The bridge laid frozen in silence; empty of all life. Jason crossed with little to no trouble. A few slips, but nothing serious. It was strange. Without reason a feeling of danger washed over him the second he set foot on the first brittle, wooden plank, but nothing happened. So he crossed and continued on in his shambling way. He no longer fell; a fact he was most grateful for at the moment, for if he’d collapsed upon the bridge he likely would’ve fallen straight through.

His weakness from lack of food was spreading. The hunger pangs were a common foe, but something rarely experienced while simultaneously sore all over. This seemed to focus just behind his eyes; an area which throbbed incessantly. Still he moved on, but slower than before. He’d lost the luxury of stopping the second the woman who’d freed him, abandoned him. He knew he was better off now, but it remained a hard thing to justify. As he surveyed the white terrain, each tree resembled prison bars, though none he knew of possessed greenish leaves, frozen and barely clinging to life.

He was well past the bridge when he faint voices assailed his aching head. Each one stung like needles and because of it, knew them for what they really were . . . thoughts. These were indistinct; impossible to decipher more than bits and pieces and made no sense without the missing parts, as if expecting a car to run minus wheels and an engine. It didn’t matter. What were the odds of hearing a friendly voice this far out? As best possible, he picked up his pace. He cramp tore through his thigh because of it, but walked it off, clenching his chattering teeth against the new assault.

Ironically, his enemy’s thoughts served as his guide. When they grew louder, Jason knew they were too close. The pins in his head matured into icepicks, but for the narrowed distance he could understand them, if only he focused; a task easier said than done.

“Dumb ass bitch! Where’d a fucking bookworm learn to run so fast?”

Others said, “God damn it’s cold! Why the fuck can’t we call off the hunt till morning?”

Then more of the same tumbled out, adorned with different words. They were pissed and only meters from reaching the bridge, by Jason’s guess. He couldn’t help but wonder who the “dumb ass bitch” was. There were plenty of women in the camp. He’d heard their voices and their thoughts, which on occasion focused on things usually only women were concerned with. Even so, they were all pretty rugged and usually merged into something of a unisex camp with familiar goals of hunting, foraging, keeping warm and of course the occasional desire to kill, which seemed heightened by the frantic mood of the place.

Jason assumed Wferium was dead, so only knew of one other woman who might be on the camp’s shit list . . . the one who’d helped him escape. He didn’t know her name, but he wasn’t about to forget what she looked like. He had the common sense to know perverted thoughts would only lead to trouble out here. He really didn’t know how he felt about her. On the one hand, she was beautiful and well endowed, but that didn’t much matter anymore.

Maybe, it did. He couldn’t know for sure. He wasn’t a woman. From what he’d seen in his relatively short life, the fastest, most athletic women were the ones with small chests. Less to worry about, he supposed. Whatever. The point being this woman was damned fast. Could the woman who’d saved him run as fast as this asshole said? He also considered the bookworm comment. The woman he remembered didn’t seem to have enough patience to flip through a picture book, much less anything with actual words. That didn’t really mean anything. At the time she seemed equally terrified and the situation had called for urgency. Even a bookworm would lose patience under those circumstances.

He just didn’t know. It could’ve been the same woman. If so, he couldn’t say with any certainty who he was rooting for . . . the asshole or the bitch. She’d freed him, but also ditched him, which might result in his recapture. So, maybe she deserved the shit-storm coming her way, but it still seemed rather ungrateful of him. Knowing himself, it came as no surprise his guilt stood powerless against the sheer magnitude of his relief, as it wasn’t him they were after. It seemed impossible, but perhaps he wasn’t even missed. No. She wouldn’t be in their crosshairs unless they’d found out what she’d done. Unless, they just caught a glimpse of her, thinking she’d deserted the camp for other reasons. Tensions were high enough. No. That couldn’t be right. Any who witnessed her escape surely would’ve noticed his as well. Even if they didn’t he, at least, would’ve seen them chasing after her.

As far as Jason could tell, there was only one way this scenario could work. What if those who saw her promptly ran to alert others and then somehow, miraculously chased after her instead of him? This was so unlikely, not even he believed it. Honestly, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, but Jason had no faith in such luck . . . not for him anyway. His luck surely ran out the moment he’d been set free, and even that fell to shit.

All this hypothetical bullshit convinced him it couldn’t be her they were after. She must’ve gotten away clean. It was someone else and for a reason he couldn’t possibly imagine. Who could’ve done anything warranting an urgency greater than his own escape? He was the gifted one who’d been unlocked. He was the one who possessed what they craved . . . unless he wasn’t the only prisoner wielding such powers. What were the chances of that? He really couldn’t guess, but if it was true maybe they ranked a higher priority because he would be easier to catch. They could track him and catch him at their leisure. Whatever. What were the odds?

There was something else too. Whoever this bookworm was, if they were following her on his own trail how did he miss seeing her? He was keeping an eye out for anyone. Even if she was too fast for him as well, had she learned to fly? His were the first footprints in the new snow. There was no one else.

Was it all a ruse to confuse him? Maybe they knew he could read minds and were intentionally trying to throw him off. After all, where were her thoughts? He heard nothing from the mysterious fox on the hunt. How silent could she be? How could she possibly be out of range if those chasing her weren’t? Maybe she didn’t really exist at all. Maybe they were chasing him after all. Maybe it was all an act to slow him down. Then suddenly he realized he’d done exactly that. He looked back and saw no one, but the thoughts were much louder now. The icepicks perforating is head mutated into daggers. They’d tricked him and would soon catch him. He must focus and if nothing else the distance would ease the pressure off his throbbing head.

He wished he’d never been able to decipher any words at all. Being unlocked was far from a gift. He wished he’d never even been born. He found himself with a desire to die, but somehow, painlessly. Whatever he could now do. Whatever he was. None of it was worth this. He wasn’t ready. He never should’ve left his father. If he couldn’t die, then could he at least go home? Where was home? Which way? He had no idea. He’d never been so utterly, hopelessly lost.

