The Blood God

Chapter 3

Fear kept them moving throughout the night. The woods were deep and dark, thick with thorns, bushes, and brambles, making it difficult to run. Their clothes snagged and tore.

It was walk then run all night and Jezebel knew she wouldn’t have been able to keep up this pace if she weren’t running on pure adrenaline. Her thoughts flickered between fear of another attack, to Josith’s horrible cries as he was carried off by those creatures, to the image of her family being consumed by flames. She wanted to cry, but she pushed her thoughts away. Living through this day was her only priority right now.

As the night diminished, a few beams of sunlight managed to reach the forest floor. Jezebel pushed another branch out of the way and noticed, for the first time, all the bloody cuts on her arms. The thorns and brambles had made their marks. She had barely felt them. The group stepped as quietly as they could, afraid to make too much noise but their careful steps weren’t making much of a difference. Every far off twig that snapped and rustle of leaves might herald an attack.

The sun was up well before Sulvi finally stopped in a small clearing. He panted and shook, as much from fear as from exhaustion. “Let’s take a break.” His short, blond hair, plastered with sweat, appeared brown from all the ash and dirt in it.

            The others collapsed against the trunks of the nearest trees. 

“We must rest, but only for a few hours. Lay down, I’ll keep watch first. Alik, you take second shift, Gramson third.” Sulvi said. “Does anyone have any water?”

            Everyone shook their heads. Jezebel noticed Sulvi hadn’t asked her to keep watch, but she was too tired to care.

“Don't worry, we'll find water soon,” he promised, right before the others passed out.

Exhausted, Jezebel’s eyes closed before she knew it.

            She awoke with someone gently shaking her shoulder.

            “Jezebel,” Alik said. “Come on, we need to get moving.”

            As she sat up, her eyes took a moment to focus. Gramson stretched his legs against a nearby tree, and Sulvi tucked his whittled knife into his waist. She stood up and winced. The roots and stones had been unkind to her; the hard ground was no comparison for sleeping at Josith’s side. Her very bones ached. She brushed the leaves from her torn and filthy dress. Her lips were wrinkled and dry from thirst.

            “We need to find water soon,” Sulvi said, his own lips parched and broken. He looked up at the sun that peaked through the cracks in the trees then headed east.

 Still only half awake, Jezebel followed, her thoughts wandering back to her parents. Her mother had always been fond of flowers and herbs. She used to take Jezebel into the fields and let her smell sweet scented blossoms, or point out medicinal herbs. A pleasant aroma had always filled their home from the many bundles of plants her mother kept hanging from the rafters. And her tea always worked wonders to keep colds at bay.

Her father was quiet and kept to himself, but loved to play the flute. As a little girl, he often serenaded her to sleep with soft, soothing melodies that sometimes brought her to tears. The man had loved music, but his voice was terrible. She smiled briefly as she remembered when she’d asked him to sing and he’d begrudgingly obliged; his voice had cracked, his pitch wavering and unsteady.

“That’s worse than the noises our mule makes, papa!” she’d told him. He’d laughed and patted her on the head, his round belly shaking from the movement.

Thinking about them made her eyes redden, and she hoped that they had died with minimal suffering. Her friends stopped when they heard her crying. She had been trying to keep quiet, but her repetitive sniffling had become obvious.