Writing

Father of my Blood Part 1

My skin hummed as the moonlight washed over, calling to the magic buried deep within my blood; sending shivers through my body. My feet sank deeper into the blood soaked ground as I stood still for the first time since the ritual began, my pits laced with sweat and lungs panting for extra breath.

Blood didn’t look the same in moonlight, it lost its red; my body should be painted red but instead it looks like molten tar dripping from my limbs in thick oozing lumps. The curved blade hung loosely between my fingers as I watch for any movement, my toes disappearing into the mud. Nothing moved.

They should have moved by now.

He said they would move by now.

My eyes moved from one wolf carcass to the next. Each of them killed in one simple move, one stab and swish of my knife. Just like he told me. Why weren’t they changing?

“Forgive me Mothers of my Mother.” The weight of my failure dragged me down to my knees.

“I have failed.” The tears choked around my eyes, swelling and swaying, threatening to spill on the ancient ground below.

I had trained for six years for this moment; spent days and nights hammering the order into my head, waiting for my blood moon to rise once again. I still got it wrong.

I pushed myself forward, I had to move or I would sink too far, and someone would find me when morning comes. My fingers ran over the cooling fur of the closest wolf, she had fought so fierce and brave to protect her cub; her death was in vein.

Pulling her weight towards me forced the first tear to wash over the barrier, they started slow but soon two rivers of clear washed through my bloodmask and fell deep into the mother’s fur coat.

“Great Mother, forgive me.” Her greyed out fur, half clumped with congealed blood was still soft beneath my forehead as I whispered of my waste to my Great Mother.

I should have heard him approach. I didn’t.

His teeth sunk in deep, my shoulder singing with the pain of being mauled and dragged; eighty kilos of pure muscle pinning me hard against the mud. Screams bounced around my head, my screams, the screams of my Mothers, the screams of my blood.

His head thrashed from side to side, tugging backwards as it went; I pulled against him and paid the price. The echoing pop of my dislocated shoulder was almost covered by my scream; his ears went down as the sound hit him. My hand thrashed at his face for something to free myself, desperate my nails dug deep into his flesh; my thumb slipped into its mouth sending another bolt of pain as it sliced against its teeth.

The pain began to numb as the mud beneath moved easier thanks to my blood, he tugged on but I no longer felt the pressure of the teeth; merely the motions of left and right.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Back.

I would pay with blood for failing the Great Mother. It was a price that had to be paid. The blood moon turned darker as something began to stir deep inside me.

The emptiness swirled as my blood mixed with that of the wolves. The power of ancient bloodlines mixing into one, the power shot through me; my muscles convulsed sending the wolf back inch by inch.

I forced myself to roll, pinning my dislocated shoulder between my body and the nearest rock; my eyes never leaving the wolf, his eyes never leaving mine. I sucked my breath through my clenched teeth and jerked my body forward.

My scream echoed for miles.

He hit the floor, his ears pinned back. Stained teeth appeared as my scream panted out. I rolled forward determined not to pass out.

He lunged forward faster than before, his whole body slamming into the knife now well placed in my hand. Diversions, work just as well with animals.

The blade drew the crescent shape deep into his chest. Deep and bloody. His body hit the floor, his face caked in my blood.

Above me the blood moon had moved on, no longer lighting the whole sky but passing on to different lands. I had to move while I could still see my way. My blood would attract more than just wolves if I were to wonder too far.

Bracing myself against the nearest tree I reassessed the gaping wound in my shoulder. At least the damage was mainly contained. The pain from relocating my shoulder was hummed out by the constant ache of the broken flesh.

Pain shot through my chest as I forced the two raw edges together. I needed to keep the forest out of there. One arm limp at my side, and the other gripping my shoulder, I struggled forward. Trees became leaning posts the further I travelled, my pace slowing.

The world began to blur as the cool of the bark penetrated my forehead. I had lingered too long.

I should have heard him coming. I didn’t.

The ground came up too quick. I tried to roll but my body didn’t respond. Turning slower than I should his body was on top of mine.

Pinning me firm to the ground all I could do was stare.

“What have you done?” His voice rasped. Aqua eyes shimmering as I glanced over his body.

It had worked.

“I have- bought you back.” Forcing more air into my lungs. “Father of my blood.”

 

 


 

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I cannot claim that I merely imagine all of my ideas from nowhere, that would be a lie. ‘Little Beasty’ is the brain child of my own imagination and this Pinterest post. A simple concept that grew into the short story above.

 

 

So my lovely readers, what did you think of my first flourish of writing on my blog? Did you like it? Did you not like it? Please be honest and leave me a comment below!

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