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A TRAIL OF FRESH BLOOD tells the story of an epic battle, and the mangled bodies of a group of wizards confirm the path Percy and I have chosen is the right path. The wittier competitors, who know what to look for, will know where to find the last two things on the list. The only issue with the plan I’ve come up with is the matter of being the first to locate and retrieve the last items. We’ve got to put a little pep in our steps to find a shorter route. Hopefully, the cat-man and I are to be successful.
Whoever slew all these witches and wizards worked alone. Observing the manner of death seems to have been the work of a mad person. Bodies contorted at odd angles, necks slit from ear to ear, limbs, and fingers missing. These victims were not just magicked to death; they were bludgeoned and most carved like turkeys. I pray I do not cross paths with the witch or wizard responsible.
I need to win this. I need to escape. I need to face Vahilda.
Percy, back in his cat form, balances on my shoulders as I sprint through the maze of bodies, over downed trees, and around decimated animal carcasses. “I smell magic to the east. Lots and lots of magic. And—” his ears swivel eastward “—water.”
“I’ve had my fair share of swimming yesterday,” I groan. I’d like to stay far away from any open bodies of water as I possibly can. If Percy is correct, then the Egyptian bean will be near water. “We’re almost there.” My ears burn at the sounds of a commotion—a magical scuffle.
Finally, out of the maze of death, I find myself on a sandy, golden-yellow beach where wave after wave of murky waters crash ashore. I observe my competitors swimming in the midnight black waters, some engaging in water battles, others drowning, screaming for help. In the distance, about a mile or two, is a barrier of flowers bobbing atop the surface of the water. Vibrant pink lotus flowers float in a perfect horizontal formation, almost too perfect.
“Something doesn’t feel right,” I say to myself and to the cat, who nods agreeably. Scanning the beach, I see Justine and her boyfriends standing at the shore, smirks on their faces as if they know something is about to happen.
Markus comes into view and barrels out of the woodland borderline like a crazed wizard. His face and hands are soaked in blood. The bag he carries is full to bursting, an arm and a foot protrude out of the opening. The wizard winks at me, licks his lips, then jogs to the shoreline. Digging in his bag, Markus pulls out a severed arm, snaps off the fingers like twigs.
“What is he doing?” I clench my jaw, observing the wizard like a hawk.
Percy purrs beside my ear. “I think... I think he’s going to use those fingers as bait.”
“Bait for what?”
My question is abruptly and terrifyingly answered by a shrill, serpent-like hissing that bubbles from the vast sea. Like towers rising to the ether, an army of sea serpents adorned with lotus crowns on their heads slither from the water. Panic engulfs the competitors who, as I had, assumed the lotus flowers weren’t attached to eight hundred feet high behemoths. The buoyant witches and wizards scramble to swim back to safety, but it’s too late. The serpents strike the water like harpoons, sharpened teeth plucking the competitors like finger-food, swallowing them in one smooth gulp.
Temples throbbing, pulse-quickening, I lose myself in the horror show that is the den of serpents feasting on my competitors. So many lives lost, all for the Flower Trials, all for a seat at the Elites table. I thought I wanted to win, to become a version of myself that is superior to the woman everyone says I am. I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this.
“Come on, Elyse.” Percy rubs his cold nose against my ear.
“R-Right.” I scope the battlefield, searching for an effective way to decrown a serpent that will not cost me an arm, a leg, or my life.
Markus wades in the water, cradling the serpent food of human remains in one hand. A serpent swivels its head down, teeth bared in a snarl. Nostrils flaring, the serpent flicks its tongue at Markus like a hungry puppy awaiting a treat. The wizard tosses the food high above the serpent’s head. The creature looks skyward as Markus dives into the water and a few moments later resurfaces on the thing’s back, scales up its body like a professional climber.
If I had the remains of our competitors at my disposal, I’d have just as much a good chance as the brute of a Wizard does. Shuddering from the thought of severed body parts, I rack my brain for a solution to this serpent problem. The battlefield is growing bloodier. The blacked waters now stained red with blood.
The cat-man wags his paw at an aloft Justine, soaring through the air with the aid of an anemone. A wind flower. That witch has the right idea. Who says copying someone’s work isn’t the easy way out? Well, if it can save my life and score me a lotus flower, then I’m all in.
Shifting through my sack, I pick out a papery-white flower and squeeze it in my hands. Summoning the magic within, a whirlwind of sand and rock swirl at my ankles. I focus on the feeling of weightlessness, like a bird drifting in the sky. I keep my intent maintained on flying high, and I try my best not to look down as I gain altitude.
A serpent’s slit eyes snap to me. The overgrown snake lunges for me, hissing like an angry cat. Dodging to my left, I barely avoid becoming snake food and let loose a shaky breath. Percy digs his claws into me, holding on to me as I swing around the snake’s head where the Egyptian bean sits slanted on the creature’s head.
The anemone slowly crumbles to dust in my hand, and my body jerks upward, then downward with the loss of my magical flower’s wind power. If I don’t hurry, I’ll be eaten or drown in the abysmally black waters.
Percy, sensing my fear, leaps from my shoulder and onto the serpent’s head. “Here!” he swats the lotus with such force, the thing spins like a top in midair.
