Blood Rain

by Nancy Gray

  Mercy’s mind was too restless. All she could think of were her father’s words. He would acknowledge her in front of the entire tribe. It would change her life. She would suddenly have status as more than just an orphan child. She would be able to attend tribal meetings and pursue whatever job she desired. She would no longer even be living in her quarters near the vitula stable with the other orphans and outcasts. She would have her own private room.

  Mercy thought, “I’ll be required to choose a suitor. The chieftain needs to continue the bloodline, but I can choose among any of the warriors. Green Arrow won’t even be on that list. Even though he’s ten years older, maybe Render Howl could be…”

  The thought brought a smile to her face, but she quickly remembered something else that made her feelings of excitement turn into apprehension. She would need to spend more time with her father so she could learn how to be a good chieftain. He would be the one in charge of teaching her what she needed to know.

  She had always wanted him to acknowledge her, but she wasn’t even sure if she liked him, or if she was ready to spend so much time with him all at once. She would have her chance to know what it was like to have a living parent. Even though she was sixteen, nearly an adult, it was something that she had wanted ever since her mother died. Her only memories of her were very vague images, always followed by her mother’s fierce scream as she protected Mercy from the bestial Blood Wings.

  Mercy was shaken from her thoughts by the sound of the vitulae beginning their nightly song. None of the forest people understood the purpose behind their singing. After all, predators could locate the vitulae by the sound, but every night they did the same thing. The first “note” of the song was very discordant and strange, like an orchestra tuning up their instruments, but what followed was always amazing. Each one lifted up their heads and bellowed in tune with one another. Then, they shook their bodies and tapped their feet on the ground. There was an unmistakable rhythm to it that Mercy found soothing and comfortable. Sometimes the song was fast, but tonight it was slow, almost mournful. It made Mercy think of Wind Runner again.

  She said aloud, “We were too young when you proposed. Just childhood friends really, but it was a wonderful dream. You would be proud of me. I’m finally going to earn the respect of the village, but I would’ve stayed in my current status for you.”

  As the song wound onward, Mercy felt her eyes growing heavy and eventually she fell into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.

  2

  Mercy awoke to the light of the sun shining through her eyelids. She flipped gently out of the hammock and rubbed the greenish dots away from her eyes. She wanted to sleep longer, but she knew it was her turn to do the morning chores. With the strange storm clouds slowly covering the sun above her, she also knew there would be more than her share of work to be done.

  Mercy started with the vitula stables. She swept each of the vitula burrows free of waste and old plant clippings and then brushed them off of the catwalk into the canopy below. Each of the vitula had to be fed fresh leaves, cleaned, and the silk that they always spread over their burrows had to be harvested and refined. She went through the task with the mindless precision of an expert stable hand.

  Before she had even finished with the first burrow, Green Arrow came up to her and said, “The chieftain said your talents would best be spent preparing for the storm.”

  “Well, it’s my turn to take care of the vitulae. I thought that I would help with the preparations later.”

  Green Arrow said in a bitter tone, “I’ve been told to take over for you.”

  Mercy forced herself not to laugh. She never imagined that her father would punish him for not telling him that she had saved his life. Things definitely were looking up, and now that she had some free time, she would get to have her morning ride with Nightsong. It would be a great opportunity to gather more herbs for the wounded and to gather extra for the coming attack.

  Mercy found Nightsong waiting for her. He looked at her with his black multifaceted eyes and began to move his antenna in excitement. He was more than ready for a morning glide. Most of the vitulae had white or off-white chitin, but Nightsong’s hide was mottled with black spots, as well. Like all the other vitulae, he looked a great deal like a big horned beetle but was the size of a large horse. He had a thin body, with large coverings to protect his delicate wings. There were two claws on the end of each of his four back feet for climbing trees and mushrooms. His two front legs were rounded and pointed on the ends like gardening spades, used to aid him in pushing large chunks of mushroom out of the way after using his horns to burrow.

