June 2022: Red Sunken Land - Harry Fritsch
Beyond the burnt forests, beyond the vast sands,
Lies a living heart beating for this red sunken land...
Red-eyed Ryder listened to the coach turn the corner of the dirt road, heart pumping in his ears as he waited impatiently for a job to get done. He readied himself, poised in the scrub, as razor-sharp sunlight cut into the back of his neck. One heartbeat. Two heartbeats.
Joseph Cornwall sprang out from his hiding spot pointing two flintlocks at the startled horses. “Easy there,” said the gang’s leader, “we don’t want to cause any harm.”
“Ah, bugger me,” said the coachman. “It’s the bloomin’ Cornwall gang. What do you scum want?”
“What does it look like?” Eleanor Power strode out from behind an old gum, her dagger glinting under the midday sun. “We want what you’ve got back there.”
Ryder stayed in his hiding spot. These two seemed to have things under control.
“No one’s within coo’ee here, mate,” said Cornwall taking another step towards the coach. “Be a smart lad. Let us treat ourselves to a bag of gold and we’ll be right on our way.”
“Just one bag,” said Eleanor. “That’s all we’re asking for.”
Just one bag, thought Ryder. How far could that one bag take us? Is it enough to finally buy our freedom?
“It doesn’t look like I have much of a choice, now do I?” said the coachman. “Fine. But one bag only! Else my boss’ll shoot me on sight.”
He tossed the keys at Cornwall’s feet.
“Much obliged,” Cornwall said, picking up the keys and walking to the back of the coach. He winked in the direction of Ryder, slid the key into the lock, and swung open the doors.
The gunshot brought the surrounding bush to life as Ryder watched Joseph Cornwall fall down to the dirt dead.
“Ryder!” screamed Eleanor.
“Find the Red-eye,” yelled one of the cops as half a dozen of them spilled from the coach.
But Red-eyed Ryder was already standing on the dirt road, heart thumping. His vision went Red. He could now see every blood vessel running through the bodies of the men standing before him. They had their guns pointed at him, but he only paid attention to those wispy crimson pathways carrying their blood. And he started to squeeze.
All at once, the cops clutched their chests. They buckled to their knees; various shades of agony painted across their faces. In two minutes, they were all dead.
Ryder collapsed in the dirt. That was the thing about seeing Red. To stop their hearts, you had to stop yours first.
“Ryder! Ryder!” Eleanor’s face blocked out the sun. “Don’t leave me too!” Her face faded from view.
As he succumbed, his mind wandered to an old poem told to all young Red-eyes. A poem of hope. He closed his eyes and welcomed the freedom of the dark.
...Tainted yet pure, fallen yet soaring.
This heartbreak of riches is every cursed saint’s calling.
#RightLeftWrite’s June competition was guest judged by fantasy writer Stacey McEwan, BookTok reviewer and author of Ledge (Angry Robot Books 2022) from the forthcoming Glacian Trilogy. Check her out on TikTok or Instagram at @stacebookspace.
July’s competition is open now - genre prompt: Romance. Submissions of short fiction (max. 500 words) close at the end of the month - submit your entry.
Right Left Write’s June genre prompt was Fantasy.