How far have I run?

  How long have I been running?

  Well… I’m hardly running, by this point. Just putting one leg in front of the other, over and over.

  My legs are burning, but they haven’t stopped moving yet.

  My lungs feel like they want to explode, but I’m still breathing.

  I have to find that old man again. He’s the only human-looking person I’ve met down here. He’s maybe the only human-looking person I’ll find in this hellhole.

  He gave me advice. He gave me a magic cloak. Maybe he has a house? Or shelter? Something.

  Something better than running through these mangled, twisted woods.

  Really, I’ll take anything if it means I can get out of this gods-damned forest- ah.

  The forest didn’t like me bad-mouthing it, it seems, as I suddenly found myself airborne, tripping over an exposed root that was the perfect height to catch my foot, sending me tumbling forwards face-first into the mud.

  The mud that had caked my boots is now all over my front, my face, and even in my mouth.

  It tastes as bad as it smells; like old blood and rust.

  I’d inhale and scream out in frustration, but all that’d do is make me eat more mud.

  All I can do is sit up and wipe the filth off my face.

  I don’t know who gave me or how I got this white shirt, but it’s definitely ruined now.

  All that running has gotten me to… somewhere else in this forest, I don’t know where. The looming cliffs in the distance appear to be no closer. The surrounding woods are both different and the same. Even the path I was following has disappeared.

  I’m definitely lost now. On my own, again- eh?

  Something soft rubs against the back of my neck under the cloak, but there’s nothing behind me to- oi!

  I get prodded on the back of my neck, pushing me forward slightly. Is that-

  “Is that you, wings?” I say out loud, for some reason.

  A disgruntled flap against my back says yes.

  “What? You’re a part of me, aren’t you? I’m not wrong to say I’m on my own- ow!” Another jab against the back of my neck. It’s soft, but it still kinda hurts.

  “Alright, fine. We’re on our own. Happy?”

  I’ll take the lack of prodding or flapping as a yes.

  Great. Not only do I have wings that don’t know how to fly, but they have an attitude and complain when I don’t treat them like a person. Even new limbs come with strings attached down here.

  … Well. That mysterious old man did say my gift was rare. Perhaps even the first of its kind, he said. Yeah, neither I or they know how to fly, but… could I? Could we? They certainly look big enough. Do I have hollow bones like birds do to help with flying, or am I still the same old human? I don’t have any other limbs, right?

  Right…?

  Okay, a quick check-over confirms I don’t have any other new limbs I haven’t noticed, or any changes to existing ones. No tail or anything. Good. Oh, and I’m filthy, thanks to falling over into the mud. I’ve brushed off what I can, but my whole front is stained a brownish-orange. As for how my face looks… I don’t think I’ll be finding a mirror down here anytime soon.

  I really am… older. Bigger. 15 year old me definitely couldn’t have run this long. Yes, my hair has changed colour, and I have wings now, but being physically older makes me wonder…

  … How much time has passed.

  Did I die today, yesterday, or…

  Or however many years have passed for me to have aged like this?

  As concerning as that is, I have no way to find out for sure. And from the looks of things…

  The sky’s getting darker. Assuming this means night is coming, I need shelter. I’ll take a cave. Or a rock. Or even a root if it won’t trip me, just anywhere off the mud. Keeping the rain off would be a bonus. At least I have a cloak to keep a little warmer, and to keep my wings dry.

  …

  After… however long I’ve been looking.

  A tree will have to do.

  At least these ones don’t look like they’ve got faces on them. Otherwise, it’s the same twisted, winding trunks adorned with crimson leaves that snake upwards to the bleak, darkening sky. At least this one has thick, wide roots, enough for me to sit back on. It’s not comfortable, but it’s dry. I don’t expect to find any comfort.

  Or food, for that matter. That maple syrup-tasting stuff is the only thing resembling food I’ve seen down here. Nor have I seen anything resembling clean water. Which, if I’m going to survive down here… doesn’t bode well.

