The Vault Between Spaces
A Fantasy with a WWII/Cold War-like Setting
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Every legend must start somewhere…
No prisoner entering HopeWell ever leaves. Or so the stories go. But from the moment Oriel sets foot inside Anatroshka’s most formidable prison camp, the petite girl of fragile appearance rattles the long-held beliefs of commandant and prisoner alike. With eyes that see beyond the surface and music that trails her everywhere, Oriel bows before neither threat nor punishment. The rebellious can be broken, the cowardly terrorized, the arrogant crushed. But what to do when defiance, fear, and arrogance are absent? Moreover, Oriel makes no attempt to hide her intention: to escape the inescapable HopeWell. But when facades are stripped away and myths become clothed in flesh, what begins as a prison break soon morphs into a mission to prevent the invasion of evil itself. |
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Praise for The Vault Between Spaces:
“Vault shows that beauty can be found in places of suffering. Love is often reflected in sacrifice. Freedom can be celebrated within the constraints of service. Chawna paints unseen realms amid an alternate history of our own world and invites us to watch them intersect. Imaginative, heart-wrenching, and soaring with hope.” –Sharon Hinck, author of Dream of Kings |
 A Carol Award Finalist, Speculative Category 2021
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Want an autographed copy of The Vault Between Spaces? No problem! Just include your request for the autograph in the "note to seller" box at check out, along with any names you want the autograph personalized to.
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Opening Excerpt from The Vault Between Spaces:
SHE APPEARED OUT OF NOWHERE.
One minute all was quiet at the country estate of the archeras, the high commander of Anatroshka. The next, an alarm in his private office tripped. When soldiers burst inside two minutes later, they found a young woman perched on the edge of the desk, swinging her legs as if she were waiting for them. Nothing had been removed from the office. Nothing was destroyed. The doors were still locked, the windows unbroken, and the safe untouched. Even stranger, the young woman didn’t bother to resist arrest. Yet when interrogated, she refused to answer a single question, leading the chief agent on the case to declare her a dangerous skolops and a member of the Underground.
Or so the story in her file went.
The commandant of HopeWell eyed his newest prisoner over the top edge of the papers. Young woman? That was an exaggeration at best. The slender girl of porcelain skin might pass for fourteen years, fifteen at a stretch, but eighteen, the legal age of an independent adult? Never. But despite her young age, she showed none of the normal signs of a new arrival at the prison camp. Whereas others would defy him with glares or tremble before him in terror, this girl merely studied the uneven floorboards of his office with a quiet serenity that contradicted both her youth and her position.
With a scowl, the commandant shuffled again through the file, which had been delivered, along with the girl, by the curvaceous woman sitting opposite of him. Torrents of rain pounded against the tin roof, the noise filling the otherwise quiet room. A lightning bolt flashed outside the window; thunder shook the building with impatience.
Finally, the commandant tapped the papers into a neat pile and squared them with the corner of the battered desk. “Everything appears to be in order.” His voice tightened at the word appears, making him sound none too pleased with that fact, and as if to underscore his displeasure, his lips pressed into a hard, flat line. He scrutinized the girl again. The tall, muscular sergeant guarding her only accentuated her youth. “She looks sickly.”
“Looks deceive.” The curvaceous woman tossed out the careless rejoinder on a cloud of cigarette smoke and leaned back in her chair. Though dressed in a well-fitted military jacket and skirt, she flaunted convention by crossing her legs at the knees, emphasizing their length. “You’ll get plenty of miles out of her before she’s boxed up. If nothing else, she’s young, fresh, spirited, just the way men like them.” Rising, she sauntered over to the prisoner, a feline grace marking each movement. She brushed a lock of limp ash-blonde hair from the girl’s cheek, exposing her neck, and jabbed the end of the cigarette against the tender skin.
The girl flinched, yet her voice remained silent.
“You’ve made your point.” Clipping the edges of his words, the commandant pressed his knuckles into the scarred desktop.
The woman stubbed her cigarette out and flicked it across the room and strode toward the door, her heels clacking like the report of a machine gun. “I’ll return at my usual time to check on your progress.” She lifted a black umbrella from the coat stand in the outer office and stepped into the stormy night. A bolt of lightning flashed, highlighting her dark form beneath the umbrella’s hood. Then oily darkness swallowed her whole.
SHE APPEARED OUT OF NOWHERE.
One minute all was quiet at the country estate of the archeras, the high commander of Anatroshka. The next, an alarm in his private office tripped. When soldiers burst inside two minutes later, they found a young woman perched on the edge of the desk, swinging her legs as if she were waiting for them. Nothing had been removed from the office. Nothing was destroyed. The doors were still locked, the windows unbroken, and the safe untouched. Even stranger, the young woman didn’t bother to resist arrest. Yet when interrogated, she refused to answer a single question, leading the chief agent on the case to declare her a dangerous skolops and a member of the Underground.
