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Huntress (Life After Book 1)

By Julie Hall

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CHAPTER 1: IN THE BEGINNING

“Oof!”
Air exploded from my lungs as I hit the ground and rolled. I wish I could say I saw my life flash before my eyes, but I didn’t. In fact, my eyes were squeezed shut. My body jostled painfully with each lumpy impact. Through the noise I heard a name being yelled. A desperate sound. I wanted to respond, but I couldn’t find my voice. My nostrils stung, and there was a metallic taste in my mouth. I tried to spit it out. Something warm dripped down my chin.
And as suddenly as it began, everything stopped. My body was no longer moving. The silence was deafening.
After forcing my eyes open, I immediately wished I hadn’t. I stood in nothing. Startling white all around. Brilliant and soundless.
Without a sense of up or down I stumbled as I tried to take a step forward. Turning in a shaky circle, the breath in my chest hitched. I dropped to my knees, patting the space before me, and my hands began to sink—down and down until I pitched forward and my down was up. My arms stretched to their limits and I found myself reaching into the space above my head rather than below my feet.
Where was I? How had I gotten here? I was about to grasp something important, but with a sudden whoosh the memories were yanked from my mind. Tendrils of my consciousness reached out to haul them back, but returned with emptiness . . . a mirror of my surroundings.
One memory remained, standing out like a lone star in a black night. A jar of pickles on a black granite countertop. A memory that made something inside me prickle with anger even as I wondered why. But everything else was simply gone. Every other memory gone, as if it had never been there. As if I had never been.
I was about to lose it. Hysterics bubbling up inside, but before they broke free something caught my eye.
Squinting, I saw something, a dot. It was either very far away or extremely tiny. Without the luxury of surroundings to give it perspective, I wasn’t sure which. I blinked—it was barely, but perceptibly, larger. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again. Suddenly, not only was there a dot, but the expanse around me had a line.
A horizon.
Relief washed over me. The dot continued to grow in size and began to take shape—a man, I realized. A man with his back to me and partially bent over, moving his arms and hands as if conducting a silent symphony. The more intently I stared, the closer he appeared to be.
His arm arched down in a curve and then back up, and a great crash came from behind me. Spinning around, I gasped.
A mighty sea had appeared, waves smashing against the break. I stood on a cliff, the sea churned below me in a kaleidoscope of blues, and the smell of salty water wafted up, tickling my nostrils until I sneezed.
As I took a step back, something brushed at my ankles. Glancing around my eyes widened. More splendor had sprung out of the nothing. Bright green grass—so lush I could feel its suppleness beneath my feet—covered the ground. I was filled with a sudden yearning to slip off my shoes and sink my toes into its cool softness.
But then the man was inexplicably closer. Close enough to see the color of his brown hair and the medium build of his body. His arms had stopped their quick pace and were instead swaying back and forth to a slower, unheard melody. Stretched out before him was a landscape with trees, fields, and rolling hills dotted with flowers, a pinwheel of colors displayed before my eyes. The salty air mingled with the sweet tang of fresh summer blooms.
My breath caught when I flicked my eyes up and a vivid blue sky burst from horizon to horizon. A magnificent red bird shot through the air with a sweet song, followed by a flock of brightly colored birds echoing the melody. They danced in the air before soaring away and disappearing from view. No sooner had they vanished than a brown streak shot through my peripheral vision. I glanced around in time to see a doe dart out from a cluster of trees and lope, carefree, through the pasture.
Twisting my neck, I peered over my shoulder at the man, who was now standing only an arm’s length in front of me. He was focused on something hidden from my view, nodding to himself and humming a tune I couldn’t place. I remained where I stood, uncertain; wanting to get his attention but unable to bring myself to move. The strangeness of the whole experience was too overwhelming. Unsure of what to do, I waited, convinced for some unknown reason that the man was also waiting for me.
At last, he straightened and turned to face me. He was just a man. A man with skin darkened from either birth or sun, dressed in dark washed jeans and a smudged white T-shirt. His fingers were tinged with what looked like powder or paint. He brushed one hand over the other and then rubbed them on his jeans. They came up clean. A soft smile of contentment lit his lips.
