Page 10 of Runes To Rain
A sword handle reveals itself to me where it juts from the foot space beneath a coachman’s seat. In a smooth, slow movement like a sort of dance, I pull it out and remove it from the sheath. Then, subconsciously, I turn my whole body to meet his sudden charge.
His face is so near me as I turn. The beautiful stillness of it is far more dangerous, far more deadly than any expression of rage. My body is stiff and still unfamiliar to me, but there is that gifted strength that I suspected might exist within me.
He pulls back and strikes at me suddenly, and somehow my body moves the sword to block it.
The sword in my numb hands, the ground beneath my numb feet, the fight before my blind eyes progresses both slowly and too fast.
The world spins around us while the sights and sounds pass us by, and there is only us, only survival, and this awful, beautiful, wonderful dance. Still, even blind, the landscape somehow changes as time moves.
For a moment, I feel as though this is all I’ve ever known.
Then instinct moves me quickly to the left, and I strike out strongly to the right and front, still unseeing in this subconscious space.
There is a gasp, and slowly vision returns to me, and I see him, there in front of me. His face is still soft and glaringlybeautiful. Then I see the trail of dark red, so dark it is nearly black, running down his chest. He falls, slowly, crumpling onto the middle of the open street.
There is a silence that seems almost to be its own sound. It is a roar in my ears, and then I hear them. There is a crowd around us.
There are people of all types standing in the street with smoke and fog surrounding them, watching me, where I stand frozen in the middle of a spreading sea of blood with a naked sword in my hand.
There is a sense of peace in finding your place.
ESCAPE
The silence is loud.
Then there is a quiet rustling that grows into a hum. The crowd is waking up, and even as I stand there looking at the sword in my hand, and the angel and the blood, I feel the tension increase and know it’s time to run.
I look around with desperation, but I’m unsure what I’m seeking. Hoping the same instincts that provided guidance with finding the sword and helped me with the fight will assist, I search faces within the crowd. It is, as a whole, angry like a large beast that has been awoken too soon from a quiet slumber. Then, my search ends as I see a small boy watching me from within the crowd. That subconscious feeling guides me. As I look at him, I see no anger, no fear, only sadness and curiosity.
I take the chance and step towards him, wiping the sword idly on my skirt, scrubbing at the dark blood. Perhaps not the best idea to leave a blood stain on the white cloth, but a piece of me knows the rules of weaponry too well to break them with a dirty sword. A tattoo I bear on my soul without knowing the artist.
The boy looks up as I stand in front of him, and with thewisdom that only a young child can possess, he takes my hand. He pulls me through the crowd so quickly that they part, separating, clearing the way for us to run. We take off down the street in the momentary lull before outrage hits, and they turn fully into a mob.
The boy leads me to a carriage, but not into the conveyance; instead, he moves around it to where a horse stands. As it has in the past, my sense of horses identifies this one as a mare, and it also shows me that she feels protective of the young boy who still has my hand.
Her ears are pinned, perhaps against the angry emotions of the crowd. As I watch, she drops her large, Roman-nosed head into his arms. He wraps his arms around her muzzle for a moment, and I see his lips moving at her ear.
As she listens to his quiet plea, she rolls an eye up to look at me, and I see something shift. She lifts her head to me and blows at my face. As this happens, the boy does something with the leather that connects her to the carriage.
I must pass her test. The mare lowers herself to kneel and the boy clambers inelegantly onto her back, and even as he gestures to me to do the same, I am swinging myself up behind him.
The hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end, telling me the crowd has continued to rouse and is advancing on us and our location. We don’t have long before a fully formed mob will be upon us.
Even as I open my mouth to ask the boy to please hurry, the mare stands and, in a powerful leap that knocks the air from me, she is making progress fast down the street. Her feet strike sparks from the stone, and I feel as though we've grown wings. We move so quickly through the smoke and fog that I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision without result. Thankfully, either the horse can see better than I or she has some way of sensing without sight.
There are still narrow misses with a carriage and a young man riding at a gallop down the street, but the mare seems to command the others, and they move from our way. I cannot say for sure how far we travel, but the speed of our flight is enough to drive tears from my eyes.
Soon, we come to an equally fast stop at the base of a building not so different from those that we were just flying past. The boy slides, with very little grace, down her side and waves a hand at me in a way that clearly says to follow. I dismount similarly and land on wobbly legs that scarcely hold me. I force their movement, a strict taskmaster, and follow the boy into the depths of this building.
As we go through the door, I see the mare toss her head and trot off to an unknown stable.
This building may appear similar to the others from the outside, but inside it is different. Something about it feels familiar and comfortable. Smoke, which smells sweet and heavy, is so thick in the air here that I feel as though I could climb it like stairs to the top of the building.
I follow the boy closely, nearly treading upon his heels, knowing that if I am separated, I will be well and truly lost in this maze of smoke. Thankfully, he leads me straight to a hidden flight of stairs and we begin to climb. I put one foot in front of the other and wish that I had wings, although a lift would be nearly as welcome.
I have not had rest since I climbed from my bed, and an unknown and yet lengthy amount of time has passed.
Suddenly, the little boy stops, and I run into his back. With the shock of it, I drop the sword. It rattles down the steps, and I spin and chase it, scooping it up by the handle and then turning to make sure the boy is alright.
