Wilde Oats is an online literary magazine. It celebrates gay and bisexual fiction. It embraces the joys and agonies of life for gay and bisexual men, from hard gritty realism to wild flights of romantic fantasy.

Wilde Oats has gone through some big changes in recent months: we have moved to a new server and changed our appearance. The journal is published three times a year - in April, August and December. Between issues, you can find out what's happening, read snippets of new stories, see new artwork, and keep up to date by visiting us here.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Moonrise Over The Nile

It looks as if we might get the novella Moonrise Over The Nile by Anel Viz for Wilde Oats. It'll be published in several sections over a few issues because of its length, but the first episode will be in the next issue.

Here's a snippet:

Silently, so as not to disturb the sleeping Pharaoh, Apara rose from the couch and snuffed out the single oil lamp that flickered on the low table strewn with the remains of their supper. Darkness flooded the room. Moving cautiously lest he tread on one of the salukis that lay curled up on the floor, he went out onto the balcony to watch the moon rise over the Nile.

The chill night air caressed his naked body as gently as Pharaoh’s lips. Beyond the landing at the foot of the palace, the river stretched left and right like a motionless ribbon of empty space. The night was so dark, Apara could barely distinguish the outlines of the sacred city of Gebtu, one-half mile distant on the east bank.

He waited, gazing back at the cat-eyes of the goddess Bast that glinted unblinking in the inky depths of the heavens. They began to fade as falcon-headed Khonsu climbed from behind the dunes on the further shore, the pale disk of the moon cradled in his crescent headpiece. The sands lightened from dark ochre to glowing cream, the date palms cast faint shadows, the river came alive with the white ripples of lapping waves, and the massive columns of the balcony shimmered with reflected light.

Directly above him, undimmed by Khonsu’s rising, shone three stars in a straight line. Pharaoh had traced them in night sky after their first lovemaking and told him they were the khenen of Min, the god of rain, procreation and the harvest, and guardian of the moon. Then, kissing him, he’d said, “Yours is no less splendid.”

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