Equinox (Book One of the Firebird Chronicles) WATTY AWARD HIDDEN GEM WINNER 2015

Chapter Six: The Lumina that They Knew

What did it feel like to have your memories probed?

I was told almost immediately. Scarlett's power crept across my mind like tendrils of smoke, clasping on the foremost recollection in my head. I could feel her, a puppet master, directing the web of thought along in reverse chronological order.

Most recent— darkness, woods.

I could feel that it was just a memory; Fabian's hand was still in mine, and we were witnessing the vision as a group.

The memory seemed like a dream; I stared at a pale Lumina, stepping fearfully through the trees in her night clothes. It was hard to remember that the girl was me. Her hand trembled as she pushed aside brambles, her knees knocked as she took each step. And when the scream came across the clearing, I watched as I broke into the most desperate run.

But before we got to see Reia, the memory jerked, and we're tossed further back into my mind.

—-

I was fourteen, with my face much rounder and my hair shorter. I was putting the finishing touches onto a remote control car that I had been making. I set it down triumphantly at my work desk, covered in mess and having stayed up all night to complete it.

'Reia!' I cried out, exhausted, 'Reia, come see it, it's done!'

But as someone opened the door, the memory changed again.

—-

The day that Reia came to the orphanage.

We watched the scene as I played by the other children on the small riverbank near to the woods; the very woods I would lose Reia in years later.

There were around twelve of us playing by the river, ranging from me as the youngest to the eldest around thirteen. It was an amazingly hot day, and the adults sat on small chairs by the bank. Old Mrs Cindle was no longer old but middle-aged; only the beginnings of grey were sweeping her hair. She was in deep conversation with the man next to her, our benefactor of the orphanage, who had always come out on holidays and nice days to show how kindly he was to the orphan children. His wife posed next to him, clad next to his new suit in a bright blue and white striped summer frock, complete with frills at her knees and her hips. Her hair was short and brown, and she looked at the children with distinct fear for her whites. She clutched a matching parasol for dear mercy, shielding her and her husband from the sun, and, if necessary, an escaped child.

It was muddy, and our feet slipped as we raced in and out of the water. The river was shallow, cold and beautiful, with dragonflies dancing above its swirling rapids.

I was tiny; my black hair was as long as my knees and hanging like a curtain, and behind it, my eyes shone an iridescent purple.

The other children pretended to scream as I appeared before them.

'The ghost in the woods!' they cried, and made gaggling faces at one another. I blushed and bit my trembling lip, trying hard not to cry.

'I'm not a ghost,' I wailed. As I tried to chase after them to join in, I slipped along the riverbank, and landed in the mud. I was already dirty; now I was filthy. I began to cry, but none of them moved to help me.

I approached Mrs Cindle wailing. She stared at me, holding me at arm's length.

'Yes, the poor child was left on our doorstep as a baby,' she said, and all three of them stared at me. The benefactor's wife was staring particularly intently at me, with a look of sheer disgust at bringing dirt towards her. I began to sniffle again.