Novels by Net Sage

“You’re capable of it. I can tell you do.”The voice broke through the darkness with a snap, coming quickly and sounding very close. It filled the air with the heat of anger or fear, a voice that made your back stiffen before your mind realised what was happening.I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. I just kept going, carefully moving my fingers along the windowsill where the feathers were neatly arranged. The shadows were all different in the pale moonlight: some were dark and shiny, some were light and grey and some were spotted brown and rusty like dried blood on paper.I touched the newest feather with my fingertips, barely pressing down. It was much smaller than the others, as pale as bone and so delicate that it looked like a breath could break it. Where the moonlight touched it, the ice shimmered and seemed to have silver frost on its edge.The silence was there behind me, thick and ready to pounce. Yet, I didn’t move in that direction.Not yet.The door behind me opened a little mor

"You're late."Salla didn’t look up from the pestle, though I hadn't even crossed the threshold. She moved her hands slowly, as if the herbs had something to say before she crushed them. A thin thread of smoke came from her chimney, blending with the smell of lavender that had turned a little bitter."I didn’t think I was expected," I said."You weren’t. But you’re here." She paused. "Which means something’s shifted."I walked into the building. The door made a strange noise as if it didn’t want to shut.Her place felt warm like a closed fist—tight, tense and waiting. There was a smell of old herbs, smoke and a hint of dried blood beneath the floorboards in the air. Shelves were placed along the walls in an irregular pattern and each was bent under the weight of glass jars, some tall and some short, with their labels often curled, stained or gone.Inside, everything was suspended in thick liquid, with roots like sleeping snakes, petals in the middle of decay and shapes that looked lik

“Wake up, mute boy. You should listen to this.”Bunny’s voice broke through my sleepy state, sounding sharp and sudden, just like the snap of glass when you step on it. I didn’t hear the words right away—just the sense of urgency and the way they pulled me from the dark.My eyes took a moment to adjust as I blinked hard. My breath fogged up in the morning air and when I sat up, the moss on the ground stuck to my back. The cold had worked its way into my joints and spine overnight, so my bones hurt and my jaw was locked from fighting all night.The fire had returned. It has always done so.However, this time, I didn’t dream about Windmere going up in flames.It was I.The flames on my skin feel as if they are starving. Heat pressing in from all sides, curling through my ribs, devouring everything I couldn't outrun. I could taste the smoke in my throat as I looked at the misted trees, my hands shaking in the darkness, trying to believe I wasn’t on fire.“What’s going on?”He didn’t say

“That’s a terrible excuse for a trail.”The bunny looked up at the steep slope, covered in sharp rocks and thick roots, most of which was hidden by moss that shone in the rain. The slope appeared more like the backbone of a buried animal, making it slippery and hard to walk on. Every step made the shale move, clinking and sliding, ready to make us fall if we slipped.The ground was so wet from the rain that it felt like a trap. Every step I made went deep into the mud and my boots made a wet, reluctant squelching sound. The cold made its way through the holes in my pants, reaching my socks and pulling me down.Bunny walked beside me, making no sound as his bare feet pressed into the ground with great accuracy. There’s no pressure, no sliding—just the sound of skin touching the wet stone. His silence didn’t show grace. There was a lot of tension. With every step, he looked annoyed, his breathing was shallow and his eyes seemed to blame the hill for being there.I reminded myself that V

“Why the fuck are we stopping here?”Bunny stood in front of me, making a loud crunching sound with his boots on the gravel. He stood tall, his arms crossed and stared hard at the hill in front of him—a sharp rise of burned land and dry weeds that looked like they were trying to break free from the ground. The hut was at the top, leaning and decaying, as if it were a scab that would not heal.He didn’t speak, but I could sense the anger radiating from him, barely under control. He was gripping his jaw and his eyes looked both fearful and angry. He seemed ready to bolt away and never look back or to burn the place down for simply being there.I wasn’t sure which of the two he would pick.“You can smell it, can’t you?” he whispered. “Old magic. Dead magic. This place is full of it.”I moved slowly and my boots sank into the dust. There was a copper and lavender taste in the air. An old and dry object.I assured him, “It’s safe.”He scoffed. “Safe doesn’t sound like a beast about to die.

Have you ever stuck a knife into someone’s throat?I looked at him, letting the dancing light from the fire cast shadows that seemed to move with the smoke. The wood, wet from the rain, made a soft hissing noise as it tried to catch fire and its crackling was barely audible in the quiet night. Thomir was resting on the other side of the clearing, wrapped in a blanket I had repaired with birch thread, the edges showing how far we had come. His breaths were rough and irregular, showing how much the fever had affected him. Even though the heat had gone away hours earlier, he was still sleeping deeply. Not truly. My worry remained, mixing with the smell of smoke, as I noticed his brow wrinkle now and then, hoping he would wake up to the crackling fire and the soft sounds of nature.I kept mixing the broth.“Well?” Bunny spoke with a sharp tone, as if he wanted me to react.I didn’t.“No.”“Not a single time?”“No.”“Why not?”“Have I been given the opportunity?”He looked at me with a fa