speaker, and the gulls sent the seniormost of their line of albatross-princes.

Brnin, the largest and strongest sparrow the world has ever seen, was well-known even then to his people. He approached the riau of the crows, asking for the Council’s blessing to recognize him as riau of the sparrows. The crow asked why a race which did not sit on the Council needed a riau at all; Brnin replied that by speaking with a single voice, the sparrows could make their wishes more easily known. This would reduce the number of petitions the crow-riau would receive, and Brnin accompanied his request with a large offering of foodstuffs and shiny trinkets of the sort crows are known to favor. The crow-riau took his request to the Council and they agreed that the sparrows might name a riau of their choosing, endorsing Brnin as the one so chosen.

I don’t need to tell you of Brnin’s great and powerful deeds, from outfoxing the Great White Owl to securing for his people the Fields of Endless Ysgly and the Bountiful Esgyn of the Many Berries. He was therefore acclaimed as riau of the sparrows by the elders of every flock. But then a curious thing happened. Whereas before Brnin had sought to strengthen his flock and other sparrows, he now increasingly sought only to maintain and expand his power. He took for himself the best hens from every flock and tribe, intimidating their mates through his large size and numerous followers. He began replacing the elders of flocks and tribes that displeased him or refused to obey his wishes, often appointing much younger and inexperienced–but loyal–birds to those positions. He demanded of every flock and tribe a tribute in imperishable seed, soon accumulating more than he or his many chicks and hens could ever eat.

These actions occurred gradually, not overnight, but they were anathema to the sparrows nonetheless. A sparrow is loyal to its hen and she to he; Brnin’s harem was a mockery of this. A sparrow eats no more than it needs to support itself and its hen and its chicks; Brnin’s hoarding was a mockery of this. But the bird that snapped the branch came much later, when Brnin chose from among his many sons a particularly large specimen who greatly resembled his father. The sparrow-riau declared that he would be succeeded by this chick, known as Tywy, rather than any of the elders or heroes that sparrowkind had produced during his reign. The elders balked at this, pointing out that Brnin himself had obtained his position through deeds, not through birth, but the sparrow-riau ignored them. Eventually, a delegation of elders presented Brnin with an ultimatum: disinherit Tywy or lose their loyalty.

Brnin’s response cemented how far he had fallen: he slew the foremost of the elders in single combat. This violence had no precedent among his kind, and had a great impression on Tywy. The would-be riau by birth condemned his father as a faethwr, a predator, and in turn slew him in a great battle which lasted nearly a month. Impressed by this deed, the elders offered Tywy the crown–through his deeds, they thought he had earned what they once thought him unworthy of. Tywy instead declared himself faethwr for the crime of killing his father, who had once been a great hero, and declared that henceforth the sparrows would have no riau, only elders. He dispersed his father’s hens and his many siblings, gave away the great store of hoarded seeds, and departed, never to be seen again.

For his deeds, the elders named Tywy riau of his people; in the absence of sure news of his death, most sparrows consider that he holds the position to this day. That is why no sparrow has ever sought to be riau again, and why Tywy’s name is often invoked alongside Ellw’s as the greatest hero known to sparrows. Brnin’s is no less popular in the telling, serving as an example through his great deeds but also a warning in his precipitous fall into selfishness and vanity.

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May 22, 2014

From “The Sparrow-Parables” by Sandra Cooke Jameson

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Echyd told tales, and Oesoedd related parables. The younger fledgelings of the flock much preferred Echyd’s rollicking and often bawdy yarns of nuthatches and titmice, but Oesoedd was the elder bird–close to the eldest, in fact, near as anyone could tell–and respect demanded that his windy moralistic tales be aired and heard.

Sparrows who had lived with Oesoedd or heard his father speak once upon a time knew that certain situations would automatically result in certain stories. For instance, when a fledgeling began to accept food too readily from llew, the great striding two-legged predators, showing signs of tameness, Oesoedd would flap over to them and relate one of his favorite parables.

