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The Distant NightmareThe fog did not roll in so much as it arrived, a thick, grey curtain that swallowed the wire fencing and the rusted watchtowers of Outpost 4. I sat at my desk, the wood scarred by decades of coffee rings and cigarette burns, and stared at the pension application form in front of me. My signature was the only thing missing. By Friday, I would be thirty-two years old, a man with a bad knee and a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CrownThomas. The voice came from the dark, not a shout but a scrape, like a nail dragging across wet slate. Thomas opened his eyes to the low, vaulted ceiling of the cellar, the stone damp and slick with condensation that beaded on the limestone blocks. He sat up, his joints popping in the cold, and looked at his hands. They were trembling, the fingers curled around a quill that had slipped from his...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ChronicleThe copper basin was cold against Elara’s wrists as she held the infant’s head, the water sloshing a dull, rhythmic sound against the rim. She worked quickly, her hands steady despite the tremor in her shoulders, because the Baron’s wife, Lady Hester, was already leaning over the foot of the bed, her eyes wide and unblinking, watching the dark hair on the baby’s scalp. The room smelled of wet...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant AffairThe invitation was printed on heavy cream stock, the gold leaf catching the dim light of my desk lamp. I held it between my thumb and forefinger, feeling the weight of the paper, the crisp edge that could slice skin if folded sharp enough. It was for the retirement banquet of Chief Halloway. The date was two days hence. I looked at the clock. The second hand swept over the face, a steady,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded SutraThe ink was wet, and it smelled of iron and old blood. "Your hand, Sergeant," Commander Vane said, his voice flat as a plumb line dropping into a well. "You will surrender the blade. The Order does not employ vessels of the Ink." Elias Thorne stood in the courtyard of the Iron Order’s fortress, the morning mist clinging to his wool tunic like a damp shroud. He was thirty-two years old, and his...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful VoyageThe ledger on the desk of the Whitmore Textile Mill listed forty-two hours of overtime for the week ending October 14, 1924, and Elias Thorne knew that number was a lie. He sat in the foreman’s office, the air thick with the smell of machine oil and stale tobacco, and watched the dust motes dance in the single beam of light cutting through the grimy window. Outside, the rhythmic thumping of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale Protocol"Get out, Thorne. Before I put a bullet in your ear for the trouble you’ve caused." Sergeant Elias Thorne did not move, though the mud of the Somme trench was sucking at his boots with a wet, rhythmic pull that felt like a living thing trying to drag him down into the earth. It was the fourth of November, 1916, and the air smelled of cordite, rot, and the metallic tang of old blood that had...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden HarborThe crack in the foundation started with a sound like a bone snapping under a boot, and Elias Thorne was already on his knees, his palms pressed against the cold, wet stone of the lighthouse base, feeling the vibration travel up through his wrists and into his teeth. He had been here for twenty years, longer than most of the men in the town of Gold Harbor had been alive, and he knew the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant MachineThorne. The word hung in the cold air of the barracks like a dropped tool, sharp and metallic. I did not look up from the letter I was writing. My hand, still stiff from the frost that had crept into the walls of the fort, moved with the mechanical precision of a man who has spent thirty-two years holding a rifle steady. I was thirty-two years old, and I felt older than the timber frames around...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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