Rebelsong

Dreams and Delirium

 The last light of the sun drains down over the horizon. The moon and stars seem so prominent. I lay down, my back against rough but surprisingly comfortable oak. I lay amongst a soft bed of grass, lost among thousands of stars. Around me, trees of oak and cedar insulate the air. Crickets chirp in the undergrowth and my body is peaceful. The quiet is relaxing. It has been so long but I think I may have escaped. They are tenacious down to the bone, they never give up. But it's not like they can take anything more from me. I had no home, no family. It was just me and my will to survive, but they even took that from me. I look down, the light from the moon illuminating me. The grass about me is red and bloody. My hand, rested on my lap, covers a large gaping wound. Blood gushes from it and stains my hand. I laugh with an exhausted voice. I see so much blood but feel no pain. I must be dead. This must be some purgatory. Oh how I long for a simpler time. Through the trees there is nothing but darkness save for a few lights that flicker through the branches. They must be wisps. Spirits that dance through the shadows with ghostly light. But wisps have no form and whatever causes those lights has form. This isn't purgatory, they're not wisps. They're back.

Panic surges through me. The lights are getting closer and more visible. Faefolk holding torches, weapons, my death warrant… “He’s here!” I hear one call out, his voice harsh and cold. Drawing any energy I can, I pull myself from the floor, still holding the wound at the top of my leg. It cries out furiously. Pain replaces the fear.

Ahead of me I can see shapes forming through the trees. They’re close now. I turn.  Lights flicker in all directions. I’m trapped; no escape. I awkwardly limp to fly, but the pain is too great. My legs give way under fiery pressure and I drop to the ground, my face landing on the hard, abrasive soil. Breathing is an effort. I can feel every breathe getting weaker; all the while the faefolk are getting closer. I can feel the ground tremble with their combined march.  They’re only a few feet away now; only a few.

With a great strain in my muscles, I raise my head. A large leather boot plants in the mud next to me, all kinds of foul dirt falling on my body. “Well, well…what do we have here?” The arrogant voice of a faefolk behind me: “we didn’t think we would find you here-Sorne” I freeze. I know that name- vicious and deadly-Sorne of shadeholm; Sorne of the Bloodpack; Sorne the Faefolk.

I nervously draw my eyes away from his feet to the rest of his body: dressed in black from neck to toe, light cloth loosely hanging from his shoulders. His face, not that different from that of a human, has a slight blue tint and his ears are particularly long and bend back to a point. Long silken hairs cascades down his back past his shoulders, I catch a glimpse of a glimmer in the edge of my eye: a dagger, moonlight reflecting elegantly of folded steel.

“Kaloe.” He mutters sharply. “Well Sorne, are we just going to stand here? To be honest I’m particularly hungry, if you don’t mind…” Just thinking of his mouth, oozing and saliva-filled, biting into my flesh makes my stomach churn; I roll onto my back, the pain in my leg raging. I bite my lip trying to stop myself from squealing but sounds pour out anyway. Floods run from my eyes. It’s too much. I wipe away the tears. Through sore eyes I see the faefolk, Kaloe, start to advance forward through the trees; followed closely by many others bearing blades, torches and bows. Kaloe bears his teeth, an abnormal feature: canine fangs arranged neatly in two rows: one behind the other on both sides of his mouth.

He was close now- a few more steps and he will be upon me, his teeth tearing through my flesh, feasting on my blood. I close my eyes. I would rather not see my grim fate. He screams with bloodlust, I fell him step near me but I refuse to open my eyes. I clench my fists, the anticipation is unbearable. “Die!” I hear him scream; a sudden gust passes by and then silence. I stay lying down, waiting for the first bite. Time seems slow, seconds passing as though they were minutes. Finally, the silence becomes unbearable and I open my eyes…

I wake to a large hall: arched ceilings of heavenly design, huge wooden doors, and stain- glass windows projecting marvellous colours through-out the hall. I sit up. Every part of my body aches. I look down; my gaze greeted by bruised arms; I remember the fall, the pain, the dream. I pull my hand under the luxurious cotton sheets; thinking of what a change it is to have an actual bed. I reach towards the top of my leg. No wound; only a scar; only a dream. I relax and lay myself down against a soft pillow and cotton sheets.

“You thought I wouldn't find you, didn’t you?” I swiftly rise. The stone hall is replaced by an overgrown chamber; the stain-glass windows by dust-encrusted wood shutters, cobwebs hag down from the ceiling which is low and flat. Streams of light pour in from cracks in the walls, but darkness is king here.  I stand hunched, my head almost colliding with the ceiling. “You think I wouldn’t find you? You think I wouldn’t sniff you out, hunt you down? Of course I would. You’re of a dying race. Where would you go? You’re better off dead.” I back away but am greeted by wooden shutters. “There’s no escape. You might as well just let me cut you down.”

The darkness obscures him, but I can just make out his blazing red eyes and a rusting iron blade clutched tightly in his hand. I know what I have to do. I turn to the shutters behind me and yank them open. They give way easily and through the gap the shutters covered I see the ground. I’m incredibly high up. “You wouldn’t make it…if you jumped.” He whispers in my ear. “It’s not about ‘making it’. It’s about being free.” I reply coldly.

“You would give up, die a coward; just for the sake of freedom? You creatures are pathetic!” I lift myself to the ledge and make ready to jump, when I am yanked backwards with incredible force. “No, you will suffer.” I push him away and rise quickly to my feet. I begin to sprint to the ledge when a sharp instrument pierces the top of my leg. “You will feel pain!” I look down to see the hilt of a dagger and rusting iron sticking out from my leg. The faefolk had been lying down on the floor and managed to stab the blade into me. I limp forward awkwardly. Despite the pain, I don’t stop. Steps from the window, I hear him rise from the floor. No time to keep limping. I take one step onto my good leg and use it to propel my body through the window. The wind whistles past my ear as I plummet towards the ground: mud and hard earth waiting for me at the bottom.