Healing the Bloodlands

Emma had pulled Sarah half way to her lips when Master Belmont interrupted, his voice booming around the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for being here tonight as my honored guests. I know you have all been waiting to know what is so special about tonight. It is a long story and I will attempt to tell it in as few words as possible so as to still convey the pivotal importance of tonight. As you all know, your land makes up what is known as the Bloodlands. What you most likely don't know is how the name came to be. Six hundred years ago, a great feud was fought on top of the fertile land we now own. It was barren and dead but with every life shed on it, every drop of blood that leaked down into the soil from the end of a life, new life grew. The victors of the feud took the land and discovered the devilish woodland creatures known as the fey that had begun to enchant the land with great fertility in exchange for the blood it held. They didn't want the land or the fruit of their enchantment and the victors were free to use it, passing it and the story of how their land had grown fertile down to their children. One hundred years later to the date, the land dried up and the masters began to fight again, looking to place blame for their sudden poverty and their abandonment by the fey. Once again, the blood spilled in the violence brought the fey's magic and new life with it. The words of their great grandfathers came back to the masters and they spread the blood of their dead across the soil and it again bore them wealth."

A cold wind whistled into the room through the open balcony doors and a collective shiver ran through the crowd. Emma wondered vaguely why the servants hadn't closed the doors, but her attention was on the gruesome story being presented and her own attempts to not envision it.

"A hundred years passed and it happened again. The fey magic was brought back in the conflict over sudden poverty. A hundred years later, the smartest of the masters were ready. The eldest head of each household gave his life to keep the family land alive, but the fey were not pleased with the self-sacrifice. They wanted murder. So, the families turned on each other once more and blood was spilled. The land stayed fertile. Two hundred years ago, the masters came up with a new plan, a way to spare their families and keep their riches while appeasing the fey. The blood did not have to be from their own families. Any blood would do and who better to sacrifice than the same men and women whose blood, sweat, and labor was given to the manor already."

"The servants," Master Belmont, Emma, and Sarah said together.

"Oh my god," Sarah gulped, grabbing onto Emma.

"I have to warn them," Emma whispered trying to pull away once again.

"You have to get them the Hell out of here," Sarah corrected. Her eyes had lost their glow. They were the color of the cold, hard ground the master's plows had been unable to cut earlier that day. "Get everyone to the river, swim downstream a mile and a half. You'll see a blue barn to the right. That's my land. I'll delay everyone as long as I can and then join you. Keep to the river, the dogs won't be able to follow your scent."

Emma was shoved back towards the doors to the servants' area while Sarah made a beeline through the crowd towards the front of the room. Please don't let that have been goodbye, Emma prayed as she slipped silently out of the room and bolted down the narrow hallway.

Scene 3

"Not everyone was willing to make the sacrifice two hundred years ago, nor were they all willing to do so one hundred years ago. Those families that did not sacrifice found their land dead and could not grow in the easy way they always had with the fey magic. They eventually abandoned the land to those who knew how to restore its wealth when the time came again. The Fallows were left as a reminder of what happens to land that is not fertilized with the life of another. Those of you who have been in your fields today know that something has changed. Your land no longer has the fey magic and will grow nothing more until you spread blood over it. Luckily for you, my great grandfather was entrusted with passing on the ceremony which we will complete tonight. All of your great grandfathers paid dues into the fund that has kept this manor heavily staffed and I have an entire wing of all your servants that are as good as livestock waiting at the slaughter."

Jesus, Sarah cursed under her breath, this man is insane.

"This is mad," someone in the crowd echoed Sarah's thoughts.

"Is it?" Ranald asked. "Rodney, your land would not sow. Loren, your crops were withered. Oscar, your well is dry and your seedlings have died in one day. If we do not act soon, the land will be dead for another hundred years. The fey will not help those who do not give them the sustenance they demand. You have neither the knowledge nor the tools to do for your land what they can do. Will you let your family fall to poverty for the life of a couple servants?"

