0 Comments
0 Shares
0 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Distant CartographChapter One "Entry 402: San Antonio district, north quadrant. Discrepancy noted. Ink bleed severe. Signature: N. Escobedo." The paper smelled of damp wool and old iron. Nazario Escobedo, thirty-two, pressed his left thumb against the blotter, trying to stop the tremor from shaking the nib. The line wavered. It did not straighten. In the archive, the air was heavy with decaying cellulose, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AtticChapter One The water was black and it did not taste of earth. Sylvio Laraque woke with the taste of iron on his tongue and the sound of a slide rule tapping a desk in the silence of the room. He was thirty-two years old, a border patrol agent in the Black Belt, where the wheat dusted the windowsills like gray snow. He wanted the pension. He needed the pension to pay for Elena’s lungs, which...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded SutraThe inkstone sat in Julian’s palm, heavy as a stone from a graveyard, its surface polished to a dull, matte black that absorbed the gaslight of the studio. It was a rectangular block of slate, unmarked save for a faint, hairline fracture running along its left edge, and it smelled faintly of the coal smoke that had clung to his wool coat since he returned from South Africa. Elara Vane stood...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale EchoMy hands were slick with the brine of the salt when I first saw the fracture in the glass. I had been polishing the shield of the salt road escort for three hours, the grit of the desert stone still embedded in the weave of my wrist wrap. The city of Oram was a place of buried cities, where the windmills turned slow and heavy against a sky that had not seen a true dawn in a decade. I was a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarChapter One Why does a stone bleed? Carlota Xavier asked the question to the wet clay under her fingernails, the weight of forty-seven of Marsh Hollow pressing against her sternum like a stone in a shoe. She was a mason, though the guild in Oria called her a shaper of breath, for the city’s architecture was not built but grown, fed by the vitality of those who laid its courses. Her son, Elio,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestThe ladle scraped the bottom of the cast-iron pot, a sound like a bone dragging across stone, and Yelena Gelashvili’s hands shook so badly the broth sloshed over the rim. She was twelve, small for her age, her fingers stained black from the iron-rich water that bubbled in the center of the kitchen, a liquid that smelled of rust and old blood. The Head Nurse, a woman named Ketevan with eyes like...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WoundChapter One "You are holding it wrong," the voice said, though no mouth moved. Vladimir Sargsyan tightened his grip on the leather satchel. The salt flats stretched out before him, white and blinding under the electric air that preceded the storm. He was thirty years old, a border warden of the temple guild, and he carried a sealed letter to the capital. The shadows of the dead walked beside...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestThorne. The word hung in the air of the cruiser, spoken by no one, yet heard clearly in the silence of the cabin. Elias Thorne kept his hands at ten and two on the steering wheel, knuckles white against the leather. The cruiser hummed, a low, steady vibration that traveled up through the seat and into his bones. He was forty-five. He had five years left before mandatory retirement. Five years...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestChapter One Vazgen Georgiev ground the lotus root against the stone, the pestle heavy in his palm, the texture gritty and damp. The powder smelled of wet earth and something sharper, metallic, like old blood. He was forty years old, an imperial apothecary, and his hands were steady, though the air in the cellar was heavy with decay. The Chancellor’s cough had been killing him for three months,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek