Chapter 8: She Kicks like a Mule

Mercy Hall

A garden with a pond lined with flowers comes into view.

Eyes closed, she sucks in a deep breath. An earthy, woody smell invades her nose along with the sweet, fragrant aroma of tender rose petals.

A trickle of water croons in her ears, lulling her.

When she opens her lids, the trunk of a tree fills her vision. Its roots, twisted and knotted, curl around her as if in a tender embrace.

Shrubs line the exterior walls of the plush garden. Statues of men and women line the walkways. She wonders whether she's alone or if any of them are gargoyles in disguise.

Drawing in a deep breath, she tests the air.

The cornucopia of fresh vegetation gives her a deja vu sensation.

"Is this real?" The mixed aroma of crushed grapes, jasmine, and heather is familiar; it's almost comforting. "Am I sleeping?" She just can't shake the notion she doesn't belong, not really.

The dribble of water in the pond catches her ear. As she gazes into the shimmering surface, a figure appears. The silvery silhouette raises a hand and waves.

'My gift to you, child of Earth, is change - to nevermore be sad nor lonely.' The words blow through Mercy's mind. 'May you find what you seek in this world. And when you do, hold it to your breast and guard it closely.'

The image fades, leaving only the tree to shimmer in the water's reflective surface under the light of the blood moon.

"Wait. Don't go."

Nearby, music rides on the wind.

The soulful intonation of each note sings. Her inner beast, now calm and content, longs to bask under the caressing light of the moon while listening to the song.

Following the source of the dark melody, she finds herself under a lit balcony covered with purple wild grapes. The vibrant red leaves offer a sharp contrast to the pale stone walls.

The castle. The smells. The scenery. She's encountered it all before, but she's not sure where. Perchance, in a different dream.

"Wait. I know this place." The words pass her lips like a whisper in the night.

When the music stops, and the lights go out, she lingers. The sad melody replays in her head. She hums the tune.

Overhead, a curtain shifts. The soft glow of a candle shines. A man with dark hair leans over the rail.

Mercy pulls her hood over her head and flees, seeking a place to hide. She presses her back against the stone wall of the castle. The drumming of her twin hearts increases. They throb in her ears.

"I know you're there," he says. "I can see your shadow on the pavers."

She scrutinizes her stretched outline. It's long. Taller than she is by far. Extending an arm, she wiggles her fingers, which shoots five long connected shadows to snake across the cobblestone path.

Footsteps resonate above her on the balcony then recede.

She cranes her neck and peers at the stone rail. Her blood races in anticipation of who she will find. But the balcony is empty except for the soft glow of the flickering candle.

Where'd he go?

Drawing in a deep breath, she listens to the sounds around her. Leaves rustle. Crickets chirp. The pond water trickles.

Quietly, she waits for a bullhorn to boom and guards to invade the garden.

The cadence of her hearts crescendo, battering against the ribs holding them in place.

A squeaky door makes her ears perk, but she can't identify the source. As she clutches the grapevine, she focuses on steadying her ragged breath. Scanning the grounds, doubt sinks in and burrows deep into her thoughts.

Great, a twenty-foot stone wall without a gate. Just what every girl needs, not!

Standing erect, she rotates her shoulders forward and uncurls her wings. Pain shoots down her arm, radiating from her chest to her back.

"Ahh." Flashes of light fill her vision, making her head hurt.

Okay, perchance, that's not a promising idea.

She squeezes the vines, grits her teeth, and returns to her human form.

The plants under her hands shift.

What the hell?

To her right, movement catches her attention. The section of the wall she's pressed against moves, and she stumbles forward.

Peeking over her shoulder, she gazes at the dark-headed man she saw earlier.

"There you are." His chocolate-brown eyes call to her.

She's drawn into a warm embrace.

What are you doing? Flee before it's too late, the words roll around in her head.

Twisting free of his grasp, she dashes into the gardens.

"You're swift for someone so small, but you're not fast enough to elude capture for long."

Behind her, footsteps pound, closing the distance between her and the man in hot pursuit.

The path opens. A row of hedges, that twist and turn like a maze, snake around the garden.

"You're not going to get far."

Jumping over a cone-shaped hedge, she sprints for the wall. About three feet away, she leaps into the air and digs her nails into the stone. Pain rips through her shoulder.

Come on, you can do this.

Pulling herself up the wall tugs on her wound and a groan escapes her lips.

Halfway up the structure, a hand grabs her boot. She's yanked down the stone surface and wrestled to the ground.

"Stop moving, boy." He pins her under the weight of his hard, lean frame.

The warmth of his body is a welcome change from the cold. But right now, she can't help thinking she's become his prey.

Freeing a leg, she loops it around her captor's waist. "Let go."

She knocks him off balance then kicks him.

He releases a sharp intake of air. "Well, that was unexpected."

Rising, she takes a single step, but she's tackled, once more. Squirming on a bed of crunchy leaves, she struggles to gain the upper hand.

"Release me." Mercy scoots onto her side.

Pain shoots down her arm. Clenching her teeth, she redistributes her weight but straddles him in the process.

Her hood slides off, and her hair flows around her shoulders.

"Wait." His brows jet upward in surprise. "You're a girl?" He rolls her onto her back and pins her to the ground. "Why are you dressed like a boy?" He zeros in on her shoulder. "You're hurt?"

"Well, you're supposed to be a man. So, why do you fight like a female child?" Mercy slams a hand below his sternum where it dips, which makes him gasp for air. "A small one at that."

"How were you wounded?" He rubs his chest. "And I don't fight like a girl."

"If you say so." She loops her leg around his waist, once more. Finally, she manages to dislodge him from his perch.

"Stop, I don't want to hurt you."

"Hurt me?" Hand curled into a tight fist, she swings at him. Her knuckles slam into his upper cheekbone and eye socket.

"Whatcha do that for?" He rubs the side of his face.

"You should stick to playing your viola." Thrusting her leg outward, she lands a blow to his chest.

"Okay," he groans. "That's some kick."

She sprints to the pond.

The garden, the words swirl in her head, lose him in the vegetation.

At the water's edge, she examines the other statues.

They're all angels with wings. Feathered wings, but wings, nonetheless. So, she squats on top of a rock. Feet together, she hugs her knees to her chest.

Her cloak slides over her shoulders and turns into wings. Bowing her head to the side, she partially hides her face in her arms. In silence, she finishes the transformation into her gargoyle form.

The racing beats of her twin hearts slow. Her mind clears. A coolness spreads across her limbs signaling her beast is upon her. Silver-colored talons replace her nails, and a shroud of rock encases her skin, shielding her from prying eyes.

"My Lord," a guard dressed in light armor calls out. A couple of men carrying spears follow on his heels.

A familiar aroma invades her senses, making her noise itch.

"I'm over here," shouts the man who had chased her moments ago. Standing hunched over, holding his chest, he waves to the guards.

"Are you all right, my lord?" The guard stops less than three feet from Mercy.

She draws in a breath and focuses on the armor-clad man.

He smells unusual, different. Who or what are you, stranger?

"I'm fine. But there's an injured red-haired girl in the garden. Find her. When you do, bring her to me."

He steps forward then stops.

"Be careful thought because she's quick on her feet. And watch her legs because she kicks like a mule."

Hand to his chest, he rubs the sore spot, grinning, then thinks, that will surely leave a bruise by tomorrow.