"What about animal blood?" Sarah called from the audience, not wanting to let Ranald finish his rallying call. She could already feel the tension in the room building. When it broke she would have a mob on her hands.

"They tried it two hundred years ago. It doesn't work. Only human blood will suffice and it can't be just a little either. Our ancestors tried that too. Everyone giving a bit. No, only the sacrifice of a human life will bring the fey to cultivate the land." Ranald replied from the front of the crowd.

"How many servants must die?" Sarah was grateful for the question, but less so for the implied foregone conclusion that they were moving forward with this plan. She was already on the move to another part of the room. The more the dissent seemed to be spread out the longer the group would be immobilized by indecision.

"If you spread sparingly and get every drop, each plot will take only two." Ranald provided.

"But my plot is larger than his," Sarah objected, still on the move. She had no idea who's plot it was she was comparing hers to, but it didn't really matter.

"The largest of the plots may take three, but if we all start with two - " Ranald seemed to be growing frustrated with this line of questioning. He had assumed the tone of someone not used to working with kindergarteners now being asked to run show and tell.

"What if there aren't enough servants?" Sarah had made it to the far end of the crowd and was now doubling back. Perhaps she could even sow dissent among the masters, get them fighting over the servants before they went to look for them.

Ranald huffed. "There are."

For a moment the room was silent and Sarah cursed them all. She knew they were a bunch of bigots and idiots, first hand, but why was she the only one seriously objecting? God Sarah, think of something! They'd heard her voice too many times. Even from different parts of the room, it was going to become obvious eventually that she was the only one holding the mob back and then what would she do? She needed to buy Emma and the other servants time, but she also needed to get out herself.

"There should be a fair process." Sarah mumbled next to the ear of the man who happened to be standing next to her. When he didn't react, she shifted slightly, repeating herself in four ears before finally someone called out, "There should be a process shouldn't there? Something that makes sure it's fair."

God, you people are fucking idiots!

"Fine! Fine!" Ranald yelled. Clearly his well thought out plan was not so well thought out. He grouped the families together, dividing them into groups of servants based on sleeping arrangement when someone in the crowd insisted upon it. He was impatient, but not manic, having no idea that as he organized and reorganized one Mary Jessip was hopefully tearing people from their beds and leading them to safety.

When the group finally had a plan including exactly how the murder could take place such that the blood was not spilled prematurely, Sarah sent a short prayer up to a God she wasn't sure she believed in and silently abandoned the group to their snipe hunt.

She reached the stables at a dead run. She doubled over, gasping to the singular servant who had not been sent to the kitchens or servant quarters for the night that she needed two carriages rigged up as quickly as humanly possible. The attentive stable master, he followed her instructions, moving quickly until he heard the smashing of metal on wood.

Sarah looked up from the broken carriage wheel long enough to order the man to keep working before swinging the splitting maul into another carriage wheel.

"Miss, what are you doing?" The man protested.

"They will try to follow us. They'll kill us if they catch us. Do you understand me? Get the two carriages ready. We don't have much time." Sarah demanded as she laid waste to the second carriage wheel. She would drive one carriage and him the other. They would need as many as they could manage to steal. What she would give to have more of the burly stable hands here at this moment.

The stable master hadn't moved. "My wife."

"She'll be with the others escaping down the river," Sarah explained as she moved onto a new carriage, hoping she was telling him the truth. "Her best chance of survival is if we meet them with these carriages so move!"

As the stable master clipped the last of the harnesses into place, Sarah turned to her final task in this dreadful place. She ripped open the stable door she'd used so many times over the years, unwrapped her horse's tether and guided her out into the entrance. "Go home," she ordered hoping those intelligent eyes would pick up on her meaning. She gave the mare a sharp slap on the rear before leaping into the driver's seat of the carriage.

"You've driven a carriage before?" The stable master asked.

"Never." Sarah stated, flicking the reins hard in her hands. She didn't need to know how. She'd always found horses to be smarter than people. She just had to tell them where they were going and perhaps try to get across just how much of a time crunch they were on. The carriage took off. Sarah could hear the stable master behind her, trying to keep her pace while following the rather underrated techniques that kept all four wheels on the ground.