And then he spoke.
“We’ve been waiting for you.” His baritone was as deep as it was soft.
“You have?” I replied, not even trying to hide my confusion.
He nodded.
“Do I know you or something?”
He shoved his hands in his pocks, smiled pleasantly, and nodded again. “I’m here to welcome you and to show you the way.”
“Welcome me where?”
“Welcome you home.” It was said simply and without irony. “So welcome home. You can call me Joe.”
There was a familiarity in the man’s voice that distracted me, but what he was trying to explain was more important. Concentrating hard, I pulled as much of my attention back as possible to reconcile the word ‘home’ with where I was now. I rolled the word around in my mind, slowly, deliberately. And strangely, I discovered a deep-rooted sense of truth buried inside of me.
“Home.” I tested the weight of the word in my mouth. “And . . . you’re Joe?”
He just nodded, affording me the time I needed to process what he’d said. His eyes, so dark brown it was hard to see the pupils, appeared young and sharp, even with the faint age lines that sprayed from the corners like rays of sunlight. As with his voice, there was something distracting about his eyes. Something familiar that danced on the edge of my subconscious. I desperately grabbed for it, but it slipped by like water through cracks.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. Something wasn’t clicking. I was unable to shake the feeling that there was truth to what he said, but this place felt completely alien.
“Have I been here before?” I asked.
“No, but this place has been prepared and waiting for you for a long time. From before you even learned the true meaning of home.”
How could that be right? I had just watched this place be created from nothing.
“I’m not where I used to be?”
He smiled. “No, you’re not,” he said gently. “How about I show you around?”
“I suppose . . .” but I paused in apprehension. “But shouldn’t I be somewhere else?”
Another gentle smile. “No, I promise you are exactly where you are supposed to be. Not a moment too soon, not a moment too late.” He gestured forward. The air sweetened as we retreated from the ocean and through the lush greenery of the world he had just orchestrated.
The grass tickled my ankles as I stole glances at Joe. I had trouble concentrating on his features. I’d look at his hair to memorize the exact shade of brown only to look away a moment later and forget. His build seemed average at first, but with each new look I was convinced he’d grown taller or shrunk to a smaller size. Even his skin seemed to lighten or darken with each glimpse.
Most disorienting of all was the burning familiarity at the edge of my consciousness. Without a memory to search through, it was impossible to place him. Everything about him was so utterly nondescript—even racially ambiguous—it was possible I was trying to remember an entirely different person.
We walked over fields of grass freckled with delicate flowers and through forests of trees that reached impossible heights. We traveled for what might have been hours, or mere minutes, until we stood on the banks of a tranquil river.
“I thought you might be thirsty,” he said.
Now that he said the words, I found I was parched. So much so I couldn’t get a response out, only nodded in agreement.
“Then drink as much as you please.” He sat down on the ground and crossed his legs, keeping a watchful eye on me.
I dropped to my knees on the soft bank and cupped my hands to dip them into the water. My insatiable thirst was quenched in a moment. The water was so crisp and fresh I had the wild thought that I’d never be thirsty again—as if the river was flowing inside me. But what felt possible at the time seemed ridiculous when the moment passed.
After drinking my fill, the water calmed, turning into a glassy mirror. I leaned forward eagerly—but the face that rippled on the surface was utterly unfamiliar to me.
I brought a hand to my cheek, and the image in the water did the same. Large, dark brown eyes set in a petite, heart-shaped face, stared back wide-eyed. Equally dark straight hair poured over my shoulder as I leaned closer. It grazed the water’s surface and mingled with the reflection, creating an artificial curl in the mirror image. Who was this girl looking back at me? I touched a finger lightly to the surface, and her face distorted from view.
“Would you like to tell me what you are wondering?”
I looked back at the stranger sitting next to me with that unwavering smile on his lips. Now that we weren’t moving, his image was once again static. His hair, which hung almost to his shoulders, was a shade darker than my own. Stubble across his face aged what might have been a younger complexion. He appeared to be in his late twenties or thirties, but small physical contradictions prevented a more accurate guess. He was so normal, yet completely atypical at the same time.
