Gormenghast Illustrated Trilogy Novels & Stories

“I don't know. It was inches from me, burning its green eyes into mine and the next thing I knew...you were touching me.” He ran his hands through his hair with irritation. Pouting, I leaned my back against the bookcase with my arms pressed tightly against my chest. Out of nowhere, a book tumbled to the ground from the top shelf of the towering bookcase. Liam and I looked at each other intrigued. Bending down, I grabbed the weighted, brown book embossed with a gold triangular shape on the cover. The triangle had a latch, enclosing two lustrous-gold wedding bands; both engraved with flaming infinity patterns. Eyes widened, and Liam and I, were hypnotized by the shimmering beauty the rings hel

The sun had long since set, and the library was now lit only by the warm glow of brass lamps. Piles of rejected books cluttered the tables like tombstones of dead theories. Fennigan reached for the very last book in the stack. It was a crumbling, nondescript tome bound in gray hide that looked like it had survived a fire. The title on the spine had worn away centuries ago. He opened it carefully, the binding cracking in protest. He flipped past pages of ancient genealogy and territory maps until he stopped near the end. His finger traced a faded illustration of a wolf surrounded by symbols of fire, water, earth, and air.

The path to the Sacred Chamber, where the gemstone lay hidden, had been poisoned. I steadied my breath and pressed on, the handle of my blade tight in my grip. A thick mist began to roll in. From the mist, a low growl erupted. I spun to face it. A creature crawled from the shadows—skeletal, tall as two men, its body made of bone and black mist. Grave Stalker. It screeched and pounced. I barely dodged in time, rolling across cold stones. I swung my spirit-steel blade, catching its side. It retaliated with sharp claws that sliced my shoulder. I screamed and stumbled.

**KELLY THOMPSON'S POV** The moon's corpse hung low, a bloated specter leaching color from the sky. Its craters pulsed like open wounds, and the sea beneath it had gone still, a black mirror reflecting its rot. The *Kinslayer* cut through the water, its heartstone hull groaning as if mourning the world it sailed toward. Selene's wolves clustered at the bow, their star-metal blades glinting like shards of dead constellations. Rhydian stood apart, his serpents restless beneath his skin, their scales shimmering with a light that matched the moon's sickly glow.

Then I add, “But I’m not in any rush to be a grandmother.” Noah chokes on air. Emily snorts in the front seat. Raven bursts into laughter. “Trust me,” Raven says, wiping her eyes, “I’m not ready for that stage of life either.” The tension breaks. Just for a moment. Just long enough to breathe. Grace and Liam are already hauling my books into the dining room when we arrive. Stacks and stacks of them—old leather-bound grimoires, Warren family journals, spellbooks, prophecy collections, everything I’ve ever studied.

The forest opens into a clearing, the stars shimmering silver along the path, and I pray this time it will be different. The wind grows colder as we delve deeper into the woods. Leaves rustle overhead, carrying wisps of smoke from the burning palace. The air is thick with ash and sorrow. I can still see the faint orange glow far behind us, lingering like the dying eyes of a creature that won't close. Martha stays silent, her arms clasped tight around me, each breath trembling against my back. I sense her heartbeat—steady yet strained—as she carefully leads the horse across a narrow stone bridge; the stream beneath glimmers like liquid glass.

I said, swallowing hard as I approached the entrance. The doorway loomed before us, dark and foreboding. I hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and stepped inside. --- The air within the temple was thick and cold, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and decay. Our footsteps echoed against the stone floor as we ventured deeper, the light from our torches casting long shadows on the walls. The carvings continued inside, growing more elaborate and sinister. Wolves knelt before a shadowy figure, their eyes hollow and empty. Chains bound their limbs, but in some depictions, the chains were broken, and the wolves stood tall, their eyes filled with fire.

Only the stillness of an open grave. Ellie’s signet ring didn't just glow; it shrieked. A jagged, pulsing crimson light radiated from the stone, casting long, distorted shadows across the grey dust. She reached out with her inner sight, trying to find the golden threads of the Alliance, but what she found made her stumble. The threads weren't just frayed; they were being knotted into intricate, suffocating patterns—the **Legion of Bone** was literally weaving the life force of the sleeping wolves into a shroud.

I had no choice, so I dug through every gift Zoe had ever given me, but I found nothing. Just when I was about to give up, I shook a pillow, and a tiny paper figure floated out. Its face was drawn to resemble Lucas, and his birth details were written on the back! The fortune teller exclaimed, “That’s it! The lock and the paper figure work together, and since you've touched the lock, the effect on you is stronger. Luckily, you found it early.” I broke out in a cold sweat. That same day, I slipped the paper figure under Miles’ pillow and instructed my parents to watch him while he slept.

Creatures we thought long dead, their names whispered in ghost stories, not carved in fresh graves. We burst into the clearing, and my heart stopped. The air felt poisoned, heavy with a metallic tang and something darker, like rot laced with malice. Moonlight spilled over the scene, cold and unforgiving, glinting off blood-soaked grass. Two bodies lay covered in rough cloaks, their shapes too still, too broken—a father and his son, the messenger had gasped before collapsing. The pack stood in a loose circle, faces pale, eyes hollow, their growls muted by shock. Ragnar knelt beside the cloaks, his massive hands trembling, his scarred face twisted with grief.