Read Online Bloodmoon (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 2) by Ben Galley - Free Book Online
Authors: Ben Galley
Tags: Fiction
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pox scars from years long forgotten.
‘Stranger places for churches,’ Lilain told her, and stuck out a hand. The woman raised an eyebrow and moved to clasp it. Merion watched on, confused.
Whatever happened when they touched hands, it caused the old woman’s eyebrow to climb higher. ‘What colour is blood?’ she asked, quietly.
Lilain smiled. ‘There are many shades.’
Merion had removed his hat, and was busy scratching his head. ‘Would anybody like to tell me what exactly is going on, please?’
The old woman beat his aunt to the answer. ‘Secret handshakes and riddles, my boy. It’s how bloodrushing stays alive,’ she said.
Merion rolled his eyes. Yet another person in this godforsaken country that had a penchant for calling him ‘boy’.
‘I see. So you’re a letter as well?’
The woman shook her head. ‘Oh my, no,’ she replied. ‘I’ve never had the stomach for it.’
Lilain might have stood a little straighter, it was hard to tell. ‘A fixer then,’ she stated. The old woman nodded.
‘A fixer, and what is that?’ Merion asked. He heard boots behind him. It was Lurker, who stared at his surroundings with a wrinkle on his brow. He was not a fan of the Maker’s churches. Suffice to say, he was not a fan of the Maker at all.
‘A fixer. One that sells, instead of lets. Have any magpie blood, Ma’am?’ Lurker got straight to the point.
The old woman smacked her gums, which Merion was not surprised to see were missing a few teeth. ‘Averine,’ she said, introducing herself. ‘Averine Vermillion. And I’ll have to take a look, Mister, if that’s what you’re after.’
‘Others as well,’ Merion butted in.
Averine squinted at him. ‘For you, boy?’
‘For both of us,’ Merion replied, smiling politely.
Averine hummed. ‘If you have the coins, I have the shades.’ She bent a finger towards them and led them down the aisle. She clicked her fingers, and a small boy, a few years younger than Merion and skinnier than a sapling, stepped out from a hidden alcove with a short rifle. His freckled face was pale and unsure. ‘It’s fine, Rump, they’re friends. Put it down, for Maker’s sake,’ Averine told him, and the boy did as he was told, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. His eyes flicked to Merion, and stuck there.
Averine was already fiddling with something beneath the seat of the front bench. It sounded like a latch or a lock. With a little grunt, she lifted up the seat top and gestured for Lilain and Lurker to have a look.
‘Here we are, this is all I have in,’ she said, almost apologetic. She retreated, gesturing for Rump to come and stand by her side.
Merion stared down into the hollow bench, where little bottles rubbed shoulders, the colours masked by a thin film of dust. Some sported labels whilst others had a word or two scratched into the glass. Merion’s heart was not sure whether it wanted to sink or soar. This was certainly no hidden room in a Fell Falls basement. Maybe a score and a half of shades at the most.
‘And nobody in your congregation suspects you’re hiding blood in the benches?’ he queried.
‘They might if’n I had one, young man,’ she said finally. ‘I get the occasional wanderer, comin’ in to relieve their guilt. Couple of words here and there, that’s all the religion this town needs.’
‘That’s all it should ever be,’ muttered Lurker, as he rifled through the bottles. Merion and Lilain stood a little further back, letting the prospector look first. His hands were shaking ever so slightly. There might have been more sweat on his brow than usual. His leather coat creaked as he moved back and forth.
‘What’s that say?’ he held up a bottle with a label written in a strange script.
‘Slow-worm,’ Lilain informed him.
Averine picked at her nails. ‘Sanguine. Never been able to read it.’
‘Hmph,’ Lurker grunted.
It took him several minutes to find it: a small fat-bottomed bottle with the word
‘Stranger places for churches,’ Lilain told her, and stuck out a hand. The woman raised an eyebrow and moved to clasp it. Merion watched on, confused.
Whatever happened when they touched hands, it caused the old woman’s eyebrow to climb higher. ‘What colour is blood?’ she asked, quietly.
Lilain smiled. ‘There are many shades.’
Merion had removed his hat, and was busy scratching his head. ‘Would anybody like to tell me what exactly is going on, please?’
The old woman beat his aunt to the answer. ‘Secret handshakes and riddles, my boy. It’s how bloodrushing stays alive,’ she said.
Merion rolled his eyes. Yet another person in this godforsaken country that had a penchant for calling him ‘boy’.
‘I see. So you’re a letter as well?’
The woman shook her head. ‘Oh my, no,’ she replied. ‘I’ve never had the stomach for it.’
Lilain might have stood a little straighter, it was hard to tell. ‘A fixer then,’ she stated. The old woman nodded.
‘A fixer, and what is that?’ Merion asked. He heard boots behind him. It was Lurker, who stared at his surroundings with a wrinkle on his brow. He was not a fan of the Maker’s churches. Suffice to say, he was not a fan of the Maker at all.
‘A fixer. One that sells, instead of lets. Have any magpie blood, Ma’am?’ Lurker got straight to the point.
The old woman smacked her gums, which Merion was not surprised to see were missing a few teeth. ‘Averine,’ she said, introducing herself. ‘Averine Vermillion. And I’ll have to take a look, Mister, if that’s what you’re after.’
‘Others as well,’ Merion butted in.
Averine squinted at him. ‘For you, boy?’
‘For both of us,’ Merion replied, smiling politely.
Averine hummed. ‘If you have the coins, I have the shades.’ She bent a finger towards them and led them down the aisle. She clicked her fingers, and a small boy, a few years younger than Merion and skinnier than a sapling, stepped out from a hidden alcove with a short rifle. His freckled face was pale and unsure. ‘It’s fine, Rump, they’re friends. Put it down, for Maker’s sake,’ Averine told him, and the boy did as he was told, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. His eyes flicked to Merion, and stuck there.
Averine was already fiddling with something beneath the seat of the front bench. It sounded like a latch or a lock. With a little grunt, she lifted up the seat top and gestured for Lilain and Lurker to have a look.
‘Here we are, this is all I have in,’ she said, almost apologetic. She retreated, gesturing for Rump to come and stand by her side.
Merion stared down into the hollow bench, where little bottles rubbed shoulders, the colours masked by a thin film of dust. Some sported labels whilst others had a word or two scratched into the glass. Merion’s heart was not sure whether it wanted to sink or soar. This was certainly no hidden room in a Fell Falls basement. Maybe a score and a half of shades at the most.
‘And nobody in your congregation suspects you’re hiding blood in the benches?’ he queried.
‘They might if’n I had one, young man,’ she said finally. ‘I get the occasional wanderer, comin’ in to relieve their guilt. Couple of words here and there, that’s all the religion this town needs.’
‘That’s all it should ever be,’ muttered Lurker, as he rifled through the bottles. Merion and Lilain stood a little further back, letting the prospector look first. His hands were shaking ever so slightly. There might have been more sweat on his brow than usual. His leather coat creaked as he moved back and forth.
‘What’s that say?’ he held up a bottle with a label written in a strange script.
‘Slow-worm,’ Lilain informed him.
Averine picked at her nails. ‘Sanguine. Never been able to read it.’
‘Hmph,’ Lurker grunted.
It took him several minutes to find it: a small fat-bottomed bottle with the word
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