1. Prologue
   
2. A Journey
   
3. The Gathering
   
4. Race
   
5. One
   
6. Two
   
7. Three
   
8. Four
   
9. Five
   
10. Video - tl;wr: watch me hug a tree or two instead.
    

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Prologue

It had been four months now that I had been living in the exile. The remote mountain village in the icy north, which I had chosen as an escape had become a second home to me. The catchers might not search for me here. Or they might, but every newcomer was eyed with suspicion, and the news would spread faster than they can run.

I felt safe.

I was becoming lazy. I caught myself smiling at the faces that crossed my path, and taking the shortest path around corners and into places I could not look into first. The memories of the chase clearly had faded, and lingering carelessness is exactly the kind of slow poison that kills you with a sudden stroke.

I felt at risk.

A Journey

There was not much I had to prepare. I left the capsule with a friend I could trust. I was quite certain she could not comprehend the pandoric implications of the item - in its hibernation stasis it looks unsuspicious enough. And I grabbed the bag that always stands ready in case I have to move on.

I had heard about the training grounds from a mercenary. She had worked her way up through the ranks of the commons, through hard work and tricks that were dirtier than her peers. When I last saw her, she was running alongside me - by now she is one of the instructors and bearing the insignia of a centarch. She would organize a race to gather a selection among those who train under her. Not many would make it, but this time you wouldn't pay for a failure with your soul. It would just leave you crawling in the dirt of the training grounds for another year or two. Some, like me, would gladly go back to this predictable life full of simple tasks.

I felt a pinch of nostalgia.

My pack and my feet brought me all the way to the capital of Magyar, famous for shaping some of the best runners of the continent. Not only were they hard and fast, but they grew up in vast cave systems that spanned under the ground my feet now touched. Their orientation skills in the dark were second to none. This night, they would be my competition - and my opponents.

Now, I felt my heart beating faster.

The Gathering

The first thing that struck me when I entered the gathering was how young the attendees were. Had it been that long since I started out myself? They were laughing and chatting, in the carefree and curious atmosphere that surrounds the minutes before the chase. Flying merchants were selling greasy food and healthy tonics that promised to enhance a runner's reflexes or endurance. The annalists of the event crisscrossed through the crowd, taking down the names and the random quotes of each participant.



I met familiar faces too. The final runs regularly draw not only the trainees, but just as many of the thrill-seekers, the haphazard, the rusty veterans. I knew not if it was just only one of these words that should apply to me. There were about a hundred and fifty standing here, idling or busy with the final preparations. You could tell by their faces which ones had an aspiration to win the race. For the others it would be just one more story to tell near the evening's fire.

And there was her. The instructor. Issuing commands to the guards and the muscular helpers that finalized the preparations. She stood on an elevated position in a stunning one-piece combat suit that must have cost a fortune, and it was obvious that it was tailored to provide protection and comfort to this one precious body only.

Race

A voice cuts through the air. The speaker is a scarred veteran, reading the salute to the runners, and reading the rules that everyone knows by heart. Then we are introduced to our chasers. Last year, they were among the best that made it through the race, this year, they wear the masks and the red ribbons of the soul-eaters. Everyone is waiting for the final clue that will tell us where the first station is to find.



I take a look at the maps we have been handed out, and I try to make sense of the foreign words that are being yelled at me. The roads and alleys in this place will bear no names that speak to me. I will be lucky if the people speak my language. The only thing I am familiar with is the body language of the hunters, the gatherers, the vicious and the prey. And right now, I am surrounded by people that are eager, nervous and hungry for action - prey.

One

There must have been a go signal, as people start moving. I start running. Together with the first handful we cross the bridge to the Western part of town. This Journey will lead us across a lot of bridges. Since the chasers are still assembled at the start, we do not expect to face much opposition. The first runners have overestimated their legs and fall behind. Some of them make good for that by boarding a street car. I reach the first checkpoint with a group of about twenty, and we are presented with a light test of our artistic skills. Our results shall be used as decoration for the upcoming town festivals, they say - but I assume that it is just meant to taunt the spirits of the fighters as they have to struggle with colours and pens.