“Have I told you, youngster, the tale of the Cat and the Birdfeeder?”

The fledgelings always knew better than to answer that they had, so Oesoedd would continue.

“Once, there was a birdfeeder with a cat that lived nearby. A sparrow that frequented the feeder was wary of the cat, as he should have been, despite the cat’s assurances. ‘You have nothing to fear from me, sparrow, the cat would say, ‘for I am a housecat and well-fed by the humans, and your scrawny bones aren’t worth the effort to catch.’ The sparrow decided to simply ignore the cat and keep eating at the feeder every day. And, seemingly true to its word, the cat seemed content to sun itself lazily nearby. In time, the sparrow grew used to the cat’s presence and regarded it almost as it would a rock or a shrub. But then, one day, the housecat was not fed as it usually was, and the sparrow approached unawares. In a flash of teeth and claws, the cat caught the bird, toyed with it for a bit, and then slew it to be devoured. For you see, the cat had let the sparrow grow accustomed to its presence just so it might strike easily when the time came.”

The implication of Oesoedd’s parables was always the same: tameness of any sort led inexorably to grisly death.

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February 20, 2013

Happy Three-Year Blogiversary, EFNB (Part 2)

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In this, part two of our third blogiversary celebration, the editors at EFNB would like to recognize out long-term contributors who have continued to submit over the past year. While many of the “old guard” have had less productive years in terms of submissions, we have considerable pull with these imaginary authors, and requests for additional submissions by any of them will be honored. Whether the author in question likes it or not!

Mark Amiton
Bar to Ashes, The Most Permeable of the Permeable

Mark has continued to work on his magnum opus, a tale of a place where certain people can reshape reality with the power of their minds. “It’s kind of like Dubai, only with mental power instead of rapacious oil wealth as the driving force,” he says.

Eric Cummings Jr.
Dumpee, Dumper, and Dumpest, The Worrying of ECJ, The Paper Reel, The Bottom of the Night IM, A Conversation, To Delerue Hall, Pursuit by the Numbers

Beginning work in earnest on his autobiographical “college graduate student slacker novel” this year, Eric submitted most of his excerpts from “in the zone.” He confirms that as of this writing he is “out of the zone” but hoped to have a draft of his text finished by July.

Sonya G. Goldman-Haines
Slaying the Mondragon

After a long silence, Ms. Goldman-Haines has rejoined our ranks with a second tale from her forthcoming collection about a psychic gunsmith who ascertains the various and sundry stories behind the rare firearms that cross her desk.

Kenny Idlewild
Only Further Truth

Philosophy professor Dr. Kenneth Idlewild is not a prolific writer, but his second submission after a long drought is taken from his well-reviewed text The Philosophie of Being.

Sandra Cooke Jameson
The Birdsong Code, The Stephens Island Wren, The Counsel of Vultures

Expanding her repertoire of avian stories outside of her beloved sparrows, Ms. Jameson favored us with excerpts from her forthcoming book of short stories and novellas, Stories Borne on a Fair Wing. She has also added 27 birds to her life list in the past 18 months,

Bernard S. Roberts
Of the Vyaeh Conscripted Races, Of Vyaeh Counterfeits

“Most of what I’ve shared with you guys is from my private world building notes,” writes Roberts, “rather than any finished work. I’m still getting the foundations set for a lot of thing, and making sure to expunge all traces of their former life as video game design notes.”

Nokin Kobayashi and Irene York
The Mountain Shrine

Mr. Kobayashi and his paramour Ms. York have spent much of the past year on an extensive lecture tour, which has notable decreased his literary output and her translation efforts. Kobayashi’s self titled, self-translated “777 Magical Raccoon Cats” tour may soon be coming to a city near you.

