What Feasts at Night (Sworn Soldier, #2)

by T. Kingfisher

Imagine if an architect wanted to re-create Budapest, but on a shoestring budget and without any of the convenient flat bits. While fighting wolves.)

I’m keeping is what we say in Gallacia to any such inquiry, and it covers such a broad range as to convey no information whatsoever. It can mean “I am filled with unspeakable joy, my gout is cured, and angels attend my every step,” or it can mean “a bear just ripped my leg off and I am, at this moment, bleeding out, but please don’t make a fuss.” Either way, you’re keeping.

“You know. From the old stories. The mare, the hag, the old woman that lives behind the woodpile?”

This triplet -- the first two are just forgettable, but the third just grabs me.

the tones of one prepared to pronounce blood feud on an entire family, down to the smallest baby in the cradle.

Bors would stop work for an hour when the sun was high, to avoid the attentions of the Noon Witch.

Now, you and I know there's no such thing as the Noon Witch, but the fact that Bors follows this tradition tells us a LOT about him, doesn't it?

I’ve always had a soft spot for Finns. Some claim they’re unfriendly, but every one that I’ve ever met has been quite pleasant, if reserved. They have the quiet confidence of a people who know that, at any moment, they could strap on skis, go into the woods, and take out an entire squad of enemy soldiers before anyone knows they’re there.

That third sentence summarizes everything I've ever read or learned about the Winter War.

You hear a lot of stories from the line. Most of them are bullshit. You can usually tell because those are the ones that are all about ghosts and miracles and the Blessed Virgin putting Her hand in the way of a shell. They’re tidy. They wrap everything up in a neat little bow, complete with punch line. The ones you believe are the ones that aren’t tidy. The ones that make no sense. Like one that Birdy told me, about the shepherd’s hut. There was nobody alive in that hut, ka told me. It was one room and there was nowhere to hide. Birdy had shoulders like an ox and an imagination to match, and ka walked through that hut and walked out again, and swore on the grave of kan grandmother that it took an hour to cross that bare floor and someone sang lullabies the entire time. I believed it. I’ve never seen anyone so embarrassed to make a report and so determined to speak the truth anyway. You want to say that it was battle nerves or soldier’s heart, go ahead if it makes you feel better. There are too many stories like that and people are embarrassed to tell them.

The bizarreness of this story makes it so creepy. I know we've just been set up here, but still, it's genuinely upsetting.