The air was sharp with sweetness. The wagon plodded along in a slow and patient rhythm. Pike glanced back, eyeing Allen. Pike's blue beard was braided with charms shaped like fish. He wore a long slick yellow coat and shiny boots.

  “Ahoy, yer awake! That’s good lad.” He flicked the reins.

  Allen sat up, jolting forward when the wagon bumped. “Where am I?”

  “Harvest Hills, lad! Finally here, eh? Ye’re lucky I was comin’ back to Fishferry. Come see me sometime once ye’re done with the tutorial zone.”

  The left horse snorted.

  “Tutorial zone? Like a video game?”

  “I don’t know about any viddy ogaim, but Mayor Tallow believes Harvest Hills is a tutorial zone for new folks. Every year a few come in, like you Allen.”

  The road crested a low hill, past rolling farmland quilted in green and brown, with lazy stone fences. The air smelled of soil. In another valley there was a brick square with colored bricks in blue and red and yellow spread out like the sun. At its center a squat tower supported a massive blue bell.

  A few farmers hung around, carrying hoes and sickles. A kid chased a legged mushroom that fled with its little hands held up. The wagon left the square and shortly down a little bend in the road approached a hill. A two-story wooden building sat at its base with steam pouring from its chimney. Allen remembered what Pike had said about wooden construction.

  As they approached Pike said “Yah” and the horses stopped and huffed. Allen stepped out.

  “Are we visiting elves?!”

  “Nah, lad, that’s just for bridges, harharharh. I’ll be seein ya. Come by Fishferry some day and say ahoy. Oh, and one more thing. Don’t go out past the hills unless ye’re ready to fight a goose. Yah.”

  Pike Flatthook snapped the reins and his sleek blue wagon trotted off. The sound of its trundling quickly faded. The sign Allen turned to said Deepburrow Inn. An open door sunk into the hillside, with cool air and the smell of stone and soup spilt forth enticingly. In an apron a broad girl regarded him with her hands on her hips from just within.

  “I’m no elf.” She chuckled. “What’s your name, human boy?”

  “Allen Harvey.”

  When he said it, she took in her breath. “Harvey, huh? I’m Leyla Deepburrow. You’re really the next Harvest God?”

  “Harvest God!? What do you mean? I’m just here to visit my grandpa…”

  Leyla looked down. Her long brown hair was mostly in a bonnet, but some spilled out to cover her face. She looked back up at him. Her eyes were shining, and her nose quivered.

  “Come with me.” She took his hand and led him inside. Inside there was cool stone lit by lamplight, low-ceilinged with thick wooden beams and long tables worn smooth by years of elbows. She sat him down at the bar. A middle-aged lady came over. “Mom, this is Allen Harvey,” Leyla explained and that seemed to be enough information for her mom.

  Leyla’s mom came back soon enough while Leyla hovered over him.

  “Did you tell him?”

  Leyla shook his head. Allen suddenly noticed that her mom had long, droopy ears mixed into her brown hair. Beastfolk were common in the countryside, Allen had heard, but he’d never visited. Grandpa always came to visit us in Palestar.

  “Allen,” Leyla’s mom said, as Leyla placed a hand gingerly across his back, “I’m so sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but your grandpa died two weeks ago.”

  Allen blinked, and shook his head. He had been so focused on getting here…and now it was too late to help Grandpa? All that planning…

  “It’s good you came, though,” Leyla’s mom said. “The mayor is considering giving Winter Hill to another newbie, some guy named Jado, to fix it up. But there’s always been a Harvey working Winter Hill. It’s definitely yours.”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Mom,” Leyla said annoyedly. “Allen is surely famished after his trip, do you think you can get him some dinner?”

  “Of course dearie.”

  After she trotted off, Leyla huffed and sat briefly beside Allen. He could see now she was slightly leporine in the nose, and she had rabbit ears with dark downy fur carefully folded down into her hair, just like her mom. The ears blended in.

  He wanted to hold it in, but Allen felt two silent tears slide down his cheeks. “There, there,” Leyla comforted. “On the bright side I’m sure if he invited you it’s because he thinks you’ll be a great Harvest God!”

  “Thanks,” Allen managed as Leyla’s mom brought a steaming bowl of red soup. Allen’s hunger sharpened. She set a plate with a hunk of brown bread beside it.

  “It’s beef-and-veggie stew. Careful it’s hot.”