  Even though the purest white vitulae were a status symbol, Mercy wouldn’t trade Nightsong for any of the others. He was unique, like she was, and despite the fact he wasn’t a “pure” breed, he was still one of the fastest of his kind. The keepers that sold him to her when she was just a little girl were always trying to get him back. Despite her low status, she had purchased him fairly with a few precious stones that belonged to her Mother, and so she was allowed to keep him. Mostly due to Nightsong, she had learned to be an expert rider.

  Mercy carefully placed the saddle in front of his wings, between the crest on his head and his thorax, and tied the wooden bit onto his mandibles. She could feel his eagerness and watched him shifting from foot to foot, ready to glide as soon as she gave the signal. She felt a smile spreading across her face as she kicked him roughly on the thorax. He spread his wings and dove off of the catwalk.

  The wind blew Mercy’s wavy hair behind her, and she felt her green eyes watering at the intense rush of speed that followed. She wiped her eyes and looked around her. Below was the canopy of smaller trees that hadn’t quite reached the size of those her village was built upon, and to the west she could see all the way to the ocean if she concentrated hard enough. The strange red mist was still there, made redder by freshly risen sun. It made her shiver. Nightsong seemed to sense her apprehension and turned without her having to prompt him towards the east.

  Far off, too far for her to see, was the desert. She could see a thinning tree line, but she had only heard stories of the salt flats, the glass dunes, the desert plateaus, and the nomads that made their homes there. She had always dreamed that for her rite of passage she would go to the desert to find out what it was really like there. Most of her people travelled southwest to the port city of Concord and came back with stories of the debaucheries of sailors, strange people, and amazing festivals. Mercy wanted to return with stories of wild beasts, dust storms, and the adventures of living life as a nomad. It seemed that her dream of seeing the desert would have to wait. Even though she was grateful that her father was finally giving her an opportunity to prove herself, once again it would be on his terms.

  Mercy turned to the north and stared desperately for any hint of a snow coated mountain peak. She knew from the traders that had passed through her village that to the north, there were mountains that supposedly touched the sky, but from so far away they weren’t visible even above the canopy. They were called the Cicatrix Mountains, so called because they appeared to be carved out the earth itself leaving scar-like canyons and chasms in their wake. Beyond the mountains, there was a land of ice and snow where the tough Northern Folk settled from one of the other continents long ago. Supposedly they carved statues and homes from the very ice.

  Mercy wanted to see the entire continent of Lacern, but when she was finished she wanted to settle down in her village for the rest of her days. The forest floor was a carpet of soft, green grass and bright, colorful flowers. Her village, which had withstood the test of time, was a symbol of her people’s ability to be a part of the forest rather than to disrupt it. They each had a job to do, from the lowest caste to the highest. It was what bonded them together as a tribe, and Mercy was afraid that one day her father’s antics would drive their culture apart. The forest gods had blessed her people with many gifts, and in turn, they respected the forest and its creatures with the exception of t
he destructive Blood Winged beast men.

  Mercy realized that she had been riding for more than an hour, lost in her thoughts. She quickly turned Nightsong around and landed in a secluded grove beneath the village to gather the herbs that she thought they would need the most. It was an easy, peaceful task, but necessary. Nightsong grazed on long pieces of grass, but she was careful that he didn’t eat any clusters of useful herbs. Mercy noticed a dark colored plant and frowned. It was vigor ash root, an addictive root that could make a person push themselves beyond their limits for a short period of time. Even though they were discouraged from using it, she took some anyway.

  She thought, “With the strange storm clouds and the potential attack, who knows what we might need?”

  When her satchel was full of medicinal herbs, Mercy mounted Nightsong and headed towards the large mushroom. He grabbed the stalk and Mercy made sure that she was strapped in securely as he climbed straight up all the way back into the stables.

  Mercy found the warriors and began to help them with the task of getting ready for the storm. She got on the lift and turned the wench, lowering herself and the others down to the forest floor, and then helped them haul small wooden barrels out of it to fill with fresh water from the nearby stream. It was hard work, but it was an honor to help the warriors with any task.

