She left.

Nuriel didn’t bother waiting for daybreak. She didn’t even prepare herself for the journey. She just climbed down from the ship and started walking, following the twisting paths of sand as they wound around stone hills and cut across canals of water. It didn’t matter what direction she was going, just so long as she was heading away!

She couldn’t stay. No, no sir, not a bit. The Carmilla’s Fancy was now officially demon territory. As far as she was concerned the birds could have it back!

And wasn’t it just her luck?! Wasn’t it bad enough that she be thrown to her death during a monstrous thunderstorm? Wasn’t it bad enough that she had to wash up on a bizarre island inhabited by…by monsters of both feather and scale, enormous spiders, crawling slugs, and most likely ghosts as well? But no, now she had to be stalked by a demon, a being powered by Hell itself! If she stayed too long under its watch it would no doubt drag her off into the Pit!

She kept walking, sometimes stomping through the sand, sometimes sloshing through the shallow canals.

Hell, she might’ve been better off just drowning after being thrown overboard! At least then she might have had a chance of escaping eternal damnation! Who knew, maybe the Saints and Angels would have taken pity on a poor, young sinner. But if she consorted with the spawn of Hell itself? Oh no, no salvation for her!

It was then that Nuriel noticed that she had left the labyrinth of sandbars, canals, and smaller islands, and was now walking along the island’s coast, with the open sea now to her right.

Nuriel stopped and stood in the sand, staring out at the surf. It had not been too long ago that she had been thrown into those very waves, abandoned to drown as punishment for her perceived crimes. The memory of her struggles to escape her watery grave were still very fresh in her mind.

But more pressing was the memory of golden light and green eyes, of a black smile grinning up at her from the water.

Nuriel shivered. It would not do to forget that there was another monster out there, one that prowled the depths. She couldn’t stick to the coast lest it reach out and drag her under. She couldn’t move further inland lest something find and eat her. And no matter where she went, there was no place that the red-eyed monster couldn’t find her. Hell, it probably was following her right that second, watching with amusement as she tried to get away from it!

Was it even possible to be even more fucked than she already was?

Shaking her head, Nuriel moved forward. She had to keep moving. To stop was to die. She had to find…someplace, someplace where she wouldn’t be followed. But what were the chances of that happening?

Nuriel had no idea how long she walked. She passed by the grove of red fruit that the chirpers had shown her, around towering cliffs, through a lagoon around which slept a family of weird, shaggy things that looked like horse-sized turkeys, complete with blunt beaks and crested heads. She walked under towering bridges of stone and past lush jungles. She waded through canals that drained out into the ocean.

Then, as she passed by another hill that rose up from the beach, she caught sight of an odd tree.

It sat on the top of the hill and was strangely shaped. Nuriel paused and looked up at it. There was something very strange about its leaves. They were certainly thick, but were unlike she had ever seen, too large to be like the trees back in England, too sharp-edged to be palm fronds, and they most certainly weren’t needles. Plus, they were moving in an odd way, one that couldn’t be explained by the wind.

And then she heard a familiar sounding cackle, and she froze.

And then the tree suddenly lit up with dozens of golden eyes, and she understood.

No.

With a shrill cry to action, the first of the birds leapt from the tree, spreading its wings wide. Nuriel didn’t stick around to see the rest take off. She ran.

As her feet pounded the sand, she cast a fearful behind her. The tree was now abandoned, revealed for the naked dead thing it was, and the birds were giving chase, darkening the sky behind her, their bloodthirsty screams filling the night.

No.

This couldn’t be happening! Out of all the things she had to run into, it had to be them?

Then she felt something hit her shoulder. The lead bird rose up, cackling as it went, leaving a gash in her shirt. The skin beneath was barely scraped.

This was of no relief. Another bird reached her, and she was cut again, this time along her back. They were going to cut her down little by little until she slowed, and then they would descend upon her en masse.

She was going to die.

No.

She was going to be brought down.

No.

She could feel them now, feel the hot lances of pain as their talons slashed through her clothes.

No.

She was going to be eaten alive.

No.

She was going to die here, now, tonight, and there was nothing she could do about it.

No!

Then, as she rounded another cliff, hands flailing as they futilely tried to protect her head, she saw a chance.

She had come to a bay, in which a river emptied into the sea. And it was surrounded by a thick grove of bamboo.

Desperate for any kind of shelter, Nuriel found a final burst of energy and took off, pursued by vengeful screeching and the flapping of dark wings.

The birds struck again and again, slicing away at her clothes, cutting into her flesh. But she didn’t stop. The pain galvanized her on, the terror giving her legs strength and speed.

Somehow she made it. Nuriel burst into the bamboo thicket, throwing herself between the shoots and forced herself further and deeper in. Behind her, the birds screeched with rage as they tried to follow, but while they were small enough to fit, their bodies weren’t properly shaped to navigate the tight spaces.

