Forbidden Blood

A quiet blanket of twilight had pulled over the Northlands.  Marissa paced next to the tunnel outlet.

Several times she glanced up and down the curving main trail and then into the eastern sky, where the nearly full Roseate peeked low through the foliage.  Soon, the gates would be secured against the night, and although a prior request to her father to be left alone for the remainder of the evening would keep Abigale from her bedchamber door, Marissa knew she had been waiting much too long.

Her fingers drummed against the stone slab.  “Come, Tayib,” she whispered, and scanned the pathway yet another time.  “Where are you?”

She had sought him out before the border patrol, to which he had recently been assigned, set out at early evening; the need to unburden her mind of uncomfortable thoughts away from the townspeople, who craved any excuse for talebearing, had gotten weighty.  “Slip away,” she had whispered to him, “and meet me at our rock, I have something important to tell you.”  But wary of getting him in trouble, she had not waited for Tayib’s response and had only seen confusion pass over his face before she scurried away.

She crossed her arms and slumped in resentment.  “And he claims that I’d forgotten about him?”  She glowered.  “As if it’s any easier for me to sneak away.”

A sharp crack and a high, eerie howl made her jump and twist round.  Her startled gaze searched the moon-dappled forestland; a writhing form caught her eye, desperate snarls caught her ear.  She gasped and stiffened, a startled cry stuck in her throat.

There, beyond the rivulet where the border met the Unclaimed Lands, staggered a hulking figure with a horned head that whipped and cracked against the surrounding trees.  Deluges of silvery leaves shaken from high, shuddering branches cascaded down and across its broad shoulders and disheveled ebony pelt like improper adornments.  Claws dug at the fur of a raised leg; a thin, tufted tail flicked.

Marissa whimpered and shrunk against the rock and into the thickets.  She dared not breathe as the creature twisted and moaned a mere stone’s throw from her.  But the beast, instead of discerning her scent and driving her from the underbrush, turned and limped away into the depths of the woodland.

A still moment passed.  Marissa stared at where the beast had been, its crackling retreat through the forest growing more distant, and felt a breeze swirl close to her ear.  Her brow creased, then she shifted her gaze skyward with a frown.  It sounded as though the wind had whispered.

She shook her head, believing she had been mistaken, but the breeze swelled again, more insistent, and fluttered strands of her hair against her face.  A prickle skittered across the nape of her neck.  Her eyes darted toward the Unclaimed Lands.  Already, a peculiar urge had swallowed her apprehension and filled her with an undue determination, though she hesitated still, her rational mind refusing her carelessness.

Then all at once, Marissa gasped at the sudden gust that rustled the thickets and the hem of her skirt, played against her back and shoulders like spectral fingers.  A haunting word enfolded around her, came at her from all directions; it echoed out from the tunnel, hissed down from the leaves, grew from within her own thoughts—follow, it said.  Follow . . . follow. . .

The wind died.  Marissa startled, now overcome with an outlandish desire to shadow after the creature.

She crawled from the thickets, glanced up the pathway, and then padded down the gradual slope to the rivulet, where she leapt along slick stones just above the surface.  Her mind focused upon the lumbering noise ahead, she silenced her footfalls as best she could.  But just as she lit upon the last stone, a whirl of thoughts sent a shiver through her.  What was she doing, chasing after this creature through a deadly line of traps? Was she mad? Mad? Vulnerable, was what she was.  Vulnerable and stupid.

Stricken with the impulse to flee, Marissa pivoted, then flinched as a brisk wind huffed into her face.  She slipped and pitched backward, splashed into the stream, knocked against the rise of the sodden bank, then heard an abrupt rustle and a sharp snort ahead of her.  She twisted onto her front, flattened to the ground, cringed, and slowly looked up.

Several paces beyond the nearby border, the figure had turned to lift its long snout and pull in short, quick breaths.  A wandering gaze drifted through the shadowy forest toward her.  Marissa went rigid, willed herself to sink into the forest floor.

But the creature’s futile inspection passed over her without pause and, at last, the beast grunted and turned to shamble off once more.  Marissa closed her eyes and exhaled, then hastened up the bank and into the shelter of darkness, where she settled in behind nearby thickets to peer through slits between.

The beast, having barely retreated much farther itself, gave a deep moan and sagged to the ground to gnaw at its leg.  Each yank tightened its face in a bestial wince, clumps of torn and bloodied pelt spat into an untidy heap.  A black secretion oozed from its exposed reddened flesh.  Moonlight through the leaves above glinted against something imbedded within.  Marissa’s hand clapped over her mouth.  The barbs of a snare drew forth its blood.

Cruel indeed!

At last, the beast gave in and pulled back with a sharp snort and a brisk shake of its head.  Then it slumped forward, stretched its chin against the forest floor, and tucked its clawed hands beneath the tuft of dangling pelt over its eyes.  It rumbled, long and low, wretched and defeated.

Marissa, concealed by shadows and footfalls silent against the moss, edged northward into the light breeze, her ear kept close for sounds of the creature’s movement.

At the border, she halted and her gaze wandered over the bright speckles of light upon the ground.  In front of her lay scattered the traps that refused her departure, with their menacing glints and wide-open jaws, and dared her to violate their stolid regulation in a reckless haste.  She chose a deliberate path, one clear enough and wide enough, then crept in.

