Hallowed Ground by David Niall Wilson, Steven & Wilson Savile

considering the man's words, "I see what you mean.   I have no such scrap of dead tree to bind my bargain in blood.   I come from an earlier time, a time of honor.   In that day, a man – or woman – spoke their truth, and they stood behind it.   The words were enough to bind.   I thought you'd remember."
    The stranger looked at Jeanne Dubois as if seeing her for the first time.   After a moment, his empty smile returned, and he bowed.
    Something yanked Benjamin downward with incredible force.   He clung to the witch's wrist, unable to scream.   He was buried to his waist in the packed dirt of the road and sinking.   She held him fast.
    "It has been a long time," the dark man said.
    "It will be a long time again, I think," Jeanne replied.   She did not smile.
    In that instant, everything shifted.   Jeanne yanked back on Benjamin's arm, and there was a wet, tearing sound.   In that same instant, fast as a snake, she snatched at the contract in the dark stranger's hand.   He moved – and he was fast – but she owned the grace and speed of moonlight.
    He stepped into shadows.   The raven took flight in a screaming cacophony of flapping wings and screeching, raucous caws.   The contract tore.   It was not a clean tear. It started at the edge of the page and ripped a jagged line at an angle downward, splitting the signature cleanly.
    Benjamin saw none of this.   He stared down at where his torso had once joined his legs. Bone and gristle, flesh and dripping blood trailed away toward the yawning hole where his legs had disappeared.   He tried to scream but sucked blood and air into disassociated lungs.
    Jeanne's image flickered, shifted, and again there was a sickening wrench as she drove her legs, now talons, into the soil and kicked into flight.   Bright, silvery wings spread out to either side.   She whirled in that instant, latched onto Benjamin's ruined form and soared.   Within seconds she cleared the tops of the nearest trees and was gone.
    The dark stranger stood at the crossroads, staring after her.   The ground had drawn in and sealed itself.   He stood still as a statue, and then, from deep inside his thin, powerful frame, laughter burst forth.   It didn't start slowly and build, but rolled out like thunder.   The frost, which had momentarily warmed and begun to melt, became a sheet of solid, crystal ice that coated ground and trees.   The sound of his laughter cracked it, and everything near him shattered, falling away as so much frigid dust.
    Carefully, he rolled the torn contract.   He leaned and shot his hand into the earth with no more effort than that of a child sticking his hand into a snow drift.   He pulled free a long, slender tube, and slid the document inside.   When it was sealed, he tucked it under his jacket, turned, and walked away down one of the crossed trails.   As he reached the edge of the shadows of the first great trees, he began to fade from sight.   A few paces more, and he had disappeared completely.   Only the dusting of frost, and a fallen quill, carved from a raven's feather, marked his passing.
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    As if waking from a dream, Mariah became aware of the fire, still crackling in front of her.   The day had passed.   The shadow of the wagon had grown long and engulfed them, only to disappear as it neared the blaze.   Balthazar sat beside her, hands steepled and an odd, contemplative expression masking his angular features.   He'd fallen silent.   Or…she shook her head, confused.   Had he even spoken?
    "That can't be all," she said.   She found her throat dry again.   Was it possible they'd sat there through the afternoon, and the early evening?   Could it be night?   She reached out and picked up her drink.   It was still cold.
    "No story is ever truly over," Balthazar said.   He sat up straighter, unfolded his hands, and