Once she had gone as far as she could, Nuriel collapsed. Her back, shoulders, and the back of her neck felt like they were on fire, crisscrossed with hot agony. Furthermore, she was covered with something wet and sticky.

Hands shaking, Nuriel touched a finger to her shoulder and brought it to her eyes. Even in the dark she could tell that her fingers were now slick with blood.

Something inside her broke, something she had been struggling to hold together for a very, very long time, long before she had even washed up on the island. Nuriel slumped down and started crying, great, shaking sobs wracking her body.

This is the end, she thought with great bitterness as she sobbed and wept like a little child. I’m done. I’m beaten. If I don’t bleed out here, something else will find me. I’m dead, I’m fucking dead, I’m-

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

It was then that she surfaced enough to notice that the birds were no longer screaming. And in that absence, she heard something through the nearby river, something…large.

Now too scared to cry, Nuriel tried to get up, but the burning fire that was her back flared up so much that it brought fresh tears to her eyes. Gritting her teeth, she moved herself around as much as she could to try to get a look through the bamboo shoots.

What she saw told her that her night had somehow gotten worse.

A long, dark shape was moving through the river, heading toward the sea. It was huge, easily over twice her height, and had a vaguely crocodilian shape, if a crocodile walked along on two massive legs; with a bullet-shaped head suspended on a long, thick neck; and an equally thick tail that stuck out far behind it. Instead of a front pair of legs, it had two clawed hands.

Though it was only in silhouette, Nuriel had no trouble seeing the rows upon rows of sharp teeth whenever it opened its mouth, or the two huge sickle-shaped claws, much like those on the feet of the feathered butchers, only this one had one on each hand.

Nuriel clamped a hand over her mouth to keep any sound from coming out. Her pain momentarily forgotten, she ducked down as far as she could, listening to the deep growls of its breathing and the water sloshing around its legs.

She closed her eyes and mentally willed the crocomonster to just keep walking, keep on its moonlight stroll, and to pay no attention to the tiny, insignificant, quivering creature that was hiding nearby.

The sloshing stopped.

Oh no.

Nuriel opened her eyes again. The crocomonster had stopped and was now standing still in the river. It lifted its head and sniffed the night air.

The blood. It smelled her blood.

Then it turned its head toward her.

The next thing Nuriel knew, the crocomonster had forced its massive head into the bamboo thicket, bending back the stalks with its two clawed hands, revealing where she was cowering.

It looked down at her, a monstrous black shape blotting out the stars, and she looked back up at it.

Then with a guttural growl it stepped forward and bent its head toward her. Nuriel tried to run, but she had neither the space nor the strength, and its jaws closed in around her.

It lifted her up, the dagger-points of its teeth pressing into her. Nuriel thrashed and kicked, but it did no good.

But it didn’t bite down. It just held her there, carrying her as it returned to the river, wading back the way it came.

Nuriel gawked as she was carried through the air. It’s taking me home, she realized. It’s taking me home to its nest. But to what? Save her for later? Feed her to its young? Regardless, whatever it intended for her, she would not survive.

Suddenly the crocomonster stumbled. Nuriel’s body jerked terribly, and some of the teeth punctured her.

The crocomonster stumbled again, and she tumbled out of its mouth.

Nuriel hit the river. The shock and the cool water momentarily numbed her pain but not her fear. She knew she ought to start swimming, but her limbs wouldn’t respond.

There was very little current, so she was surrounded by nothing but darkness and cold and the sound of the crocomonster’s legs as they thrashed through the water. She heard its hoarse and distorted roars. It sounded like it was in pain.

Maybe it’ll step on me, she found herself thinking. The possibility didn’t seem so bad. At least it would be quick. Probably.

And then, as she drifted off, waiting for it to finally end, a most curious thing happened. Out of the dark a golden light appeared, one that was moving toward her.

Was that an angel, come to take her away? If so, then God was even more merciful than reported, if He was to overlook her life of thieving and deceit.

There was something in the light, something that was…vaguely human in shape, but far too long and sinuous. It was swimming toward her like an eel, its body swaying back and forth. That didn’t look like an angel.

And then it got close enough that Nuriel could see its face. It was the face of a girl, framed by long, flowing hair. There were stripes across the face, and its eyes…

Its eyes glowed bright green.

…

Nuriel Cunningham woke to the sound of falling rain.

This time, there was no gradual drift back to consciousness, no slow rise from the depths of oblivion. It wasn’t a fight, it wasn’t a fade; one moment she was dead to the world, and the next her eyes had snapped wide open, and she was lying on her back, staring up into darkness as the rain’s clamor filled her ears and her heart pounded away in her chest.

She was…where was she? Was she alive? Had she survived? Had the crocomonster actually brought her back to its lair? Was she moments away from being feasted on by its young?

Or maybe she had washed up on the beach, and the birds were watching her from above, waiting for her to show some signs of life so that they could snuff it out!

Or maybe the sea monster had hauled her through dark waters and had brought her to its underwater lair, and she was to be made its bride!

