"Steve" is Stuck at the Gondola Station & A Hoard of Tales ep13
Hello, dear friend! It's Laura, author of The Fralsningdor Chronicles.Join me for a cup of tea at my writing nook in Wyoming.In this week's issue of The Goblin Grace Gazette:
Rapid-Fire Bits 'n Bobs:
Today I Am So Pleased To Help Announce: This stunning poetry anthology by Cassandra Grace comes out in October, and is the tangible hand of a friend in the trenches, holding tightly and anchoring you in the yes-this-night-is-dark-and-the-daylight-will-come reality of mental illness. I loved it, and I genuinely think you will too. Early Readers Said:
"It feels like the plea of a broken heart to a holy God. 'Are you for real? Do you still have this? Do you still have ME?'"
"[There is] honesty about the darkness, but right next to it...prevailing encouragement. Not obnoxious positivity, but genuine, gentle nudges to God, which is all we can stomach in times of deep sorrow. Grandiose proclamations feel empty, so I love that you are firm yet kind."
Street team applications will be open through May 15th. Those who help to spread the word about this beautiful collection will receive an eBook advanced reader copy of WYSLMIN and a handwritten card from the author. You can (and totally should) sign up here. Previously on A Hoard of Tales... Charles secures resources from Greyson for a risky mission to rescue Amelia. Amelia is restrained and subjected to a magical extraction procedure. Her memories of books and libraries are violently erased, leaving empty gaps in her mind.
A HOARD OF TALES: EPISODE 13 Amelia woke to gentle singing. Evrienne’s throaty voice in the cell next door was soft and soothing in the darkness. It was clearly nighttime, though whether it had been twelve hours or twelve days since Lothienne and the machine was unclear. She’d learned during her first few days of captivity that Evrienne sang herself to sleep every night, but Amelia had never listened to the words before. Not like this. “For three days he bled to open the gate, For freedom from Rot and our helpless estate. He bore all the sorrow, he carried the fear, While we wait for saving, he’s already here.” Amelia blinked. Evrienne was a follower of the Blood Bearer? Seriously? Grim, gritty, rough, sarcastic Evrienne was a person of faith? Lifeblood. She would have expected that from gentle, optimistic Kaldar… but Evrienne? “Ev,” Amelia whispered, not wanting to wake Kaldar. Evrienne stopped singing. “Amelia? Is that you?” “Yeah.” “Rotshard, babe, you scared us being out so long. We’ve been calling your name for days,” Evrienne chided. Amelia cleared her throat and adjusted herself on her bed. She winced. Her wrists and ankles appeared to be bandaged, and for good reason. She hadn’t realized during the extraction that struggling against the straps was tearing her skin — she’d been too focused on the pain in her mind. That pain was gone now, though. Along with something else that felt like it had been important. Now there were just… patches of blankness that were unsettling and mildly nauseating, but otherwise sterile. What had they even taken from her? She reached up gingerly and rubbed her sleep-crusted eyes. “It’s me,” she mumbled. “Checking into Hotel Hell for my premium retreat. How long has it been?” “Since they brought you in?” Evrienne asked. “Yeah.” “Four days.” Amelia nodded to herself. That explained the stiffness she was feeling from head to toe. “Amelia?” “Hmmm?” Evrienne hesitated before speaking in a rather uncharacteristic display of diffidence. “Are you okay?” Amelia paused. Was she? No. Kind of? She certainly wasn’t whole, but she also couldn’t say what she was missing. And though they hurt, the cuts on her limbs would heal sooner or later. “I think so,” she replied eventually. “Ev, they took something, but I don… I don’t know what it was. Is that what it’s like for you? When they take your blood, I mean.” The air felt heavy as she waited for Evrienne’s reply. “No,” the other woman said slowly. “It’s not like that at all. They just come in, hook us to the hematocage system for a while, then give us fluids and sugar until we feel mostly alive again. We’re conscious the whole time.” “That’s just the thing,” protested Amelia, rubbing her furrowed brow. “I think I was awake? I remember the room and the procedure — they took something out of my mind, but I don’t know what.” “Hua,” replied Evrienne. “That’s weird.” “Yeah.” “Kal’s been worried,” said Evrienne after a heavy pause. “Sorry,” said Amelia dryly, though she didn’t know if she intended to be more sarcastic or serious. It wasn’t like she’d chosen to go with Gunthlag, but she did feel bad that her new friends had been distressed for her. “Good,” said Evrienne wryly. “You’d better be.” Amelia snorted, then stretched. The two women sat in companionable silence in the dark for a while — not speaking but comfortably aware of each other’s presence in their neighboring cells. She liked that. Not being alone. He’s already here. What had Ev meant by that? Dare she ask? No. Absolutely not. She was tired and hurting and captured, for Tarraven’s sake — besides, she’d long since made up her mind about the Blood Bearer. He hadn’t shown up when she needed him most, and he didn’t appear to be here now either. Either he wasn’t nearly as powerful as the runes on the Tarraven claimed, or he was as powerful and just didn’t care about the bleeding, broken people of the realms. Ironic, considering what folks said he’d done for them. “Why do you say he’s here?” she asked softly. Drat. She