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Deep in the Gardener’s Barrow

Iná looked about, taking in the long sparse hall with phosphorescent globes glowing in their sconces. There were no windows in the hall. Come to think of it, there had been no windows in her room either, or in the passageway.

Iná gathered the last of her strength and hoisted Tofi’s motionless form.
The Source

We have walked two days, which means we are soon to reach the swamp. The swamp of ghosts, some call it, but what lies in the swamp are not ghosts. They are worse than ghosts. They are foul spirits, who wish to slip into your body and keep it. I do not tell Kuyka this, because silence is much better than noise, and because I do not wish to see him act like men do and state how unafraid he is.

His signature, it is not of blood and flesh like mine. He is not what he seems.
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Undercurrents

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Introduced by the author, explaining the story’s take on resistance and cooperation.
From the Archives:
The Root Cellar
I’ve come for you, Jeremy; you, and my arm.