Two

The second checkpoint is far to the North, far beyond what we should be travelling on foot. There are only two cars running in the general direction, and I board one with a handful of five people. I realize that I forgot to ask for a clue for the second checkpoint. After a good bit of persuasion, one of the five admits to speak my tongue. He does not remember the clue, but is certain that it refers to an old Turkish bathhouse on the top of the mountain we are heading to. I thank the man, whom I shall later get to know as my strongest opponent, and who is wearing a bold bright yellow shirt as if to deny the presence of danger. I concentrate on our surroundings again.



As we reach a large place, the street car rattles to a halt in the middle of a crowd. The doors open. Some of us start running, not me. The crowd moves. I cannot see any chasers, but I stay wary. The other four try to reach another streetcar, three make it. When there still is nobody chasing, I make my move. I decided early not to stay on the main road, but to climb the mountain streets on foot. I know that chasers have to be wary of their efficiency as well as the runners are, and do not expect any to expose themselves to the strenuous task of patrolling a steep incline for a yet thin trickle of runners. My expectations were right, and I reach the top of the hill shortly behind the group I left at the street car.



The bathhouse is locked and deserted. The group is startled, and begins to check the small gates and alleys that surround it. Some even argue that the guardians of the checkpoint may not have arrived yet. I know better and move on. In a side street, I try to describe to a man and his dog the uniform of the guardians with hands and feet. As I imitate the salute of the guard, the man starts laughing, and points me down a narrow flight of stairs, where the checkpoint is hidden.

It sits on the top of the stairs, and the merry guardspeople explain me that I should count them. I smile at their sense of humour, knowing that the taunting is part of the game they play with us. Without arguing, I start running down the stairs, making an estimate in my head. I soon realize that some of the stairs are missing, others are broken beyond recognition. Out of sight behind a bend, I pause for a moment, surveying the remaining height. I turn around, run back up, and reach the checkpoint again. Pretending to be exhausted, I provide two numbers, one for the left side of the stairs, the other for the right side. The guardian is visibly impressed with my thoroughness and gives me her stamp on my documents. I set up the smile that is part of the game I play with them.

Three

The other checkpoint will be on the other side of the river again. To avoid the bridge, I go back the way I came, down the steep incline. I wait out of sight of a streetcar stop, surveying the large street and the narrow alley behind my back. As the streetcar stops, I use it as a sight block and run into one of the open doors. As we cross the bridge, there are no other runners on board.

On the other side of the bridge, I survey the first stop of the car. I cannot see any chasers, but I wait. Shortly before the doors close, I move, run around the edge of the car, and disappear into a dark alley. No one is in front of me. Nearing the next crossroads, I turn around and see no one following me. The third checkpoint is four blocks away, straight down the road.

I choose not to take the direct route, and avoid groups of people. A bus drives in my direction, and I board it. The other passengers stare at me, panting and sweating. I make use of the welcome rest and survey the surroundings. As the bus turns, I am about to signal the driver to stop, as I see a flash of blue running down the alley, and a flash of red on an interception course. One stop later, I disembark and head to the checkpoint, where I meet the man in the yellow shirt again. We are first asked to run a distance, then told to inflate a balloon. One more task meant to show us how close we are to our limits, but we comply with a straight face. The time to sweat and pant is not now and here.

Four

She almost got me, but she did not expect me to come straight at her. I was running at a leisurely pace towards a more remote bus stop, and I admit I did not expect the chasers to guard this side of the checkpoint. But eventually it had to happen. When I noticed her, it was too late to get away and my fighting reflexes kicked in. I yelled at her, and started running. In the last moment before we crashed, I ducked to the right, rolled, came back up and kept running. My momentum carried me and I reached a good distance before I looked behind me to see her still confused, standing on the same spot. She must have been new - I doubt that the maneuver would have impressed any of the more seasoned chasers.

