Crystal Heart (ONC 2024)

1: Dire Run

It wasn't her own heartbeat that woke her.

She sat up slowly, disoriented in the darkness. The ground beneath her was firm and dry, with little ridges that dug into her palms. She raised a hand to rub the sleep from her eyes and the ridge came with it, carrying the familiar scent of straw before it fell back to the ground.

She remembered her father's stable first, where they'd kept their horses. She'd snuck in as a child, revelling in the huffs of the horses and the strange mix of fresh manure and clean hay. When her father had caught her, he'd said little, offering only a kind smile of disapproval. 

Her fingers curled into fists, her nails digging into the flesh of her palms and dragging her from the memory. That life had nothing to do with her now.

As she pushed herself fully upright, her legs swinging to the side, she looked around the structure she'd taken shelter in. As the haze of sleep faded, she remembered stumbling across the old barn the night before, slipping between two broken slats and finally finding herself out of the wind. She'd curled up on a thin pile of straw, her narrow hip pressed painfully against the packed dirt beneath her, but sleep had taken her quickly. Despite her aching bones and the chill of the night, it had still been the best night's rest she'd had in a month.

Until something had woken her.

She felt it then; the gentle pulsing from the pocket in her skirts. She sucked in a breath between her teeth, reaching into the fabric with a trembling hand as tears formed in her eyes. She wanted to dash them away, to tell herself there was nothing to fear, but she knew she was beyond fooling. Her fingers wrapped around a cold, sharp object, and she drew it out quickly before fear could get the better of her.

Sitting so innocently in the palm of her hand, the oblong, red shard might have been crystal or glass, catching a beam of moonlight and throwing its red glare onto the closest wall of the barn. It might have been pretty, but it wasn't. The woman blinked, a tear breaking free to carve a path through the dirt that layered her cheek, and felt her hand grip the shard more tightly.

It was amazing how much she could hate such a small object.

She opened her eyes again slowly, prepared for the light this time, and watched the shard carefully. Against the pads of her fingers, she could feel it pulsing – strong, soft; strong, soft – like the beats of a heart. She might have mistaken it for the throbbing of her own heartbeat, but as her heart raced, thumping in her chest, the crystal maintained a steady, awful, rhythm.

Then, in time with the pulsing, it began to flash light.

The young woman nearly dropped the shard, her entire body stiffening with fear. For a moment she could not breath, could not believe what she was seeing, but again with the next steady heartbeat the crystal gave off a pulse of red light. This time it tinged her skin as if it was blood running across her palms. 

It was getting brighter.

She scrambled to her feet, one boot nearly carried out from beneath her by the straw, and squinted into the darkness of the barn. She wanted to scream, to curse, to throw the shard at the wall and watch it shatter into tiny pieces, but she couldn't. There wasn't time.

Her gaze finally latched onto the gap in the wall she'd squeezed in through, and she made a dash for it. The missing edges of wood clawed at her hair and the sleeve of her dress, but she didn't care. Let the barn take its compensation in blood for all she cared – she would not be back.

As she emerged into the night, the wind whipped at her again, and she raised her hands to her shoulders to hold in some of the warmth. It was an awkward movement with the crystal still clutched in her palm, but she did not dare put it back in her pocket. Not whilst it was glowing. Instead, she raised the awful red light like a lamp, holding it out before her to try and illuminate the darkness. She could see trees – towering, swaying, groaning trees – but little else. There was no sign of where she'd come from, no footprints, no familiar landscapes... she had only her memory to guide her. She'd approached from the right, she thought, nodding firmly to herself, and starting off to her left. She allowed no time to reconsider or second-guess. Afterall, it was only her life at stake if she was wrong.