North Country Novel Novels & Stories

for toward the edge of the city, where the lights of London faded into the misty dark of the countryside. ​They found a small cottage at the end of a dirt track—a place that didn't appear on any "High Society" map. It was old, the stones covered in moss, and the interior smelled of woodsmoke and lavender. ​As the sun began to rise on the first day of their "Permanent" life, Nora sat on the porch, watching Julian try to figure out how to start a real wood-burning fireplace. He was struggling, his brow furrowed in concentration, looking more human in his frustration than he ever had in his perfection.

“Where’s home?” “North,” he says, lifting his chin in the general direction. I look towards it, because that’s where my family is too – the Academy is tucked away in Moon Valley’s southern lands. But when Jackson says North, I know that he means something different than northwards to the capital. He means North – the craggy, wild land at the edge of our nation where people tend to live in extreme poverty and clannishness. I’ve met ambassadors from the North before, and I know people who have been there on aid missions, but Jackson – I think – is the first person I’ve ever met who grew up there.

I gripped her hands. "Tell me everything. Even the most gory details. Don't worry, I won't run away in the middle of the night, this time." I finished breathlessly, hoping she hadn't heard the sheer desperation in my tone. But I shouldn't have bothered. Conny lived for gossip. She glowed with delight. She glanced around furtively. "Well." She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "He was born in the Harsh Winter. In the North, they say that means something."

NEWT’S MIND had begun to dwell on the north for long stretches. Particularly at night, when he had nothing to do but ride slowly around and around the herd, listening to the small noises the bedded cattle made, or the sad singing of the Irishmen, he thought of the north, trying to imagine what it must be like. He had grown up with the sun shining, with mesquite and chaparral, armadillos and coyotes, Mexicans and the shallow Rio Grande. Only once had he been to a city:

“Dear child, why do you have such a hard life? You're just like my son, both of you live such tough lives.” Jane smiled sadly. She looked at the old lady with a slightly confused expression, then looked at Noah in front of her. However, the simple man smiled gently and said, “Why not I’ll carry my old mother on my back, and we can leave this place together? Shall we head north?” Jane looked at him. “…Noah, what…what do you mean?” Honest Noah said, “I can tell from your accent you’re not a local. South City is in the south, we speak with a Southern accent, but your accent is a typical northern accent. To tell you the truth, I’m from the north too.”

Some stopped to admire the clothing in the windows, but most people were on their phones or obviously in a hurry to get somewhere. I pulled open the heavy glass door and stepped outside. It was colder today than yesterday. Gray clouds filled the limited sky I could see between tall buildings. I took a deep breath in, smelling car gas and street vendor food. I wrinkled my nose, missing the soft scent of grass and stone from the castle. Westshire was the capital and biggest city in Paradisa. The city had stonework that predated the US mixed with new buildings. Ancient and modern architecture mingled and combined with castles merging into skyscrapers.

BOOK ONE: CLAIMING HIS TREASURE Prague, Czech Republic There was nothing like a cold beer and a good fuck to help a man unwind after a hunt. Jackson North leaned back on his stool and took a long, slow sip of his lager, letting it sit on his tongue as his eyes traveled up and down the bar. The dimly lit public house was lively tonight, and he picked up snippets of conversation in at least five languages as he scoped out his potential company for the evening. There was no shortage of attractive women in this particular hole in the wall, but he was in the mood for something special. A good hunt always left his body thrumming with a distinctive sort of hunger.

Christmas was the reading of the book. This Christmas, Don's book was a novel—Norwegian, which was not a coincidence, a novel by the same writer whose essays were in the Norway reading programme. The novel was called The Dark Year, and it was about a man who spent a winter alone in a cabin in the far north of Norway, experiencing the full darkness for the first time. Don had been saving it since September, when he had finished the essays. He had placed it on the shelf above his desk, the designated holding place for the Christmas book, and had not opened it once.

Although the North wasn't in poverty, people there did have a hard time getting by compared to most towns in the country. This was because other than the weather— which made it hard for useful plants to grow— wars took place at North all around the year. In the recent years, there is a rise in rebels at North. Not only that, nobles there were treacherous. Filled with greed and ambition, it was vaguely mentioned in the novel that one lord along with many other from the North was planning for revolt against Alexandar. It seemed that the author had then forgotten about this incident for it had never been explained later on. But judging from how omnipotent the male lead was, they were most likel

- The words poured out of me like fire, burning me up from the inside. "She was 19—she was only 19! She'd just graduated high school. She had everything ahead of her. She was kind—so stupidly kind. Out there, 16 thousand feet up in Deadman's Hollow, she was starving and shaking, but she still gave her last granola bar to Ken when he said he was hungry!