Page 5 of Glass and Bone
I remember some things. I remember my mother saddened after each death. I remember my mother getting migraines and nosebleeds constantly and the many menders that frequented her room. I remember being curled up to my mother’s side, half asleep, while she spoke to the prophet she befriended. He was always kind to me, gentle. I don’t remember what he looked like, but I remember his eyes. They were such a bright yellow, I often thought he wasn’t real. He always stayed by my mother’s side, was always a shoulder for her to lean on as she wept for her dead children. Maybe the rumors are just different pieces of a bigger picture. Maybe he did kill her, or maybe it was my father. I don’t think I’ll ever know.
I return my attention back to the water. My eyes focus on the native fish swimming about in their home, no doubt in search of food. Their varying colors of oranges and reds shimmering under the water as they continue on with their journey. Their life seems so easy, so simple. Nothing to prove, no one to answer to. They just get to live and eat. Which reminds me that I failed to grab breakfast. My stomach rumbles in response to my thoughts and I groan.
I walk further until my dress is floating, and my knees are submerged. Goosebumps spread across my skin as the icy water tickles my thighs. My breathing catches against the cold, but I force slow deep breaths until I get used to the temperature.
I start to fully sink in when I get the feeling I am being watched, a sense of awareness washing over me. I still as I listen, waiting. Electricity hums across my skin in response to whatever it is I am feeling. My pulse quickens, pounding through my ears as I try to quiet my breath. The loud rustling returns, along with the snap of a twig and I flinch.
The silence that I usually crave is suddenly terrifying, as if I’m waiting for something to come out from beyond the trees and swallow me whole, but nothing does. I don’t know how long I stand there, frozen in the icy water, my hands clenched into fists and my nails digging into my palms before I allow myself to release the breath trapped in my throat. My chest feels tight, my lungs burning as I wait out the silence.
“You are freaking out over nothing.” I whisper to myself. I slowly turn around until I am facing the tree line and a gasp escapes my lips. I nearly slip on the mossy rocks and hold out my arms to steady myself.
Right behind a large trunk there is a tall man with dark hair. His broad shoulders are dressed in a tight black tunic, his feet are bare, his hands clenched into fists, mirroring mine. He’s still, his bright green eyes that match the trees are fixated on me. They are so vibrant, so unnatural. His mouth is slightly parted open, revealing bright white teeth. His jaw is hardened and sharp, much like his high cheekbones. He has a light dusting of facial hair along his jaw and upper lip, darkening his already tan skin. Thick lashes flutter around the green, almost covering his eyes.
He’s beautiful. He seems so familiar, something about his face, it’s as if I had seen it before. He couldn’t be any older than I was. His thick eyebrows slowly draw together in…confusion? No, not confusion. He looks like he’s in pain, like he’s concerned. He tilts his head to the side, his eyes softening. I blink and he’s gone.
“Hello?” I call out as I try to get out of the water as fast as I can, slipping on the lake bottom underneath. My hands are shaking, but I bite back my fear. I rush into the trees, silently cursing at myself for running after the stranger, but the idea of anyone in these woods brings forth my curiosity, and my recklessness. “Who’s out there?” I continue running, dodging branches and rocks along the way, but all signs of the man are gone.
There is no way I just imagined that.
He was there. He was standing right behind the trees. My heart is racing, and I stop to catch my breath, my hand flying to my chest as I swallow as much oxygen as I can. I can feel the sharp sensation of something stabbing into the bottom of my foot and I wince out loudly in pain, my nightmare briefly flashing through my mind. I lift my leg, using a nearby tree to steady myself, and see a small trail of blood dripping from my bare heel.
“What the…?” My eyes wander down to the forest floor, and through the leaves and debris, I see something reflecting what little sunlight there is. I bend down and let my fingers graze the cool glass. I grip the edges of the shard with my fingertips as I hold it out in front of me. The glass is clear with just a small drop of my blood staining part of it red. The piece is shaped into a perfect arrowhead, slightly bigger than the size of my hand. An arrowhead made of glass. I can’t imagine anyone using such a delicate item for a weapon. It vibrates in my hand, as if it was responding to my racing pulse. I wonder if he dropped it.
