Blood Rain

by Nancy Gray

  Beryl looked like a different person entirely. He had coated his skin with ash to make himself look like he was from the Ashen capital, was wearing an orange wig, and somehow had changed the color of his eyes to a deep orange to match it. The disguise was eerily accurate, and if she hadn’t met him previously, she would’ve really believed he was from the Ashen capital. He was also wearing a military uniform only it seemed to be less decorated, clearly a lower rank. At least his facial features were the same.

  Mercy’s costume wasn’t a bad disguise, but she hated acting the part of a slave. There were many military men from the Ashen capital walking around the city. Some of them were also accompanied by slaves meant to carry their bags, drive their carts, or simply act as status symbols. It made her sick. Even though they weren’t from her tribe, those slaves were still related to the forest dwellers. They shared a similar language, similar features, and a very similar culture.

  Pyron yanked on the chain and whispered, “Keep up and stop glaring at people. Slaves are supposed to have better manners. You’ll give us away.”

  “I don’t care. I think I made it clear how I felt about my role in our disguise. Are you sure the bandages don’t give me away anyway?”

  Pyron rolled his eyes. “Many of the slaves are prisoners of war. The bandages will complete that illusion.”

  “I’m sorry that I’m having trouble keeping up, but my feet were so torn up…”

  “You were the one who insisted on coming with us. Besides, we just got finished buying new clothes for you and showing you around the city. You could be a little more grateful.”

  Mercy grumbled a few choice insults under her breath in her own language, and Pyron said in a smug voice, “It’s very rude to talk in another language in front of someone.”

  Beryl chuckled loudly then quickly looked away as Mercy turned and scowled in his direction. She sighed and tried to act more obedient, despite her irritation at Pyron. They showed her around just about every district of the city. There were seven distinct districts in all.

  In the harbor was the Port Village, where the sailors went to “unwind.” Mercy had no desire to see much of that particular district, so they didn’t waste much time looking into it. In the center of the city was the Merchant’s District which catered to a classier crowd and to any tourists visiting the city. It was also the best place to use as a reference point to find the other districts.

  They spent a long time in the Merchant’s District, and Mercy had never seen so many people gathered together at once. Some of them wore elaborate and impractical clothing, while others wore what was clearly the fashion associated with their race. The amount of noise, smells, and sights was a little disorienting, but not nearly as disorienting as feeling so many differing emotions at once. It made her dizzy.

  Even though they hadn’t actually visited the Northern District, the Desert Valley to the east, or the Ashen Shore region to the northwest, she could see the differing architecture from the Merchant District very well, and Beryl and Pyron made sure that she was close enough to see into each district. They were all very stylized according to the majority of the ethnicity that inhabited that part of the city.

  The Northern region had large stone buildings that looked like they should’ve been made for a mountainous region to shield against the cold, because that was exactly what the inhabitants needed to do in their original snowy mountain home. The Desert Valley District had very few permanent structures, but those that were there were made of sandstone. In front of these buildings, she saw merchant tents made out of the hides of some sort of large, lizard-like creature she had never encountered before. As she walked through it, the Ashen Shore District was the most impressive region that she could see because of its multi-storied red brick buildings and bronze statues of war heroes that seemed to dwarf the Merchant District.

  They also showed her the southwest part of the city, “The Park” also known as “Tribal Town,” where her chieftain originally wanted her to stay. Even though the people of that district were mostly part of her race, they clearly no longer even knew what it was like to live in the forest. They wore impractical clothing that was a combination of silk and fur, showing off flawless skin that didn’t contain many tattoos. Even those with tattoos displayed ones of a more decorative nature. There were familiar trees and flowers within a large centralized park, and she had to admit that she felt more at home.

  There were many merchants around the outskirts of The Park, where they bought her new clothes, since the clothes she wore on her ride to Concord were completely ruined by the blood. She managed to get some clothing of silk for her slave disguise, and some clothing made of leather and fur for her eventual journey home. Mercy noted that the clothing was exceptional quality, but when she was about to break apart her necklace to barter for it, Pyron paid the bill. Secretly, that was one of the reasons she was angry at him. She didn’t want to admit that she owed anything to one of his race. While he probably paid out of kindness, it made her feel so helpless that she felt as though she really was his slave.

  Even though Mercy had only spent one evening entirely conscious and talking with Pyron and Beryl, she felt that she knew them very well. Her gift often gave her insights into the personal feelings of others, and they were no exception. Even though they didn’t trust one another, they bickered like a married couple. Their biggest difference seemed to be that Beryl was very naïve, while Pyron was extremely cynical.

  They both were extremely professional about their mission, and just that fact made them get on each other’s nerves. Each of them had very strong opinions on how they should proceed and neither one wanted to back down. She also learned that Pyron and Beryl were still hiding a great deal from her.

  The sun was starting to set when Pyron and Beryl started turning towards the south end of the city.

  Pyron sighed. “I hope that little idiot Bruton doesn’t burn down my lighthouse.”

