Winter's Dreams

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[Anyone who reads "Winter's Dreams" will instantly be aware of its many shortcomings. This is my first assay into short fiction in fifteen years. Some minds are better suited to long, I suppose. Some lack the capacity to leave things out. My last short work appeared in Asimov's, Mid-December 1982 issue. 1985 saw publication of a 240,000 word trilogy prequeling events in that story. "Winter's Dreams," for me is noteworthy for the thousand things left out. It is ever thus. There are always more questions to answer about these people from other dimensions and more events in their lives to chronicle. If they survive.

In effect, "Winter's Dreams" is like an artist's preliminary pencil sketch for one panel in a triptych. A lot of detail and color and polish need to be added before a satisfactorily finished whole appears to my eye.]

The light of three racing moons drenched the smoky city. Silver shadows schooled lazily amongst crowded spires and steeples and minarets, making the gargoyles appear to stir and stretch. Mist crept through the narrow, tortuous alleys and streets, heavy with odors foul and sweet. The air scarcely stirred. Tall black prayer banners rose toward the weary stars, swaying like kelp beneath a gentle sea.

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