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The Distant Clue"You are wasting the grain, Thomas," said the King, his voice thin as wire in the damp air of the hall. "You are letting it rot in the dark." I looked up from the floor where I had been kneeling, my hands stained with the black mud of the cellar, to meet the gaze of the man who held my life in his palm. He sat upon the high seat of carved oak, a figure of terrible stillness, surrounded by the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MythThe iron bit was cold. It tasted of rust and old blood. Thomas held the reins tight. His knuckles were white. The horse, a heavy bay named Brutus, stamped in the mud. The mud was black. It slicked the wheels of the cart. They were in the yard. The yard was stone. High walls. No windows. Behind him, in the cart, was the cage. The cage was oak. It was locked. Inside the cage was a boy. The boy...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden DowntownThe glass broke not with a shatter, but with a sigh, a long, exhalation of cold light that spilled across the floorboards of the room that was not quite a room, a place suspended between the memory of a house and the void of a dream. It was a chalice, thick-rimmed and heavy, etched with runes that seemed to shift when one was not looking directly at them, and now it lay in pieces, jagged as the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AshesThe air in the Grand Atrium of the State Conservatory of Botanical Integrity was not merely still, it was suspended, a thick, amber-colored gelatin in which the dust motes hung like frozen stars, and Margaret Holloway, the Chief Investigator of Anomalous Growth Patterns, stood at the center of this suspended world with her hands clasped behind her back, feeling the weight of the silence...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant GardenYou wake up with the taste of rust in your mouth. It is a thick, metallic tang, like chewing on a coin that has been left in the rain for a decade. You spit it into the linoleum floor of the dormitory, but the taste remains, clinging to the back of your throat like a stubborn memory. Around you, the other boys are stirring. The air smells of damp wool and boiled cabbage, a scent that has become...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale ExileThe rain fell on the thatch of the watchtower. It fell hard. It fell cold. It soaked through the straw. It seeped into the wood. It dripped onto the stone floor. Elias stood by the window. He watched the water run. His hands were still. They were large. They were scarred. They had held a sword. They had held a shield. They had held the throat of a thief. Now they held nothing. The tower was...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful PetalYou are sitting at the head of the table, the one with the cracked mahogany that your father always said was a shame, though he never fixed it. The room is small, the walls a pale, sickly yellow, and the air is thick with the scent of roasted duck and the metallic tang of ozone. It is a party, or what passes for one in the house of the magistrate. There are about twenty people, all wearing...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant ThresholdThe roof collapsed at dawn. It came down in a shower of slate and splintered oak. Dust choked the air. The silence that followed was heavy. It was the silence of a held breath. Elias sat in the ruins of his study. He was an old man. His hands were still. They rested on his knees. They were covered in fine gray dust. He looked at the hole in the ceiling. The sky was visible through it. A small...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CrownThe iron crown rests upon the obsidian table, cold and heavy as a coffin lid, its jagged points catching the flickering candlelight in a dance of trapped stars. You are there, you are always there, standing in the center of the circular chamber where the walls breathe with the damp chill of the earth, the air thick with the scent of old stone and the metallic tang of blood that seems to seep...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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