  But that’s tomorrow’s problem. If tomorrow comes at all. I don’t have the energy to shuffle and make myself any more comfortable against this tree. My energy’s spent.

  Maybe…

  Maybe all of this is just a bad dream. This life, the life before it… maybe I’ll wake up in my bed, and this’ll all be over…

  Maybe…

  …

  …

  Day Two in Hell.

  It wasn’t a dream.

  So I need to find food. And water. Where will I find those? No idea. There are bushes around, but they don’t grow any berries or anything. I haven’t seen any of those maple syrup trees since, either.

  I have no idea where to go, but there’s nothing to eat or drink here. I don’t have much choice other than choosing a direction and just… walking.

  So that’s all I can do.

  I choose a direction. And I walk.

  For hours.

  More trees. More rocks. More fallen branches, more leaves, more roots I nearly trip over. The occasional puddle of dark red liquid. No food. No clean water.

  Things clearly live here. I’ve encountered the occasional animal tracks through the woods that look both alien, yet familiar; the tracks of bears, wolves, or boars at a glance, yet on closer inspection they’re misshapen or warped, with too many toes, or far too large. Far too large for me to deal with.

  But I have found something small. A rabbit, perhaps. I’d come across tracks in the hills around my home, but the only animal I’ve ever tracked in my life was the occasional stray cat around home. But these tracks have to be fresh. Things quickly vanish in the mud and frequent rain. Whatever this creature is, it can’t be that far.

  Catching it isn’t my goal. If it’s a smaller animal, it might eat plants and know where to find cleaner water. I doubt anything could drink from those dirty red puddles and live. I could be wrong, of course, but this is the only plan I have to go with. Luckily, I’ve found the creature that made those tracks.

  It certainly looks like a rabbit, just a bit bigger than usual. Dark grey-brown fur, big long ears, fuzzy-looking… except that it has antlers. Like a stag. More importantly, though, it’s chewing on some leaves next to the cleanest body of water I’ve seen down here. It’s still brown, but it’s not blood red. The antlered rabbit thing had no problem drinking from it, taking long gulps before sitting back up to absent-mindedly crunch on some leaves.

  Sorry, antlered rabbit thing, but I need that water. It’s a rabbit, so it should run off at the sight of me as I step out of hiding towards it.

  It hears me, and it turns to look at me with its black eyes.

  Then it rears up on its hind legs, bears its large teeth, and hisses at me like a large, angry cat.

  I went to jump backwards in shock at this thing suddenly looking and acting so vicious at me, if my wings didn’t take this as an invitation to rush out from beneath my cloak, extending out to their full length either side of me and reaching upwards, extending four silvery blade-like feathers out even further. This startles the rabbit even more than it does me, as it quickly scarpers off between the trees.

  “... Thanks, wings. You can put yourself away now.” Those silver feathers look sharp. I’d rather not test how sharp, though.

  Water. Never has a brown, muddy puddle looked so inviting. It’s not red, that’s the important part.

  I kneel down beside it, cupping and dipping my hands in it. It feels… grainy, and smells earthy, but it doesn’t stink of iron. It’ll do. If I’m careful, I can just get the liquid…

  The second the fluid hits my tongue, though, I automatically spit it out, coughing and hacking to get the taste off my tongue.

  It’s horrid. Acrid. Impossible to drink. And the leaves nearby the rabbit thing was munching on are just as bitter.

  Neither of these are any good to me. I’m back at square one. Thirsty, hungry square one.

  Maybe I will have to turn to hunting to survive. At least, if I can catch something, I can cook it. Plenty of open fires around here, despite how humid it is.

  Unfortunately the thing I chased here is long… gone.

  I get the feeling it’s behind me… and turning around, it is. Slowly sneaking up on me, stopped dead in its tracks as it’s realised I’ve noticed it.

  Suddenly, it looks very appetising. And it knows it.