(of the available choices, she found herself hoping it was the latter)

Surprise was still coursing through her, so Nuriel made a concerted effort to slow her breathing and take in what information she could gather.

Fact 1: She was not dead. This was encouraging.

Fact 2: She was somewhere dark, lying on a flat, hard surface. This was discouraging.

Fact 3: It was cool, but not outright cold. This was neutral information.

Fact 4: It was apparently raining, but not on her. So she was probably inside…something. This honestly could go either way.

Fact 5: She did not…

Nuriel frowned.

Though she had yet to build up the willingness to move, now that she was taking stock of herself, she didn’t seem to be in any pain. Now, that was just odd. Encouraging, but also very odd, because by all rights she ought to be in agony. The birds had ripped her back and shoulders apart, and she had been stabbed in the belly by the crocomonster’s teeth. And yet she could not detect any hurts.

This might be a problem. Maybe she was dead.

Nuriel concentrated on her right arm. It lifted. The fingers tingled, and it felt a little sluggish, but it lifted.

She laid it on her stomach. She was still wearing her shirt. She ran it over the fabric until she found the holes where the crocomonster’s teeth had gone through. But the flesh beneath was whole.

Nuriel breathed in and out. Her chest lifted and sank. Well, she felt alive.

Letting her hand lay across her stomach, Nuriel then shifted her focus to her left arm. She curled the fingers and ran them across the surface she was lying on.

Wood. Old wood.

Uh-oh.

Nuriel slowly sat up. Every bit of the way she expecting her back and shoulders to flare up in hot agony, but it didn’t happen. She felt woozy, yes, and strangely tingly, but she didn’t hurt.

Nuriel looked around. It was as she had feared: she was back in the Carmilla’s Fancy. It was dark, but meager light shown through the chips, holes, and cracks in the hull, though oddly enough no rain was coming down through the holes in the deck. She tilted her head and listened. From the sound of it, something had been laid over the deck, some kind of covering.

Her bad feeling growing, Nuriel reached behind herself with one hand and up to her shoulders with the other.

The back of her shirt was a shredded mess, but there were no bloody gashes beneath. She was fine.

Then, just to make sure, she lifted a trembling hand to her ear, the one that the bird had torn. The flesh was still ragged, but it no longer hurt. The infection was gone, and the skin healed.

Nuriel slowly laid back and stared up into the shadowed ceiling as she tried to make sense of this.

By all rights, she ought to be dead. Even if the crocomonster had failed to end her, something else would have. She had been torn and bleeding, a sure signal to any predator that an easy meal was nearby.

But she wasn’t dead. She had been returned to the ship. She had been made well again. Her wounds were all closed, both the ones she had gotten fresh and the ones that her first encounter with that evil bird had given her.

Green eyes swathed by golden light, swimming toward her out of the murk.

Nuriel shivered. The sea monster had brought her back; there was no other explanation. Perhaps even with the red-eyed monster’s help. It would not surprise her if they were in league.

As for how she had been healed, it was magic. It had to be magic. The whole island was probably full of it.

But what kind? Was she now touched by demons? Was her soul now irreversibly stained? Was Heaven’s Gate now forever closed to her?

Oh, come off it. Like you had half a prayer of getting in anyway.

Well, she was alive. That was the important part. In the end, survival was all that mattered-

Wait!

Nuriel’s upper body bolted straight up. She hastily swung her leg around and seized the boot, hands thrusting themselves inside, fearful that she would find-

St. George was still there, resting snugly in his hidden sheathe.

Sighing with relief, Nuriel drew him out and lay back again, hands clasping him to her chest. It was all right. She still had him.

Nuriel’s head slumped to the side.

Then she frowned. Wait, there was something there.

The pale light was shining in through one particularly large crack, and it was illuminating something…new. Nuriel sat up and crawled over to investigate.

It was the basket of fruit, still full. Sitting next to it was a corked glass bottle. And on it was a piece of paper.

Nuriel picked it up. As she did, it unfolded in her hand, revealing itself to be a very, very long piece of paper, one that spilled all the way to the floor.

It was another note, no doubt courtesy of the red-eyed monster. Only this one wasn’t a few short messages and amusing illustrations. This one was…long.

Sighing, Nuriel set it aside. There wasn’t enough light to read it by, and right now she was too tired to give it the effort.

She then looked to the fruit. Twice she had rejected the gift, but now she no long really had the luxury. Healed she might be, but she was still very hungry, and her throat was parched with thirst, something that the sound of rain was doing nothing to help.

Nuriel picked up the bottle and yanked out the cork. She gave it a sniff.

Wine.

Wine that could have any number of things added to it, her father’s voice cautioned. Are you willing to take the risk?

Do I have a choice? Nuriel thought bitterly. Besides, in moments like this, a bottle of wine was exactly what she needed.

Holding onto the bottle with one hand, she grabbed the basket of fruit with the other and dragged it back into her dark corner.