As they reached the edge of the property, Sarah could hear the barking of dogs. Clearly the masters had found empty beds. She just hoped she'd given Emma enough time. God how she wished she'd kissed that beautiful woman goodbye. It was hypocritical she knew to regret that last missed kiss and at the same time regret not giving her more time to save her fellow servants and herself. But Emma had felt so good in her arms, felt so good against her lips. Emma had kissed her back, had wanted her back. For a brief moment, everything had been perfect. Beyond perfect. This was all Ranald Belmont's fault. If anything happened to Emma, she would kill him.

The carriages careened into the front lot, throwing gravel out onto the quickly dying flowers. From the front of the manor, nothing looked different. Had they beaten the Bloodlands' servants here? Were the servants coming at all?

Sarah ran to the front door, throwing it open to the best sight she'd ever seen. The entire front hall was filled with servants, a few of them her own, some she'd seen on her weekly visits to the Belmont manor, but most she didn't recognize. Standing in the front center, with her back to Sarah, wet from head to foot, was Emma, completely naked. All around her, equally wet servants were in different states of undress, pulling on dry clothes as they were provided. Sarah felt her mouth go dry and all the moisture in her body collect in a very specific location.

The image of Emma naked was not a new one for Sarah. She'd pictured it every time the young woman brought her treats in the library. Each time, Sarah had chastised herself for her lewd mind. Now, she realized she should have been chastising herself for selling this woman short. Her curves were perfect, slim and defined, down to the small dimples in her back.

Sarah crossed the room in as few strides as possible, her long legs allowing her to reach Emma just as the woman finished pulling bloomers up onto her hips. In her head, the move was smooth and romantic, but she was sure it failed on both accounts. She grabbed Emma by the shoulders, spun her around, pulled her in close, and brought their lips together with bruising force. Emma melted into the kiss, leaning her topless body in for even more contact. Sarah could feel Emma's breasts pressing into the wool of her uniform. She'd never hated her father's uniforms before. She'd had them retailored to fit her after his death so she could wear them in his honor. At this moment, she hated them. Hated the thickness that kept the warmth and plush feel of Emma's body from touching her own.

When Sarah finally pulled back, her only intention in doing so to get a better look at the body she held, she realized the entire room, some seven dozen servants, was staring at the partially clothed couple in the middle of the entry hall. Much as she wanted to strip off the few layers that stood between her and Emma, now was absolutely not the time. She was the master and everyone was relying on her to keep them safe.

"We don't have much time," Sarah announced to the room. "They'll figure out what's happened sooner rather than later so grab the most valuable items you can and let's get out of here. We'll go to Uncle Arthur's," she added for the benefit of the minority of servants for whom that meant anything. "We have two carriages outside and another six in the stable. Rig them. We leave in five minutes."

Like glass shattering on a stone floor, the servants scattered, those few that knew the house and the property leading the way for those that could only guess at what might constitute as valuable to this crazy servant-kissing woman...female-servant-kissing woman.

Trying to keep her lust in check, Sarah turned her attention back to Emma. Focus on her eyes, not those perfect lips or beautiful brea - eyes, Sarah! "I'm so glad you're okay," she managed.

"Thanks to you," Emma gave a small smile. "What can I do to help?"

Sadly, putting on a shirt or I'm going to start - eyes, Sarah! "Help load the carriages," Sarah said, looking over her shoulder at a group of servants already loading trays of real silver ware into the awaiting carriage. "No! People inside. Stuff on top." Sarah ordered, before turning back to Emma. "I need you to make sure they leave room for everyone. We've got some ten people to cram on and in each carriage and we're not leaving anyone behind." With that she bee-lined for the study. Valuables and people were important, but there were a few things of her daddy's that she would rather not have fall into vengeful hands. Others she would simply be heartbroken to lose.

