The Fires We Carried
Book One · Jordan Vasconcellos
The dark doesn’t punish you. It soothes you.
The Snow That Fell Into the Stars — in paperback & hardback.
The oldest war there is
In the market square, a gentle stranger kneels beside a dying woman and draws the grief clean out of her. The crowd cheers God’s mercy. Only one child, at the edge, sees that a robbery has just happened.
No strong language; the darkness here is emotional, not graphic. A story to read alone — or aloud, together.
They burned the wrong people.
Edinburgh, 1591. A gentle stranger kneels beside a dying woman and draws the grief clean out of her — and the crowd cheers a miracle. Only one child, at the edge, sees that a robbery has just happened. The healers who carry your pain are hunted as witches, while the ones who steal it are crowned as saints. Sorsha inherits her mother’s iron ring — warm for truth, cold for a lie — and finds the hidden Keepers fighting back.
The stolen soul is unleashed down the centuries. The fire was only the beginning.
The story begins
Tap the cover to open Book One.
Every reader has to decide
One power runs under the whole world. Open your hand and you carry someone’s pain so they can stand. Cup it, and you take the pain away for good — and the person with it. Which are you?
The Keepers · good
“I’ve nothing hidden. I’m here to carry, not to take. I’ll keep your name, and light a lamp in the window.”
Choose the open hand
The Easers · evil
“Let me take that from you. All of it — the grief, the ache, the memory. Doesn’t that sound kind?”
Choose the cupped hand
Ask the author
Edinburgh, 1591. A gentle stranger kneels beside a dying woman and draws the grief clean out of her — and the crowd cheers a miracle. Only one child sees that a robbery has just happened. The healers who carry your pain are hunted as witches; the ones who steal it are crowned as saints. It’s good and evil, where the evil looks exactly like love.
One power runs under the whole world. Open your hand and you carry a stranger’s pain so they can stand — that’s a Keeper. Cup your hand and you take it away for good, and the person with it — that’s an Easer. One question runs under everything: whose hand is that, and is it open?
Because it looks exactly like love. From the outside, a theft of grief is identical to mercy — so the taker gets thanked. Evil that threatens you, you can fight. Evil that soothes you, you invite in and offer it tea.
There’s no strong language, and the darkness here is emotional, not graphic — nothing gory, nothing crude. The narrator is warm and very funny, even when the story is sad. It’s a book to read alone, or aloud together — sad the way a good story is sad, and never grim.
Both, at once. A fable for the child and a warning for the grown-up beside them, and not a word that condescends to either. Written for readers 9 and up, and the adults who read with them.
The signs in the story
These three run quietly through the book — the engine it all turns on. Tap each one to see what it means.
The open handThe Keepers’ secret greeting — an open, empty palm that says I’ve nothing hidden; I’m here to carry your pain, not to take it. It is the exact opposite of the cupped hand that steals. Wherever a palm opens, you’ve found a friend.
The lamp in the windowA light left burning for the kept — the ones carried safely through the dark. The Keepers leave a lamp lit so the frightened can find shelter. It is the spark that must never go out: while one lamp still holds, so does hope.
The iron ringWarm for the truth, cold for a lie. In a world of soothing voices, the rarest thing is a plain fact you can feel. Sorsha inherits her mother’s ring in Book One — wear it, and you always know when you’re being lied to, even by yourself.
Latest
The Snow That Fell Into the Stars is available now in paperback and hardback. It begins in the witch-hunts of 1591 Edinburgh — with a robbery only one child can see.
The Keepers’ greeting — an open, empty palm that says I’ve nothing hidden; I’m here to carry, not to take — is something readers, and children, have started making to one another.
Join the Fire
Leave your email and I’ll send you the opening of The Snow That Fell Into the Stars — the market-square scene where one child sees a robbery no one else can. You’ll also be first to know when the next book lands. No noise. Just the fire.
Carry the sign
Keepsakes from the story — the open hand, the lamp, the iron ring. Opening soon. Join the Fire above and we’ll tell you the moment it does.
Enamel pin of the Keepers’ greeting — wear the sign that says I’m here to carry, not to take.
Shop opening soonA giclée print of the brass lamp lit in the window — a light for the kept, the spark that must never go out.
Shop opening soonA cast-iron keepsake ring — warm for truth, cold for a lie, honest as a plain fact you can feel.
Shop opening soonAbout
I’m Jordan Vasconcellos, and The Snow That Fell Into the Stars is the work of my life so far — Book One of a story written and revised over more than ten years, set in the witch-hunts of 1591 Edinburgh, and asking one question the whole way: what would we trade for the end of pain?
I didn’t start with a story. I started with a question I couldn’t put down — what happens to us when we treat comfort as the goal of a life? We numb, we soothe, we scroll. I wanted to write about the people who stay present instead: the ones who carry a stranger’s pain without keeping it. Grief taught me the difference between a hand that gives and a hand that takes, and the whole story grew on top of that one idea.
I built the ending first, so every promise in Book One is made knowing exactly how it’s kept. If one thing survives all of it, I hope it’s the open palm — the sign the story’s Keepers use to say I’ve nothing hidden; I’m here to carry, not to take. Children have started making it to one another. That’s the dream.
Tender for the child, wise for the grown-up, carried by both for a lifetime.
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