“Old Betsy” by Allan Harbour
The shadows woke, gathering around her like snakes.
Rise to our American Pride, painting by Allan Harbour
Paintings by Allan
Dementia often occurred in the final stages of Lud Sellum poisoning and Elymas wondered if this was happening to him.
He’d drank too much and too quickly. Had he really seen a woman sporting a boar’s head enter the door?
Elymas had sent the poison in a silver chalice on a silver tray.
Lud Sellum was not a tonic, but a plant. Rare and precious.
The donkey hadn’t responded to the whip, so it had been a slow journey.
The murders had been simple. He’d added ten drops to the good and the Warrior King, invincible in battle, had passed.
Bread of Angels, Lead us where we are heading.
She glanced at the statue that had consumed flesh of her flesh and knew she’d earned her reward.
To say she’d hated her son was an understatement. She saw traces of not one, but three men.
The bodies of the dead were gathered daily and dumped like soft fruit on Carrion Hill, where the crows were fat and patient.
The girl was used to abuse, yet the man riding the destrier sensed defiance as well.
Remembering the Fallen.
“Blooming West Virginia”
PAINTING BY ALLAN.
Rizla flew in an indigo cloud and rejoiced at the gift of flight. Flight was the gift she cherished.
Suga suspected she’d stood before the Laughing Mask. If so, he didn’t want to dwell on what Rizla had suffered beforehand.
‘Mistakes,” she flinched. “Once the spirit is in the Blue Bottle, the Tu’el will forget about those.”
Suga stalled by kissing the top of her head. Rizla didn’t approve of his outside friendships.He wanted Gustie to live.
Bridon can’t be bought.
“I will begin as a serving girl. Big eyes, poorly clad. His tongue is rough with women and his anger will stoke mine.”
A feral nature lucked beneath her beautiful face, a twisted spirit clothed in magnificent skin.
Quinn heard the familiar drag. Elymas was descending, favoring his lame foot.
With care, Quinn had painted “Flight” on his refurbished boat.
Quinn wasn’t destined to live in a kingly palace, but he could smell rain.
Every morning since I can remember, I wake up to two things: light and pain. Sometimes, the pain makes me cry.
The Earth Skyll’s voice boomed across the yard. The stallion raised its head in alarm.
The game of rulla meant everything and nothing. No one who’d ever rolled against Elymas had won.
“Do not come to me smelling of offal,” Elymas shouted. “Wash yourself!”
Guest Blog: Paintings by Allan
“What was the prophecy?” demanded Elymas.
“Euli said that I would walk the Shining Road,” the boy replied.
In Sartone’s day, he’d favored green, now Elymas wore a deep red, darker than the Sacred Servants.
Amil, the fattest of the lot, had been sweating profusely, large damp spots under each arm and a river running down his temples.
Quinn had a rusk sack fill with the best his poor village could offer. So proud of him they were.
Oren knew from experience that two of his ribs were broken and his fingers had been stomped.
Soon, Mirella would be all he knew of a mother, and she barely remembered her own.
Agnes has had some bad news. She feels gutted, as though all of her soft parts are in the scrap pan, waiting for the dog.
“The King steps closer to death every day. Some are big steps, others small. The tips of his fingers are black now.”
“Where have you been? There’s blood on your hem!”
“Then you have no choice,” said Nan Maura softly. “Or only one.
“Which of us, having been touched by the God-hand, can bear it? It is like fire.”
The message was brief and startling. “She is a witch,” sprawled a masculine hand, “Burn her.”
“There is no peace. Soon the boy will walk. What then?”
First, she’d fed the boy.
No ice flowed in her veins.