Two Lost Souls- Chapter One

A hooded figure scrambled up the riverbank.

The dawn shadows of oaks greeted the entity as roosting starlings burst into flight, swooping over a gothic bridge nearby. The span’s withered stones sat between two halves of Karst College’s grounds. A river ran beneath and split the land down the middle. One half held the academic buildings and the other half, the stables.

A loud splash echoed beneath the bridge. The tinny pat of hooves on rock followed as the hooded figure, on foot, found a place to hide within the trees.

Clumps of black mane rose and fell in rhythm as the rider on board steadied her horse over slippery rock. They were opposites. A tiny pea of a woman guided her mount, seventeen hands high, through the challenges and trials of the college's cross country course. It hosted thirty obstacles over a four mile track of countryside.

The birds continued to dip and dive as the pair overcame the riverbank’s rocky climb. They slid onto the cobbled road at the top, dripping yet cautious of disturbing the march of those just arriving. Karst College's twin spires looked over the scene from a distance, proud peaks and hammer beam trusses signaling students home.

A string of surprised gasps and expletives filled the air as students walking along the road took note of the dark horse and rider for the first time.

A sharp whip of the horse’s tail let frigid water droplets fly.

“Sorry!” The rider called, blowing out puffs of hot breath. She overtook passersby flinching at the spray of cold water. Whatever sweaty lather had been worked up by training had been washed away by the river. Steam rose off the horse’s back which only seemed to add to the fog still hiding the first rays of morning.

The rider nudged her mount up and over the bridge, careful to give plenty of room between herself and the packs of students crossing.

The first day of the academic year had arrived; freshmen were up early to explore the grounds. It wasn’t just the all-seeing spires or gothic features that called to students. Karst had an unlucky history and its origin story seemed to bring in more applicants than its superior education.

An appropriate unlucky number thirteen was printed in bright white on a lone black lamppost beside the bridge. A few freshmen questioned the painted number. They posited that it must mean something. Something dark. Significant to Karst’s history. Legendary – like the internet said.

The path beside led down an incline and into the quieter part of the river. Its quiet was accompanied by a still pool holding a jumping bank. The rider turned there and made sure to avoid the youth who were still gawking and concocting theories, phones out. Taking pictures.

The thirteen stood for jump number thirteen on Karst’s cross-country course, but the students didn’t know that as they snapped self-important photos to post to Instagram. They would be the one to solve the mystery the internet claimed was real.

A white flag on the left and a red flag on the other side of the jumping bank indicated that riders approached the jump the right way. It started with a leap out of the water and up a three foot stone wall. A flat dirt landing pad up top allowed a horse enough space to place all four feet on solid ground, before popping back down and into the river.

The tips of the dark bay’s ears focused on the obstacle. Feeling her mount’s anticipation beneath her, the rider swiveled in the saddle to make sure no one was walking behind. A small circle was turned as the horse picked up speed.

A few displaced pebbles sprayed along the base of the bridge as the horse collected on his haunches, like a spring, and hopped off into a light canter. Each stride forward was balanced with every splash into the river's waters. His knees sprung high in response to the cool spray.

Three strides to takeoff.

Two.

At one, the petite rider tipped forward and gave him enough rein to pop up the bank. The dark bay giant lifted his body, stretched his front legs up and over the stone wall portion in a graceful upwards arc, but, this time, his powerful hind end didn’t follow.

Something hooked his back leg just below the water.

From behind a black walnut tree, the hooded lurker waited and watched.

[Read Chapter 2 HERE]

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading my first chapter of my work-in-progress. At this stage, I'm planning on posting five further chapters on Vocal, over the next month or so, as I work on the rest of the book.

Any feedback is appreciated! This will be my first attempt at an episodic series.

Disclaimer: this chapter does appear on my website in a much less edited form.

-Elle