Why hadn’t his father come for him? If he could see the future and read minds, couldn’t he find him? Maybe if he thought about how utterly repentant he was and how his misery embraced him like a blanket of ice. No. That would never work. Knowing how pathetic his son was, would not inspire his help. He’d treat it just like a stupid, fucked up and deadly test. He was 15; a man by all rights. He’d been brutally trained to handle shit like this.

No. Fucking wrong! This shit was all fucked up! Who could handle this?! Certainly not him! Maybe not even his father. If his father couldn’t do it, he’d certainly never admit to it. Did that even matter? If his father couldn’t do it, then how could he? Did he even have the slightest chance? Or was eating time off a death clock? Was it just a fun little race to wear him down to the brink of death? Why? Because it was so much more fun when their prey begged for death. Just like Wferium said . . . they could smell fear and it was delicious. Well, God damn fucking hell! The aroma wafting off him must be akin a roast pig with all the fixings! Soon he’d be some homicidal maniac’s fucking entrée!

Why must they play with their food?! He knew they were! How could it amount to anything less, when they’d have to take him to that god damned field first? Then wait till summer?! Maybe they’d chase and catch him only to release and repeat ad nauseam the whole damned time. How sorry would they be if all that cat and mouse shit gave him a heart attack? No. He didn’t fucking die that way! He couldn’t even die the way he wanted to!

Why not?! Why couldn’t he just take control and change things? He should be able to plan his own demise. He could too, so long as he took charge and killed himself. A sudden thought made him smile. How fucking pissed would they be if he just took a sharp stick and rammed it up through his throat and into his brain? Maybe that’d be a fitting end. It would end his misery and bestow some upon them. Who knew? Maybe he could actually do it.

By the moonlight, he saw there was a tree not too far off that had low branches. Sharp ones too. He headed that way. When he got there he snapped one off and kept snapping until it splintered into a jagged point. He placed it carefully beneath his chin and took a moment to express his goodbyes to all the freaks like him who could read minds. He felt for them, as they must keep breathing. What a curse!

He really was about to do it. He’d had enough. Yet aside from terror taking hold, he was surprised to realize he took that silent thought with relatively minor pain. The voices in his head hadn’t stopped, but merely lessened. In fact, he could barely hear them anymore. At that moment he became aware of something else. He’d been practicing a new ability. He didn’t know how to shut out the noise, but he could somehow manage to blend it all into something of a dull incoherence. It proved a coping mechanism.

He’d no idea what they were doing, which proved exceedingly dangerous, but focusing on the thoughts hurt too damn much. It didn’t matter. He was too scared to kill himself. He’d take what he could get, no matter how brief. Then he moved on, never letting go of the stick. It was his insurance in case they found him. Regardless, he never wanted to hear their pointless banter again. He never wanted to hear any thoughts again. Maybe not even his own.

<><><><>

Any closer and Meraine would give herself away. Fortunately she didn’t need to. She could hear most of what they were saying. No deep dark secrets here; just bitching and whining that she’d made good on her escape. So, she thought, an advanced party to head her off. It was strange. If they’d rounded up the boy they weren’t talking about him. The scant bit of relevant conversation led her to believe they hadn’t caught him either.

Then she heard a familiar voice . . . Tamerlane’s voice! The irredeemable asshole was talking about how fine he thought she was and how he’d fuck her and somehow make her suck his big, fat cock before crucifying her. Within an instant the question of how they’d beaten her to the bridge faded, in lieu of wanting to castrate the bastard right then and there. Maybe he’d enjoy sucking on his own cock. Unfortunately, the same things as before kept her at bay. However, from that moment forward, Tamerlane rose considerably higher on her to do list.

As far as the “race” to the bridge, did it matter? They must’ve been tipped off. Only Wferium knew. Not even Carmen could’ve known where the boy was headed, because he hadn’t known himself. He’d just wandered there. Maybe Wferium was tortured until she spilled all her secrets, but that seemed unlikely. Her resolve was far too strong; as was her commitment to the future. She’d proven this devotion existed at the expense of all else. She was willing to die for the boy, and Meraine supposed she was too. Provided, of course, that he truly was the firstborn of prophecy. She had to admit, she already believed he was, or she wouldn’t be here right now. Well, maybe. She’d already overstayed her welcome in that God forsaken camp.

Whatever, if Wferium did tell then she was of no further use and therefore dead. The thought hurt a bit, but then that was the just and right price of betrayal in this world. Regardless, she must focus. She had more pressing concerns. What mattered wasn’t how they’d gotten here, but what to do about it. She decided the answer was simple . . . nothing. Nothing at all. They didn’t know where she was and they didn’t have the boy. So why not simply leave them out in the cold? Pass them by and continue her own search. It should be simple enough, because they obviously weren’t going anywhere. Idiots.

So she backtracked a good ways and climbed out of the frozen river. From there she gave the bridge a wide berth, always searching for a lone figure walking, probably slowly. It was a fucking miracle he was the first to the bridge, but his head start was significant and hadn’t had to wrap around anything or anyone. No. He took the direct route, even if he wasn’t aware of it.

It took a while before she spotted him. She wasn’t even sure she had. It could’ve been an animal, being pitch black below the haunting tree line. Yes Meraine came prepared, so she stopped and pulled one of the essentials from her backpack . . . binoculars. They were the old sort built into glasses instead of contacts. Not even that was new. Nowadays people, rich people mind you, had the option of corneal implants. She wasn’t that rich, nor did she know anyone who was.

Well used, the glasses slipped on, head strap and all, as if custom fitted to her specifications, which was yet another expensive feature she couldn’t afford. She focused her view via the dime sized knob on the frame. In the shadow of night, that wasn’t enough, but she’d never heard of binoculars that hadn’t come standard with night vision. Some had thermal and radioscopic vision. Hers didn’t. She wondered why she hadn’t put them on earlier. That oversight could’ve ended things before they’d begun back at the bridge. She changed settings with a tap. Then she focused on the spot she’d seen earlier and . . . nothing.