Or if he was even here to begin with.
I grip the piece of glass tightly, but carefully, in my hand so I don’t lose it, and rise to my feet, trying to ignore the sting of pain coming from my heel.
Looking up at the sky, I can see the sun is slowly getting higher behind the clouds and my time to leave is growing closer. I shake my head again to clear the engrossing cloud of panic. There was nobody there. I’m just seeing things. It’s dark and cloudy and a tree could have easily been mistaken for a person. The glass is just a coincidence, and the shape was probably formed by the elements over years of wear. Nobody comes out here.
Nobody was there.
But I knew that was a lie.
Something about it, something about this random piece of glass, is pulling me. Calling to me. Begging me to not leave it behind. So I don’t. I tuck it into the pocket of my dress and look around, my eyes desperately searching through the thick trunks and foliage for any sign that I’m not going mad.
As I am already halfway to the palace wall, I abandon my shoes and head back, ignoring the pain emanating from my heel with each step and the dirt that is no doubt lodging itself into the wound. I need to quickly change and clean myself up before it’s time to leave, if I’m late, my father is sure to be angry. The last thing I need is to be sore upon my arrival in Noterra. As much as I want to hide in the trees forever, I need to face my fate and get on that carriage.
The sooner I am on my way to Noterra, the farther away from my father I’ll be. This is a new beginning and I need to find a way to embrace it. The ever-present nausea settles deep in my stomach, and I inhale slowly, breathing through the wave, the tickle of tears pressing behind my eyes, but I blink them away.
As I trek back through the trees, the face of the strange man, that may or may not have been a figment of my imagination, is stuck in my mind. Haunting me. His face seems all too familiar, as if it's a face I’ve seen in my dreams. As if it’s someone I know.
But I know for a fact I have never seen him before, especially out here. Who was he? Is this just a product of my imagination? Or was someone actually there, watching me?
The back of my neck tingles and I shiver. I could still feel as if someone was watching me, tracking me. I bite my lower lip and continue on through the forest.
I grip the glass through the fabric of my dress as I picture his green eyes that mimicked that of the trees. Bright, almost glowing, against his tan skin.
Glowing against the darkness of Chatis.
Chapter Three
The sun rises higher in the sky, barely peeking out behind the clouds, as I make my way out of the palace again and onto the grass. The courtyard is beautiful. With trees lining the walls and flowers filling every corner, the greenery flourishes in the humidity, that and mosquitos, but thankfully the cool air hasn’t yet yielded to them. It won’t be long before summer is at its highest, that is when the real humidity arrives. The rain never usually stops during the summer, well it never really stops any time of the year, but rain mixed with the heat tends to be so much worse.
I can never get through the summer without having received at least a hundred mosquito bites. Red bumps scattered across my body and the uncontrollable urge to scratch them until they are bleeding and raw. If it weren’t for the tin of ointment I keep stowed away in my room, I probably would be peppered with scars by now, or at least scars caused by mosquitos.
I had to quickly bandage my heel on my own, if I asked for a mender, it would only raise questions that I didn’t have the patience to answer. Thankfully the small tin of ointment I kept hidden works for more than mosquito bites and I was luckily prepared with some bandages. This wasn’t the first time I had injured myself while exploring, so I knew how to take care of minor wounds. I quickly cleaned and wrapped it before stepping into my shoes.
I repocketed the glass arrowhead, keeping it close to me. It seemed to hum with electricity every time my skin brushed it. I knew it was nothing more than my imagination, but something about it made me question that. I did clean it though, ridding it of the small crimson stain caused by my blood. It was perfectly clear, and the light bounced off of it with a green hue, but maybe that was due to the reflection of the trees.