  She walked further upstream and placed fishing nets to catch spawning fish while the warriors hunted for fresh game. They would need enough extra food for at least three days from the look of the storm clouds. While she waited for them to return, Mercy used the time to make extra arrows and even equipped her own bow in case some game wandered closer to the village while she waited. She was rewarded for her patience when a large three antlered stag came to the stream to drink. It was a perfect shot, and she felled the deer with one arrow to its neck.

  By the time her work on the forest floor was finished, the day was already almost over. There were many more tasks to finish before she could meet with Mender of Spirits. She assisted her friends spreading tarps over the exposed areas in the village. They had to spread a long leather cover around the vitula stables so that the rain and wind wouldn’t seep into the hollowed out portions of the mushroom. It probably wouldn’t hurt the animals, but the smell was always foul, and it made the texture of the mushroom mushy and rotten.

  She noticed, oddly, that no one had put rain catches on the rooftops to make sure that the fresh rain water wouldn’t be wasted. Everyone in the village seemed to be tense and occasionally she heard her friends whispering rumors back and forth. Her father had told them that there would be a very bad raid that evening caused by the rain, and that everyone needed to be ready. The water also wouldn’t be suitable to drink. Mercy already had an odd feeling about the clouds. They were pink in any light, and she couldn’t smell the fresh scent of rain. It smelled more like stagnant water.

  It was getting dark by the time Mercy reached the mushroom next to the vitula stables where she was supposed to meet Mender of Spirits. Everything was glowing red in the setting sun, but the sunset also made the storm clouds glow an ominous crimson. Now that they were closer, Mercy could tell that something about the clouds was definitely wrong. The smell of the approaching rain storm definitely seemed tainted, smelling more like decay and rotting flesh.

  Mender of Spirits was pacing back and forth.

  As soon as she saw Mercy she quickly rushed forward. “I’m sorry, Child. I waited too late. You need to go.”

  Mercy frowned. “What do you mean? You told me to meet you at sunset.”

  “Yes, but the storm is going to start soon. Have you heard any of the rumors?”

  “Not many. The warriors have been too busy to talk to me. I noticed they didn’t put up the rain catches and my friends told me it was because the rain wouldn’t be drinkable. They also said the storm was going to provoke the Blood Wings into a terrible attack.”

  “Well, those rumors are true, but there’s more to it than that. I’ve already informed the chieftain about what’s going on. He wants to talk to you, and he’ll fill you in on the rest.”

  Mercy sighed with disappointment and asked, “Does this have something to do with my rite of passage?”

  “He wants you to be ready to ride away from the village.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. You need me here. Why would you give me a medical lesson yesterday, unless you needed my help to tend to the wounded? I’ve waited to go on my rite of passage for a long time. It can wait a little longer until the village doesn’t need me.”

  Mender of Spirits shook her head. “The information he needs you to get involves the storm. It isn’t natural. The Blood Wings are going to be in a frenzy by the time they get here. Your father…”

  Mercy flinched at the word. It was taboo to call him her father when she wasn’t acknowledged as his daughter before the tribe.

  Her teacher continued, “That is, the chieftain knows the details. Check on your vitula on the way over to talk to him. Be ready to ride immediately. Pack lightly, though I would suggest a leather breastplate.”

  Mercy frowned. “Not chitin?”

  “Chitin will be too heavy. You need to travel very lightly.”

  “I trust your judgment, Teacher.”

  “Don’t put on the breastplate until you’re just about to leave. We don’t want anyone to think that you’re abandoning the village. You’ll also need your fur cloak to cover yourself against the rain. The chieftain has all you’ll need waiting for you.”

  “I wish we had more time.”

  Mender of Spirits did something that caught Mercy entirely unprepared; she reached out and hugged her.