Or so the story in her file went.
The commandant of HopeWell eyed his newest prisoner over the top edge of the papers. Young woman? That was an exaggeration at best. The slender girl of porcelain skin might pass for fourteen years, fifteen at a stretch, but eighteen, the legal age of an independent adult? Never. But despite her young age, she showed none of the normal signs of a new arrival at the prison camp. Whereas others would defy him with glares or tremble before him in terror, this girl merely studied the uneven floorboards of his office with a quiet serenity that contradicted both her youth and her position.
With a scowl, the commandant shuffled again through the file, which had been delivered, along with the girl, by the curvaceous woman sitting opposite of him. Torrents of rain pounded against the tin roof, the noise filling the otherwise quiet room. A lightning bolt flashed outside the window; thunder shook the building with impatience.
Finally, the commandant tapped the papers into a neat pile and squared them with the corner of the battered desk. “Everything appears to be in order.” His voice tightened at the word appears, making him sound none too pleased with that fact, and as if to underscore his displeasure, his lips pressed into a hard, flat line. He scrutinized the girl again. The tall, muscular sergeant guarding her only accentuated her youth. “She looks sickly.”
“Looks deceive.” The curvaceous woman tossed out the careless rejoinder on a cloud of cigarette smoke and leaned back in her chair. Though dressed in a well-fitted military jacket and skirt, she flaunted convention by crossing her legs at the knees, emphasizing their length. “You’ll get plenty of miles out of her before she’s boxed up. If nothing else, she’s young, fresh, spirited, just the way men like them.” Rising, she sauntered over to the prisoner, a feline grace marking each movement. She brushed a lock of limp ash-blonde hair from the girl’s cheek, exposing her neck, and jabbed the end of the cigarette against the tender skin.
The girl flinched, yet her voice remained silent.
“You’ve made your point.” Clipping the edges of his words, the commandant pressed his knuckles into the scarred desktop.
The woman stubbed her cigarette out and flicked it across the room and strode toward the door, her heels clacking like the report of a machine gun. “I’ll return at my usual time to check on your progress.” She lifted a black umbrella from the coat stand in the outer office and stepped into the stormy night. A bolt of lightning flashed, highlighting her dark form beneath the umbrella’s hood. Then oily darkness swallowed her whole.
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Additional Praise for The Vault Between Spaces
“Hopewell—a place where no one is as they appear to be. A dwelling of dismal grey that’s visited by a great light in disguise. Where hope and love is crushed, beaten, and murdered only to rise up even stronger than before. The analogies just never stop in The Vault Between Spaces and author Chawna Schroeder never fails to excite my imagination. Sometimes heart-wrenching, frequently edge of your seat, this is one read you will NOT want to miss.”
~ Michelle Griep, Christie Award-winning author of the Once Upon a Dickens Christmas series
“Chawna Schroeder has a gorgeous way with words. Her delicious descriptions transported me straight into the fantastical world of The Vault Between Spaces. The world building is reminiscent of C.S. Lewis but with a flair all its own. Vault is perfect for fans of Christian fantasy who are looking for a unique, intriguing tale packed with beautiful spiritual metaphors and deep redemptive significance."
—Lindsay A. Franklin, award-winning author of The Story Peddler
Set in a cold, dreary world in which the characters are sharp bursts of color, The Vault Between Spaces offers a story rich with hope, brimming with creativity, and full of fascinating and unexpected turns. Christian speculative fiction at its most imaginative.
- Gillian Bronte Adams, author of The Songkeeper Chronicles
“Hopewell—a place where no one is as they appear to be. A dwelling of dismal grey that’s visited by a great light in disguise. Where hope and love is crushed, beaten, and murdered only to rise up even stronger than before. The analogies just never stop in The Vault Between Spaces and author Chawna Schroeder never fails to excite my imagination. Sometimes heart-wrenching, frequently edge of your seat, this is one read you will NOT want to miss.”
~ Michelle Griep, Christie Award-winning author of the Once Upon a Dickens Christmas series
“Chawna Schroeder has a gorgeous way with words. Her delicious descriptions transported me straight into the fantastical world of The Vault Between Spaces. The world building is reminiscent of C.S. Lewis but with a flair all its own. Vault is perfect for fans of Christian fantasy who are looking for a unique, intriguing tale packed with beautiful spiritual metaphors and deep redemptive significance."
—Lindsay A. Franklin, award-winning author of The Story Peddler
Set in a cold, dreary world in which the characters are sharp bursts of color, The Vault Between Spaces offers a story rich with hope, brimming with creativity, and full of fascinating and unexpected turns. Christian speculative fiction at its most imaginative.
- Gillian Bronte Adams, author of The Songkeeper Chronicles