The Rose of Flames: Rising Tides

Chapter 10

August 13th, 2047

11:48 P.M.

Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean

Above the peacock-blue depths of the ocean, a dark sky lay still. The water ebbed and flowed as gentle waves swished about aimlessly, with no purpose but to disrupt ships if they chose to grow in size. A quiet, waning moon hung in the darkness with little specks of light dotting the sky around it. Its glow made the surface of the sea shine with silver. Nothing disturbed the peaceful waters of the Atlantic in this silent night.

That is, until a surge of waves, much larger than normal, came crashing through the darkness, being led by a massive form currently gliding rapidly through the sea. The creature's cobalt-blue and cloudy-blue eyes shone as it finally slowed down and came to a stop just below the now-quaking surface, poking its midnight-colored head through the water, looking around to try and gather its bearings.

Once certain that no ships had been sent to follow her, Catherine relaxed, her tail swishing in the dark liquid she was in and creating small underwater whirlpools. She was still flustered from her narrow getaway, not to mention exhausted. She raised her drenched talons and rubbed her eyes. Salt stung her nose and she wiped the water away from her face. She needed to rest, but she wasn't anywhere near land. I guess I have to sleep in the ocean. Great, Catherine thought with a huff before sinking into the depths once more.

She swam silently through the water. Not a creature was stirring as she continued, looking for a place to curl up and sleep. Her wings flapped in a steady beat, producing whirls of water behind her. Her gaze scanned for a cave or some sort of rock formation that she'd be able to hide in, or beneath, and rest. She felt exhausted, her wingbeats slowing with every flap.

Catherine pulled up and halted as something flew by her face, and a voice she knew all too well reached her. "Sorry! I keep telling these idiots not to fire into the road."

Turning her head toward the noise in confusion, she was stunned to see a little house instead of the sea. Five kids of about 14 or 15 years of age were standing in the lawn of the quaint white home, several of them carrying fake guns that shot foam darts. Catherine blinked and, just like that, the image was gone.

I must be exhausted if I'm seeing this while awake, she thought, shaking her scaled head. Bubbles floated up to the surface as she began swimming again. She sighed with relief as she saw a rock shelf come into view. She flapped her wings with a renewed vigor and reached the formation in no time, curling up beneath the shielding stone the moment she got there. Closing her eyes, she let the memory play once more.

-=#(+)#=-

April 5th, 2043

4:17 P.M.

Portage, Michigan, USA

At the sound of the voice, the girl, about 14, turned her head toward the kids, sighing. "It's fine," she told the kid who'd spoken, a 14-year-old boy with brown hair, pale skin, glasses, brown eyes, and a black t-shirt, "I'm used to kids being idiots."

The quintet seemed surprised that she was talking to them, and the only other girl besides herself, though much taller and with brown hair and eyes, decided to say something. "I haven't seen you around before. What's your name?"

The girl shuddered, pulling down her filthy, torn hood to hide her messed up face. "Catherine," she told her, stuffing her repugnant hands into her ripped pockets. "You lot?"

"I'm Taylor," the girl smiled gently at Catherine while shifting the large fake gun in her hands.

The first boy said, "Noah," before nodding to his friends.

"Nolan," the shortest of the group informed Catherine with a nod before the tallest spoke.

"Ben, nice to meet ya," he smiled at her, short black hair glistening as if it were solid oil.

Finally, Catherine looked over as the last one spoke. He was about the same height as Nolan and had brown hair with brown eyes. "Matthew, but you can call me Matt."

"It's nice to meet you all," Catherine replied, smiling. She felt something about them, something she hadn't felt in a while: care for other people.

Taylor nodded. "So, are you new around here? I haven't seen you before," she asked.

"Sort of-" Catherine began, getting cut off as Noah hastily added on to Taylor's question.

"You look filthy, Catherine. What's that about? And why are your clothes so... torn?" he inquired, glancing at his friends with concern.

The rest of the group asked similar questions, nodding. Sighing, Catherine pulled her hood down off her head. Her hair, usually radiantly blonde, was greasy to the point of being brown. Her pale face was coated in grime from not washing in what must have been years, and her cobalt gaze was dull. She gingerly pushed up her glasses, the once-purple rims now gray. She looked at them sadly. "I'm afraid I'm homeless. I've been wandering for years. It's... hard to explain why, but I've been looking for my parents," she informed them melancholically. "I don't even know their names, but I do know mine."

Nolan looked puzzled. "What do you mean ' know mine?'" he asked. "You said your name was Catherine. Is it not?"

"That, Nolan," she began, shifting her hands from her pockets as she began to walk toward the house, "is a long story. But I suppose I've got time to tell you lot. You seem trustworthy enough to hear the tale of how Catherine Amber became who she is today: a battered, scarred, and horribly-lied-to child who's just trying to uncover who she really is."

She waved her right hand, which sported a fingerless glove. Six-year-old scars were scattered across her spindly fingers, which glinted in the pale light of Michigan, the state that never seemed to fully leave winter. Glancing over her left shoulder, Catherine smiled as she watched her new friends gawking at her hand in shock and following her, eyes wide as saucers and jaws on the floor. The six teens filed into a little sunroom, sitting on a couch or chairs. Catherine stood up, in the center. It was storytime.

Once the group had fallen silent, she nodded and stretched her arms out behind her head before relaxing, sliding her hands into her pockets as her eyes studied her new friends. They were all leaning forward to some extent, clearly yearning to hear what the newcomer had to say. Catherine smiled; for the first time in her life, someone wanted to hear her speak, hear what she had witnessed, what she had to do to survive. Better than that, she could finally tell someone everything she'd suffered.

Maybe they'll even know my parents, she thought hopefully as she looked at her friends once more; she'd taken a deep breath, eyes closed, before she began her story. "Well, my tale begins over a decade ago. When I was just a baby."