  It turns to scarper, but I’m hot on its trail the second it starts running. It’s fast, but desperation and a surge of energy is letting me keep up with it, and slowly gain ground. It runs along an open trail through the woods, making it all the easier to chase.

  But no matter how much I run, I can’t catch up enough. I get within touching distance, but it bounds out of the way when I try and grab it. I don’t want to pounce on it less I get gored on its antlers, but it knows better than to pick a fight with me after getting scared off by my wings.

  I start losing ground. I can’t stop chasing it, but it’s getting further and further away down this path until I’ve almost lost sight of it. It runs into a larger clearing, disappearing into the brush on the far side. I’ve lost it for sure, and I have to stop before I collapse, nearly doubling over as I try and catch my breath.

  Only to realise I’m surrounded by people.

  They all look at me, with angry red eyes with glowing white pupils—monsters? Demons? People don’t have blood-red eyes. They have weapons. I need to get out of here. I go to turn around, to go running back the way I came, and-

  “Wrong move, girl.”

  My face hits the mud, and I pass out on the spot.

  …

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  …

  Ugh…

  Where…

  My ears are ringing… I can’t think… Can’t… stay awake…

  …

  Ugh… It’s really one disaster after the other, huh.

  I’m being carried somewhere, slung over someone’s shoulder… My arms and legs are bound with rope, and there’s a rag stuffed in my mouth.

  Even if I wanted to, I can’t move, and I can’t- no, slipping away… again…

  …

  I’m conscious, again.

  A strange, sweet smell is the first thing I notice as I realise I’m awake once more.

  My ears are still ringing, and it’s hard to ignore that ringing when the group of people carrying me off is so… quiet. They don’t talk amongst themselves, they don’t cough or grunt, they walk as silently as they can. I noticed the strange quiet that hung over this place when I got here, and a group of people moving like this only reinforces the fact that being noisy isn’t a good idea. Maybe I’m lucky I didn’t run into anything big, but… no, I’m not that lucky. I’ve been taken prisoner.

  I can now, quite uncomfortably, feel that my legs are bound with rope around my calves and ankles, and my arms are behind my back, my wrists tied together by rope.

  The rope bounding my limbs chafes painfully against my exposed skin on my wrists and ankles. If I can just- Ow!

  As I shift a little in my bonds, something sharp is jabbed into my thigh, making me let out a muffled yelp as my head jerk upwards, only to see a pair of blood-red eyes with bright white pupils staring at me, and the owner of those eyes holding a finger over his mouth, wordlessly telling me to keep quiet. I should probably do what he says, so I keep as still and quiet as possible.

  It would seem I’m being carried over someone’s shoulder, with my head near their back. Whoever jabbed me in the thigh isn’t the person that glared at me and told me to be quiet, but…

  The exertion of that movement suddenly hits me, as the strength quickly leaves my limbs.

  Rather than resisting its pull, I don’t really have anything to do, so, I may as well get some more rest, as I let my consciousness slip away again.

  …

  Wherever I’m being taken to, it sure is far away, given I’ve passed out like four times and we’re still not there.

  The shoulder I’m unceremoniously being carried on does feel less tense than earlier, though, and there’s the occasional murmur amongst the group.

  “Where do you think this one’s from? Harv’s lot? They sure stink enough to be from them…” A young, male-sounding voice asks in a hushed tone.

  “Doubt it. No weapons; likely an outcast.” An older one answers, with a voice that sounds like it’s gargled gravel every day of its life.

  I don’t know what a “Harv’s lot” is, but, an outcast? Me? I stink?! Well… I have now landed face-first in the mud twice now. I do stink. That’s fair. These people that captured me must be part of a larger group or settlement if they’re taking me somewhere pretty far from where they found me.

  It’s hard to tell how much time has passed; the thick fog and the red glow obscuring the sky doesn’t make it easy to tell what time of day it is. If it truly was stars I was seeing through the fog when I got here, it was probably some time early in the morning, then. Of course, draped across a shoulder as I am, I can’t exactly look up at the sky to check how bright it is.