C. Alton Parker
Gambler’s Prosperity, Eschatology of the Ide, The Prosperity Ambush, The Prosperity Spoonerism, The Prosperity Alarm Clock, The Prosperity Ride, The Prosperity Pueblo<

Ms. Parker has expressed to our editors that 2013 will be “the year” for her long-in-gestation epic Western. Her previous declarations that 2010, 2011, and 2012 were “the year” have been set aside for the time being.

Jordan Iverson Peers
The Halfling Tuesday, The Gorgon Evryali

Jordan Peers returns to the critically acclaimed “Weird Manhattan” universe that won a Pluto Award (now known as the Eris Award). These recent excerpts are from a short story detailing the life and misadventures of a wannabe hardboiled detective who also happens to be a hobbit.

Phil “Stonewall” Pixa
The Review Page

Phil Pixa has been writing for The Hopewell Review, a literary journal out of Southern Michigan University Press, of late. In addition to serving as under-editor, he has written reviews, criticism, and recycled a few of his more highbrow stories in its pages. The Hopewell Review is currently the most widely-read literary journal in Michigan, with well over 25 subscribers.

T. W. Reyauld
Taarin’s Tale

Still plugging away at his massive fantasy opus, Mr. Reyauld has also been serving as a consultant, uncredited polish writer, and fifteenth unit director for the acclaimed HMC series Rage of Tenmosh. Due to its unprecedented success, he has been making more getting coffee for the actors than in his acclaimed career as a fantasy writer.

P. Elizabeth Smalley
The Squirrel Lama

“Avatar of Aquerna” has long been one of EFNB’s most popular posts, so after much cajoling and pleading, Ms. Smalley deigned to provide another piece of writing relating to squirrels, though she declines to indicate whether it is connected or in continuity with her previous submission.

Jeanne Welch
Locke’s Revenent

“It’s been slow going on my story about love, social media, and modern life,” says Welch. “But I feel like I’ve turned a corner.” By the editors’ count, this marks the 37th corner Ms. Welch has turned. She is averaging approximately 12.3 corners turned per submission at this point.

Altos Wexan
Beneath Metromart #832, Mutt of Ice and Fire, Petting the Beyond, Across an Age, A Muse’s Unvarnished Perspective, A Poem for my Grandmother, Why I Don’t Celebrate Mardi Gras

As always, Mr. Wexan continues to dominate in terms of sheer number of submissions. His esoteric output has run toward the maudlin of late, largely a reflection of circumstances in his personal life. I think you’ll all be willing to join the editors of EFNB in wishing Mr. Wexan a very lucky 2013.

 

January 1, 2013

From “The Counsel of Vultures” Sandra Cooke Jameson

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It happened that, in the course of a hard-fought pursuit, a sparrow tricked a hawk into diving at its reflection in a human window. The sparrow, which had eaten seeds from the yard for many weeks, knew of the window’s presence and pulled up at the last second; the hawk did not know and was killed on impact.

Such a situation was quite unprecedented. Hawks were killed all the time in botched pursuits, but never in such a way that their prey could be blamed for the deed. The hawks claimed that their ancient prerogative as predators, recognized by all the avian elders who implicitly acquiesced thereto, had been upset by the act. They demanded the offending sparrow be surrendered to them for summary execution along with its kinsfolk–enough to equal the weight of the dead hawk.

The sparrows, for their part, held that they were well within their rights as prey to trick hawks–only the most foolish or clumsy birds would actually die or be injured, and weeding them out would actually be doing the hawks a favor. The hawk elders, they argued, implicitly recognized the right of prey to flee or defend itself.

Squabbles over the dispute continued for months; eventually the sparrows and the hawks were forced to agree to an outside party to review the situation and mediate. That was easier said than done, though, as the raptors would not countenance prey birds standing in judgement over them and the sparrows maintained that any bird of prey would be unfairly biased toward the hawk.