  “Mercy, this is the one thing that the chieftain and I agreed upon. You’re the best rider in the village. If anyone can survive the disaster that’s going to happen and is intelligent enough to find out what’s behind it, it’s you.”

  “I love you. You’ve always been like a grandmother to me.”

  Mender of Spirits smiled. “You’ve been like a granddaughter to me. And should you be successful, your father will be proud to call you his heir.”

  Mercy didn’t waste time packing much, but she did pack her stone spear, stone dagger, hunting bow, and the nine roughly hewn arrows, along with her quiver. It made her wish she had the time to make more arrows. Nine wouldn’t take her very far, but it was better than nothing. She also wore the one piece of jewelry she owned, a charm necklace that belonged to her mother. In a pinch, she could always destroy the necklace and use the few precious stones and metals on it as currency. Sadly, the charms she added, pieces of bone and the shed scales from her pet shimmer scale glider, wouldn’t buy her much.

  She sighed, realizing that she would have to let the glider go. She would miss stroking the green, blue, and purple feathers on its wings and the smooth multicolored scales on its back. As she left, she simply opened the door to its cage and moved purposefully towards the huge mushroom that housed the vitulae.

  Mercy found Nightsong burrowed into a crevice in the mushroom with a thick layer of white silk covering the entrance of his make-shift sleeping chamber. If she hadn’t known what to look for, the silk would’ve blended in so well she wouldn’t have known he was nestled inside at all. She could tell which burrowing chamber was his just by the shape of the entrance. She pulled the silk off and shoved it into the backpack. Vitula silk also fetched a decent price, and she had the feeling she would need all the money she could get.

  She reached in and gently pushed on his bulky side. He immediately snapped to attention, turning to face her. His antennae ran across her cheeks for a moment, tickling her, and then he gently nuzzled her with his head. She could feel his emotions, a sort of comfortable familiarity combined with slight irritation and worry from being awoken from a sound sleep.

  Mercy said in a soothing voice, “It’s all right, Nightsong. We’re going for a ride soon. I need you to be up and ready.”

  She put the saddle on Nightsong’s thorax, careful to leave room for
his wings in case they needed to fly. If the beast men got there before she could leave the village, they would need to glide soon. As soon as the saddle was secure, she put the barding between Nightsong’s mandibles, and hitched him to the railing so he wouldn’t go back to sleep. The sun had set entirely, and she could hear the thunder coming from the threatening clouds that were sweeping closer with every passing minute.

  Chieftain Catches the Eye was waiting for her outside of the chieftain’s hall. Instead of wearing his usual brightly colored ensemble that made him look like a fat peacock displaying its plumage, he was wearing a simple outfit of black and gray fur. Somehow, the change in his appearance unnerved her more than the clouds in the sky. If Mender of Spirits’ vision had scared him into practicality, then it really was going to be a massacre.

  He snapped, “There you are, finally! Surely, Mender informed you of her vision. Do you think you could have come here any slower?”

  “You didn’t exactly give me much time to prepare.”

  “I don’t care. We don’t have time to argue. The storm will begin any moment and when it does, this place is going to be torn apart by chaos.”

  “What would you have me do, Chieftain?”

  “Other than having you act with a little more haste, I want you ready to ride. How much did Mender of Spirits tell you?”

  “She told me that the Blood Wings are going to attack, and that the storm has something to do with it. She wouldn’t tell me what she saw entirely, because she was afraid that someone would overhear.”

  The chieftain said, “She did right. Those beasts aren’t going to just attack. They’re going to be in blood frenzy by the time they get here.”

  Mercy shivered but tried not to let it show. When the Blood Wings tasted blood, their eyes rolled back in their head, and they ripped every living thing they could find to shreds. Any sort of human-like façade they possessed melted away, and they became mindless, bloodthirsty beasts. It also made them stronger, and they barely seemed to notice pain. It was as though their own venom worked on them as well, making them numb to any sort of dangerous wound—which also meant that they didn’t react at all when the warriors wounded them.