After five minutes, Sarah called the group to a halt. They had as much as they were going to get, now it was time to say goodbye to Weatherly manor and hope it was still there to return to when the chaos cleared. As if called, the last possession Sarah had hoped to leave the manor with came trotting to the overloaded carriages. Sarah swung up onto her saddle and the party moved out. It would be an all-night ride to Uncle Arthur's manor, pursued in the dark, only a few of the deceased Timothy Weatherly's hunting rifles to protect them.

They heard their pursuers before they saw them. The crack of rifles announced attackers too desperate to wait until they could "see the whites of their eyes" or even more than the outline of their carriage. Sarah thanked God she'd had the foresight to hand out her father's rifles to the men who sat beside each carriage driver. They were about to need them. I'll be a Christian by the end of the night, she joked to herself sarcastically as she thanked God she hadn't sold the bulk of the rifles to a tradesman a couple years back.

Sarah had been leading the pack. She shifted in her saddle to face her soon-to-be soldiers and saw the raw terror in their eyes. They gripped the weapons in their laps not with determination but as if the gun were a snake they were holding back and likely to throw once they worked up the courage. "Kneel on the bench and aim the rifle over the top of the carriage, rest it on the top to steady your shot," Lord knew they were going to need all the help they could get in that department, "and use the carriage as cover."

"I...I can't shoot a master." One of the men stammered, his knuckles turning white.

"I can't shoot." Another admitted.

"Dear Lord," Sarah sighed in place of a few choice swear words. "Drivers just keep driving as fast as you can. Those of you with a rifle listen up because here's the basics and it's about to be you or them. Worse, it's about to be you and the people you love, everyone in these carriages, or them." Sarah flipped around, straddling her horse backwards and drawing her rifle out of its saddle holster. She gave the briefest explanation on how to aim, fire, and reload the single action rifles that she could, then gave the advice her father had once given her, "Exhale before you pull the trigger and don't close your eyes. Much as you're going to want to look away, don't. If you miss you have to know how to correct." Tim Weatherly had been telling a twelve-year-old girl who wasn't sure she could watch a bleeding deer. The words rang truer now than she ever thought they would.

"You have your people, your family to protect. Don't stop...and please don't shoot me." She added, pulling off the road and into the woods.

"Where are you going?" Several voices called at the edge of hysteria.

"To flank," Sarah hissed hoping they wouldn't blab her plan to the enemy. She broke through the trees and underbrush, cutting at a forty-five-degree angle from the road to blend the sound of hooves and crashing undergrowth with the commotion of the carriages until she came to a stop several yards behind thick woods. She watched eight masters ride up and then past her down the barrel of her rifle. She almost wished she'd had the foresight to incapacitate the horses at Belmont manor the way she had the carriages, but in the end, she knew she wouldn't have been able to hurt innocent horses for the actions of their cruel masters.

As the first shot rang out from the servants, Sarah burst onto the road behind them and the firefight began in earnest.

When the final shot had been fired and all the masters had been incapacitated in one way or another, Sarah took stock of the situation around her. The last master's shot had struck her in the shoulder and it burned with a growing fire that was quickly making her fingers go numb. But at the moment, that was the least of her concerns. The need to get further from the scene towards safety stood in direct conflict with Sarah's need to stop the group and know if everyone was okay. And Emma. Was Emma okay?

They ran the horses another mile before Sarah felt safe calling the carriages to a halt and swung down from her steed. As the carriages came to a complete stop, the dozens of servants jammed into each carriage poured out, each desperate to escape their terrified claustrophobia. Many of them found their feet only to fall to the ground sobbing, uttering unintelligible pleas and moans.

"She's dead!" A horrified female voice called out. Sarah was at the damaged carriage in seconds. Within the carriage, a brunette lay face down, bloody and unmoving.

Her body was the wrong size and the wrong shape. It wore the wrong clothing, but Sarah had to see her face before she could be certain, before she could breathe. The woman was dead. Her name was Lily or Lillian, Sarah was fairly sure.