After this, I immediately acted more careful and reached the bus without further incidents. It stood at the station for a while until the driver would decide that enough passengers have boarded to allow him to earn his fare. Eventually, two other runners boarded the vehicle, and we greeted. Their faces were young, but they were confident, and they have proven some skills to reach this place this early. From the faces we had seen, and chats with the guardians, we concluded that we must be among the first runners to head towards checkpoint four. Jokingly I asked them if they wanted to be the bait, or if I should be. I had to explain the word.

The bait. Leaving the safe zone first makes you that. The first blue ribbon to move will attract the attention, and tell the positions of any chasers that catch on. We discussed at which stop to leave the car, and when they declared they would take the first one after the bridge, I taunted them once more that this would make them the bait. We laughed.

They left the bus after the bridge and ran right into the arms of a chaser. I had not seen him either. I smiled, the smile that is part of the game, and waved. Once again, I decided I would be more careful. Now I was on my own, and the next bus stop would be right in front of the Imperial castle. Maybe a good spot to disappear, maybe the opposite.



I did not have much time to survey upon disembarking, but no one moved towards me in the darkness. I headed to a row of parked cars. There were three figures with red ribbons walking down the street. I stopped, with my arm and the ribbon hidden behind the roof of a car, pretending to be busy. I looked around. They were the only patrol, and heading down the street in the direction I was headed. I followed them at a distance to where they climbed onto one of the vantage points on the castle walls. Once or twice, one of them turned, but I doubted they could discern my blue ribbon in the darkness. Possibly, they did not even expect someone to be as bold as to follow them.

When they were high up enough on their wall, I ran down the road leading down the other side of the castle hill. I saw them pointing at me, but they would have had to backtrack half the way to just get on my level. I raced down a flight of stairs and disappeared in the network of alleys above checkpoint four. From the road I was following, several stairs and steep alleys would lead towards the park that was the safe zone. A figure waited at the bottom of the first stair I was examining. It disappeared behind a corner before I could make out if it was carrying a ribbon or not - and so did I. The second alley seemed safe, and I descended. I waited in the darkness until the street was safe to cross, and a short sprint would make me reach the safe zone.

I was asked for poetry, and to hug a tree. And I was told that I was the second to reach the safe zone. I saw the bright yellow shirt of the runner that was first disappear between the trees.

Five

This one silly comment and that sight had made me fall into the all too common trap. I had again become too confident. I wanted to keep up with the first. I jogged out of the safe zone towards where I expected a street car running, to once again cross to the other side of the river. There was no car in sight. I decided it would not be safe to wait so close to the safe zone, and started moving in the direction of the bridge. One block behind me, a shadow left the safe zone.

I started running. This was not good. The road was a major one, with street lights and car traffic. There would be not many sidetracks to the right. The left was uphills, and towards the route from safe zone three. I decided to increase the pace instead, and looked around. The shadow was coming closer, as he had started to run as soon as he saw me getting away. My pace was now at a level which I could keep up for a few blocks, and I started looking for escapes. I began hearing the steps behind me.

I crossed the road, right before the oncoming traffic. I had misjudged the drivers, who stopped to let both me and my chaser cross. I sprinted. I reached a delivery truck and zig-zagged behind the truck again on the other side. He would not let loose. The safe zone was one block ahead, enough to play the game once more. But he was too close. I stopped, panting. I shouted "You win!". I started nestling on my ribbon and eyed him. He had not touched me yet, and panted as heavily as I did. In my head, I was still looking for a sudden escape, but the same instinct told me that this man was half my age, and had just rested at the safe zone. Whereas I have been running for three hours straight.

We shaked hands, and I handed over my ribbon.

It feels good to be alive. This time, it was just a game.

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Video

My performance can be seen at around 03:00, or just watch the whole video. The people are not speaking backwards, it's Hungarian.

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The Map