  I must say, though. I’m remarkably calm given the fact that I’ve just been captured and kidnapped. I could be being taken somewhere to be eaten or sacrificed or something, but I'm in hell already. I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, I’m filthy, how much worse can it get, aha…

  “Why’re we bringing this one back, anyway. Could have just left ‘em where we found ‘em.” The man carrying me suddenly speaks up, his voice flat and glum.

  “We were sent out to harvest sweet-tree sap. Why are we bringing back a captive?” The young male voice asks again.

  “Because I said we are.” The gruff, gravelly voice answers.

  Sweet-tree sap? Do they mean the… maple syrup? Now that I think of it, that’s the smell that’s been hanging over this group the whole time I’ve been with them. So that clearing had more of those maple syrup trees? If they came all this way just for maple syrup, then, they must be part of a settlement of some sorts.

  A settlement of demons, presumably. Humans don’t have red eyes and glowing white pupils. Although…

  They all have pointed ears, like me. Do I also have red eyes and white pupils? Does this mean I’m a demon, or are these people still human like me?

  The stories I was told as a child was that hell was full of all sorts of monsters and demons; horned humanoids with scaly tails and leathery wings, that could crush a boulder with their bare hands or drain your life force with a single touch. They didn’t mention anything about the colour of their eyes or any pointed ears, though, and I don’t have horns, a tail, or wings- geh?!

  My train of thought is interrupted by something soft rubbing against my nape. Was that my wings touching me- Yes. Yes it is.

  Hello, wings. Sorry I forgot about you for a moment, I’m still getting used to having you around. Correction: I do have wings. The fact I can’t properly feel them is just something I’ll have to live with.

  Although…

  The people that captured me… don’t seem to know about you, wings. They haven’t removed my cloak, and they didn’t, well… check me for wings. Why would they expect me to have wings?

  Hmm.

  We’ve been moving for quite a while now, so I hope we’re getting close to our destination, wherever it is. I try to look up, and… yep, the same guy from earlier is still staring at me like he wants to burn a hole through my head.

  I try to avoid staring back into his eyes as best I can, but he leans closer. Right up in my face. Strangely, he doesn’t stink like I do… if anything, he looks clean.

  “You’re a long way from home, girl.”

  “Yeah, no shit” is the message I try my best to convey via staring at him. I go to rest my head down, only for the group to abruptly halt, and a commotion to start.

  “We’ve been moving all damn day, Rann. It’ll be another five hours’ march to get back with the vagabond in tow. We either camp, cut ‘em loose, or cut ‘em. I ain’t taking another step forward.”

  For a moment I thought I was still in the depths of my concussion after hearing a pitch-perfect, new-world “Bostonian” accent, but the threat of “cut ’em” quickly snaps me back to the objective reality of my situation.

  A silence hangs in the air for a moment.

  “Fine. We camp. Blindfold the prisoner first.” That gravelly voice answers.

  Blindfold?! Wait—

  Before I even start to struggle, a piece of cloth is wrapped around my head, covering my eyes. I’m then finally lifted off that shoulder I’ve been carried on for I don’t know how long, and dumped right on my arse on the ground. At least the dirt here is dryer than the mud I was trudging through earlier.

  With no other options available, I just sit up and listen to the hustling and bustling around me as this group sets up camp. Going by how many I saw earlier and the number of footprints I could count while being held upside-down, there’s about eight of them, give or take. They sound like they’re all male and of varying age groups. Compared to earlier, they’re not trying to move so quietly, so we must be far enough away from… whatever the things that you’re not supposed to be loud around are.

  That doesn’t mean I’m safe from them, though. If I just sit quietly, hopefully, they won’t notice or do… anything… to me.