Her feet padded, her arms extended to keep balance, her gaze darted time and again toward the dark form still lying motionless several paces away.  Always a stride ahead, she eyed the traps to avoid disrupting them.  Yet, just at the outer rim of the line, Marissa felt her toe stub against something cold and hard hidden beneath low thicket branches.

She froze.  The trap quivered a moment, but sensed no further movement, nothing to bite, and fell undisturbed once again.  Heart pounding, Marissa withdrew her careless foot, leapt clear, and hurried into the Unclaimed Lands.

Crouched behind a broad tree, Marissa observed the silent beast, whose pelted legs stretched toward her, its snout pointed into the tepid breeze.  Had it not been for the ferocity of the raw wound and the bite of the snare against its flesh, the beast’s rest, draped beneath a dim blanket of illusory tranquility, could have been mistaken for a peaceful slumber.

She had to get closer.

Marissa tucked the full of her skirt into one hand and began to crawl through wide spaces between the underbrush.  She stopped countless times to listen, to watch, to see if the beast heard her quiet approach, then continued with her slow advancement when it did not move.

Near the cloven hooves, she paused to lean forward and examine the wound.  There, spotted with dark blood, the snare’s latch glared at her.  And dared her to release it.

She glanced up at the beast’s head and heard the wind sigh swells of encouragement.  Her eyes drifted back to the latch and slowly, very slowly, she reached out a shaking hand.

The beast’s tail twitched.  Marissa recoiled.  The breeze whispered.  Now, it said, now.  She bit her lip.  Now . . .

Her hand darted out.  Her fingers twisted the latch.  With a sharp crack and twang, the snare sprung into the air and vanished into the dark.

The beast roared and writhed upward.  Marissa shrieked and reeled backward into a tree.

All at once, thick, tapered horns hemmed her in on both sides; a heaving chest and flaring nostrils blew searing breath against her face; emerald eyes glowered with a hostile stillness.  From the corners of her vision, Marissa saw clawed hands flex and raise.  Her heart seized in her tightened throat.

The beast leaned closer.  With a whimper, Marissa pressed against the bole, fearing death at its most gruesome and brutal, bloody and violent.  But instead, she watched the creature close its eyelids, heard it inhale.  Then it rumbled, soft and light, drew back with lowered claws, and opened its slit-pupil eyes once more.

“I know your scent,” it said in a clear and resonant voice, “and I have been searching for you.  At last we meet.”

Marissa gaped.  Then bolted.

Across the border in bounds of recklessness she ran, where startled traps leapt to life with vicious snaps.  She screamed, dodged, shielded her head and face, splashed through the rivulet and stumbled up the trail.

The crest of the southeastern hill, then the narrow vale and its stream, flew by.  Meadow flowers blurred in the moons’ light.  With panic-stricken glances over her shoulder, Marissa threw herself against the wooden gates and pounded.

The latches slid back, the entrance creaked open.

Marissa knocked Kahlil aside, strained to shut the heavy door behind her, and returned the bolts.  Her forehead fell against the wood, her stunned gaze wandered, her rough breaths spread a dull ache into her chest.

“It—couldn’t—have spoken,” she whispered between gasps.  “It’s—not—possible.”

“Heir Marissa?”

She blinked and looked to the door sentry, whose face wore a mask of confusion.

“What were you doing outside the gates?” he asked.

Her eyes flicked to Kahlil.

“I allowed her passage earlier,” he said.  The sentry scowled in disapproval, but Kahlil only shrugged.  “She was within her rights, even the patrol hadn’t returned yet.”

“Say nothing of this,” Marissa said with an outthrust finger to the second sentry, “or I’ll have your rank pulled.”

The startled sentry withdrew.  “Yes, heir Marissa,” he said, then shuffled to the side and turned away, disgruntled.

Kahlil pulled her from the doors.  “What happened?” he said.  “I was nearly ready to go out there to search for you.”

“I thought—” Marissa glanced at the gates, then to her feet.  “I thought I heard something in the woods.”

“Heard something? You mean—” Kahlil tossed a brief look to other guard, then leaned closer, his voice a hushed breath, “The beast?”

“It—” she shook her head, “it was most likely nothing.”  A weak laugh escaped her lips.  “Perhaps just the wind playing upon imagined fears.”

Kahlil’s eyebrows raised.  “Your father says we can’t be too careful.”  Then he turned her hand over and made a face.  “What’s this?”

She stared, numbed by the smeared, sticky blackness that glared at her like a deadened hole in her palm.  Forbidden blood.

“I don’t know,” she said, and wiped her hand across her skirt.  “I—I must have crushed some berries and didn’t realize.”

“And you’ve been cut,” he said, running his fingers over her arm.

She flinched away.  “I was clumsy, through the thickets, that’s all.”

Kahlil stepped back with a dubious frown.

“Nothing more, really,” Marissa said, adding in haste, “and Tayib never showed.”

“I’m not surprised, he has to earn the Commander’s trust again.” Kahlil turned away, adding over his shoulder, “Something that’s not easily done.”

Marissa watched him return to his post, then trailed down the empty pathway to the central pool, sank down upon its rocky edge, and drew some of the luminescent liquid to her lips.  She spat, then gagged; the horrid beast blood had bitten, pungent against her tongue, and clawed down her throat like an insistent black death.

She cupped her forehead into her other palm and squeezed shut her eyes.  I’ve gone mad.  It couldn’t have spoken, it simply couldn’t have.    

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