  Beryl chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry too much. The fact that it is a lighthouse means it’s built to withstand fire. He just has to keep the flame going all night long.”

  “If anyone could find a way to burn down a lighthouse, it would be him.”

  “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now. Besides, isn’t he studying to take over for you one day?”

  “When he isn’t drinking or spending time with some ladies of the evening at the Port Village.”

  Mercy grinned. “Well, from the look of him I’d say that’s the only way he’ll be able to lay with any woman.”

  She felt a flood of good humored pleasure from Pyron at the comment, but he didn’t say anything, staring off in the direction of the lighthouse.

  Beryl paused. “Well, all joking aside, it’s getting dark. Where are we meeting our contact?”

  “A bar in the Bay District called, The Siren Shark’s Den.”

  Mercy frowned. She suspected that their contact would want to meet them in the Bay District, the absolute worst section of the city. From what Pyron and Beryl told her, The Bay District was directly south of the Merchant’s District and practically separate from the town in general. While the laws of the city were enforced in the other districts, the Bay District was so crime ridden that law enforcement there was more like a joke. This was where slaves and drugs were sold, murders were committed, and people drank until they were as empty as a snake’s shed skin. It didn’t surprise her that a place like that was where the one beast man in the city would choose to hide.

  Pyron turned to Mercy. “Just stay close, and don’t worry. When military personnel from the Ashen capital are in Concord, most people try to avoid their notice.”

  Mercy nodded. “Are you sure we can trust him?”

  “No. I wouldn’t trust him with my coin purse, much less my life, but I’m sure he’ll know something about this.”

  “Then he’ll probably feed us bad information. Why are we going to meet him?”

  “Because I’ve done business with him in the past. As
long as he’s well compensated, he’s willing to sell information just as readily as he does alcohol. His credibility would be compromised if he sold us false information.”

  Mercy instinctively reached for her knife, but it wasn’t there. “If I feel like he has bad intent, I’ll kill him.”

  Beryl scowled. “Would you really?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what gives you the right to decide if someone lives or dies?”

  “The Blood Wings have killed more of my people than any other creature in the forest. The thought of thinning out their numbers doesn’t bother me.”

  “You act as though your people are all that matter. Have you ever thought about how your people must seem to the Blood Wings? I’ll bet that you killed them just as readily as you did any other beast before they started the raids. Tell me, did you cook them up and eat them?”

  Mercy frowned, remembering the stories of when her people first encountered the Blood Winged beast men. According to oral history, when her people first saw the Blood Wings they thought that they were a new species of animal. It was a small hunting party but they somehow managed to kill the small group of Blood Wings and later that evening they ate the meat and made the skins into leather. However, the action enraged the Blood Wings and they slaughtered every one of the people responsible for the deaths and for the leather. The incident was what made the forest dwellers realize that the beast men weren’t simple animals. They were intelligent enough to be vengeful, meaning they were manlike enough not to be eaten.

  “We did, but only before we knew they were intelligent.”

  “I figured. And, just how intelligent do you think they are?”

  “Not much more intelligent than a beast, but intelligent enough not to be eaten like one.”

  “I think you’ll be surprised at how wrong you are.”

  She could feel anger starting to boil within Beryl, and the feeling was contagious. Suddenly, they were shouting at each other. Pyron just stood and watched them. Since they were already getting close to the Bay District, thankfully there weren’t many people to see the fight.

  Mercy snapped, “Why does it matter to you? The Blood Wings raided my village and killed my friends. They drink our blood. They’re beasts, plain and simple. We treat them with more courtesy by not eating them than they treat us.”

  “Your people are just as blind as everyone else I’ve met here.”

  “The beast men took my mother before I even got to know her. They killed friends of mine that were working as village guards. They killed my betrothed.”

  The word caught in Mercy’s throat as it clenched tightly against her tears.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you relive any painful memories. I just think that your attitude about them is wrong. Thinking of them as beasts makes you feel justified in killing them, and if you keep killing them the war will never end.”

  “Well, maybe if they stopped killing us the same could be said for them.”

  Pyron rolled his eyes and stepped between them. “Let me be the mature one here and break this up. First of all, both of you are right in some ways, and wrong in others.”

  Pyron turned to Beryl. “Beryl, the Blood Wings are monsters to her tribe. They like to seem as terrifying and as animal-like as possible during the raids. The fact that Mercy thinks of them as animals means they’ve done a damn fine job.”

  “Why would they want to be treated like animals?”

  “Because they consider the Forest Dwellers to be enemies. They don’t want them to know all of their strengths, such as how intelligent they really are. I’ve heard the stories about the things they’ve done to promote that image, and it’s atrocious. One of the men staying in The Park lost his wife and child to them. They ripped the child apart in front of his eyes.”

  Beryl gasped in shocked horror. “I had no idea.”

  Mercy folded her arms and nodded at Beryl, but Pyron turned to her and said, “And Mercy, you aren’t entirely right either. Not every bestial man or even every raider is a monster. They’re much more intelligent than they seem, and clearly they need the supplies they take.”

