Old Soul Syndrome |ONC 2020|

Háligmónaþ 28, 1066 Continued

I must have fallen asleep. The next thing I knew, rough voices speaking a foreign language were waking me up. I stayed still, hidden by the long grass.

My heart pounded hard in my chest, shaking my entire body and my mouth was desperately dry. I moved my eyes toward where the voices were coming from, but couldn't see anything but the purpling sky directly above. My hands tangled in the grass, fingernails digging into the dirt beneath me as I tried to make my breath silent.

To my horror, I heard them drawing nearer. A few more moments and they'd be stumbling right over the top of me. My mind raced, making and discarding plans so fast I almost couldn't keep up.

A little over a hundred yards away, trees began. A small forest of sorts. I knew the paths through the trees and brambles better than anyone. The hard part would be getting there, sprinting across open field. If any of these men were archers, I would be dead.

But there are worse things than death.

My hand went down to the knife at my belt and I took another moment to listen, trying to gauge how far they were from me. By the sound, not very, but the wind off the ocean can play tricks. I would need to move fast.

I took a last, fortifying breath and threw myself to my feet, sprinting away like a startled hare. Shouts of surprise flew behind me, followed by laughter. Swearing under my breath, I hiked my skirts above my knees and fixed my eyes on the darkness beneath the branches.

My shoes slipped on the wet grass, the ground becoming treacherous underfoot as the bluff descended toward the forest.

Fingers snagged in my hair and I cried out as my head was wrenched back. A large body slammed into mine and we both went tumbling to the ground. I gasped, my lungs struggling to draw air. Chest heaving, I kicked out with both legs, catching my attacker full in the stomach.

He swore and a heavy fist clouted my jaw. My vision darkened, stars bursting inside my skull. Sound warped, but I could hear as his friends approached, weapons clanking. Their shouted laughter curdled my stomach and I scrambled for the knife on my belt.

The man who'd struck me snarled something, his hand locking around my wrist and jerking my arm behind my back as he pulled me upright.

I shook my head, trying to clear the fog, thick strands of reddish hair obscuring my vision further. As I struggled against the man holding me, I caught sight of two more loping forward at a lazy pace, grinning with anticipation. They both had bows slung across their backs, and the lack of armor on the third man suggested he was an archer as well.

Stomping down hard, I slammed my foot into the boot of the one holding me. He yelped and his hands loosened, allowing me to twist away. Whirling, I drove my fist into his cheek, knuckles barking in agony when they connected.

I took off running again, breath burning the back of my throat and the inside of my nose.

Now their shouts were not interspersed with laughs.

The sound didn't register at first—the sharp twang. Something slammed into my shoulder and agony exploded up the side of my neck, blinding me as I hit the ground again. I tried to push up to my feet, but my left arm didn't want to cooperate. 

It took a moment before I realized I'd been hit by an arrow. Hissing through my teeth, I managed to roll onto my side and struggle up to a sitting position. The trees were all but fifty yards away. I lifted my other hand, groping toward the arrow. As soon as I touched it, pain burned white-hot through my veins making my head spin and bile race up my throat.

There was no way I could run like this. Not fast enough anyway.

Their voices grew nearer. Blood leached down my back and all I could do was watch as they came toward me, skidding down the slope of the bluff and closing quickly. One had a bruise beginning to turn red and purple just beneath his eye and an ugly look on his florid face. 

His companions appeared equally unamused. 

I heaved myself to my knees, head spinning and ears ringing. They were speaking. I couldn't understand their words, but that hardly mattered. I understood their intent well enough.

The bruised one reached me first. My fingers groped once again toward my knife and his heel drove into my chest, flinging me backwards. I coughed, tasting blood in the back of my mouth. Cruel fingers latched around my throat, hot breath scorching my cheek.

Words were snarled into my ear. All I could do was squeeze my eyes shut.

They popped back open at the sound of hooves pounding across the field. The hand at my throat disappeared and I curled in on myself protectively. There was shouting and a horrid scream followed by a strange squelching sound. Then...silence.

A horse snorted and stomped a hoof disconcertingly close to my head. There was the rattle of weapons and heavy footsteps approached.

I flinched when a hand was laid gently on my shoulder, a small cry escaping my lips as the movement jolted the arrow. A man's voice spoke above me—in the same language as my attackers—and I curled into a tighter ball.

Or, I tried to.

An arm slid gently under my back, the hand on my shoulder cradling the arrow so it didn't move. The man propped me up, still speaking as I peered at him. He stopped dead when his eyes met mine. A bewildered look passed over his face, swiftly followed by a wondering smile. 

Blood was spattered across his face, making me look around. The bodies of my attackers lay splayed in the green grass, blood still seeping from their wounds. One had lost his head, another was cut nearly in two.

The man hissed out a breath and put a finger under my chin, turning my attention away from the carnage.

"Are you..." He paused and seemed to search for a word. "Better?"

I couldn't help a snort at his terrible accent, but was surprised he knew any of my language.

"Let me to help you."

Aeleva didn't trust him, but she didn't have any other choice. I nodded my head slowly, tears of pain blurring my vision. 

He placed a hand on his chest. "Deniel," he said softly before tapping my collarbone, raising a questioning eyebrow.

I swallowed against the bile once more surging in my throat. "Aeleva," I whispered.

Deniel smiled and lifted me from the ground. My knees shook and he caught me before I could collapse again. His horse—a huge grey destrier—pawed the ground nervously as Deniel carried me over, hefting me up onto the horse like I weighed nothing.

"You are..." He shook his head, muttering in his own language. "You will...be safe."

I blinked down at him from my perch on his horse. He gave me another strange smile and took the horse's reins, slowly leading me toward the last place I wanted to go.

Back toward the Norman camp.