In Love and War

Chapter 10 - Stranded

Arya's blood had never felt so alive. It thrummed through her veins, consuming her. Voices ricocheted through her skull, snippets of conversations that were gone too quickly for her to remember. She was endless and infinite, floating in space, reaching for something, for somebody she didn't know, or couldn't remember.

She became aware of her body slowly. Little pains trickled in at first--the sting of salt on scraped skin, the pulsing ache of a bruised ankle, the twinge of raw skin pressed against something hard.

And then the big pains rushed in--a pounding headache, the tendrils of pain that wrapped around her ribs and squeezed every time she took a breath.

Arya cracked open her salt-crusted eyes to perfect blue sky. A bird called far above her, circling, then wheeling out of sight. Beside her, the crash of waves sounded, and she flinched as ice cold water slid over her skin, then retreated. Slowly--painfully--she lifted her head and looked around.

She lay on dark rock. It stretched in both directions for as far she she could see, sucking up the sunlight that beat down on her. She sprawled out on it, half her skirts gone--ripped, and her hair cushioning her head. The ocean glittered serenely beside her, waves crashing just hard enough for the foamy tips to wash over her skin.

There wasn't a soul around.

Slowly, Arya pushed herself to a sitting position. She could hear her heartbeat in her skull, and with each pulse, a bolt of pain shot through her head. The ocean split into two as she blinked then merged back into one.

Where was she? She couldn't remember. She remembered... anger. She remembered blood sliding over her hands. Snippets of her past, of what she should have known flashed past. A castle. A crown. A war. She got onto a ship, and there was another woman, a girl, Thema. Everything began to come back. Arya remembered the storm, how it tossed the boat like a child's toy. There was an ethereal voice, and then she was torn from the boat. And then there was a flash of the boat's hull coming toward her, and she could remember nothing more.

Arya reached behind her head and touched her skull gingerly. Her fingers came away stained pink with watery blood. She noticed hazily that her fingers were trembling.

She was on Sheridan. She had to be. Where else could this strange place be?

She looked around again, and waves rinsed her legs, then retreated. There was no sign of the storm in the blue sky. The sun beat down on her from above, reflecting off the waves until she was forced to squint against its painful brightness. Behind her, on the land, was a forest of enormous trees that grew out of the cracks in the strange black rock.

The fear crept up slowly, latching onto her with razor sharp claws. She was stranded, injured and alone, on a beach in a foreign land governed only by magic and the gods. She had her knives, strapped tightly to her forearms, but--she snorted--a whole bloody lot of good those would do against gods and monsters.

Arya forced the fear back, forced it back with gritted teeth and a huff of breath as she glared out over the water. Fear was good, but only if you could twist it to help you. Otherwise it got you killed, she'd learned that long ago.

She managed to stand on weak legs and made her way into the water, rinsing off the dirt and grime that covered her as best she could. She noticed that her ankle was swollen and fat, and a dark bruise bloomed across the side of it. Thin red scratches ran down her arms.

She needed to find food, she realized as her stomach grumbled. And water. Then she could think about the fact that she was finally on Sheridan. Then she could figure out what to do next, where to go, where she was.

Food and clean water. Those would be in the forest.

The forest was cool and dry and alive with noise. Strange plants crept along the ground, and colorful bugs skittered away from her quiet footsteps as she padded parallel to the ocean. Rivers ran out to the ocean; if she walked along the beach she'd have to find a stream somewhere. Or so she hoped. She realized now with sinking dread that she really did not know how to survive in the wild.

Behind her, the forest went silent, as though the mighty trees held their breaths. Arya went still as well, her hands going to the knives on her arms. She hadn't noticed how many sounds the forest made until they were gone. Her heart began to pound. It took a fearsome creature indeed to silence an entire forest. She strained her eyes peering into the murky depths of the trees. Not a thing moved.

Behind her, something growled--a rattling, low sound that was far too close for her comfort.

Slowly, Arya turned around.

She found herself staring up into the maw of a creature straight from nightmares.

* * * * *

Hello lovely readers!

I'm sorry this chapter took forever as well. I've been busy. I will continue to be busy. Chapters will continue to be slow :(

Anyway, what do you think Arya is facing? (hint: this story has a lot to do with Celtic mythology). Do you think she will survive alive and with all limbs intact? (I am contemplating this question myself. I'm thinking I might take an arm or a hand sometime).

Have a restful weekend!