Eventually they agreed to ask the vultures, who ate meat but did not kill it, to mediate. Geier, the elder vulture of the area, agreed to study the case on the condition that whatever judgement he rendered be accepted without question. When the time came, this is what he said:

“We vultures can soar on thermals as well as any raptor and our talons are just as sharp, yet you have long derided us as weaklings as we do not kill. We are as clever and adept at locating food as any forager, yet the sparrows and their ilk shun us because we eat not nuts or berries but the honored dead. Our own view, that we are purifiers who guide the souls of the dead to oneness with the land, has never been seriously entertained by any but our own.”

“We will therefore carry a petition to the Creator to ask that the offending sparrow and the nestmate of the slain hawk be made to change places. Since they despise each other so, this will serve many constructive purposes from punishment to enlightenment. If they return after one full cycle of the night orb, we will hold the matter settled.”

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October 23, 2012

From “The Stephens Island Wren” by Sandra Cooke Jameson

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The black-billed gull bobbed its head nervously. “I see your children attempting to sneak up on me,” it squawked. “You know that the ancient and unwritten law both our kinds follow demands that a messenger not be accosted.”

A slight twitching of the matriarch’s ears and the younger cats withdrew into the bushes. “Speak, then, that we may satisfy the old ways and have our repast of you.”

“I come on behalf of the wrens,” the gull said. “They bade me speak to Tibbles, which I can only assume is you.”

“That is a name bestowed upon me unbidden,” the matriarch hissed. “You will not use it.”

“What am I to call you, then?”

“My true name is of our secret tongue and not for your ears,” the cat said. “You need not address me by name to deliver what paltry tidings you bring.”

“Very well.” The gull spread its wings. “My brothers, the wrens, have lived on this isle of Takapourewa from time immemorial. The rats chased their forefathers from Aotearoa after the arrival of man, and this is the last outpost of their kind. They are simple, trusting, and guileless, with no defense against those such as yourself as they cannot fly. They believe and practice total nonviolence against all but the insects they eat.”

“You tell me nothing I do not already know,” the matriarch cat said.

“The flightless wrens of Takapourewa have, in council, decided that their commitment to nonviolence overrides all, up to and including their lives and those of their children. They will not take steps to secure themselves against your predations.”

Purring the matriarch cat nodded in approval. “Then you bring us glad tidings! Thank you, messenger. You may depart this once with your life.”

“That is not the extent of my tidings, o cat,” the gull said. “The elder of the wrens bade me come, as one of a tribe who has known their kind for aeons and for whom flight offers a modicum of protection. They ask that you and your children cease your slaughter of their kind and allow them to live in peace.”

“Does our elder brother the lion live in peace with the gazelle? Does the wolf live in peace with the cat? That is not the way of our kind nor of any other kind.” The matriarch bent to casually lick her paw. “Your friends ask the impossible and we have no power to grant their request.”

The gull bobbed its head. “The wrens feared as much. They bade me tell you that, if your numbers continue to explode with the slaughter of wrens, when their kind is gone, your children will starve.”

“The weak ones, perhaps, but the strong and worthy will find other prey.”

“They foresaw that answer as well. The wrens bade me say one thing more. They have noticed that the humans have become interestied in them, in their rarity as the last of their kind. Even now they collect wrens as curiosities for display, and humans the world over ask for wrens of their own that they might study them.” The gull cocked its head. “If you exterminate them, the humans will be angry. You more than anyone must know what that anger can mean.”

Its last statement gave the matriarch pause. Her ears flattened for a moment before resuming their erect posture. “It is a risk we will assume,” she said at length.

“I am saddened to hear so, but I will bear your reply to the wrens,” the gull said. It launched itself into the air before the hidden cats nearby could pounce.

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March 1, 2012

From “The Birdsong Code” by Sandra Cooke Jameson

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“Those funny little birds…why do they keep telling me to whip poor Will?” asked young Petunia. “Do they mean Will Camden next door? What’ve they got against poor Will?”

“It’s just what the birds’ call sounds like, dear,” said Auntie May. “They don’t actually want you to whip poor Will.”

I wanted her to whip poor Will, one of the birds thought glumly. He throws rocks at us sometimes.

 

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