Nothing was there. Maybe he’d just moved on. No. She caught movement again out of the corner of her eye. It was a damned owl. She moved on instead. He must’ve walked further than she’d expected. After a few low rolling hills she checked again and spotted something in the distance. Something larger than an owl and smaller than a deer. It was definitely humatran, but that’s all she was able to glean. Who else could it possibly be?

She zoomed further to try and judge the figures age by height and size, but saw something else. He was holding something that looked like a knife. Well, whoever the person was, it paid to be well armed. It was what he was doing with it that finally alarmed her. He’d put it under his chin and looked to use it. Suicide! Who else would have reason? It had to be him. It had to be the boy named Jason, the firstborn. He was about to end his own life and all hope for the future with him!

She had to do something, but what? She was too far away to do anything. Even if she was willing to risk shouting she doubted he’d hear her. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t willing. She couldn’t think of anything and just stared blankly as the only witness to the death of the future. Then for whatever reason, he stopped and pulled the knife away. Maybe he chickened out. It didn’t really matter why. She was just grateful he stopped, so she could start breathing again. From then on she resolved to reach him before he tried again.

<><><><>

Aryl worried slightly about her grandmother’s fate. She didn’t know why. The bitch deserved it. Even if she wasn’t privy to very many of the horrible things she’d surely done in her 350 years of existence, it was obvious she gave little to no regard for the well-being of her own people. Unfortunately, that was the nature of life. Eat or be eaten. Kill or be killed. Always look out for number one. She didn’t need an example to figure it out. She’d experienced it more times than she cared to remember. Somehow, this was different.

Wferium was in charge of something. She was a leader. Leaders must know at least a degree of compassion. They do not lead their lambs to slaughter unless unavoidable. Aryl never had and never would. She could say the same for her husband, Sarafyn. In fact, he was the only husband she’d ever had to possess that quality. Most others tried to have her killed at some time or other. Even some of her children did likewise. She’d abandoned all but a few of them. She kept in minor contact with the eldest of them, born before she married Sarafyn.

In fact, she’d had quite a few children with a vast array of men. She was only EA43, but she’d had about that many children. She’d managed that because she’d lived at a time before a mother’s self-mutilation became mainstream. She was set in her ways. She didn’t believe in it, nor done it . . . not even once. Instead she’d added to the ancient’s clan and lived to tell about it.

As far as the baby’s prenatal growth was concerned, she didn’t live in barbaric times. Science had murdered nature long before she’d been born. She sported more C-section scars than most women, as if badges of honor. It was more or less the only way to survive birth. She’d never believed the rumors of drugs created to repress this natural and uncontrollable reaction. The only way she knew for a woman to survive natural birth was to surgically sever the umbilical immediately before birth, but of course, that was taboo nowadays. Well, not for her.

Of her 43 children, at least 16 were known to be dead. Of the 27, 13 had been lost to time, dead or alive she couldn’t know. Of the 14, seven had been disowned for trying to have her killed. Of the seven, four had disowned her after finding out about her marriage to the outcast, Sarafyn. Of the three, only one knew about Sarafyn and still accepted her despite it. Her name was Elystyn. She was Aryl’s favorite.

Yet even she talked of Sarafyn’s betrayal. He’d broken his vow to never have children, but even that would’ve been acceptable . . . if it had been with Aryl, who was supposedly his true love. Elystyn hated him for it. She’d have to get in line. Countless people hated her husband, but in Aryl’s opinion, her daughter was the first to have an understandable reason for it. Even so, Aryl herself didn’t hate her own husband.

Well, she did at first, but he’d explained how it was never supposed to happen and how he never would’ve married her if he thought such a thing was possible. She asked if he’d thought his other wife, Lisa, was sterile or barren. That maybe she’d lied to him about it. That wasn’t it. He’d gained a bit of trust for honesty. He’d said they’d made a vow to always use protection, but if she ever became pregnant anyway they’d see the baby born.

Well, Aryl thought she must’ve lied to him. Either not taken her birth control or maybe used a pin to poke a hole in his condom. Something like that. Maybe it wasn’t even his. Maybe she’d slept with another man. Not that Aryl could really fault her for this, but she did. Aryl’s lifestyle was different. So was Sarafyn’s. So were all ancients and all normal humatrans old enough to know how deep loneliness can become. Even so, she’d always been loyal to the man she was currently wed to.

The exception was Sarafyn, but only because divorce wasn’t an option for an outcast. It wouldn’t have mattered if it were. She was marked for life for having married him, but he was worthy of her sacrifice. She loved him and he loved her. She wouldn’t tolerate such a bond stamped with divorce, despite being apart or having married and divorced other people. For both of them, theirs was the only marriage that was truly sacred. Everyone else was a stop-gap for loneliness, with varying degrees of actual love.

She loved other men and he loved other women, but none more than each other. That’s how she felt anyway. That’s what he swore to her time and time again. Maybe it was overkill. Maybe he swore too many times to be believed, but she still did. Was this why they always said love was blind? She didn’t like to think so. He’d never lied to her about anything; at least nothing tangible she could catch him on. What reason would he have to lie at all? Their love was genuine.

Well, Lisa hadn’t slept with anyone else. He’d proven it with a paternity test. Aryl would’ve thought less of her if she had. No woman would ever have reason to. She’d never been with another man who could compare with Sarafyn in the bedroom, or anywhere else people were known to have sex. She hadn’t been apart from him for any of those reasons. No. It was all about revenge. She’d see to it that he had his, even if it meant the death of her own family, which it would.

