Sith of Time

Chapter 4: Search Party

Mercy Hall

She rises then grabs the stalk lodged in her thigh. Though pain engulfs her body, she grits her teeth and, with a huff, pulls the arrow free. Her vision blackens, but at least this time, the weapon remains intact.

A steady trickle of blood oozes from the shallow wound.

Don't falter now. Freedom equates to avenging the wrongs, or so her brother would say.

She slows her breathing, focusing on calming her racing twin hearts.

Aye, death won't come easy for those who spilled the life essence of blood today. Nay, she'll see to it personally.

Shoulders back, she flexes her wings.

Mercy launches into the air. A low-lying current shoots her upward. She fights to stay airborne.

A canopy of interwoven tree limbs rush to meet her.

This isn't happening. Wake up. It's just a dream.

Squaring her shoulders, she spins to miss a tree. Wings extended, she glides up the length of a mammoth trunk. Her foot clips a branch. Tumbling, head over heels, she's sucked into the thicket below.

Vines bigger around than her fingers ensnare her.

Meelo peeks from the pouch at her hip then scurries out. He chirps while clinging to a thin branch.

Clawing at the vegetation, vine by vine, she liberates her body. Once released, she free falls and slams into the leaf-covered soil.

A solid pop, followed by a jolt of pain in her shoulder, takes her breath away.

Okay, perchance, it wasn't the brightest idea to s***h the vines.

Rolling onto her back, she takes on her human form and stares at the night sky.

Traces of the blood moon stream through the interlaced crown of trees. Fleeing from the king's guards isn't how she had envisioned the eve of her birthday.

She draws in a deep breath then skims a hand over her shoulder. Her hand, wet with blood glistens in the moonlight.

"Well, at least, nothing's deformed or out of place," she says, half-heartedly to Meelo, who chirps, again.

Mercy wipes the blood on her pants, rotates her wounded arm, checking the range of motion, then winces.

Pain dulls her vision. Her surroundings spin.

Decaying leaves squish under her. Moisture seeps into the fabric of her pants, chilling her legs.

Focus and breathe, she says to herself. Come on. You can do this.

After taking several gulps of air, she grabs the thin trunk of a sapling. Slowly, she hauls herself to her feet. Head spinning, she quickly drops to her knees.

By the gods, can it get any worse?

Her ears twitch then perk. The forest doesn't sound right. It's quiet, too quiet.

She calls on her inner gargouille. Her hearing and vision intensify tenfold.

To her left, a rabbit in the bushes stops gnawing on a parsnip. In the tree overhead, a perched white owl grooms its feathers.

In the distance, horse hooves pound the ground. The sound of men on foot pulsates in her ears.

They're gaining ground.

"Get up," she says, barely above a whisper.

Overhead, Meelo chirps a series of high-pitched warnings.

"Okay, I hear you." Rising, Mercy cradles her arm to her chest. She tracks Meelo's movement from one tree to another. After coming full circle, he stops where he started and chirps again.

The yelps of dogs carry on the winds blowing from the north.

"Great, just what I needed, more hell hounds."

She huffs hair out of her face then makes her way up an incline.

"Meelo, we're going south."

Glancing at the interwoven limbs, she catches flashes of her little friend keeping pace with her.

At the top of the muddy mound, the entrance of a cave comes into view. Hand over hand, she climbs the rocky formation, ignoring the throb in her shoulder. Slowly, she makes her way to the opening.

She stares at the blood-tinged mud covering her hands - her blood.

The hounds, she sighs, it won't take them long to sniff out the scent of fresh blood.

It'll lead them straight to her. She can't stay. And she can't fly, not with her injured shoulder.

Mercy glances at the vegetation, which offers little in the way of sanctuary. River water, crimson from the blood moon, shimmers in the darkness. Drawing in a deep breath, she plunges into its dark depths.

A fixed sting pulses at the location of her shoulder wound.

Ignore it, she scolds herself, it'll go away.

But the nagging sensation continues to grow with each stroke. She hits a swirling section of water, and the undertow drags her to the bed of the channel.

She struggles against the current for several seconds before turning around.

Downstream will produce better time, she reasons with herself, plus, it'll place less stress on my shoulder.

About every fifty yards, Mercy surfaces for a breath. She samples the night air for humans. The undertow takes her back to the edge of the castle grounds, the one place she can hide that her pursuers won't suspect.

The narrow channel opens, and the rapid flow of water pulls at her body. Breaking the surface, she makes her way to the bank and grabs a vine to pull herself out.

Trudging along another incline, her feet sink into a mixture of mud and leaves, slowing her progress. Each step produces a slurping, sucking sound.

On top of a small hill in the royal garden, stands an old tree growing in the pond.

A wave of vertigo hits, and she staggers into the knotted, twisted trunk. Holding onto the bark, she tries to expel the fuzzy sensation swimming through her brain.

That's odd, she thinks to herself. The tree's feels warm under Mercy's chilled hands.

She skims her fingers over the knotted bark. It's pitted, yet smooth to the touch.

A fracture in the trunk draws her attention.

Peering into the fissure, she finds the opening runs from the first main branch to below the surface of the water and measures more than five feet around.

She slips inside the crack and floats in the pond water. The cool liquid embraces her weightless frame. Her body cools, and her vision grows crisp and clear, signaling her beast is upon her once more.

Concentrating on her surroundings, she forces her skin to take on a silvery blue coloration, matching the water around her.

Eyes wide with fear, she stares out into the garden landscape.

A small head pops up, making her jump. Two button-sized eyes hold her gaze.

"There you are, my little fur ball." Mercy's vision doubles. The trees, vegetation, and water, all swirl around her. "I thought I'd lost you, too."

Meelo zips through the crack and curls around her neck.

"Don't worry, I've got you." She focuses on calming her pounding twin hearts. "I won't let anyone hurt you." Her eyes brim with tears. "I promise."

Wildlife chirps in her ears like an orchestra.

The heavy-laden steps of King Alexander's guards trample the grounds outside of the castle walls. And the yelps of the hounds draw closer. Every movement they make pounds in her head. She cups her ears and wills the sounds to dissipate.

They won't quit searching, the thought makes her shiver, because the king won't stop.

The coppery aroma of blood fills her nose. It's not just hers. She can smell her brother's life essence mixed with hers, which means, the hunting dogs can as well.

Images of her mother, sire, and brother flash through her mind. Tears emerge from the corners of her lids.

"Please, Gods of the new and old," she skims a hand over the smooth surface of the tree, "help me. I don't know what to do." Tears stream across her cheeks.

Words whisper in the recesses of her mind, 'Are you sad?'

She whips her head side to side, then swivels around, but no one is there.

'Be you lonely?'

They're not her words, they're foreign but, yet they're oddly familiar.

'To my words, listen ever so closely.'

They offer a sliver of comfort in the darkness.