Damaris Browne is a former solicitor whose ancestors include Spanish aristocrats, Somerset horse-dealers, numerous soldiers of various ranks from private to general, and one wife-murderer.
When not writing about SF alien judges and fantasy characters in historical settings (not yet both in the same novel), she spends her time reading, gardening, ignoring housework, and hanging around at SFFChronicles, where she’s a moderator known as The Judge. She lives with her husband, cat, and a lot of books on the edge of the New Forest National Park in England.
Hear my prayer, Lady, and remember me. Your priestess brought me to the monastery. There I saw your statue for the first time. There I turned away from you for the first time. But before you, there was another … “Here, little one. Sit here.” Sukhbir, the older of the … Continue reading
Hear my prayer, Lady, and remember me, your little mouse. You sent your priestess to free me from my cage … “I shall come for you.” Girl whispers the words to herself as she rides a water buffalo home from the steep terraces of the rice fields. Many, many days … Continue reading
Hear my prayer, Lady, and remember me. I was six years old, no one, nothing, but you found me. Girl was my name … “Girl! GIRL!” Girl doesn’t respond, only crawls further into the gap beneath the house, deeper into the shadows. She’s done nothing wrong, but Naala screaming for … Continue reading
“Old story, new story…” Softly, mournfully, Akiowa sang the Storyteller’s call to herself, but the rest died on her lips as she reached the brow of the ridge and gazed down over the land. A sparkling river ran alongside a birch forest, overlooked by a white rock shaped like a … Continue reading
Akiowa sat with her back against a fir, looking out over the vast lake and its islands, occasionally brushing ants from her skirts, wishing she could push her thoughts away so easily. But the ants kept coming back as well, so perhaps there was no difference after all. The spear … Continue reading
“Welcome, Storyteller,” said the woman, as laughing girls and young children danced around Akiowa. “I am Nadie. Forgive my man for not greeting you, but the menfolk are all out hunting.” No, not all, for a boy of perhaps twelve years stood watching, a scowl on his face. His left … Continue reading
Akiowa stood gazing at the totem. Remembering. Grieving. It was blue-grey stone fashioned like an eagle, nothing like the white wolf of her clan, its festival decorations sprays of spring blossom not the colourful craftwork her people would have enjoyed making. Yet its spirit was the same, and memories of … Continue reading
As the echoes of the Storyteller’s call faded, excited laughter filled the air. Children rushed towards Akiowa, long-legged boys whooping as they ran, girls holding hands, toddlers waddling behind. Joy streamed from every child. No. Not every child. A lone girl of perhaps ten summers caught Akiowa’s eye. Three times … Continue reading
The spear again pushed her forward, but Akiowa held her ground behind a large pine. “No,” she said. “I don’t want to meet them.” For some time, torn between curiosity and dismay, she’d been covertly watching the people bustling around on the far side of the frozen river. Curiosity, for … Continue reading
“… and so despite all the hardships and the tricks of the envious, the Starlight Weaver and the White Moon Hunter joined hands at the first sunset of the beginning time. And ever after they have lit the night sky, for they wish us to remember their love and happiness, … Continue reading