  “...I don’t have any money.”

  “This one’s on the house dearie,” Leyla’s mom said firmly. “I’m Fernie by the way. If you need anything else let me or Leyla know. She’s supposed to be working you know!”

  “Mom! If there are any other customers I’ll take care of them!”

  “It’s getting late you know! They’ll all be in from the fields soon enough, Leysa.”

  “MOM! I KNOW!!”

  Allen ate the stew greedily as they bickered. Leyla’s mom--Fernie--left soon enough. Leyla was able to settle down briefly beside him, speaking rapidly as he ate.

  “Most people who show up out of the blue like you are looking for a place to settle down. They try to claim a plot. So that guy Jado came by the other day and since the Harvey plot was open the mayor let him look around and stuff, but it’s not final. You should go see Mayor Tallow. He lives up on Star Hill.”

  “Yeaah, I guess,” Allen said, reflecting on the letter in his pocket. It didn’t quite say that he would inherit the hill. But he would definitely need to go see the mayor. He slurped up the rest of the soup.

  Allen did not seek out the mayor. Instead he went straight to what he’d been told of Winter Hill, which seemed to now perhaps be his to care for. He found the sign for it as promised as the most northernly hill in town. The terraces were partially collapsed, and what remained of the arable land was overgrown with weeds and bushes. As he approached the old farmhouse with its weathervane creaking in the wind at the top of the hill, he spotted a pitched tent in the cobbled driveway.

  He called out a greeting, and approached quietly. A figured emerged from the tent. A man, hard to fully grasp in shadow, emerged and strode to Allen suddenly as fluid as a cat.

  “Who are you?” Allen asked.

  “The mayor said I could have this land, perhaps, if that’s your accusation. It’s not settled yet, but--”

  “Sir, I mean no disrespect, but I am Heleo Harvey’s grandson.”

  The statement shut the man up entirely. His mouth snapped shut. Allen nodded.

  “I’m Allen Harvey. I intended to come here to help Grandpa, but being that he’s dead I’ll see to his farm now.”

  The man nodded. His skin was sallow, and his eyes danced like beetles in amber. He smiled innocently.

  “I am Jado. I grew up in Dappledale. My apologies Allen, as I did not know Heleo had a grandson. The mayor just thought someone might run the farm.”

  Jado began to pack his tent, and Allen watched him quietly. When he readied to leave shortly the two men stood in a patch of moonlight to say goodbye.

  “They might half-expect you at the Deepburrow Inn,” Allen admitted.

  Jado nodded, and clasped Allen in a firm handshake. “If you change your mind on this place, or if you need a hand, let me know, man.”

  As the dark-haired man Jado swaggered away, a voice behind Allen said quietly, Good work Grandson.

  “What!?” Allen jumped and looked back.

  A bald, translucent ghost with a whisp of hair like a candle’s flame regarded him. Its bottom half swirled into ectoplasm. It was, however, clearly his Grandpa! Allen’s face brightened in recognition. “Grandpa!!” He went for a hug, but found nothing.

  Sorry Grandson. It’s a little late for that. Good work getting that guy out of here, though. I don’t know what it is exactly, but I don’t like him. He was snooping around these last few days. More than he admits to to the villagers, I wager. He went in my tomb!!!

  “That's kinda where I want to go,” Allen admitted. “But I guess you’re right here.”

  You’re damn right! No one wants to go to the moldy old tomb, just let the moths have it. We’ve got a lot to do Allen. All right, first things first. There’s a bit of unfinished business to attend to…can you go pick something up for me? It’s just a bit north, toward the meadow…

  “Yes, Grandpa,” Allen said dutifully. “What am I looking for?”

  Oh, it’s an old teardrop pendant I used to have. It’s embarrassing to say, but I was wrangling a wild boar down there when I croaked, and it seems nobody found it so its probably still laying out there.

  With Grandpa floating behind him for guidance, Allen made his way down the north face of the hill, toward the plains that stretched to the north of Harvest Hills. At the bottom of the hill, he found that his feet weren’t working. He could not take a single step beyond the hill. He could lift his foot, but he couldn’t even extend it past the hill. He just couldn’t.

  “Grandpa? For some reason I’m not able to move forward…”

  Hoho, as I suspected! Your conversation with that squatter had all the elements of a Sacred Vow. You’re a Harvest God!