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The Pale TowerChapter One Did I ever truly love her, or did I merely love the weight of her absence? I woke to the sound of the loom in the next room, the rhythmic clacking of the shuttle that had kept time for us through three winters of debt, and I reached for Elena, expecting the familiar warmth of her skin against my chest, but my fingers passed through the linen as if it were made of smoke, finding only...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale TaleVane, you are late. The light is already turning amber in the west window, and Halloway has been waiting for forty minutes. You know the rule. You know the cost of a minute’s delay in the actuarial department of the Meridian Insurance Exchange. You adjust your tie, a gesture that feels like tightening a noose, and step into the office. Halloway sits behind a desk of dark mahogany, his hands...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CartographThe mud sucked at Elias Thorne’s left boot with a wet, tearing sound, a noise that seemed to come from the earth itself rather than his own movement. He pulled free, the leather creaking, and looked at the grey sky above the Aisne, a flat sheet of iron that offered no light and no mercy. He was thirty years old, and his knees ached with a dull, constant throb that the rain had settled deep into...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale AltarAct I Why does a man bleed for a flower? You ask this because you are Yaw Oyelaran, and you are standing in the back room of the copper court, the air heavy with wet earth and old iron. It is the Copper Age, a time before bronze, in a West African river town that is slowly eroding into the water like a spit of land surrendering to the tide. You are a clerk, thirty years old, and you are poor....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant MetropolisThe notice, pinned to the corkboard with a rusted tack, read: Municipal Archives: Budget Review Pending. All Staff to Present Digitization Progress by Friday. The paper was yellowed, the ink smudged where a finger had pressed it, and the smell of damp wool and old varnish hung in the air of the cramped office at forty-two of Corvid Lane. I am Rena Vlachos, and I have spent the last three years...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful LetterThe ink was still wet on the envelope when the knock came, a sharp, percussive rap against the oak door that seemed to vibrate in the hollow of your chest. You did not move from the desk, your hand resting on the heavy brass paperweight, watching the dust motes swirl in the single shaft of light that cut through the gloom of the study. The knocking came again, more insistent this time, and you...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MirrorMy left hand was pressed flat against the cold oak of my desk, fingers splayed, when the hum began. It was not a sound I heard with my ears but a vibration that traveled up my radius and ulna, settling in the marrow of my wrist. I am Elias Thorne, senior auditor at the Meridian Institute, and I have thirty-two years of life behind me and three days until the quarterly review that will determine...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale Banner"Put it back in the fold, Thorne. Now." The voice belonged to Commander Halloway, a man whose armor was polished to a mirror sheen that reflected the dim torchlight of the keep’s central hall. I stood before the Pale Banner, my breath misting in the frigid air that seemed to leak from the fabric itself. The banner was not cloth, not truly. It was a sheet of pale, cold light stretched over a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MirrorI counted the hours before I counted the coins. Fourteen days had passed since my uncle’s funeral, and the autumn wind had stripped the linden trees in the courtyard bare, leaving the skeletal branches to scratch against the windowpanes of the library. I was forty-two years old, a scholar of modest renown, and I stood in the center of the room with a ledger in one hand and a scale in the other,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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