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The Distant JokeThe voice came from the shadows of the stairwell, low and rough with the grit of three days’ hunger, calling out his name like a summons to a court he did not wish to attend. Sir Aldric did not turn immediately. He stood with his back to the damp stone wall, his hands resting on the hilt of a sword that felt heavier than it had the day he had sworn his oath, the metal cold and slick with the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden FarceThe iron key was cold. It sat in your palm, a heavy, rusted thing that smelled of old blood and wet stone. You held it for a long moment, feeling the weight of it settle into the meat of your hand, before you turned to face the gate. Beyond the bars, the mist rolled in thick as wool, erasing the treeline. You are Silas. You are thirty-two years old, and you are the warden of the Northern Pass...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant GhostChapter One In the stone towns of the coast, time does not pass; it accumulates, like silt in a stagnant well, until the weight of the years presses down on the living. Ahmed Haile stood in the doorway of the apothecary, the morning light slanting through the dust motes that hung suspended in the air like frozen insects. He was thirty-two years old, a man who had long ago learned to measure his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant ClueWho was he, Yusof Ibrahim, if not the man who held the torch? The question hung in the damp air of the Malacca strait, where the red dust of the iron works clung to the tongue like grit. It was the year 1342 by the old reckoning, though the clocks in the trading houses ran on a different, colder time. Yusof stood in the square, his lungs a cage of rust, his body failing him before the heretic’s...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SagaChapter One Could a man truly hear his own thoughts spoken by the wind, or was it only the hollow echo of a mind already fraying? I wrote that question in the ledger at forty-two of the Amber Stair, the ink still wet, before the cold took the rest of the night. I am Ronan Nolan, and I left Elara sleeping in the house that smelled of wet wool and debt, stepping out into the bog roads of Mayo...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant SummerSign here, Sergeant. The ink was wet. It was always wet. Colonel Vane did not look up from his desk, a slab of oak so heavy it seemed to anchor the floorboards of the barracks office to the bedrock beneath. The pen in Elias Thorne’s hand felt light, a feather of steel and bone, but the paper resisted, thick and coarse, smelling of iron and old blood. Elias was twenty-four years old, and his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ApartmentChapter One The pressure in the habitat cluster held steady at fourteen atmospheres, a constant weight that Walter Roudebush felt in the marrow of his bones as he descended into the gene-bank cold room. He was thirty-four, a colony hydrologist with a repair quota he could not meet because the parts had been eaten by rust and time, and he carried with him a ledger bound in oilskin, its pages...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden FarceYou are holding the mirror, and your hands are trembling so badly that the gold leaf flakes off into the dust. It is a small thing, this peeling, but it sounds like a crack in a bone. The library is silent, a heavy, dusty silence that presses against your eardrums, and the only light comes from the moon through the high, barred window. You have come here to find the ritual to break the curse,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale DoorThe light in the hospital ward was the color of old teeth. Concepcion Salazar sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers wrapped around the iron key. It hummed against her palm, a low vibration that traveled up her wrist and settled in the marrow of her bones. The air smelled of boiled wool and antiseptic. Outside, the wind off the Basque coast tore at the orange groves, shaking the fruit loose...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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