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The Distant CartographThe rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a gray curtain that smelled of wet concrete and old copper. Elias stood on the corner of Fifth and Main, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of a coat that had seen better decades. He was waiting for a bus that he knew would not come. Or rather, he was waiting for the feeling that it would come to arrive. It was a Tuesday in November, the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded FrontierThe train hissed into the station of Oakhaven at dusk, exhaling a plume of black smoke that curled against the grey, indifferent sky like a prayer no one was listening to. Arthur Penhaligon stepped onto the platform, his leather trunk heavy in his hands, and watched the last of his colleagues disappear into the mist. He was a man of letters, of taxonomy and dry, precise Latin, but he felt...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale ShadowsThe rain hit the cobblestones in a steady drum. It was cold. The kind of cold that bites through wool. It bit through skin. Elias stood at the edge of the square. He looked up. The tower rose above him. It was old. Older than him. Older than his father. The stone was grey. It was wet. It was slick with moss. He had come back. He had crossed the sea. He had crossed the border. He had walked for...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant SummerThe salt wind off the Solent carried the smell of distant summers—salt, tallow, the ghost of jasmine tea cooling in a cup left too long on a wrought-iron table. Arthur Pendelton-Croft stood at the railing of his small boat, the one he'd had rebuilt from a fishing skiff his grandfather had lost somewhere between the Isle of Wight and Cherbourg in the autumn of 1968, and watched the light...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale GardenThe bread was stale. It was always stale. Mara cut a slice. The crust crumbled. It tasted like chalk and old dust. She chewed. She swallowed. "Good?" The voice came from the shadows. She looked up. A man stood by the window. He wore a coat that had seen better centuries. His face was pale. Too pale. Like paper left in the rain. "It is bread," Mara said. "Is it?" "Yes." "Eat." She ate. The man...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden QuestThe bell tolls. It is a low, bruising sound that vibrates in your teeth. You stand in the corridor of the Abbey of St. Jude. The stone is cold. It seeps into your bones. You are not a man. You were not born of a woman. You are made of moss and silence. You are a creature of the deep wood, trapped in the walls. The Prior passes you. He does not look. He wears wool that smells of damp and sweat....0 Comments 0 Shares 14 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded GuestMara sat in the dark of her apartment. The city hummed outside, a low, electric thrum that vibrated through the floorboards. It was the sound of the world moving on without her. She held the glass of wine in her hand. It was warm. The label had faded. She looked at the window. The glass was a mirror. It showed her face. It showed her eyes. They were red. They were tired. The apartment was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant ThresholdThe rain had been falling since before the dawn broke, a grey and relentless curtain that turned the cobblestones of the old quarter into a mirror of the sky, reflecting the crumbling facades of the houses that had stood there since the time when kings rode in on white horses and spoke of honor in a language that is now only understood by ghosts. I stood at the threshold of my brother’s house,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful WitnessThe hall smelled of burnt sugar and wet wool. Caleb stood at the edge of the banquet table. He watched the steam rise from the roasted pigs. It curled into the rafters like smoke from a dying fire. The room was full of men. They laughed. They drank. The noise was a physical weight. It pressed against Caleb’s temples. He was a soldier. His hands were rough. They shook slightly. Not from cold....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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