Jakara was out on the rocks amidst the tidepools, the high tide lapping hungrily at the stones. He had a pail half-full of fat crabs, clicking away angrily at him, when he heard the cries for help. Carefully, sure-footed, he clambered over the rocks and peered into the briny cave high above the kelp that bounded the upper limit of the waves.
All in Fantasy
We rolled down the hill together, hands clasped tight. The sky flashed past in bursts, now blue, now white, blue, blue, white until the ground ate it in hungry gulps and everything was green. We smelled like grass and crumpled flowers. Mouths stained with berry juice, knees with grass, we laughed through the summer and rolled down the hill.
The lights in the underground parking lot flickered on one by one, each band of yellowy light illuminating the darkness, pushing it back to reveal the dim shapes of cars and concrete pillars. They weren’t very bright, but Illya was more concerned by the way they lit a straight path deeper into the darkness. The concrete stretched on it seemed forever, until the lights became mere pinpricks and then were swallowed up by the dark.
In the towering city on the shore, where the obsidian streets swallowed the light and the steel sea dashed ships upon the rocks, the great lighthouse was known to all. Its light cut through fog and shadow with ease, a warning to all who dared the coast. Do not come here.
Dregs
The great Houses of magic were not concerned with bloodlines or politics, except in the unescapable mundane sort of way most things are. But at their heart, the Houses considered themselves above such things. Magical heritage did not concern itself with mere genetics; an aptitude was the essential requirement. And, for some Houses, an attitude.
Summer's deathbed
Firelight made his eyes ache, even through his eyelids. It flickered and danced, casting lurid shapes across his vision, and Jurian curled himself tighter and tried to ignore the feeling of his skin gradually drying out as the warmth and light sapped his strength. The eternal dusk overhead was gradually lightening as the Pyrds carried him further from the cliff-carved ring city of Dular – soon, they would need no flame to keep him contained.
Beyond the placid shore
The van’s suspension groaned under Detective Yilmaz’s weight as she ducked into the dimly lit interior. Reported as suspicious three days ago, parked in front of a house, not moving. Dark finish to the paint-job, though this close it was clearly old and flaky, peeling off to reveal rust underneath. Not a matter for the police, but perhaps for the council, towing away abandoned, decrepit or illegally parked vehicles.v
The art of the steal
The Galleria dell’Accademia di Firenze appeared utterly unremarkable from the outside, except for the thick iron bars across the windows and, tonight, two old stone gargoyles perched along the guttering. One was laying on the roof above the main door, forelegs crossed and spaded tail curled around its rough-hewn body, and the other was on the southern edge of the building, patrolling. Ti’Dani could track its movements by the faint orange glow of its cigar.
Hard to port
Four days out from Carakko, they passed the first floating outpost. Vemway, still paler than usual and with his perfume not quite hiding the faint aroma of bile, peered across the waves at the towering structure. Half-cut timber bulwarks rose high above the water, their lower sides crusted with salt and seaweed, a few barnacles hanging on for dear life.
Meant to be broken
Sophia’s father had always been a great stickler for rules. One of her earliest memories - him in his blue velvet armchair, her on his knee.
“Sophia,” he’d said, his whiskers tickling her cheek as he pointed at her drawing. “You’re outside the lines.”
“Only a little bit,” four-year Sophia had replied, a nascent pout tugging at her lips and furrowing her brow. It was only a smudge. Barely noticeable, really.