hadn’t meant to say anything, but… “Because he walks with his people no matter where they stray. There’s nowhere too dirty or too dark for him to reach us.” “And you’re one of them?” Amelia winced. Her words had come out more bitter than she’d intended. Evrienne, far from being offended, simply chuckled. “Yeah, I am. Kaldar too.” “Hmm,” replied Amelia, unsure how she felt about the revelation. “And you still follow him even though he’s left you here to rot?” “Go on,” said Evrienne, chuckling. “Tell me how you really feel.” Amelia flushed. That’d been unbearably rude. Accurate, but rude. Then again, she supposed whatever kept her new friends from losing their minds in this wretched place was fine. People did all kinds of wild things to survive bad situations. She knew that better than most. So if they wanted to dream about the Portal Render, far be it from her to stop them. But she certainly wouldn’t be doing the same. No, if anyone was going to get her out of here, it would be Charles. Strong, determined, gentle, steady Charles. “I’m glad you have hope, Ev,” she said truthfully. The Storm Search and Rescue Tactical Vehicle growled with a well-maintained purr as Charles drove it slowly up the ramp toward the swirling crimson vortex of the Tarraven. Armed border security swarmed all around him, beckoning him forward and keeping civilians back. There was technically no prohibition against driving a car into Sovra’an, but what kind of lunatic would do it? It wouldn’t protect you from the Rot, and just a few trips exposed to the toxic miasma was enough to corrode the inner workings of any vehicle. Greyson was essentially condemning this SRTV to the trash heap by letting Charles use it, and her generosity was not lost on him. Nor was it lost on everyone watching. Behind him, the daily hustle and bustle of the bright, architectural wonder of Grand Portal Station was a little more lively than usual — folks were intrigued by the sight of a vehicle like this entering a place like that. They also seemed curious about Charles himself. Police simply didn’t go into Sovra’an. If a criminal fled into the fae realm to avoid the law, they were left for dead. And if they ever made it back, border security would be there to apprehend them. It made Sovra’an a lawless hellhole, but at least it kept innocent officers from killing themselves to catch a criminal who’d probably die from Rot poisoning soon anyway. Charles wasn’t in uniform — this excursion was not sanctioned by the VPD, and Sylvara now had the notarized paperwork to prove it — but his gear was emblazoned with the department’s logo, raising people’s anxieties and eyebrows in equal measure. Something was not right, and everyone could feel it. Before him, the dark red portal swirled with a fierce, organic power that felt almost alive. The gilded marble archway that framed it was a truly pitiful attempt to tame what the Blood Bearer — the bleeding god who rent time and space to save his people — had done. Sacrifice like that could not be sterilized, and ferocity on this scale could not be domesticated. Runes lined the rugged stone of the original portal arch (before the city of Valehaven had taken a crack at prettying it up) and glowed with a chilling intensity. They told the story of how this scar in reality was formed and laid out instructions for those who would use it. Charles didn’t bother to read them. It was time, and he was itching to reach the other side. The SRTV crept through the scarlet vortex — it was hot and wonderful and terrible — and Charles’s chest compressed painfully as he passed through the blood portal the wrong way. Apparently it’d never been intended for two-way use, but the existence of the portal station itself was proof that no one actually cared. The crimson heat of the Tarraven faded as he entered an oozing scar of a realm. The light here was a sickly yellowish-green, though he could see no sun past the haze of grayish clouds that masked the entire sky and made the whole world feel claustrophobic. There was a damp, bitter weight to the air that made him cough and pull down his N95 mask to spit out the glass-free window onto the ground. Lifeblood, but his mouth tasted awful already, and his eyes burned like there had been a chemical spill nearby. It’d been early evening when he left Valehaven, which meant that here — in the Under-Side — it was early morning. Honestly, he only knew that based on his cross-realm radio that kept track of time in both realms, because with the murky half-light and no sunrise, it would have been impossible to tell based on the environment. Glancing at the sensors on his dash, Charles turned right and began driving north across the lifeless, ragged terrain — again, opposite from home — toward what would have been Lower Valehaven on the other side. “Hold on, baby,” he murmured. “I’m on my way.” As the vehicle clawed deeper into the gloom across colorless stones and crisp black foliage, Charles glanced into his rearview mirror. The bleeding wound of the Tarraven was shrinking behind him as he drove onward, and far too soon for comfort, the doorway to Valehaven was gone. In a crisis, do you relate more to Amelia’s practical skepticism or Evrienne’s quiet faith? Email me and let me know. ☕📚 May your tea be strong and your plot twists stronger, You received this email because you downloaded a freebie or signed up to be on Laura Cheever's street team. If you'd like to opt out, please unsubscribe below. |
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