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The Distant GardenAct I Did the bridge know it was going to break? I asked the stone, my knuckles white against the parapet, the damp of the canal seeping through my coat to my skin. It was a question that had no answer, only the creak of the timber beneath the deck and the distant, rhythmic clatter of the school choir rehearsing for the dead in the village square. I am Fintan Rafferty, thirty-four years old,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale GardenThorne. You are late. The voice in your head is not your own, but it carries the cadence of the man who sent you, the commandant whose orders are heavier than the mud currently caking the treads of your truck. You are Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old, a border patrol officer with a spine that has been straightened by too many years of standing at attention, and you are driving into a valley...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded AtticThe pallet jack had a squeak that started on the left wheel and died on the right, a rhythmic complaint that Elias Thorne had learned to time his steps against. It was two in the morning, the hour when the Chicago cold pressed against the warehouse windows like a wet hand, and Elias was counting the hours until his shift ended, each one a heavy coin dropped into the jar of his brother’s medical...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden HarborChapter One The thaw had come to the Chao Phraya district with a violence that cracked the ice into jagged shards, floating the docks free of their winter moorings. It was a morning of brutal clarity, where the smell of rotting kelp and wet stone hung heavy in the air, masking the scent of the gold dust that usually perfumed the assembly rooms. Saisunee Roengsamut stood at the edge of the pier,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful PetalThe retraction paper lay on the desk, the ink still wet, a dark smear against the cream of the parchment. I had signed it with a hand that did not feel entirely mine, the quill scratching a rhythm that sounded too much like the dry rustle of leaves in the autumn wind. Outside, the town square was quiet, the smoke from the burning charter finally dissipating into the grey sky, leaving only a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CartographPedro Estrada, thirty-four years old and owing six months on his berth mortgage, sat in the windowless office of the orbital dock, his shoulder blades aching from the cold metal of the chair. He was redrawing the jagged line of the river on the topographic map, his stylus moving with a precision that felt like a prayer against the dust that coated every surface of the station. The closure...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MirrorAct I Ofelia Castañeda was thirty years old, possessed of a tavern license that had been revoked for unpaid debts, and stood now in the mud of the Florida swamplands, her boots sinking into the black earth with a sound like wet bread tearing. The dry thunder had cracked the sky three days prior, leaving the air heavy and still, a physical weight that pressed against her lungs as she hauled the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SilenceThorne, get out of my office before I have security throw you out. Councilman Halloway did not stand. He remained seated behind his mahogany desk, a surface so polished it reflected the gray slush of the Chicago winter outside the window, and he tapped a pen against the rejection letter in front of him. The tap was rhythmic, a small, dry sound that cut through the heavy air of the room. Elias...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden MazeThe ledger of the High Priest’s household was a thick, leather-bound book that smelled of tallow and old sweat, and its pages were filled with the precise, cold arithmetic of survival. Cael, twelve years old and lean as a whip cord, stood in the center of the Aethelgard labyrinth, counting the stones beneath his feet as he had counted the hours of his father’s labor, the sacks of grain his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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