“Joe,” I once again tested his name on my tongue, “why don’t I remember anything? Why don’t I remember you if we’ve met before? Where am I? What happened?”
“Good questions, but perhaps not the right ones. You will remember your life again in time, but for now, you’re meant to focus only on this new existence. It would be a distraction to have your memories before you settle into life in the ever after.”
He leaned back, resting his weight on his arms. “You now have an eternity to experience.”
It was then that I knew—I had died.
It was strange the way my mind and body accepted the fact peacefully, even as I knew I should be feeling something else. Frightened, perhaps? Sad? Angry even? Emotions I told myself to have, yet was incapable of feeling.
“Shall we continue?” Joe asked. He stood, never taking his eyes off me. “There is so much more waiting to be discovered.”
I pushed to my feet and we continued along the river’s edge. I split my attention between the man and the scenery until a mountain range cut a jagged path through the landscape in the distance. The mountains, with whitened tips, grew before my eyes at a much faster pace than they should have. I looked down to see the land speeding along underneath me with each step. The details of the ground blurred, as if we were traveling too fast for eyes to focus.
Giving up my attempts to make sense of it, I lifted my eyes to a radiant city that had suddenly come into view. Structures nestled snugly within a mass of piney trees at the feet of the mountains. Giant spiraling towers wove their way into the air. Glistening monuments reflected the light in every direction like crystals. Smaller buildings stood proudly at the feet of the others, refusing to be overshadowed, some with milky smooth façades and others with intricately carved corners and trim, all shining brightly.
Both awed and repelled I fumbled a step. Was this where we were headed, and if so, how was I supposed to find a home in a place so splendid, so perfect? Would my own imperfections corrupt its purity?
A chill ran down my spine as a breath caught in my throat. There was movement in the city. People dotted the ground around the magnificent buildings. That changed everything. Maybe someone there could help me understand. The beating in my chest picked up a notch, hammering in my ears. I knew the city was where I was supposed to be.
Below, the river had swelled to a powerful rush, and it stood in my way. I looked to the left and right but couldn’t find a bridge in either direction. The water was too ferocious to cross without one.
I glanced at Joe, who was studying me silently.
“Can you help? I don’t see a way across.”
“And you’re sure you want to go forward?”
“Yes, please. I want to see it up close.”
He nodded. “Then that is where you shall go.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than the water split in front of him, and a dry path formed on the riverbed. Not even a droplet of water remained.
He turned to motion me forward.
“Are you scared?” he asked, seeing my hesitation.
“Yes,” I admitted. Afraid of not just walking through the waters, but also of what was ahead. The future I was taking a step toward, and the past I was leaving behind.
“You needn’t be.”
I believed him.
An unexpected thrill of excitement suddenly propelled me to act, curiosity alongside apprehension. Striding forward, I marveled at the dryness of the ground below my feet. The walls of water shot well above my head, yet stood as still as glass as we passed. I stopped to take note of a brightly colored fish, at least the size of my forearm, the O shape of his mouth opening and closing as he watched us in return.
Reaching a finger out, I touched the wall of water. The spooked fish vanished. The tip of my finger started a series of small ripples that caused the wall to undulate wildly.
I looked back at Joe in alarm.
“Not to worry, it’ll hold,” he said.
Joe stayed next to me during the short walk between waters but stopped just before the river’s edge.
“We’ve traveled together as long as needed. You’ll take the next steps on your own.”
“But wait!” I was suddenly desperate to stay with the one person I knew. I couldn’t navigate the city before me alone. “What will happen to me? Will I see you again?”
He stepped forward and wrapped me in his arms. He quietly said something in my hair—was it “I missed you”?—before he stepped back once again. It was the first time he’d touched me.
“Yes, most certainly you will, Little One. But now you have other things to do.”
“But isn’t this it? Is this how it ends?”
An easy smile crossed his face, almost as if I’d said something he found amusing. “No, Audrey, this is how it begins.”
He reached down to me, touched a hand to my cheek, and in a blink was gone. But he’d left me with something I hadn’t had before.
A name.

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