Blood Rain

by Nancy Gray

  Blood Rain

  Nancy Gray

  Copyright © Nancy Kolodziej 2016

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover art by Joseph Lee

  Dedication

  This Book is dedicated to my husband, Joel, for giving me the opportunity to write, being so loving and supportive, and helping me raise our two beautiful daughters. Thank you for believing in me and encouraging me not to give up. I love you.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my family and friends for being so loving and supportive, especially my Mom for helping so much with the children, and my husband for his very honest critiques. I love you all.

  Thank you to Diane for her continued support and for being a good friend. Also, thanks for encouraging me, reading my work, and letting me know what you thought.

  And a special thank you to Joey for writing back during the writing contest, creating the cover art for this novel, for assistance with cover letters, suggestions, and allowing me to rant.

  Thank you for being such a good friend to me.

  And, finally, a special thanks to all the readers that allow me to follow my dream.

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters, places, names, and events, are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblances to any people living or dead are coincidental.

  Prologue

  Mercy looked at the blood dripping down her hands in small rivulets, trailing lines of red down her tan skin. She wasn’t sure if it was her own blood or the rain. All she knew was that her forehead and her shoulder burned, but not as much as they should have from such deep wounds. It could’ve been that the cold was seeping into her bones, making her feel numb all over. But, she knew the venom of the creature that attacked her was really what stopped the pain. She also knew that she shouldn’t be as cold as she felt; she was slowly bleeding to death. While the thought should have panicked her, death would at least give her a chance to close her eyes.

  The clouds were the color of a slowly healing bruise, dark purple and pink. The eerie red haze hung beneath them, showing that the sky was still bleeding. The black sand of the beaches was a pleasant contrast to the red earth that she saw while she was fleeing from the jungle. At least here she couldn’t see the blood on the ground. But the lighthouse in front of her, once clearly a vibrant white stone structure, was now slicked with a red splattering of blood. It was a bad omen, but Mercy was too weary to care. Off in the distance she could see the city of Concord sprawled out along the beach in a tightly packed hodgepodge of different types of buildings. It hardly seemed to matter since she didn’t have enough energy to limp into town.

  As Mercy stared ahead of her, she saw two men silhouetted by the mirrored flare from inside of the lighthouse. Their forms looked red from the crimson seeping down her forehead and into her eyes. One nudged the other and pointed in her direction. They leaned slightly over the railing on the side and shielded their faces with their hands, shouting something she couldn’t hear over the sound of the wind. Mercy sank to her knees and the two began rushing down the stairs. Their forms became clearer when they opened the door at the base of the lighthouse.

  One was a tall man with a strange complexion. It might’ve been a trick of the light, but his skin seemed light blue in coloration and his hair looked teal. She wiped her eyes and saw that it must’ve indeed been a trick of the light. He had brown hair and very pale skin. He wasn’t heavily muscled either, hinting that he might’ve been a scholar or at least someone who didn’t spend much time in the sun.

  As Mercy’s eyes locked on the second man, she wished that she had the energy to run away. Just the sight of him was enough to make her want to flee back into the jungle, even if it meant that she bled to death on the way. He was tall, but didn’t look lanky. His muscles were spindly, hinting at an agile build, but his thin and strong frame wasn’t what worried her. It was his ashen skin. His skin was gray like the ash of a volcano, only slightly lighter than the grayish black sand beneath her feet. His hair was the cherry red of volcanic magma, and his eyes were an eerie shade of blood red.

  Mercy thought, miserably, as she felt her body falling on the sand beneath her, “I’m sorry, father. I guess I have no choice but to trust one of the Ashen Folk.”

  Mercy fought against the blissful pull of unconsciousness as she watched the two men running towards her, kicking up sand behind them. She could feel worry and concern coming from them in waves, which was a good sign, but the Ashen man was fighting against his feelings of suspicion and mistrust. The feeling was mutual on her part as well.

  As her eyes began squinting shut, the one with brown hair said to her in the common language, in an odd accent that she couldn’t place, “Hold on! We’ll take you someplace warm. Don’t give in. Just hold on a little longer…”

  The rest of what he said was lost. She felt as though she was floating away from the conversation as the pain and bitter cold overtook her body.

  Her last conscious thought was, “I need to remember why I came here. Oh, Spirits of the Forest, please help me remember.”

  1

  Mercy’s mentor said, “Remember you need to stay focused.”

  Her mentor’s brown skin was as wrinkled as bark, but her hair was still the color of fresh green leaves. It was starting to show the silver and white from her age at the roots. Her lively eyes were the same color as her hair. Even though she was teaching Mercy in the hope that one day she would take her place, her teacher was still just as vibrant and energetic as she was in her youth. The thought of the village trying to get by without the elder shaman’s wisdom and guidance made Mercy think of a shimmer scaled glider trying to glide to a distant tree without its wings - it would lose something integral to its survival. And someday they wanted Mercy to fill that void.