As far as Lisa was concerned, her utter and debilitating shame proved to Aryl she’d not done anything sneaky to bring Jason into the world. So then, it really all must’ve been a terrible accident. She chose to believe that. Sarafyn would’ve broken his vow to end the pregnancy. Besides Aryl and Jason, Sarafyn had lost everything. All he had left was his word. If he broke that then he’d lose her as well.

Not that Aryl liked the whole ordeal, but she understood it, believed it and in time, accepted it. She’d even considered becoming Jason’s surrogate mother, but that was out of the question. She was, how should she put it, undercover. Any obvious association with Sarafyn or Jason would blow it.

Yet now things had changed. She was finally free from that long, nasty job. Whether it was worth it or not, she couldn’t be sure. Sarafyn treated her differently, but probably only because his sister was present and he despised her with a passion. The business with Wferium was probably over by now. That meant her future could include both Sarafyn and Jason. Even if the boy couldn’t accept her, which was likely at his age, that didn’t mean they couldn’t have other children now. Jason’s birth opened up that option. Having children who actually loved her back was a nice thought.

Sarafyn’s vow to never have children was based completely on the myth of the Firstborn Prophecy. He simply hadn’t wanted all eyes to turn to him. She could understand that. Such a thing didn’t have to be real for others to believe it and put them all in danger for it. There was no secondborn prophecy. No ill omen surrounded that possibility. Sure, all children needed additional protection and caused added danger, but it was a price she was willing to pay. She hoped Sarafyn was too. She’d be honored to have her 44th child with the man she loved most.

Of course, all that was still on the back burner. Despite what people thought of Jason he must be kept safe and this stupid prophecy had to die for him to truly be free. She wasn’t entirely sure how to do that. The clues were vague. Sarafyn and herself must disprove one of them to convince the ancient clans to see the Firstborn Prophecy for the myth it really was. Only once they believed would Jason be truly safe, or relatively so. This world had little trouble providing danger for danger’s sake.

The only real clue was the child wouldn’t be advanced. Unfortunately, a nurse’s stupid mistake made that one come to pass. The second was vague. The old texts hinted at the child being male, but really who could say? He was supposed to do something or other, but whatever it was required his abilities, which meant he must be unlocked. That’s where her grandmother came in, because otherwise, none would believe. Of course, that just wasn’t true. No solid guarantee existed that special abilities were necessary to do what he had to do, whatever that was. Even if it were known he needed them, not having Wferium unlock him meant nothing. Any other original ancient could’ve done it at any point in his life. A few might lose faith, but most would still believe.

The clincher was none knew exactly what the firstborn was supposed to do, so none could say with any degree of certainty powers would be needed. However, all figured they must be, because if any dumbass could do it, why was a firstborn even chosen? A special task required a special person, not some piece of shit off the street. By this same logic most assumed the older, the wiser, the better, leading to few to trust the task to anyone young, even if all the firstborns hadn’t perished long ago.

Jason was new, the first firstborn in centuries and as far as anyone knew, the last. Of course, the firstborn must be of an ancient. Sarafyn called her an ancient, but that didn’t make it true. Wferium was right to question her status. Even so, by sheer age she deserved the title. But she wasn’t an original, which meant by definition, before the global rupture. By that time the whole world was suddenly, either dead or humatran. If age alone qualified one to be an ancient then everyone a century after the rupture who was alive today was an ancient. That just wasn’t the case. Witnessing the rupture was the gauge by which an ancient was coined.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Aryl knew this meant she wasn’t an ancient. Sarafyn knew it too, but chose to honor her with the title, but that’s all it was . . . an honorary title. It was never actually true. She wondered if that would ever change. Nothing stops time. Regardless anything else, if she lived another 800 years she’d be over AA1000. Would that qualify as an ancient? It damn well better. If she lived that long she’d make it her personal agenda to murder all who thought otherwise.

She had a good long while to plan that out. She must worry about the now. All these thoughts went unheard by the three who walked with her. To them she was the new ancient. Silence was the order of things at the moment and she was pleased they understood that. Though she’d heard their thoughts and knew they held their tongues for the wrong reason. Her grandmother was fated for death. They felt condolences were in order, regardless of the circumstances. Was it not a time of mourning? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe a little. Maybe mourning for the woman her grandmother could’ve been, but wasn’t.

She knew these men and respected them, as was required for anyone to follow a leader. She prided herself that she was able to, but tried tame her ego. She wished to thank each of them for both their loyalty and their tact, but now wasn’t the time. She had no need of their protection or their guidance, but they weren’t here for either of those reasons. Her husband had foreseen a useful woman at the bridge. Their job was to subdue her if necessary and bring her back to him, forcibly if unwilling.

It was dusk and colder with the dying of the day. They’d breached the tree line long ago and the snow was slightly deeper for it, but there were well trodden paths spider webbed all around camp. Most of the land was still wild and free. Strange that, for being so close to civilization, but she supposed it was relative. The residential section of Madison sprawled well past the normal city limits, but the camp lay well past that.

The population hadn’t grown much over the last few centuries, but neither had there been any major wars since the Atra, which was well before she was born. The change in environment had restricted both. Murder was practically law now and sheer survival trumped global warfare. It’s just the way things were. She was used to it. So were the three men under her command. So was the whole camp and everyone who still breathed air. Those who couldn’t handle it tended to stop breathing. She was used to that as well, and perfectly fine with it. Life was hard. Hers was no exception.

In silence, one of the men pointed out tracks crossing the trail they were following. They were still maybe an hour’s walk from the bridge and no other tracks were visible in the dim light, not even those of animals. They appeared to be small, which meant either a child or a woman. The depth indicated weight, so she decided they belonged to a woman. Lately the children tended to do as they liked, but there wouldn’t be any reason for them to be out this far anyway. Given the chance, Aryl intended to restore order to their waywardness.

