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The Golden OathThe boy’s hands shook, but not from the cold. "You’re late, Elian," the man said. His voice was dry, like leaves skittering across pavement. "The Guard doesn’t wait for children." Elian looked up. The man wore a coat that had been mended so many times it looked like a patchwork quilt. It was the same shade of grey as the locket hanging around Elian’s neck. The locket was gold, warm against his...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant NightmareThe letter lay in your palm, the paper soft and worn from being folded and unfolded too many times, the ink of the postmark smudged into a dark bruise against the cream stock. You held it in the kitchen, the linoleum cold through the soles of your socks, while the smell of damp wool and old pipe tobacco from the sitting room drifted in, a scent that had saturated the walls of this Manchester...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant MachineThe server room was cold. Not the crisp, clean cold of a winter morning, but the stale, recycled chill of a space designed for machines, not men. I sat on the floor, my back against the humming rack, and watched the red lights blink. One. Two. Three. A rhythm as steady as a heartbeat, but hollow. I am a data forensics specialist. I pick up the pieces of digital lives after they shatter. My name...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale EchoThe brick wall fell inward, crushing the light, and Elias Thorne woke with the taste of dust in his mouth. He lay in the dark of his narrow bedroom, the rain hammering against the windowpane, his heart hammering against his ribs. It was the same dream. The same collapse. The same suffocating weight of masonry. He sat up, the sheets cold against his skin, and looked at the calendar on the wall....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden GreenhouseThe vial cracked when I said I wanted to save him, and the glass dusted my thumb with red. I am Elias, a man of forty years, and I have spent the last decade in the cellar of the Abbey of St. Jude, grinding minerals until my knuckles swelled and my vision blurred. I am not a scholar of the mind, but of the substance; I deal in lead and mercury, in the weight of things that do not move. My...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden HarborThe ink in the well is frozen over, a thin sheet of ice that shatters when I dip my quill, sending black shards drifting into the grey water like the thoughts of a dying man. It is the feast of Saint Martin, and the great hall of the Abbey of St. Jude is thick with the smoke of tallow candles and the heavy, cloying scent of roasted swan, yet I sit apart from the table, my hands trembling not...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant BladeThe rain in Oakhaven did not wash the streets clean; it merely slicked the cobblestones with a film of grey silt, turning the medieval city into a mirror of its own decay. Elian, twelve years old and thin as a reed, sat in the back of the Scriptorium, his fingers stained with ink that would not scrub out, watching the Guild of Wardens march past the window in their heavy, iron-banded coats. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MountainThe first thing Elara noticed was the silence. It was not the peaceful quiet of a snow-covered valley, but a held breath, a vacuum that sucked the sound from the air of the village of Oakhaven. She stood in the doorway of her apothecary, the morning frost biting at her fingers, watching the smoke rise from the chimneys of the cottages below. For three days, the winter fever had swept through...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant SummerThe sap oozed from the great oak in the abbey courtyard like a slow, amber hemorrhage, pooling in the frost-hardened dirt with a scent that Elara recognized with a jolt of visceral horror as the lavender and cedar oil her brother Thomas had used on his skin before he died. She stood in the shadow of the nave, her hands gripping the rough stone of the wall, watching the tree bleed against the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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