  Today she felt as though she couldn’t fill it at all, especially as she stared at the mortally wounded man in front of her. His head was bandaged, but blood was already seeping through. The beast men had gouged a deep gash into his side with a dagger, bitten him in the neck, and then thrown him off of the rope bridge of the treetop village and into the canopy below. It was a miracle he was alive. He was unconscious and his breath was coming in shallow rasps. He had been given medical herbs to ease his pain, as well as final prayers in case he didn’t make it.

  It was the first serious case that Mercy had ever handled on her own, and even though her mentor assured her that if he didn’t survive it wouldn’t be her fault, Mercy felt as though his blood would be on her hands. She could feel his pain as acutely as if it was her own, and his hopelessness was a weight on her shoulders. Even though she knew how to treat the bite of a beast man, she was having trouble concentrating in the aftermath of the Blood Wing attack. Conflicting emotions were pushing and pulling her in different directions like the buffeting winds of a tropical storm.

  Mercy looked at her instructor. “Mender of Spirits, is there any chance he’ll survive?”

  Mender of Spirits sighed. “I wouldn’t have you try if I didn’t think there was a chance. You’ve treated bites from the Blood Winged beasts before. It doesn’t matter the severity of the bite. The procedure is the same.”

  Mercy pressed some bandages against the wound in his neck and they quickly turned bright red. She turned and looked for more vitula silk while trying to put pressure on the wound on his side to stop the bleeding. She could tell just by Mender of Spirit’s expression that she had forgotten something.

  As she went to apply the bandages Mender of Spirits said in a disappointed whisper, “You’re forgetting the most important part.”

  Mercy groaned as soon as she remembered. “I have to suck the beast man’s venom out before I bandage the wound.”

  Mercy quickly rushed back to the bag of medical supplies
and grabbed a long reed. She put it against the clear viscous fluid oozing from the wound and sucked, careful to remove her mouth before any venom could get into it. Then she held the top of the reed and moved the straw away, letting the venom drip to the ground next to him. She repeated the procedure several more times until the clear liquid was gone and replaced entirely by the man’s blood. Mender of Spirits was silent, but she nodded with approval.

  “I’m glad you remembered. Otherwise, the fever alone could kill him and the wound wouldn’t close.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just the chaotic emotions.”

  Mender of Spirits stood up and pressed on the bandage on his neck, tying it off carefully before she said, “I understand, Mercy. Your gift makes this difficult, but you need to be able to handle the pressure of a real situation like this.”

  “You don’t think he’s going to make it, do you?”

  Mender sighed and said, “I don’t think it’s likely he’ll survive, but we can’t give up. Don’t think about the pressure and remember everything that I’ve taught you.”

  Mercy looked at the man on the table and tried to do as Mender of Spirits suggested by forcing herself to stay calm and trying to figure out which wounds were the most severe. The wound on his neck was the worst, but Mender of Spirits had already taken care of that. Mercy needed to bandage the injury on his side, but first she needed to check for broken bones. She put her hand on his chest and closed her eyes. Even though her gift allowed her to sense emotions and pain, she couldn’t exactly pinpoint any particular pain. As she concentrated, she realized that even though the man was unconscious, he was subconsciously afraid and uncomfortable when he drew breath.

  “One of his ribs must be broken. He’s having trouble breathing.”

  Mender of Spirits asked, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Mercy quickly grabbed more bandages and stuffed them into the dagger wound on his side, and then started the painstaking process of resetting his ribs. She flinched slightly in sympathy as she heard him groan in pain even in his unconscious state. Even with the painkilling herb, he would feel the discomfort of someone setting a broken bone.

  Mercy paused as she saw blood beginning to drip down the side of his mouth. He began to choke and cough, and the rattle that came from his throat sounded final.

  Mender of Spirits shook her head. “His ribs must’ve damaged something internal. We’ve done all we can do for him. We should move on to the next...”

  “No. I won’t give up on him.”

  Mercy thought, “Live. Please, live. I know that you’re tired and you want to quit, but I can’t bring you back if you lose the will to fight. Please, keep fighting…”

  Mercy wept, but focused on her work. She bent down and began to force air into his throat from her mouth. He began to cough again, this time spraying warm blood all over her face, but he was still alive. She saw blood coming from the area where she had reset his rib, and carefully she began to cut away that part of the bandage to check it. As she did, she put pressure on the area, and she heard something that sounded like air whistling through a crack. As soon as the air was pushed out of the man’s chest, his breathing became steady. His eyes slowly began to open, but he groaned and closed them again.

  Mender of Spirits stood up in surprise. “I never would’ve believed it. You saved him, Mercy.”

  “We’re not finished yet…”

  Mercy examined the rest of him thoroughly while Mender of Spirit’s bandaged his side, careful to keep the hole on his chest that allowed the trapped air to escape from his lung open. Mercy was surprised that his ribs were the only broken bones that she could find. There were some very bad bruises, and one of his arms was entirely dislocated. She set it back into place easily. She guessed that he probably tried to slow his fall by grabbing for a nearby branch, and even though it had dislocated his arm nearly enough to break it, it had slowed him down enough that he didn’t die from impact. He had a fighting spirit. It wouldn’t have been right for her to fight any less to save his life.

