Page 1 of Of Shadows and Blood

Chapter 1

The night has seldom advanced upon man with the maliciousness that comes with day. Be wary of deeds done not in darkness, but in the light.

A phantom wind, cool and unknown, threads itself across my head like cold fingers. The hairs prickle and sway in their roots, sending shivers throughout my body.

My body, my body, my body.

Yes, I believe this is my body.

Lavender wafts into the air, carried heavily by that breeze. The scent mixes with something else, something I cannot determine, but it is altogether welcome because I feel at peace here. Those calming notes evoke a more alert feeling, a certain familiarity within them, but I am too enveloped in this stillness. Everything within me is leaden and heavy with exhaustion.

Voices ring in the distance, arguing, from what I can gather. The sound grates in my ears as if they were right next to me before droning out.

My fingers awake slowly, joints stiff from disuse, aching and popping. I close and open my fist to stretch them out, the sensation incredible. The feel of soft satin under their pads is soothing, every thread luxurious and inviting. It encourages me to roll my neck about, the pillow beneath my head is equally as lush. My toes join, too.

Licking my lips, I notice how dry they are. Swallowing is difficult, my throat dry like the weathered ground of a desert. And then there is the incessant pounding in my head, mixing with the sounds all around me.

I need something to drink.

Lazily, my eyes pull open. They crack slowly at first, trying to resist the immediate input of light. It’s a painful movement as if sand was wedged under my lids. My vision, blurred and distorted, begins to focus on what is around me.

Where am I?

The room is circular and built of stone with one large wooden door a few paces from the edge of the bed. Around me lie baskets of purple flowers, a few tables littered with parchment, some medical supplies and an armoire. The space is medieval, like something from another world.

I’m trying to orient myself, but everything is spinning. On either side of the bed are large windows, my neck cracking as I look to either side. They’ve been propped open to let in the soft light of day accompanied by the slight cold breeze, flowing past the curtains and down my arms, raising goosebumps. That floral smell carries in again with another gust.

The arguing voices outside stop as I attempt to orient myself in whatever infirmary I have woken up in. We had none in our… village? It was a village, right? I can’t place it, but I know it must have been one.

The village, the village, the village.

This brain fog is something entirely different from the foreign sensations in my body, entirely explainable from what I am experiencing.

Looking around to orient myself, I feel that terrible soreness again in my neck, leaving me no choice but to rest back down. Everything is tight and fatigued, as if my body has not moved in a long time. Even the tiniest movements are exhausting.

Hurried footsteps sound from outside the room, commotion rising beyond the door. I try to inch back against the headboard in anticipation of an intruder, but the wooden door swings open in a blink and slams against the stone wall. A miracle the thing did not shatter into pieces but still, I jump and pull the sheet up to my chest.

A large, towering male stands in the doorway, breathing erratically, eyes scanning me up and down. I can’t make out his face. It isn’t one I know. His expression, though, is full of emotions I cannot read. He bends over, pressing his hand to his chest.

Panic. He’s feeling panic.

I try to pull myself slowly up onto my elbows, attempting to sit up straight. I want to say something, unsure of the situation entirely, but my throat is drier than dirt.

He abruptly turns his head out into the hallway and yells, “She’s awake!”

The male in front of me, dressed in fine fabrics of red and black, sprints towards the bed. I take it that he is not my healer. Pausing before sitting down, he looks at my body as though my existence isn’t possible.

“Hello?” I scratch out. He’s not speaking. The male tilts his head, curiously, and forces out a nervous laugh through his frantic breathing. I attempt to scoot back, more in caution, and pull the blanket tighter as if that could protect me.

“Forgive me, are you my –” I look around and note the gauze and scissors – “my healer?” I feign a smile, reducing my worry and confusion to innocence.

The male’s smile drops and he tenses. Our eyes meet and I see so many things running through his brain as he runs a stressed hand through his hair. Cautiously, he sits on the bed next to me and I attempt another failed scoot in the opposite direction.

“Elivienne…” he begins, pausing to grab my hand from the blanket. I let him, confused.

He’s much larger up close, making me feel incredibly small. His skin is tanned though I see no scars on his hands that would indicate he works outside as much as me. With dark, messy locks of short hair pointing in every direction, he doesn’t look half as formal as his outfit. But his eyes… his eyes are almost mahogany. As if red and brown mixed to create this shade. He looks familiar, but I can’t place him.

“Who are you?” I ask, looking him up and down. He’s certainly not dressed like any healers I’ve met.