Where are the uncles? Cer thought. The uncles must come. But the uncles were not there, and Cer heard a terrible scream from inside the garden walls.
I got my sword out of the trunk. Its name was Stella Mortua. John Ray hadn’t had a clue, but Francis told me what it meant: The Dead Star.
I learned about creation from Mrs. Grimm, in the basement of her house down the street from ours. The room was dimly lit by a stained-glass lamp positioned above the pool table. There was also a bar in the corner.
The windows go first, from enemy fire and bad frosts. Then the moss and ivy move in, and the birds, and the rain. At last, the brick begins to crumble. By the time the Circus comes, it will be a ruin.
“I’ll take her.” He tossed the pouch of silver at the woman. It landed at her feet, and she hurried to pick it up. Her husband was dead, and she had eight other children to feed.
The notes had referred to a Monsieur Samhet, who lived in a strange house in the hills. They were vague about Samhet’s accomplishments, but he seemed capable of resurrecting with an insolent ease that intrigued Cabal.
Stories never end. We end. If we could but live long enough, we would see how all tales go on and on past the telling
Are you brave enough to begin? If so, turn to page 1. If not, remain safe. Close the book and return it to the shelf. No one will think any less of you.
One moment there was only the valley, caught in twilight. The only sounds were the cries of the mourning-birds coming out for the night, and the swift rush of water in the rocky stream that cut the woods.
To a man bereaved of all as I was, distance and time are only words. For me then, and also now, only one word any more can exist: God. The god Orkrem.