  Mender of Spirits put a hand on her shoulder. “I thought that this would end up as a lesson that despite our best efforts, we can’t save everyone. At only sixteen summers, you’re already surpassing me as a healer.”

  Mercy watched in wonder at how quickly Mender of Spirits bandaged the injury. “No, I’m just more stubborn than you are. Besides, we didn’t save everyone. We lost two men and the Blood Wing raiders didn’t lose one.”

  Mender of Spirits began to work on the next wounded warrior, whispering, “There was something different about this raid. They were too well organized, and they didn’t take anything.”

  “It all happened too fast. I saw them flying around the rope bridges, like they were just amusing themselves by watching us scramble,” Mercy said, as she finished bandaging the warrior, making sure he wasn’t losing more blood from any small wounds.

  Mercy could feel Mender of Spirit’s worry as tangibly as a needle pressing against her skin. Mercy’s teacher didn’t worry unless it was something important, but Mercy knew it wouldn’t do any good to press her until she was ready to tell her what was going on. So, she stayed silent and concentrated on her work.

  Mender of Spirits said in a low voice, “I had a vision about this raid. I don’t believe that it’s over.”

  Before Mercy could ask her what she meant, the chieftain came into the hospital hut. Immediately Mercy felt tense. She wasn’t sure if the feeling was her own or if the chieftain was so nervous that she could sense his apprehension from the doorway. Either way, his presence was unwelcome and made it difficult to concentrate. He was wearing a strange collection of clothes brought from various places across the continent and was flinching away from the blood and venom on the wooden floors near the wounded warriors.

  He frowned. “Do we have so little work to do that you two can afford to be chatting?”

  Mender of Spirits scowled back. “As you can clearly see, we weren’t just speaking. Mind of Mercy saved Render Howl’s life. You should be proud of how well she’s coming along.”

  Mercy flushed with pride but quickly stifled the feeling. It wouldn’t do for her to appear to be too proud, especially in front of the chieftain.

  He glanced around the room and then said, “Well, she should move on to the next warrior then. There are still eight more to go and some of them have injuries just as serious.”

  Mercy said flatly, “I’m just finishing up, Chieftain.”

  “Well, see that you do, Stealer of Secrets,”

  Mercy glanced at the floor trying not to say what she was thinking. “Why, why do you always call me that? You know I hate that meaning of my name ever since you gave it to me. Would it be so hard for you to just use the one extra syllable so it meant ‘Mind of Mercy?’ I guess for you it would be, father.”

  She sighed and continued to concentrate on her work.

  He glanced at Mender of Spirits. “If she has already learned enough to treat that kind of injury, I think it’s time for you to take on a new apprentice.”

  Mercy frowned at his words. They weren’t meant as a compliment. If Mender of Spirits took on another apprentice, even though Mercy would still be called on to help tend to the wounded, she would be back to her status as an orphan until it was time for her rite of passage to be considered an adult. She glared at him but knew better than to argue.

  Mender of Spirits saw her expression and said in a furious tone, “Mercy still needs to learn a great deal before I can take on another apprentice. There’s more to being a shaman than treating injuries. In a crisis, she’ll need to be a leader, and that’s something that can’t be taught. It has to come from experience.”

  The chieftain grunted in assent and made a dismissive gesture. Mercy was used to seeing that gesture in regard to her and her training. She was glad when he changed the subject.

  “Those clouds in the distance have an ill look about them, don’t they? I’d say that they’ll be on us
tomorrow evening.”

  Mercy glanced out of the window in the direction of the clouds. Something about them made her shiver. They were a strange combination of red, pink, and purple no matter the time of day. A strange red haze also lingered beyond them. Even though the clouds were far to the west, the wind was blowing in their direction which meant they needed to prepare for the storm.

  Mender of Spirits said, “I don’t like the look of them either, Chieftain. I’ve had another vision. I need to discuss it with you when we’re finished here.”

  “Then hurry up and finish. I will hear what you have to say.”

  With that, the chieftain left and Mercy found herself breathing an audible sigh of relief.

  Mender of Spirits moved on to another unconscious patient and whispered in Mercy’s direction, “I think he has that effect on everyone.”

  Mercy nodded and then continued her work. Even though there were only nine people wounded in the attack, it took two hours of treatment to make sure that all of them would survive. Several were wracked with fever from the Blood Wing’s venom, and needed to be tended with a cold compress. Those that weren’t were so battered and torn that they needed their bandages changed over and over again.

  Finally, Mender of Spirits pulled Mercy to the side. “I think the other healers can handle the rest of this. Come with me. I want to talk to you about my vision, and I can tell you need to talk to me about the chieftain.”

  “I don’t really want to talk about him, Mender. Talking about it really doesn’t do any good.”

  “But it makes you feel better. Let’s go.”

  Mercy followed Mender of Spirits over a long rope bridge in the direction of a tall, giant mushroom close by. The stem was encircled with a small catwalk and a series of benches for people to sit and relax. It was a good place to keep away from rain and look down on the canopy below. It was one of the places that Mender of Spirits preferred to give Mercy her lessons. Despite the noise from being so close to the vitula stables, it gave them a feeling of privacy. Their words couldn’t be overheard over the den of sounds across from them.