Bloodmoon (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 2) by Ben Galley Page B

those that ain’t are too expensive, even with what we have left from Fell Falls. Damn Fae, hiding that Hoard Rhin stole ‘em.’
    Merion kicked the dust. ‘Right, well. What’s next? Horses?’
    ‘All bought up by these homesteaders and soldiers,’ Lurker replied.
    ‘Ponies?’
    ‘Them too.’
    ‘Carriages?’
    ‘None to be found.’
    ‘Taken by all the rich folks of the town, most likely. Don’t want to wait around for the Buffalo Snake to get ‘ere,’ Lurker grumbled.
    ‘Well, that’s just great,’ Merion hissed. ‘Looks like we’re walking, then.’
    Lilain grimaced ever so slightly, but held her tongue. Though Merion had already noticed her expression. ‘Are you struggling?’
    His aunt almost managed to look offended. ‘I’ve been worse, Nephew. Don’t you worry about me.’
    ‘Lurker?’
    ‘Mmm,’ was all he got in the way of an answer. Merion nodded towards the eastern horizon, and readjusted his hat over his sweaty head. He relished the idea of walking about as much as the next, but his stubbornness was already pulling at his tired feet, urging them onwards. The east called to him.
    ‘Walking it is then,’ he said, and started walking. His aunt and the prospector followed, but at a slower pace. Before long he was several yards ahead, as if he were leading a pair of recalcitrant goats through the wilderness.
    They reached the outskirts of Cheyenne in no time at all, and were faced with yet another stretch of empty desert reaching towards the horizon. A few distant mountains shivered in the heat haze, but apart from those, and the few patches of prairie clinging to life here and there, their world was as barren as ever. Merion held back a sigh, picturing the spires of London in his head.
    A single building sat between them and the wilds, as though it had been shunned by the town. It was a small church with a half-finished steeple, clad in white wood panels and thick with sand. A few gravestones sat in the dirt around it like broken teeth. An odd welcome indeed.
    When Merion turned back to check on the others, he found Lilain was squinting at the church, obviously curious. She started walking towards it, and Merion followed, his own curiosity simmering away.
    The path led them on a curving route past the church’s door before wandering off into the wilds. They stared down at the gravestones as they passed each one. Only when they reached the final gravestone did Lilain stop in her tracks, lean on her crutch and point at its gnarled face, where a strange yet familiar shape had been carved into it. ‘Recognise that?’ she asked her nephew. Merion’s heart performed a somersault.
    ‘The Scarlet Star.’
    He moved in close to get a better look at the symbol on the stone. He was right: carved into the face of the gravestone was the six-pointed star of bloodrushing.
    ‘What on earth? Does that mean …?’
    ‘It may just do.’ Lilain was already walking towards the door. If Merion had followed any closer he might as well have sat on her bony shoulders.
    Inside, the air was cool. Sunlight streamed in from the gaps in the roof and the high windows, catching dust motes in the air, stealing form and flesh from them. There were three rows of benches before them, attentively facing a pulpit marked with the hammer of the Maker.
    ‘Would a bloodletter really live in a church?’ he whispered, not wanting to break the silence of the place. Lurker lingered in the doorway, a dark silhouette against the bright light of noon.
    ‘I’ve known stranger,’ muttered Lilain.
    ‘Stranger than what, may I ask?’ a voice piped up, startling them. An elderly woman stepped out from beside the pulpit and walked forwards. Her hands were clasped behind her back, and she wore a long brown robe with a purple cord holding it together at the waist. Her hair was thin, finer than cobweb, and white as milk. It was tied back and fell in a ponytail down her back. Her face seemed kind enough, littered as it was with deep