1. Ch1 Sc1 - Five Hundred Bloody Footprints

Hello world! The story starts here.

Hello, to all you wonderful people. Welcome to my substack.

I’ve been toying with the idea, for a while now, of sharing my story with the world, and came across this thing as a way to do it.

I am and always have been, an avid fantasizer. Those who know me well may have heard me casually remark that there is nothing in the real world that interests me half as much as what goes on in my own head. (narcissist much?)

Anyway… This story has been bouncing around in there for so many years, I am sure I don’t even remember how it all started, but through this medium, hopefully, I will find the inspiration and the support to (finally) finish it.

Chapter One, Scene One goes like this:

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INDEX | Chapter One | Scene 1 | Next Scene →

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My small bare feet pound the crunchy snow. They are bleeding, again. Wet blood squelches between my toes with each footfall, half-frozen already and leaving behind bright red smears as it crumbles off with the contact. I frown, thinking half-formed curses, as I realize these cuts must be from where I slipped on the rocks on the banks of the stream. That was half a league ago, which means half a league of bloody footprints to enflame the hunting dogs, making them that much faster once they get here.

Stop.

The wind whistling past my ears seems to whisper in a familiar voice, calling up memories that are better left forgotten for the moment. I blink, trying to shake it off, when all of a sudden, my vision whips to the right as a low branch rakes me across the face. I hear a sharp creak as another slender bough thuds across my hips and snaps, the wet wood no longer able to bend. The pointy end catches on my nightie, tearing another gaping hole from thigh to knee as I speed past and the wind catches and cools yet more fresh blood. Rolling my eyes as I realize that I have just added another gash to the collection on my already battered body, I force my legs to slow down and skid to a stop. I have been running so long that by now the motion is almost automatic.

Breathe.

Panting little puffs of steam, I close my eyes and concentrate on letting my chest expand as much as the frigid air will allow, then emptying my lungs completely before refilling them, I remind myself that I have a good lead, I should be able to spare a minute.

I count off a few slow, deep, breaths, then bend down to rip another narrow strip off of my nightie. As I wind the dirty cloth around the freshest cuts, I wonder how long my body will still be able to maintain its own warmth. How much energy am I subconsciously using to keep blood flowing to my fingers and toes and after three days of this so far, how much have I got left, before I finally succumb to exhaustion and the elements? Which part will freeze first? Will it start with my hands and feet or will I just gradually cool down until the water in me turns to slurry, then ice, and I become a person-shaped icicle?

I sigh, looking at the thigh-length sleeveless rag I used to call a nightie, and shiver, remembering the warmth of long sleeves and frills around my ankles, thinking what little matter it would make now to take it off and just sprint naked through the snow. The problem is, then I'll have nothing to wrap my feet in. My inward chuckle is short-lived. I have to do something, every drop of blood lost is more energy spent in compensation.

“Just a little farther.” The wind seems to whisper. My mind has been playing tricks on me for a while and I have to keep reminding myself that the voice is an illusion. The person it belongs to is dead, and I am all alone out here. At least the pain, that the reminder evokes, keeps me from dwelling on how exhausted I am. Sometimes I think it is only that voice that keeps me upright. I will my legs to stop shaking, as I stand, feet wrapped up in another layer of dirty, bloody nightie, and take a step, and another, and then faster and the trees flash by, playing their usual tricks with the light.

Each time I blink when nearly missing some obstacle, another fragment of the scene flashes before my eyes and I cannot help reliving the moment I lost my only friend.

* * *

We were free.

The clear, endless sky beckoned to us.

Starling's wings beat and Chrystelle urged her Maxillian horse on, and their energy combined to give the three of us speed a single flyer could only dream of.

I looked back, and my whole life, everything I knew, was fading so quickly into the distance. The wall was still crumbling where the other Talented children hung back in fear and awe, too shocked that anyone would dare what we had, to try to resist our escape.

The world lay ahead as our past dwindled, and yet I could not tear away my gaze, knowing he was near. Teag.

Chrys was concentrating on Starling, their attention all in front of us. I called out a warning but she didn't see Teag’s blast until it was too late. Together, we were too heavy to evade.

Teag was my trainer, not hers. He was there for me.

I close my eyes and trust my instincts to keep my feet on the path as the rest of the scene takes on crystal clarity.

Chrys twists around, too late. Three wing beats and Teag is already out of sight, but his attack is well-timed. The impact reverberates through the pegasus’ flanks, its heat enveloping us for a moment, then the snow is rushing towards us. Silver feathers are falling all around and two hearts are beating in my ears. There is a pretty red pattern speckled on the white blanket below.

Something snaps as we reach it. Only one heart is beating now. I do not hear her voice as Chrys mouths, "Run."

She's dead. Gone.

I open my eyes and dodge another low branch. I have to carry on or it was for nothing.

I force myself to go faster, blinking away icicles until my vision clears. The clearing is

up ahead, then it’s the foothills and the supplies in the tunnels.

I remember the map we studied for months and the plan Chrys’ aunt helped us with. I can reach it in time.

Today is the third day, the second rendezvous will be waiting at the coast beyond the tunnels until dawn.

I can reach it. I have to.

The suns are setting up ahead. Serus' yellow light winks at me through the trees. Korus and Lemus will be down soon as well.

The brown conifers start to thin. The sunlight grows stronger the closer I get to the edge and I am momentarily blinded as I reach it. Serus is just slipping down the horizon. A beautiful golden disc, turning the pristine snow of the bowl to molten platinum. It is enough to take my breath away.

I lean back against the nearest fir, barely able to feel the bark scratching my skin through the threadbare rag.

Jayden gave me a thorough thrashing the day before I escaped and Teag took out his frustration on me as well afterward, for making him lose his bet. I remind myself as I gaze languidly out at the landscape ahead, that I have a hundred new cuts as well anyway, suddenly too exhausted to worry about wasting precious moments of my lead. Running without pause through dimly sunlit woods will do th

at. Dark woods, with only a star or two and redly reflecting Maxillia peeping through now and then, well, I am lucky all I have is a few cuts. At least the bleeding has stopped.

Serus is almost gone by now. Telera gets just a little colder.

What is that over there?

A large blue object in the middle of the clearing catches my eye. No one lives this close to the ice caps so it cannot be a building. I try to focus my sight to get a better image but my nearly depleted energy reserves do not seem to be responding. I do not need to look inward to know that I am running on almost empty. It has been days since my last meal, longer since I had rest and I have not felt warm since my link with Chrys snapped.

I take a breath and concentrate. Focus, Misty. I tell myself and as the last sliver of

Serus slips out of sight, my heart stops.

I see movement.

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Thanks so much for reading! I hope you’re enjoying my Bottled Embers.

If you liked this one, PLEASE don’t stop here. The next episode is where things really get interesting.

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