Hallowed Harvest: Dark Urban Fantasy by M.G. Gallows

Author:M.G. Gallows [Gallows, M.G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: M.G. Gallows
Published: 2022-01-17T20:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-THREE

I awoke as the first light of dawn came through the window, and for once my body didn’t feel like cold gum stuck to someone’s boot. My stomach and head, on the other hand, weren’t quite so happy.

Too much yazri. Too much crow. Goddamn, did I eat that thing? Heart and all?

Madelyn snored against my chest. At some point in the night, she must have rolled over and put her ear against my heart. I made a face when I realized she was drooling on my shirt. I eased her off me, and she curled up under the blankets, muttering something about ‘shoelaces’. I piled the blankets over her and left her to sleep.

The house was cold enough to make me shiver. Normally, the house servants would have been busy warming the house up, filling fireplaces and getting breakfast prepared, but they were long gone. I went into the room I’d meant to sleep in, and slipped on my boots.

Outside, the bonfire was a pile of white ashen debris about the height of my shin. The Wolfpaws were up and about, taking anything useful to them from the house. Blankets, clothes, and food were the priorities. Iron blades and arrowheads were prized by the warriors.

Like a deer, I thought. Picking it clean.

Winter was awake, and looked as content as a lazy cat. She’d pulled on a pair of leggings and a shirt to go with her kilt and cloak. Pine had hitched the horses to two wagons, one claimed from the stables. The first had my stolen money. The second was being loaded with the scavenged goods.

“Good morrow,” I said.

“Sleep well?” Winter asked, when I approached.

“I think I drank too much wine,” I said. “I have… doubts about killing Bartley.”

She studied my face. “Why? He was vile.”

I nodded. “I don’t want to sound like I don’t trust your judgment. I wish I had proof of his deeds. It weighs on my conscience.”

She tilted her head. “You think us a pack of wild bandits?”

I looked at her, eye to eye. “Are you?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Careful what you say, gravedigger. Wolves don’t give empty howls.”

“If I have to dredge Bartley’s soul to ask him, what will he say?” I asked.

She blinked. “You can pluck souls from the Faraway?”

“Yes,” I lied. “Should I?”

She swallowed. “This bothers you so much?”

“It does,” I said. “And it bothers Madelyn. We’ve both killed before. I’ve killed cold before. But I want to know if the person I’m killing deserved it.”

She folded her arms. “Then cast that magic to the Faraway, and call on Redwood, and sister Sunperch. Ask them where the deer were six winters ago, when little Whistle-” she pointed at one of the older children eating honey and grain from a spoon. “Had only dinner of her mother’s tears. Ask Redwood why there be’s no broth for the young. No berries to keep mother’s teeth from bleeding. Ask Sunperch what she needs do to feeders her starving cubs!”

The anger flared, raw and wet, in her eyes.

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