  “Then they’re common thieves and should be dealt with as thieves. And, if that’s true, why do they take our people with them as well?”

  “I don’t know, but the rumors say that they need to drink human blood to survive. Animal blood probably won’t nourish them enough. If you had to drink their blood for survival, then you would raid their villages, too.”

  Mercy scowled in fury but didn’t say anything. She knew he had a point. If she had to drink human blood to survive, then she probably would look for the weakest target. Her village was isolated and was clearly close enough to where the Blood Wings lived to be convenient.

  She thought, “What if he’s right? If they are as intelligent as we are, maybe they can even be reasoned with. No. Not after the last attack. They’ll be lucky if my tribe doesn’t destroy every last one of them, assuming after the chaos we weren’t scattered across the forest. I won’t forgive them or forget what they’ve done.”

  7

  The rest of the walk to the Bay District was in silence. Pyron stayed in front, trying to exude confidence, but she could feel his apprehension, like fabric chafing against her skin. The Bay District was worse than Pyron and Beryl described it. Men were feverishly pressed up against women in the alleyways, smelling of wine and cheap perfume. People were sitting in front of bars, bloody from a drunken brawl or from causing enough trouble to be physically thrown outside.

  The streets themselves were mostly deserted, giving the few stragglers in the alleyways and outside of the buildings a sinister look, as though they were predators simply trying to look tired in order to take their prey by surprise. She could feel their eyes on her, and she could tell the sickening things that they were thinking about her without even using her gift. She edged a little closer to Beryl.

  Beryl whispered, “I’m sorry about earlier.”

  “No, that’s okay. I took it too personally.”

  “Just stay close. You’ll be fine. They wouldn’t dare attack someone like Pyron. Those stripes and pins on his uniform mean that he’s a high ranking officer. They wouldn’t risk pissing off the Ashen capital to give any of us any trouble.”

  Pyron snapped, “Stop whispering, we’re nearly there. Let me do the talking when we get inside.”

  Mercy looked ahead and saw a dilapidated wooden sign that said, “The Siren Shark’s Den,” with a painted picture of a black shark with bluish white accents along its back. Mercy had never seen a siren shark before, but according to the legends of the island nations, they were large enough to eat a human being. The pattern along their bodies glowed with light so that they could navigate in even the darkest depths of the ocean. The most terrifying thing about them was the sound they made, a shriek that could shatter eardrums leaving their prey stunned or sometimes even killing them outright. Even though it was just a crude painting, from the elaborate pattern of the lighted accents on the shark, Mercy was sure that whoever painted the sign had seen a siren shark before and lived through the encounter.

  The bar was filled with cigar smoke and smelled mildly of urine and ale. There was an old wooden piano that was out of tune, accompanying the equally out of tune voice of a large-breasted woman in a red dress singing bawdy songs to the catcalls and laughter of the men around her. All of the waitresses looked as though they were from Mercy’s tribe and were wearing simple fur and silk loincloths, as well as silken white shirts that were so thin they barely looked like they were wearing anything at all.

  In contrast to the less than classy surroundings, the bartender was wearing a very expensive suit. He had glacial blue eyes that immediately focused on Pyron. His black hair was graying on the sides but not enough to make him seem old. His facial hair was very thin and well trimmed, with a black goatee and mustache that swirled on the sides. His lean build was accented by his suit and a necklace of some kind was tucked into his shirt.
Mercy couldn’t help notice that he was very attractive.

  As Pyron approached the bar, the bartender said in a cheerful voice, “What’ll it be, Sergeant?”

  “I’m here to procure alcohol for the war effort. How much would you be willing to donate to the cause? My men are shipping out in the morning. They’re thirsty.”

  Mercy felt a hot flash of anger from the bartender and flinched back against it. She also felt a similar emotion from the men on stools at the far side of the bar.

  The bartender scowled. “Well, we wouldn’t want that now would we? And how much are you planning to take?”

  Pyron glanced at the wall behind the bartender. “Well, nothing that’s up here. Perhaps you keep your best supplies in the back?”

  A look of recognition suddenly spread across the bartender’s face. “Well, yes, we do. If you would follow me, gentlemen.” He glanced at Mercy and added, “And lady.”

  They followed him into a room behind the bar. It was stacked with barrels of alcohol, crates of fruits and cheeses, and other appetizers. There was a small table with two chairs, one of which the bartender immediately reclined in propping his feet on the table. He motioned across from him for Pyron to sit in the other. There were no windows making it seem more like a cargo hold of a ship than a normal room. Beryl sat on a crate and Mercy remained standing.

  One of the men from the other end of the bar peered inside and said, in a deep voice, “You need any help with them, Sir?”

  “No. They aren’t what they seemed. They’re guests of mine.”

  The man said, “Yes, boss,” and closed the door, leaving them alone with the bartender.

  The bartender turned to Pyron. “That was a close one, Pyron. Good thing I remembered our little code or you and your friends would be at the bottom of the bay right now. No Ashen soldier bullies me in my own bar. I don’t give a damn what his rank is.”