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The Faded PortraitThe light here does not bend; it strikes. It hits the slate of the Caucasus valleys and breaks, leaving no shadow for a man to hide in. I am Vladimir Grigoryan, forty-five years old, and I am the imperial salt official for this fortress colony. My duty is to measure the white grain that keeps the roads passable and the bodies preserved. The cost of this salt is not in denarii, but in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale DanceAct I The gaslight in the mill did not flicker; it pulsed, a slow, arterial throb that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves. Sanjay Pereira stood before the loom, his hands trembling not from cold, though the damp of the old Delhi lanes had seeped into his bones, but from a vibration that traveled up through the soles of his boots and settled in his teeth. He was thirty-four, a foreman...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful PetalChapter One Does the ink bleed when the lie is told, or does the paper simply refuse the weight of the truth? I ask this because the Bureau’s new ledger does not bleed, it freezes, and the frost it lays over my district is heavier than the snow that has buried the salt marshes for three days. I am Milena Petrosyan, a Warden of the Imperial Rail, thirty-four years old, and I have come to the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MountainChapter One Did she truly believe that the ink would hold, or was the trembling in her hands a confession she had refused to sign? Chaiya Charoensuk stood in the kitchen of the estate, the steam from the rice cooker blurring the light from the single lamp, and watched the title documents on the table. It was a Tuesday, a day that had always belonged to the drunk uncle, Phrom, who claimed wisdom...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CrownAct I The pension ledger, a heavy volume of oiled leather and brittle paper, lay open on the desk of the night watch office, its columns of inked figures waiting to be balanced against the cost of a man’s final years. Hiroshi Kondo, captain of the guard at the Kondo estate, stared at the sum he had accrued over thirty-two years of service, his eyes gritty with the dust of the sawmill mud that...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden CellarThe letter lay on the table, the ink still damp. It was a bill for coal, and the amount was a small cruelty, a number that did not fit the reality of the empty stove. You signed it. Your hand did not shake, though your fingers were numb from the cold that had seeped through the thin walls of the border station. You folded the paper. You put it in your pocket, next to the brass key. The key was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale FractureWhat does a child owe the state when the state is dying? Takeshi Yoshida woke with the taste of iron in his mouth, the dream’s residue. He lay in the narrow bed of the stable loft, listening to the warm breath of the horses below. The year was 1924, and the sky outside was so clear the stars offended, a physical weight pressing against the glass. He reached for the obsidian lens his father had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant MachineSamira Amin’s hands were red to the wrist. The loom in the center of the room was a beast of wood and iron, its threads taut as the sinews of a hanged man. She had been at the wheel since the light in the medina had turned the color of bruised plums. The union men had come at noon, their boots clicking on the stone floor, demanding the mechanism be stripped for scrap by the winter solstice....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SagaChapter One "You missed the final entry again," Said the magistrate, his finger tapping the parchment. "The total does not balance." I stood in the square, the mud sucking at my boots, and felt the weight of the ledger in my satchel. It was heavier than it had been the morning I left the scriptorium. I looked at my apprentice, Tariq, who stood beside me, his hands tucked into his sleeves. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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