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The Wistful LetterThe marshes of the lower Seine lay flat under a haze that turned the far shore into a rumor, a grey smear where the water and the sky had negotiated a truce. In the village of Beaulieu, the elders were arguing over the water rights for the rice terraces, their voices carrying the specific weight of men who had spent their lives measuring scarcity. It was a day for labor, for the back-breaking...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden VisitThe mud of the Blackwood Valley had a way of clinging to the soul, not just the boots, and Sergeant Elias Thorne knew this with the certainty of a man who had spent twenty years serving a flag that no longer existed. It was the autumn of 1893, and the air smelled of wet iron and decaying leaves, a scent that seemed to seep into the pores of his skin. In his left hand, he held a sealed letter,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CrownChapter One What does it cost to hold a bone together when the marrow has turned to static? I asked Dr. Macrae this, standing in the sterile white of the triage bay, my left shoulder socket raw and weeping fluid. He did not look up from his tablet. He was checking the time, or perhaps the price of the repatriation fund that was already being calculated in his head, a sum short by three hundred...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CartographThe ink was bad. Elias Thorne stared at the blot on the parchment, a dark smear that looked less like a mistake and more like a wound. It had spread from the nib of his pen, defying the absorbency of the paper, pooling in a shape that suggested a mouth. He dipped the pen again. The liquid was thick, viscous, and it smelled of iron and old rain. He was forty-two years old, and he had been in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant JourneyThe mortar bag weighs four pounds, and you have mixed exactly twelve of them since the sun dropped below the ridge, the trowel scraping the grit from your knuckles until the skin beneath is raw and red. You are Elias, and you have forty-two years of your life invested in the belief that St. Jude’s bell tower can be saved, that the stone is merely tired and not dying, a distinction you have made...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant Blade"You’re three days late on the submission, Elias." The voice in the headset was flat, stripped of inflection, a synthetic hum that vibrated against the bone behind his ear. Elias kept his eyes on the wet asphalt, the white lines blurring into a continuous smear under the wipers’ frantic, rhythmic snap. He was thirty-four years old, and his lower back ached with a dull, persistent throb that had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden VisitChapter One What is a man worth if he cannot keep his own shadow? I asked this of the gold, but the gold did not answer; it only grew warm against my palm, a living weight that pulsed with the rhythm of a heart I did not own. Hassan Syamsuddin, my name was, written in ink on the ledger of the Duke’s office, a name that carried the weight of forty years of debt and the hope of one final, perfect...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful CampusYou look at the watch in your palm, the silver tarnished by years of sweat and neglect, and you wonder if the mechanism is broken or if it is simply refusing to move forward with you. "Officer Thorne, your presence is required in my office. Immediately." Captain Miller’s voice carried through the breakroom door, flat and devoid of inflection, cutting through the hum of the refrigerator and the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale EchoAct I "You’re holding the ledger upside down, Suzanne." I flipped it. The ink was wet. "My father’s name is on the third page," I said. "It’s in red." Monsieur Lefebvre, the clerk who bent rules once for a sick man, adjusted his spectacles. He did not look at me. He looked at the window where the spring flood was eating the road to the Ferry Slip. The water was high, a brown wall that pressed...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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