She motioned for the men to stop. They did and listened along with her. Not one of them heard anything but the wind in the trees, which was beginning to howl. Wind usually brought clouds, which brought snowstorms, but the skies were clear and the full moon shone down brightly, guiding their steps in the growing black. Aryl listened more intently, as if that could help. Her abilities didn’t extend to advanced hearing, which wasn’t some deficiency for being a thirdborn. It wasn’t a trait of any original ancient that she was aware of. Not even her grandmother could hear beyond that of a normal humatran and she was exceptionally strong, but likely not anymore. Death tends to sap one’s strength.

Still, lack of sound didn’t diminish the importance of the tracks before her; just that they were old . . . though, perhaps not terribly. They hadn’t yet frozen in place. The snow they walked through had an icy glaze to it; as a testament to a recent rain. These footsteps broke through that thin crust, so they must’ve been made earlier that night and maybe within the hour. The position of the tracks told them the direction the woman was headed and instinct told her to follow them.

It wasn’t a blatant disregard for her husband’s instructions. Her hearing might not be extraordinary, but her memory was. She remembered exactly what Sarafyn had said.

“Yes, but not for reasons you might guess. Things change. These people you speak of are the blind leading the blind. They won’t make the bridge in time to catch my son. Though, they will have time enough to head off someone else of vital importance. You must go to meet them. Have them wait for you. Then bring her back to me.”

Things change. They will have time enough to head off someone else . . . Yes. Where, though? Was it still the bridge he meant? She’d already called an hour ago to have Tamerlane’s party reroute to the bridge. That didn’t mean the woman they’d “head off” was or would ever be at the bridge. The foresight he’d seen was of Jason at the bridge and it had come too late. No one could make that in time. So, the second best option may have nothing to do with the bridge at all. She knew well that foresight was often open to interpretation.

She might’ve cleared things up, but didn’t want to call him now. It was a crucial time best not interrupted, but it didn’t matter. She might’ve mastered the art of blocking thoughts, but not so much when it came to sending telepathic messages. As such, she’d taken to one modern advance, her telephonic implant, but found her area had no service. This wasn’t exactly a surprise seeing where she was, but it meant she couldn’t call Tamerlane either to check just who he had or hadn’t “headed off”.

She wondered what exactly those two words were supposed to mean anyway. Did it mean they’d actually catch the woman? Was Tamerlane or any who trusted him even smart enough to know how to do that? She had no faith in any plan that hinged on Tamerlane Tudor. Maybe Sarafyn knew that. Things change, he’d said. Foresight was often vague, even for original ancients.

Then who was this woman? Of course, the obvious guess was Meraine Talbotte, but Aryl had known Sarafyn long enough to realize it didn’t have to be. After all, he hadn’t said Meraine and if it was definitely her then he would’ve. The answer was simple . . . he didn’t know. His vision wasn’t clear enough to be certain. All he’d received from her visage was a strong feeling of importance. If the general feeling of danger, which every humatran possessed, was a “sixth sense”, then she could only guess this degree of intuition must be a “seventh sense”. Aryl had been down that same road and knew the frustration of it.

That didn’t mean the woman wasn’t Meraine. That didn’t mean Tamerlane needed to be at the bridge. That didn’t really mean much of anything, except that she was supposed to meet the idiot. They were already waiting for her and somehow, a woman of vital importance would come into the picture somewhere in between. There were no clear details about how.

So she decided to embrace the best of both worlds. She sent two of the men on ahead towards the bridge. The other, Sebastian Uder, her most trusted of the trio, went along with her, following the woman’s tracks. She had a feeling she was meant to, regardless of where they ended up, but better safe than sorry.

Sebastian said nothing. Neither of the other two did either. They were smart enough to know a hunt necessitated silence. All three would’ve made fine ancients, but not one was even half her age. Still, they had plenty of time to come to terms with the way the world worked. Of course, age didn’t always help. The Earth was full of old, stupid people. She was grateful none of the stupid ones were with her now, but she wouldn’t have chosen them if they were.

It wasn’t long before the others were out of sight. Not that it mattered. She hadn’t looked back. Their competence gave no need of it. She and Sebastian walked quickly, but carefully on either side of the tracks, never over them. Fresher tracks could not be discerned by trampling the evidence. Speed was important for catching up with their prey, but it was equally important to never spook them. So they knew to slow down at the peak of every hill. From this point Aryl would take a look over the rise in search of the woman.

There were many hills and the tracks weren’t terribly fresh. The process took time. However, luck was on their side. The wind blew against their faces. It was unlikely that would matter, seeing how their prey was not an animal, but any scent that could possibly have given them away quickly became lost in the wind, which if anything, picked up speed. A deepening cold accompanied it; the incessant howl would help to cover any unintended sounds they might make.

Night had fallen like a blanket of tar. It seemed sudden but it wasn’t. The moonlight gave clues as to the shape of the horizon and the serrated edge the tips of the trees created. Their eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but helped little in discerning silent movement in the distance. For this they needed binoculars. They quietly slipped on the glasses that supported them and adjusted for distance and night vision. Sebastian’s came equipped with thermal, but still nothing was seen.

Not long after they discovered where the woman second guessed herself. Her tracks overlapped themselves. She’d turned around and walked in repeated circles, probably trying to decide which way to go. It could be she wrestled with two or more definite choices in mind, but most likely she was just plain lost. No one came out this way. The path was headed away from the city and deep into nowhere. They hadn’t yet reached the frozen river or any real sign of it. Perhaps that was the cause of her confusion. Up this far north the river branched eastward. Perhaps she’d expected to find it by now and when she hadn’t, she doubted her course, believing to have gotten turned around at some point.

It seemed to be the case, because when the tracks continued, aside from being fresher, they were headed southeast. This was the best route to intersect with the river, which whether it mattered or not, eventually led to the bridge, a ways further south. Aryl had been to the river on countless occasions. It wasn’t terribly large or wide. In fact, it was barely large enough to trump being called a stream. It probably wasn’t on any map, except for maybe those used to hunt and as far as she was aware, had no name. To the camp, it was just called the river.

