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The Distant SummerElias. The name hit the air like a stone through a window. It was shouted by the Captain, a sound that stripped the room of its warmth. I stood in the courtyard, my boots caked in the grey slush of the garrison yard, and I did not move. I wanted to survive this winter. I wanted the paper. The discharge papers that would let me go home to my mother’s garden, where the roses still bloomed even in...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MazeThe High Warden’s voice cut through the fog like a blade, sharp and cold. "Thorne. You are relieved of your post." Elias did not turn. He stood in the courtyard of Aethelgard, the ancient fortress clinging to the cliffside like a barnacle on a whale’s flank. The mist here was not weather; it was a living thing, a gray breath that seeped into the pores of the stone and the skin of the men. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ChronicleThe count of the split knuckles was four, and the count of the men still breathing in the courtyard was ninety-two, a tally that Elias Thorne kept in his head with the grim precision of a man who had spent twenty years measuring the distance between order and chaos. The rain had stopped an hour ago, leaving the concrete slick and black under the flickering sodium lights, and the air smelled of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant PromiseThe letter lay on the kitchen table, its edges curling slightly in the damp air. It was thick, heavy stock, the kind used for official rejections from the Department of Border Protection. Elias Thorne picked it up, the paper feeling cold and brittle in his palm. He read the first line, then the second, and the words blurred into a meaningless gray smear. Psychological volatility. The phrase sat...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden QuestThe ink was cold. It bit into the skin of my fingertips, a sharp, stinging burn that felt less like a chemical reaction and more like a physical wound. I held the quill steady, though the hand that gripped it trembled with the palsy that had stolen my father’s life and was now, inevitably, mine. The year was 1342, and I was Elias, a scribe of thirty-two years, serving in the shadow of the Abbey...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant MachineThe letter lay on the oak table, the ink still wet, smelling of iron gall and desperation. Elias Vane, forty years old and a scribe of twenty-two, had written it three times, his hand shaking not from age but from the hollow ache in his stomach. He wanted the silver clasp. It had been his wife’s, a small, heavy thing that held her cloak together in the winter winds, but the court had taken it...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden CrossingThe phone rang at four in the morning, the light from the hallway lamp cutting a sharp, yellow wedge across the floorboards of my mother’s bedroom. I answered it, still half-asleep, my back aching from the cot I’d slept on for the last three weeks, and the voice on the other end was not the one I expected. It was Miller, my deputy, his voice tight and stripped of its usual bureaucratic...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden CellarThe count was always in lead cames. I had three hundred and twelve pieces of amber glass left for the Great Rose. The Abbot had paid for the raw material from the royal treasury, a sum that would have bought a man’s life twice over, but he cared nothing for the coin. He cared for the light. I was forty-two. My hands shook. The tremor started in the tips of my fingers, a fine, rapid vibration...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded PortraitThe steam hissed against the iron walls of the boiler room, a sound like a dying animal. I stood before the Faded Portrait, the glass dark and wet with condensation. In its surface, my face was not my own. It was a corpse’s, pale and bloated, eyes sunken into hollows of absolute void. "Did you push her?" the glass whispered. The voice was not sound; it was a pressure in the teeth, a cold draft...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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