Miners of the Mystics by Penny Moss EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Penny Moss
- Language: English
- Genre: Dark Fantasy Horror
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
MALADY
The first thing Oliver did on his first day as a Miner of the Mystics was
fall down a winze and break his leg. The winze was deep, his fall
nasty. He sat up, looked down at his leg, and instantly regretted it. Forcing
his gaze up, he met deep brown eyes, wide with horror.
“It’s not so bad,” Oliver managed, sucking a breath in through his teeth
and holding it. Halfway between screaming and expelling his breakfast.
While the dust cloud that had erupted around him settled, the scent of
blood rose to tease his nausea into a frenzy.
“I’m so sorry,” cried his new friend.
She would be his friend because she tried to warn him about the winze,
then he fell and broke his leg anyway. Oliver stared at the young woman,
only a blur of gold and black with how frantic her movements were. Or
maybe it was that his eyes had welled with agony. He should have paid
better attention instead of gawking at the magic lining the adit.
“We need to move your leg, I think.”
Her dainty hands closed around his shin, below the jut of bone peering out
from the denim of Oliver’s overalls. Nausea gurgled up into his throat
again. He flung his focus to the light trickling in from above, not yet willing
to vomit all over his new friend—who yanked at his leg without warning.
Oliver swore, the back of his head colliding with stone as he flopped
down. He told himself he wouldn’t cry, but when he blinked, the tears spilt
anyway.
“Oh—Oh my dahlias,” she warbled, panicked. “I’m—I’m sorry! I don’t
think that was right.”
An agonised moan was Oliver’s response. The sob-like noise that
followed was definitely not him crying.
“It’s okay, it’s okay!” The young woman awkwardly patted his thigh.
“Sentinel Tau will be here any minute. They’ll fix this.”
As if speaking the name had summoned Them, the Sentinel approached in
an elegant walk, more so a glide. Even in his agony-ridden, blurry-eyed
state, Oliver caught sight of pristine white robes. Of fabric shimmering like
sunlit snow and gleaming gold trims.
His breath caught in his throat, the Sentinel’s tall figure vivid against
shadows slanting across the driftway. Their face hidden by an
expressionless mask, featuring no more than two narrow black triangles for
eyes, outlined by more gold lambency. Clawed sabatons soundlessly moved
across stone, coming to a stop just by him.
Oliver lay panting in the dust and grime, too awestruck to do much else.
The Sentinel bowed low, dark pointed hood unmoving, and reached out
with a gauntlet. Metallic claws glinted umbral green, like the pine forest
that lurked outside the mountain. Mirror-like, when light poured from the
palm to encapsulate Oliver’s leg in a soft glow.
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