A doubt quickly formed in Aryl’s mind as to whether or not they’d been seen. The woman had obviously cut back, which on a map would look something like an upside down “V”. The night vision allowed them to make out the tracks in front of them and, with concentration, movement in the distance. But the footsteps in the distance where she’d altered course were invisible to them in the pitch of night. Since they hadn’t known about them until recently, it was in the realm of possibility they could’ve been seen by the woman from the east during her way back to the river. It was unlikely, since they’d been careful, but definitely possible. In fact, with a pair of binoculars supporting thermal, the two of them would stand out vividly against the night sky.

However, if she’d seen them, she would’ve picked up her pace and maybe changed directions. They’d made up time with the woman’s indecision, but might’ve lost the element of surprise. Time would tell. It always did. Aryl had over two hundred years to figure out that hard truth. They picked up their pace.

The hills still rolled in the murky distance. After cutting back they found themselves crossing different parts of the same hills. It seemed useless and tedious, but it wasn’t. It was just part of the process of tracking, which required patience. It was fortunate she and Sebastian both stocked up on that particular virtue. Aryl glanced at her watch. The time of Jason’s bridge crossing had come and gone. Tamerlane and his pack of incompetents should be nearing the bridge right about now, but with them you never knew. They were probably running late. Regardless, they’d beat her there. They’d have to be handicapped in more than the head not to.

Then, from the next ridge a light flashed silently. A second later, Aryl, felt a sudden impact and something wet flowing down her nose. Little else crossed her mind, but the bullet that dimmed her vision and everything else that ever mattered. She was on the ground, but hadn’t even felt herself fall. She could see Sebastian silently shaking her, but couldn’t feel it. Then more than just the night went dark. Her whole two hundred plus years of existence turned black and she lay dead, two inches in the frozen snow.

Then next moment, Aryl came to. She was looking around in the silent darkness. Sebastian was there, still worriedly shaking her. A sudden but mild headache wracked her brain. She was standing, though. Immediately, she felt her forehead for the gaping hole she knew had to be there. It wasn’t. She looked around and saw the darkness, the footsteps and the never ending trees. Sebastian was whispering something, but she couldn’t make it out, so listened harder.

“What did you see? What did you see? You’ve been in that trance for a full two minutes. What did you see?”

Suddenly, it all became clear. She’d had a vision. They weren’t all that uncommon. After all, she was a thirdborn, but Sebastian was far less shocked about it than she was. Well, why not? He hadn’t seen it. He wasn’t the one who died. Her visions weren’t usually that vivid and clear. She supposed it made sense this one would be. Still, they were rare.

She got a hold of herself and whispered, “Where are we?”

“We’re at the bottom of the third hill.”

It was nice he kept such close track, but she was still a bit confused.

“Have we passed her turning point?”

A little confused himself, he asked, “What turning point? Is that what you saw?”

She had to think for a minute, but soon remembered the turning point was at the bottom of the fourth hill. They must’ve been seen. The woman might be watching them at that very moment, confused and worried about why they‘d suddenly stopped; confused, armed and dangerous. Without an obvious glare, she glanced to the east. Nothing. If she wasn’t there she soon would be.

“We need to head east.” After a pause. “Quickly.”

Sebastian knew now wasn’t the time to ask why; time was of the essence. So, instead of repeating himself yet again, he turned to head east. There was no questioning Aryl once she’d made a decision. The same went for what she said next.

“Set to thermal. Watch the rise. Say nothing until you see her.”

He did this as he ran. He assumed quickly still meant quietly, but Aryl had broken into a run. He followed directly, but she hadn’t gone directly east. She headed for the base of the hill for, he assumed, protection from whatever horror she so wished to avoid. Afterwards they adjusted course.

They’d run half a mile this way with the occasional branch slapping and scratching past them. They could’ve avoided more if it were day. Thermal didn’t help at all. Nothing of the forest could be seen in the black. Sebastian simply followed the blinding orange heat signature radiating from Aryl, who was still guided by night-vision.

Sebastian knew they were making far too much noise, even with the raging wind masking most of their movements. Aryl told him to watch the rise. He had been, but saw nothing. Even the horizon was difficult to discern with thermal. He stumbled and nearly fell more than once, since he’d lost the luxury of watching where he was going. He saw that Aryl had been watching the rise as well, but he’d see the woman first with thermal. Her presence would be all too obvious against the black backdrop.

Suddenly he saw her! Only her head was visible over the rise. Whether she saw them or not, her quick movement suggested she’d heard them coming. It was a good vantage point for spying. The woman pulled her head back to blackened shadow just as quickly as it had appeared.

“Aryl!” Sebastian had screamed the name. He hadn’t meant to.

Without a word, Aryl swerved to the left and began to run up the hill. The woman was too quick. She hadn’t seen or heard any sign of her, but she trusted Sebastian had. She knew exactly what the woman was doing too. She’d expected company the moment she’d left camp. So she left with all the proper amenities in which to greet them. She was well armed with a preloaded rifle. All she had to do was bring it to bear. Aryl had very little time to stop her own death and if she failed there would be no more chances.

The woman’s head popped up. Aryl saw it, though stealth was no longer a factor. The woman knew she’d been seen. All that remained was to get her shot off. Sebastian shouted again as if she hadn’t heard him the first time. She wished he hadn’t. His voice was giving the woman a target in the dark. Suddenly she realized that’s exactly what was happening.

Aryl knew she wasn’t going to make it to the rise in time to stop the first shot. She also knew Sebastian was very close behind her. He’d have to be. Her own heat signature was his only guide. So she quickly stopped, ducked and proceeded to trip Sebastian. Maybe it would’ve been more noble to tell him to get down. Her voice may have caused the woman to take different aim, but she knew better.

