Judah Mahay, Author
  • Vignettes,  Works

    Iyo or Tena

    Written for the Watermill Grimoire Project. What is the place you call the Archive? Hmm, I like it not. Easily broken. Too astir, too active for the likes of me. I’m from afar like us all, but I find myself more content than most. I’m almost a thousand years old. Pity those years steered by so fast. But, this is splendid company I keep. Many tales they have, which are worth your ear. I advise, listen, and learn, but keep calm within for the unsteady heart cannot bend ear to good use. Oh, have I forgotten to introduce myself. Pity on me, time sure does move fast. I’m Iyo if you…

  • Vignettes,  Works

    Kala

    Written for the Watermill Grimoire Project. “So you want to know something about me? Well, what fancies ya?” Kala sniffed, his lava rock nostrils flaring. “I’m from Bali, but not originally mind you. I’ve been many a place and Bali wasn’t my favorite. Not a bad sort, just not my favorite. No, I’m from Java, the old Java when times were dust and people vain. Eh, things probably haven’t changed much have they?” Kala’s eyes ground in circles, itching the ear. His eyes stopped, he crunched his teeth together, and let his stone tongue run across his lips as if parched. “You know what, I could go for some greens. Do…

  • Vignettes,  Works

    Tatanua

    Written for the Watermill Grimoire Project. The Malagan is a story. It is a telling of times which were; a telling to guide the spirits to the beyond. It is a celebration of unity and a blessing for those gone. I’m that memory of a tale, which should carry the wild spirit of he who has passed. Yet, my story is forgotten, I’m not a tale, nor a memory or a thought. I’m haunted by the tatanua I’ve betrayed, the spirit which doesn’t see the land of the golden sun. I see him walking amid the tall pines, a wisp of smoke in the twilight breeze. I see him skidding over…

  • Vignettes,  Works

    Kelirieng

    Written for the Watermill Grimoire Project. “I am Kelirieng, I was and always will be Kelirieng, no matter what tongue twists the words of my name. Death be to those who defy me the honor of my name. I am Kelirieng and always will be. I want you to remember. I want them to know so I don’t become forgotten.” Kelirieng felt adrift, weightless, but not like floating on a cloud of glee or lifted in a spring breeze. He felt apart, separated, because he was in six pieces, to be precise. He thought it would hurt, the axes chopping away at his feet with sweat and bitter spit till he…