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The Distant JokeThe brass screwdriver in Elias Thorne’s right hand was worn smooth by decades of friction against his palm, a specific topography of callus and skin that mapped the history of his labor more accurately than any census record could, and he was currently attempting to align the escapement wheel of a pocket watch that had not ticked in four years. The workshop was dark save for the single bulb...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale AltarChapter One Why does the white ash always fall before the stamp is refused? I wake to the cold draught slipping under the door of my cell, a chill that settles deep in the bones of my father’s grave, a place I have not visited in three years yet feel as clearly as the pulse in my own neck. I am Amparo Escobedo, thirty-two, and I am writing this from the dark because the light has been taken...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant NightmareSo-hee Bae had not slept since the fire took the barn, and now he stood in the archive, his hands trembling not from fear but from the weight of the jade seal. The air here smelled of wet ash and old paper, a scent that clung to the back of his throat like a bad taste. He was forty years old, a scholar of minor renown, and he needed this proof of lineage to secure his family’s granary rights...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden QuestChapter One I remember the weight of the slate before the sound of the bell. It was a coroner’s slate, wiped clean until it looked like a mirror of black glass, and I held it in my hands as the bells began to toll for the King’s death. The air in the infirmary was heavy with camphor and old sweat, a physical weight that pressed against my ribs. We were in the white town of Tunis, where the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden SongAct I The station hummed, a low-frequency thrum that vibrated in the teeth of everyone who worked the relay, a constant reminder that the air was paid for in cycles and silence. Jian Lin sat in the archive, the only place where the dampening field was calibrated to near-zero, and he waited for the audio file to buffer. He was twenty-four, a junior archivist with a berth mortgage on the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden CellarThe desalination plant hummed a low, industrial B-flat that shook the dust from the ceiling beams of the favela, a sound that had become as constant as the breath of the city itself. Isandro Renteria, twelve years old and smelling of brine and rust, clutched a brass key in his sweating palm, his knuckles white against the cold metal. The key was heavy, warm to the touch, and it vibrated against...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful ShowChapter One The water in the mill race ran high and cold, threatening to burst the old pipes that fed the town. Clifford Hutchins stood in the mud of the yard, his boots caked in the grey sludge of the bank, listening to the hiss of steam escaping the main valve. He was thirty years old, and his hands shook, not from the cold, but from the debt that sat on his chest like a stone. His father had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale PathChapter One Odd Isdahl’s fingers were black with the residue of the pale root, the substance clinging to his skin like wet ash as he worked the mortar in the dim apothecary. The sound of the pestle striking the stone was a dull, rhythmic thud that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards of the old building, a sound that had replaced the usual clatter of the dye-house where he once oversaw the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale BannerCan you hold a needle steady when your hand has forgotten how? Chapter One I arrived in Valparaíso with the brass surveyor’s compass in my pocket, its needle swinging lazily toward north, a metal ghost of the Texas scrubland I had left behind. The air here smelled of salt and rotting kelp, a sharp contrast to the dry, dusty scent of the Old Brick kilns, one hundred and nine of which had lined...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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