  I… I’m really getting the short end of the stick again, huh? Murdered, died, ended up in hell, kidnapped in hell. Probably going to be murdered again sometime soon, after they’ve had their fun with me. Eight guys, one girl, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of hell. You don’t need much of an imagination to figure out what comes next. I just… I just hope it’s quick. I hope it doesn’t hurt much, I… hahaha… this really, really sucks…

  “Ay big guy, the hell did you do to the captive to get her cryin’ like this? She’s gonna soak through the blindfold if she keeps this up.” The new-world accented voice says, standing somewhere in front of me. I am crying, despite how dehydrated I am.

  “It wasn’t me jabbing her leg when she moved.” The glum-voiced “big guy” answers.

  “She was making noise! I kept her quiet!” The young voice pipes up.

  “She made more noise when you poked her…” The glum voice sighs.

  “Poor thing’s filthy, too. Looks like she’s been swimmin’ in the mud for Falian-knows-why.” The accented voice quips.

  Falian? The… God of Metal? They know the human gods? Maybe they really are human…

  “Enough. She doesn’t know where she is or what’s going on.” The gravel-voice says, as I hear someone approaching me.

  The gag in my mouth is yanked down, and something else is stuffed in my mouth. It’s…

  Sweet, and… doughy… is this bread?

  “Eat.” The gravel-gargler’s voice commands.

  I follow his command to the letter, chewing and swallowing what’s in my mouth. This is… the first thing I’ve really eaten since I got here. In an instant, I get a sharp pang of hunger in my stomach, and I wolf down the bread as fast as I can out of fear it’ll be taken away at any time.

  “Really? The prisoner gets the sweet rolls and we get stuck with hardtack?” That young voice whines.

  “Hardtack makes for a poor last meal.” The gravel-voice answers.

  “L-Last…” Is the only word I manage to choke out as my throat tightens and my heart falls into my stomach.

  Gravel-voice then starts to laugh, a laugh that sounds like pebbles being rolled around in a metal tray, and some of the other group members sigh.

  “Falian’s brass balls, Rann. You tryin’ to treat her, or torture her?” The new-world voice questions.

  So, Rann is the name of the guy with the voice that sounds as rough as an earthquake in a quarry.

  “We won’t be doing anything to her. Whatever she was doing out there, I feel the Chief will be interested in seeing them.” Rann answers, pressing something to my mouth - a waterskin. With clean water inside. No matter how foul it tastes, it’s a thousand times better than the blood rain or that brown puddle. I gulp down as much as I can before he takes it away, giving me a moment to process what’s been said.

  The Chief? The Chief of what? A village? The Chief of Hell? Does this mean I can expect to make it there alive, at least?

  “When has the Chief ever taken an interest in seein’ anythin’?” That accented voice quips. Rann doesn’t respond, and the group gets back to their jobs and leaves me be.

  While they didn’t think to shove the gag back in my mouth, I’m strongly disinclined to talk. For now, at least, nothing bad will happen to me. Besides the fact that I’ve been taken prisoner, of course.

  But as the terror of the danger I’m in subsides, more and more questions pop into my head. If they have hardtack and sweet rolls, that means they must have flour, right? Do they have a mill? Is the mill powered by wind or by more blood waterfalls? The guy with the accent said “Falian” - the name of the God of Metal, so clearly he knows about the Twelve Gods, so… is he a human stuck here in hell, like me? Are we all just humans trapped forever in hell?

  There’s plenty of stories about hell or… the hells, as some people say there’s more than one. Some say there’s multiple hells, one for each of the six fallen Gods who were betrayed by their people who took to worshipping a dark, otherworldly power. Some say hell is ruled by an evil lord, who tried to invade our world thousands of years ago, and half the gods gave their lives in defence of our world. They all tell different stories, but they also all clearly establish that hell, or the hells, is a “place” that is nothing like our own; fire, brimstone, death and pain, a world of suffering and anguish eternal.

  They all tell the same story of how someone’s soul goes to hell. If their body is left unburied or unburned for three days, or if their body is mutilated or desecrated after death. That’s the one thing that all storytellers and all religions agree on; if a body is not treated with care and respect after death, that body’s soul will be forever damned to hell. Of course, some claim that their pious service to their gods means they’re guaranteed to go on to The Lands Above, the heavenly realm of the gods, but this is obviously not the heavenly paradise of the Lands Above.