Her death couldn’t have been anything but an accident. No one who knew who she was would kill her outright. DOE would find them. There wasn’t any hiding from it. It was likely a lucky shot. She’d probably meant only to wound whoever was following her. She couldn’t have known who they were. With Sebastian’s warning she certainly did now. Whoever the woman was she’d know killing her would bring DOE. Much about Aryl had been kept secret, but not her age.

There was always the possibility the woman would manage to wound her now, but why take that chance? Surely she knew whoever was with her had to be younger than Aryl. The odds of surviving a critical hit were better. Plus the man’s voice had given her a target. As for dealing with the aftermath of Aryl’s vengeance, well, the woman probably hadn’t thought that far ahead.

It had almost worked. Both Sebastian and herself heard the muffled shot as something akin to punching a pillow; she’d used a silencer. Their proximity to the shooter was the only thing allowing the shot to be heard. She hadn’t heard it in foresight. Only Aryl actually saw the muzzle flash. Sebastian was too busy eating the ice that glazed the snowy ground. The shot had gone over his head, missing him by inches. The woman tried valiantly to adjust her aim to the sudden change of events.

Sebastian was understandably disoriented, but Aryl wasn’t and charged forward as quickly and silently as she could. She knew the woman wouldn’t need to reload. The second shot would come in mere seconds. The only delay was trying to decipher just what made her miss. Unfortunately, Aryl was too close now, to mask the sounds she made. Not to mention, the woman was almost certain to be too desperate to care who she shot at. She’d take the chance of a kill and the DOE that followed, just to avoid capture.

No need. The second shot was good. It tore through Aryl’s left arm, shattering bone with the horrible luck of it. The impact spun her. She was so close. She reached out with her right hand to find purchase on the only thing that mattered and succeeded. The barrel of the rifle jerked downward as the third shot burrowed as far as it could into the frozen dirt. It was only for an instant. The barrel burned with the friction of the blast, searing her hand and forcing her to let go. There was nothing else for her to do, but fall. That’s exactly what she did, rolling a bloody trail halfway down the hill until a tree slammed into her back, breaking her descent.

She tried to move but pain tore through her arm and back. The injury to her back was probably only temporary, but her arm, though still attached, dangled uselessly without the cohesion of bone. Besides, she’d rolled over that tender spot too many times to salvage it. She’d lost her glasses in the fall. Her eyes had become accustomed to the night vision and suffered the temporary blindness that adjustment to the black required. The pain was causing her to lose focus. All she had left were her ears and they told her plenty.

Sebastian regained his feet as well as his senses. He was already barreling up the hill again by the time he saw the flash that accompanied the second shot. He blinked instinctively at the brightness of it and flinched as he braced for the impact that never came, but soon witnessed the outcome. He saw it more than heard it. It wasn’t the first time Aryl had been shot, stabbed, burned or tortured. She’d built up a resistance to it and didn’t scream as much as grunt.

There was a sudden spray of blood after the impact. He felt as much on the exposed part of his face and knew the rest of his body had suffered the brunt of it. There was a shock that accompanied the reality of the event. It was momentary, however, and hadn’t affected the force his legs had become. He was silent to it, learning from his previous mistake. He saw Aryl grab the muzzle and wrench it to the ground. She hadn’t pulled it as much as fell. Her own weight had dragged the woman’s aim into the snow. Then Aryl suddenly let go and began her haphazard roll.

The woman never got off a fourth shot. Though she did take aim at him right before Sebastian grabbed the rifle and twisted it out of her grip. He had no room or time to turn the weapon on her, but the woman used the moment to her advantage. It was right about then Sebastian felt the serrated blade of a hunting knife sink deep into his thigh. He felt only the pressure of it. The pain was still seconds away. He used that precious time to knock the knife away with the butt of her own rifle as she prepared for a second thrust. It went flying to only God knew where. Then the pain hit.

Sebastian kept his balance momentarily. He would’ve kept it longer if the woman hadn’t attacked again. She’d lost all easy access weapons, but no longer needed them. She’d thrust out her hands, grabbed his freshly wounded leg and squeezed as hard as she could. He cried out in pain as he fell backwards, the weight of his body tearing her hands free.

Sebastian’s body then began a rag doll roll down the hill, but he didn’t feel it because he was dead. He’d fallen directly backwards, his head smashed on a rock embedded in the frozen ground and cracked his skull. He was gone seconds later.

Not that she knew exactly what just happened, but Aryl was waiting, practically expecting to snap out of this equally miserable vision. Only one problem, this time everything was real. She could hear the crunch through the snow as Sebastian fell. Then she heard the quick footsteps of the woman chasing after him, likely to finish what she’d started. She soon reached him and Aryl heard her kicking him. Then she suddenly stopped.

The crunch of her footsteps became louder as she got nearer. They weren’t quite as fast this time. She was surer of herself. Then she finally spoke, but she hadn’t needed to. As such a close proximity, Aryl could hear her thoughts thinking the same things. This marked the first time Aryl had tried to listen. A mistake, she knew, but current events hadn’t really given her a whole lot of opportunity. It was strange. In her vast experience people rarely actually spoke their minds. Something always remained hidden. There were exceptions, of course. The tongue and the mind were often in perfect harmony when impending death was known. It was then, moments before the woman uttered her first word, that Aryl knew no one would be capturing anyone. Death was pounding on the door, eager to get in.

“Your friend is dead. You know I didn’t kill him or I’d be youthing right about now. I won’t kill you either. I’ll let the wind and the cold do that.”

Aryl said nothing, but she remembered that voice. It belonged to Carmen. She didn’t know why she was here or what she’d done, but it didn’t matter. She just waited for her moment in the black. She had one good hand and would use it. That chance never came. Instead, she felt more searing pain. Carmen stepped on what remained of her twisted, shattered arm and was slowly laying all her weight on it. It was nearly a spasm for Aryl to raise her right hand toward that abysmal foot, but it was an unwieldy, awkward attempt. Most of all it was seen and expected.

