The Village Book Novels & Stories

It's no longer just a village—it's grown to nearly five thousand people. "Five thousand?" Carissa frowned, sensing something was off. Even a large village would typically have only a few hundred, or maybe just a thousand. "Does the village have any weapons?" Jacob glanced back at the letter. "They haven't found any yet. The village is surrounded by mountains on three sides, with only one road leading in from the north. It's far from other settlements, and the entrance is guarded. His Highness is waiting for the right moment to slip inside and investigate further."

He wrote his name in one swift motion and threw it to his relative, then said to the villagers, "Those who want Alex Cohen to step down and elect another village representative, please sign this book!" Francis also took a booklet from Alex and signed it, then said, "Those who support Alex Cohen to continue to be the village representative, sign after me! People in this village should know very well what kind of people Alex and I are. If those of you who aren’t from our village don't know us, you can ask the people from our village."

He led the way, taking a torch off the wall, and the three of them walked through the opening and down an ancient, stone stairwell, twisting into the blackness. They finally reached the lowest levels, and continued down a corridor, barely lit by the torch. Finally, they reached a room. In it was a single object: a golden stand, on which sat a huge, ancient Bible. The ancient book must have been two feet wide and long, covered in an ornate casing of silver and gold. The three of them crowded over it. As Caitlin stared, she could feel the scroll heating up in her pocket, and she knew, she just knew, that this was the book from which the page was torn.

“I don’t want the night we had to be the only one.” My heart lurched. “Caelan—” “Don’t think,” he cut in, rising from the bed with predatory grace. “Just come.” And I did. Because no matter how much I told myself I should run, every part of me was already tethered to him. --- The village was small, tucked deep in the forest where the pines grew thick and the air smelled of damp earth. Smoke curled from chimneys, and children darted between cottages with wild laughter. It wasn’t like the estate, polished and suffocating. This place breathed.

It pulsed beneath my palm like a heartbeat. I exhaled slowly and pressed my hand against the page. The flames came instantly. They swallowed the book in a soundless roar, a fire without smoke or heat. Before Silas could yank me away, the blaze leapt and coiled around me like serpents. My vision swallowed itself. One blink I stood in our chamber and the next I stood on snow. A village lay in front of me, small and poor and full of smoke. The air smelled of frost. Children chased one another through the mud with sticks and no shoes. I heard laughter and the reason it hurt was because I knew it would not last.

she murmured. “It is,” Lyra said from across the room. “Books are memory. And mine? They never forget.” Lerder stayed close to the door, senses sharp, eyes flicking toward every groan in the wood. He hadn’t relaxed once since they entered the village. Not since Rhys’s sacrifice. Not since Elara touched the blade and the sky listened. “Why here?” he asked. “Why this village?” Lyra crossed the room and pulled a worn leather volume from a hidden recess. “Because my family kept more than stories here. We kept silent.” She placed the book on a table between them. “Until now.”

Now, I have found out he’s alive in a village I’ve never even heard of. Lazlo brushes his hand against mine as he passes me the last of the packs. Together, we lead the horses toward the narrow path that winds downhill through the trees. The village waits beyond the next ridge, smaller than I imagined, just a handful of cottages pressed into the hillside, smoke rising from stone chimneys, the scent of baking bread and damp wool thick in the air. Children chase each other barefoot through the grass. A pony whinies once, sauntering off to follow a stray goat into a makeshift barn.

I rode a little behind and to his left, flanked by Talia on one side and a grim‑faced warrior named Bran on the other. Nyra remained behind at Blackthorn—someone had to hold the center, and she claimed she was “too old to go gallivanting off every time someone set something on fire.” But her mind brushed ours occasionally, a cool presence at the back of my thoughts, a reminder to *breathe, girl* when my own nerves threatened to spike. By the time we crested the last rise, the sky above Redpine was streaked with dirty gray. Smoke. The village sprawled in a valley between two low hills, its houses mostly timber and stone, clustered around a central square where a meeting hall and a few larger

Chapter 1 The night was alive with screams. Smoke curled from burning huts, mixing with the acrid stench of fear and blood. Clara’s village, a peaceful cluster of homes near the river, was no longer a sanctuary. Shadows danced in the firelight, twisted by the terror that had invaded their quiet lives.

"I need a spell on how to return to the village. Not a pointless lecture.” The pages flipped again and then a map appeared, ink sketching itself into land, lines, trees, pathways. A tiny glowing dot blinked on it just outside the body of the lake. “That’s… where I am?” Another point lit up farther away. I'm guessing that's the village. It felt strange talking to a book, but it worked before. Clutching the book to my chest, I started walking. Hours passed. And eventually the forest thinned and the chorus of murmurs reached my ears before I could see the mud houses.