Chapter 1: Footprints

The footprints meandered, but not in a way that suggested staggering frat boys or beachcombers looking for shells. No, these were deeper, carefully chosen, and mixed with half-prints where their creator tested the ground, thought better of it and retracted the step. The path was winding and uneven, but from deliberation, not carefree or drunken wandering.

Meryn looked back down the beach to see where the prints had come from and saw her own footprints next to those of her quarry. Her own prints suddenly looked massive -- how had she not noticed the size before? The prints she was following were not proportionally small, like those of a child, but narrow and delicate -- nearly as long as her own but barely half as wide. The toe-prints were long and close together, and conspicuously lacking the gap between first and second toes that nearly all locals and visitors to Raylit Beach have acquired from wearing thong sandals every summer.

She squatted down to examine one of the mysterious impressions close-up, comparing it to her own. The stranger’s footprints lacked almost entirely the contours of depth that her and other typical footprints showed -- her own heel print curved at the edges where the pressure lessened in the sand, and her arches and knuckles barely pressed the sand down, creating the familiar, uneven topography of a sandy footfall. The stranger’s feet appeared from their mark to be almost completely flat to the ground, save for a tiny thin line separating the pad of the foot from the toes. That line was exactly the height of the surrounding sand, undisturbed, as though the toes were completely separate impressions from the bottom of the foot.

“What the…” It wasn’t a question, but a sigh of bewilderment. She definitely didn’t expect a reply.

“Weird, innit?” Meryn jumped - she hadn’t seen anyone else on the beach this early in months, and the waves had obscured any sound of the speaker’s approach.

“Uhh, yah...the ah, the tide musta got all the good stuff arready.” He had caught her off-guard, which was a rare experience for Meryn. She was usually much smoother about her cover stories. She tried to slouch her shoulders and scrunch her face against the early morning sun, but she was sure he had seen her hunter’s posture and wide-eyed focus when he approached. Maybe he’s not that observant, Meryn lied to herself. She almost laughed at the thought -- yeah, that’s usually how these things go.

“Oh, a beach-comber, eh? My mistake -- I thought you was trackin' them skinny footprints.” He took off his sunglasses and began wiping them with the underside of his t-shirt. For some reason this made Meryn nervous. Why would that raise her alarm? He turned his face to the water’s edge, still cleaning his glasses. “This beach ain’t much good for shells n’ whatnot, you’ll want to head up to Raleigh Point for that.” He paused. Meryn waited, puzzled -- this was a popular beach for shell collectors, famously so, whereas Raleigh Point was a sharp cliff face with hardly any beach at all. Why would he say that? And -- she realized with a start that she tried unsuccessfully to hide -- why had he noticed that the footprints were too skinny to be, well, human, and say so openly, but then pretend to believe that she was a beach-comber? If he knew....

“Mehrderweisse,” Meryn swore under her breath. She knew, now, that he could easily hear her, and that he would likely think her incredibly crass, but she also knew that she didn’t care. In fact, it might be good to let him know that she was not afraid to buck traditions -- make him second-guess his stupid stereotypes and treat her like an unknown entity, a possible threat, not just a body of predictable inputs and outputs.

“Now, now, no need to be nasty -- believe it or not, I’m here to help you.” He turned to look at her for a split-second, just enough for her to catch a flash of metal in his eyes, before putting his Aviators back on. That confirms it, then.

Meryn arranged her face into a smile. “Well of course you’re here to help me!” she sang, clasping her hands together and then pressing them to her chest. “Why, what else could you possibly want?” She blinked quickly several times, then looked up at him from beneath her long eyelashes.

“Oh, knock it off, there’s nobody here to perform for,” he hissed, his air of nonchalance shattered by contempt.

“I know, but that doesn’t make it any less fun.” Meryn relished her small victory. She had to be careful, though -- sarcasm was a useful loophole, but it could also give one a false sense of control and safety. Better to keep her wits about her rather than give in to the power trip.

“OK, so you’re here to help me. What...does that look like?” She selected each word to sound as matter-of-fact as possible.

“Well, I assume you know what made those footprints.”

Meryn inhaled slowly. No, she thought, but can I tell you that? Was this a modesty call, or an honesty call, or a saving face bluff? I mean...I know what it looks like...but to make that claim without a Glimmer, after all the chaos on Myrdendye…

“Have you seen the Glimmer?” His tone was different now, low, vulnerable. Meryn bristled, and he put up one hand in a “take-it-easy” gesture. “I’m not -- I can’t Hear you. If that’s what you were thinking, I only know because that’s what I’d be thinking, too.” He turned his left hand to face palm-forward, exposing the veins on his wrist, then took off his Aviators. “See? I really am trying to help. She matters to me, too.”

“She?” Meryn couldn’t help it -- she had never seen a Listener show his veins on purpose except in a sideshow, and then it was to show off the color changes, not their absence.

“Yes. She’s a young’n, about 30 I think. She’ll never make it on her own. And I’ve seen the Glimmer twice -- once when she arrived, and once when I was under cinnamon and willow, meditating, looking for her. She’s exactly what you think she is. And we have to find her.”

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Love always,

-Amelia