Aryl felt Carmen grab her hand with both of hers. Then she spoke again.

“Only a fool doesn’t believe in the Firstborn Prophecy.”

As she said this, Carmen slowly pushed backwards on Aryl’s pinky finger until it broke. Aryl only grunted.

“A normal humatran like me would be a fool not to believe.”

Carmen did the same with the next finger and got an inhaled gasp for her effort.

“So what would that make a near ancient like you?”

Carmen skipped the finger that, to this day, stood for telling someone to fuck off. Instead, she pulled back on Aryl’s pointer finger until she heard the familiar pop of disjointed bones.

“You are no ancient, you know. You don’t fucking qualify.”

Breaking Aryl’s thumb took real effort, but she managed and heard a pleasing snap accompanied by a pleasing moan of deeply repressed pain.

“Oh, let it out already. You know you won’t get another chance. You’ve lived long enough.”

Carmen twisted her foot on Aryl’s pinned right arm and was rewarded with a sudden, sharp cry, but nothing more.

“You know why I left your middle finger?”

Carmen threw Aryl’s right arm down and quickly pinned it with her right foot.

“So you can flip off any wolves or whatever else that come to eat you. Maybe you can watch as they bite that finger off. In case you can’t see it, I’m giving you my own.”

She was too, but soon stopped. Instead she decided to lean down. She began to unzip Aryl’s heavy coat when she suddenly spasmed. Carmen looked up, but nothing happened. Then she realized what had happened.

“Trying to kick me? Silly. You’ve got to see your chiropractor first. You’ve got a nasty twist in your back. But let’s be sure you don’t do anything stupid, shall we?”

With that she quickly finished unzipping the coat and stepped off Aryl’s arms. Then she used her feet to push her away from the tree and onto her stomach. Aryl pushed up with her knees but was quickly pushed back into the snow when Carmen sat on her raised ass.

“Thanks for the seat. I needed a rest.”

As always, Aryl said nothing. Then Carmen began to remove Aryl’s coat with heavy jerking motions that tore at her wounds. More sudden gasping was the result.

“You know I can’t be sure any animals would want to eat you. You probably taste old and stringy. Like leather. I don’t think I can take that chance. Let me help you get out of that heavy coat. Cold people tend to die faster in winter and dead people don’t need to be warm.”

With that Carmen tore Aryl’s flopping left arm free of the sleeve and it slapped down bloodily in the snow.

“You’re making such a mess. I don’t even think I can use this coat. You’ve destroyed it.”

Carmen jerked repeatedly until the right sleeve came free. Aryl had tried to resist with the only elbow she had that still worked. It wasn’t enough.

“You know you’re a damn strong woman. I’ll give you that. It makes me so proud to be able to finish off someone like you. You know, you’ve got 140 years on me. You don’t know how much it means to me to be able to hurt you like this. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Then Carmen noticed something.

“Oh, you’ve got a knife. I wonder why didn’t you use it?”

She hadn’t really had time to dig it out, but it didn’t matter. Carmen had it now and slipped it under Aryl’s clothes at the base of her neck and gently teased until she had made a nice clean cut in the two layers Aryl still wore. Then she slit them all the way down the back.

“Oh. Sorry if I cut you on the way down. Well, not really.”

Then she parted the clothes until Aryl’s bare back felt the sharp bite of the wind. Though it wasn’t easy to see, a long cut in her skin marked where the blade had come down. It started pooling with blood near the small of her back.

“O.K. Now you shouldn’t be so stuffy. I’d help you out of your pants, but you’d just try to kick me again, huh? How rude. You know I don’t swing that way. I’m only here to help.”

Then Carmen rolled Aryl back over.

“Gotta get all these clothes off you. You still look so damned hot. Oh, don’t look at me like that. You could never be as hot as me. Get over yourself, already.”

With that Carmen sat on the front of her legs to keep Aryl from kicking and cut her remaining sweater and shirt off at the sleeves. Aryl wasn’t wearing a bra, but didn’t much need to. She had a small chest. Her nipples were pronounced due to the cold and she was giving Carmen a look of pure hatred.

“Yeah, I don’t like you much either, but soon there won’t be anything left of you for me to hate. You can’t hurt me when you’re dead. You know you deserve the humiliation, but I just can’t take the chance that you’ll bleed to death out here. You know that would be all my fault and I’d DOE from it. You gotta take door number two. I never much liked winter, but I’m feeling differently now.”

Aryl never spoke. She was dying. She was slowly freezing to death and she knew it. Even so, she wouldn’t give this bitch the pleasure of her tortured voice.

“You know, I’m not going anywhere. You know I gotta be sure you’re gone. I’m gonna watch you die. I’m gonna watch your eyes glaze over with ice. It’s gonna be great. I wish you could see it.”

Still nothing came from Aryl in response.

“Just so you know. I’m the one who set Jason free. He’s kind of pathetic though. I don’t know how he could possibly save the future, but then, what do I know, huh? I’m sure he’ll manage somehow. Hell, it was probably all foretold, don’t you think? Oh, of course you don’t! You don’t believe in any of that shit, right? Well, don’t worry. Very soon your future won’t matter much either way. Damn, it’s cold out here. Don‘t you think?”

Carmen never stopped talking. Aryl just stopped listening. Actually Aryl wasn’t so cold anymore. She was starting to go numb. First, she’d lost feeling in the skin around her breasts. As time passed, it sunk lower. She couldn’t be sure, but she felt like important organs were starting to shut down. It wouldn’t be long now.

Her fate was sealed. She thought she could change it after the vision of her sudden death. She wished she’d taken that exit. At least that way Carmen would’ve died too. Then she wouldn’t have to hear her gloating over her. The fucking bitch was going to get away with it too. Who knew what she was going to do now. Nothing good. Nothing. Sarafyn.

Her husband was her last thought. The ice and cold had claimed her and Aryl was dead . . . again.