  But is it really hell, though? I definitely died and have gone somewhere. Yes, there’s fire, and blood rain, and animals with horns or antlers and other hellish things, but none of the stories said anything about hell having baked goods and maple syrup.

  Does hell have sweet rolls- gyah?!

  “We’ll find out who you really are, girl.”

  I jump as the one who keeps calling me “girl” talks suddenly, sounding like he’s right in my ear again. Does he have to be so close when he talks?

  “Leave her be, Einar. They’ll be locked in the Cellars until the Chief decides what to do with them.” Rann says. “Einar” seems to follow his order and leaves me alone.

  So, one is named Rann and another is named Einar, and they’re going to lock me in a cellar. Hooray.

  “We eat, and then everyone’s in their tents. We move at dawn.” Rann orders, and the others grumble in agreement.

  Dawn, hmm. So it is nearly night, not that I can tell now with the blindfold on.

  “You.” Rann says. Is he talking to-

  “Eat.”

  Another sweetened piece of bread is stuffed into my mouth before I can get a word out. I eat it as best as I can, given my hands are still tied behind my back.

  I’m then picked up over someone’s shoulder again, and carried a short distance to a tent. Rather than being dropped, I’m gently laid down on a thin blanket, my blindfold partially lifted, and I blink the dry tears out of my eyes as my vision adjusts to see a face in front of mine.

  The face I’m looking at is what you’d describe as “grizzled”. Grey hair, deep lines along his face and a short grey beard, but with pointed ears, white pupils, and bright red irises. He’s… really close. Uncomfortably close. Is something going to happen after all-

  “Get some sleep.” Rann says bluntly, as he leaves the tent.

  Well. I guess nothing else will happen to me tonight, thankfully.

  Having no blindfold and gag on is nice, but I’m still tied up, and I don’t have anything to get me out of these ropes.

  … Or do I?

  Hey, wings. Wings.

  I get a soft nudge on the back of my neck—yes, hi wings, I’m talking to you, good to know you can read my thoughts. You’ve got some pretty sharp-looking feathers. Is there anything you can do about this rope? Could you loosen it? Cut it?

  My wings shuffle about under my cloak; a bizarre sensation, feeling the cloak rub and shift against my skin without me feeling like I’m moving it, and as I look down over my shoulder, a sharp, almost sword-like feather appears from beneath the cloak, poking at the rope wrapped tight around my wrists.

  Poking it won’t do anything. Why are you poking it? Saw through it! Back and forth!

  No, not back and forth with the tip. Get the edge of the sword-feather-thing against it and saw back and forth against it.

  Evidently, my wings get flustered over all these requests, just resorting to poking the rope from all different angles as it rubs up against my neck restlessly—okay, okay, just calm down, we can cut the rope later. Don’t panic.

  Although…

  If I cut through my ropes, break free, run, and somehow get away from them…

  Where do I go?

  I don’t know where anything is. My attempts at finding food or shelter on my own had failed. I don’t know anything about the dangers of this place or this world; I’d probably just get captured by someone again, probably a harsher group than this one that won’t be inclined to feed their captive sweet rolls and clean water.

  This group, while they did tie me up and give me a mild concussion, they also gave me food and they’re taking me to some sort of shelter. Yes, I’m their prisoner, but this isn’t the worst treatment I could be receiving as a prisoner. Maybe I should play along for now, and see where they take me. They haven’t done anything else to me, yet, and if they try to… I have a backup plan if any of them get grabby.

  I guess, for now, I’ll lay my head down and try to get some sleep.

  This isn’t a dream. Or if it is, it’s a very very long one, but I know better than to get my hopes up now. I’m not going home. Home is far, far behind me.

  But I’m alive. I’ve been captured and tied up, sure, but I’m alive.

  That’ll do for now.