The Book of the New Moon Door: Chapter Four

The House

The Book of the New Moon Door cover image: A book with yellowing, wrinkled pages lies open on an old wooden desk, with a sprig of lavender lying in the center.

“Did you see that?”

Lucian is already frantically scribbling in his book, a rough approximation of the young woman taking form under his pen. He balances the lantern on the top of his case and rummages in his satchel, producing a glass thermometer wrapped in a handkerchief.

“Was that the ghost?” asks Berend. With one last look around the stable, and no movement apparent in the body of the horse, he shuts both doors and places the wooden plank across the metal brackets on the outside.

“Not sure.” Lucian gives the thermometer a shake and frowns at it in the dim lamplight before wrapping it back up and returning it to his bag. “I’ll have to take a few more readings. What did you find in there?”

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The Book of the New Moon Door: Chapter Three

Belisia

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To place the box in which Mikhail’s corpse currently resides into the temple’s extensive graveyard, Berend will have to pay one hundred silver pennies.

He is informed of this by Father Reeves, the priest in charge of funerary services, a tall man with a shaved head and an aquiline nose. He is paternally comforting and coldly distant, often at the same time, and it’s an unsettling effect. Long brown fingers make notes with a quill in a yellowing ledger.

We all end up as numbers. Berend hands over the money. It’s most of what he has. He’ll need more if he’s going to continue sleeping in a bed until his next job.

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The Book of the New Moon Door: Chapter Two

Warder

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Isabel sits at the small table across from Brother Risoven, her tea growing cold and a piece of bloody-colored fungus lying on a scrap of paper beside it. It’s stained the paper a wet reddish brown, and it’s shriveled a bit, but otherwise it hasn’t changed noticeably from when she pulled it off the side of a shack in the Shell District last night. In the thin early morning light from the high, narrow windows of the chapel’s living quarters, it looks rather like a severed finger, dark and twisted from putrefaction.

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The Book of the New Moon Door: Chapter One

Mikhail

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The gods weep when a Son of Galaser dies.

Berend would know. It rained for five days straight after the battle on Braenach Hill, when nine Sons out of every ten were slaughtered in the grass, seven years ago. He stood in the mud, afterward, water pouring down on his bandaged head, and listened to the announcement that he and the handful of others still standing would be out of work, as part of the terms of their employer’s surrender.

Not many walked off that hill. Even fewer are still around.

And now one of them is lying in six pieces on an embalming table.

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New project!

Next week, I’ll be starting a new multi-chapter story, The Book of the New Moon Door. As always, it’ll be completely free to read, and released one chapter a week on Wednesdays until further notice.

The world is changing.

The old orders of the world fade away. The church’s power wanes, replaced by secular states. Magic gives way to science.

Berend was once a member of the Sons of Galaser, the most prestigious mercenary company on the continent. Now, the Sons are no more, and only a handful of his former companions remain, one of whom was dismembered last night in what appears to be a demon-summoning ritual out of an old legend.

Isabel is a Sentinel of Ondir, the god of death. Armed with bell, book, and candle, her job is to send restless spirits to the afterlife–and there has been much need of that, of late. Asking the ghost of a murdered ex-mercenary if he saw his killer before he died is a simple task, but she soon finds that things will not be so easy: though everything Isabel knows tells her it’s impossible, it appears his soul has been damaged.

As Berend and Isabel search for a murderer who can dismember a soul, and navigate their places in the changing world, they discover the terrible secrets hidden behind the veil of progress.

Beyond the Frost-Cold Sea: Chapter XXVII

Beyond the Frost-Cold Sea cover image: a wide, still river with forested mountain peaks rising on either side, underneath a clouded sky. — In which the journey continues.

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We made our way back to the gate, a grim procession through the rain and the rubble. Phyreios had truly and utterly fallen. There was nothing left of the temple at the foot of the mountain, once the city’s most magnificent structure. Of the arena, all that remained was a few broken pillars of soot-stained white marble, standing half-buried in a bed of broken stone. Over the husk of the city lay a miasma of smoke, and the rain brought up a thick fog. I could not see much farther than the reach of my arm. The Sword of Heaven hung heavy from my hand.

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Beyond the Frost-Cold Sea: Chapter XXVI

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Weight bore down upon me. The broken earth cut into my flesh. Were it not for the pain, I would have thought I had perished, crushed beneath the rock. Absolute, impenetrable darkness pressed in all around.

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Beyond the Frost-Cold Sea: Chapter XXV

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Another shake rumbled beneath our feet, but the approaching figure did not stumble. I placed myself between the door and Khalim. We waited, hardly daring to breathe, as the footsteps echoing in the darkened corridor came nearer and nearer. Beyond the arena’s walls, weapons clashed and barricades were shattered as Reva’s miners confronted the city’s soldiers. I prayed to whatever god might be listening that they would be safe, and keep the Ascendeds’ forces from our backs.

I stood between Jin and Jahan, and each had his sword at the ready. The air hummed and shimmered between their blades. I could almost hear the magic contained within. I felt a lingering fear in the knowledge of the power of these weapons, as much as I was grateful for their presence. If one could kill a god, what would it do to me, should I find myself on the wrong end of it?

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Beyond the Frost-Cold Sea: Chapter XXIV

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The city still stood, and was recognizably itself, despite the fires that lit up its streets. Reddish light fell over the plain as the sun rose, casting the landscape in a bloody hue. There was a brief reprieve from the earthquakes, the aftershocks rippling under our feet, but for how long Phyreios would remain standing, I did not know. Aysulu’s horse stood with its legs planted wide, anticipating another shake.

“Oh, no,” Khalim whispered beside me. “No, no, no.”

He must have recognized the horror before him. He had seen it, and walked hundreds of miles to prevent it, and yet there it was, just as it had appeared in his nightmares.

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Beyond the Frost-Cold Sea: Chapter XXIII

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“You must not tarry. Gather your leaders.”

The person who stood before me was not Khalim. Though his appearance had not changed—I had become accustomed to seeing the light of his magic shine from his eyes—it was clear that he had become someone else. He stood perfectly straight, a warrior’s posture. The voice that came from him was deep and booming. I had heard it earlier that day, when the lance of light had fallen from the sky and turned the assassin who meant to kill me into ash, and I had heard it once before, in the arena. It had stilled the crowd that had nearly overwhelmed Khalim, quieted them into order. I had been bewildered then; now, I was afraid.

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