Catching it in my hand, I wave for Percy to come back. “The flower is almost out of juice,” I say, flailing my feet to keep aloft.
Percy reels back, dashes on the serpent’s triangular head, and leaps for me, claws extended for purchase. The magic gives right as the cat reaches a paw for me; I hurtle down toward the water like an anvil. Everything is a blur for a heartbeat before I smack, back first, into the water that feels like concrete against my entire backside. I’m momentarily stunned—my view of the world blacks out only for a moment. Slowly sinking, I blink up at the falling cat and at the serpent who yawns its mouth open and rips the cat-man from the air, swallows him whole.
“Per—” my voice become garbled, lungs filling with the salty water. If I don’t get out of this hellish water, I’ll be a goner.
Kicking and clawing to the surface, I inhale a staggering, gurgling breath and swim the best I can. I’m not a trained swimmer in no sense of the word. I kick my legs haphazardly, thrashing my arms wildly like I’ve gone mad. But I don’t dare stop. I keep up my swim-thrashing, fighting through the pain that wants to lure me to the comforting blackness of death. I’m not sure how long it takes me to reach the shore, but when I do, I trudge ashore, grab my bag, quickly stuff the Egyptian Bean inside, and half-run, half-limp away from the madness.
Percy. He risked his life for me, and now he’s gone. I refuse to look back, to linger on his death because I feel someone charging behind me like a mad wizard. Markus tackles me to the ground, forces my head in the sand, fingers nails digging into my skull.
“No survivors,” he whispers in my ear and bites my earlobe. His knee digs in my back while his free hand slides under my shirt to grope my breast. I’m trying to fight against the assault, but the wizard is too strong for me. Markus presses his full weight against me, stealing the breath from my body, stealing pieces of my soul as his hand sinks lower and lower.
There’s a pause, then a guttural wail as Markus’ extra weight vanishes like a ghost from my back. Coughing up sand, I stagger to my feet and whirl around. Markus is sprawled along the beach, head leaking blood like a faucet. My savior, who holds a rock as big as her head in her perfectly manicured hands, Justine.
Tossing the mini-boulder aside, Justine wipes her hands on her ghastly stained dress. Her boyfriends stand with their heads high, and arms folded as they stand by her side. “Ashley. Dana,” she says to her boyfriends, “let’s make our way to the Mountain of Frost.” The witch brushes by me like saving my life was just another thing on the list.
“T-Thank you,” I say softly as she passes me by.
Justine seizes walking and turns to me. “He’ll be up soon. You shouldn’t just stand there.”
“W-What?” My gaze falls from her to Markus’s twitching body. “You didn’t kill him?”
“I wish I could.” Justine heaves a breath, disappointment etched in her eyes. “I’m not built for murder, despite what you might thing about me. And, besides, The Elites trained Markus, meaning he has a trick or two up his sleeves. So, I’m almost certain he’d rise from the dead somehow. Now, you can either stand there or get moving.”
“So... y-you’re not going to kill me?” Clenching my jaw, I stare at her boyfriends.
“Why would I do that?” she asks, tone sassy and mortified. “I should be asking you the same question. Why are we not engaged in a heated witch-on-witch battle?”
“I just want to get out of here—out of all of this. Out of Parnissi,” I admit. I have no fight in me, though I should, just in case the beautiful witch decides to strike. I’ll be outnumbered and defeated in a matter of seconds. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I just want to go... home.” But where is home? Home is not with Vahilda, that’s for sure.
“What happened to that winner’s spirit you so possessed?” Justine tilts her head to the side, assessing me. “I thought you wanted to be the first witch to win? The first to become an Elite? What’s all this talk about leaving Parnissi?”
“For one, I’m Vahilda’s niece—”
Justine’s nostrils flare like a bull; her boyfriend’s glower at me. “I knew there was something odd about you. You just appeared out of nowhere, like magic. And now you tell me you’re the descendant of the Marguerites? Wait...” the witch’s eyes go wide in realization. “Are you... you’re Edwin’s daughter?”
I bob my head. “I only found out two weeks ago when Vahilda came to Yardenfeld. It’s a long story.”
Justine twirls about to walk forward. “Let’s walk and talk, Elyse. We have about a five-hour walk ahead of us until we reach the Mountain of Frost.”
“I’m guessing the Holy water is on the mountain?”
“Well, aren’t you smart,” Justine says. “I see you haven’t studied much about anything concerning the Flower Trials.”
“I only had two weeks of training and studying.”
“Really?” Justine casts me a look that I can’t tell if it is pity or jealousy. “Being that you are a descendant of the Marguerites, I’d say you are a natural.”
A smile lifts my lips to my ears. “Thank you.”
Justine sighs. “We got off on the wrong foot when we first met.”
“Wrong foot” isn’t what I’d call our first encounter, but I don’t tell the witch that. “Uh, yeah.” I shrug.
“I couldn’t have another witch as my competition,” the witch says through pursed lips. I guess she did not want to admit that truth to me. “After witnessing the true nature of the Flower Trials, all I want to do is claim my seat and put an end to these horrific games. So many lives have been lost, and for what?”
“I agree.” I shiver, trying to shake my head of the flashes of blood and gore, drenching my mind like a rainstorm. “I’ll gladly help you to victory—”
“Help me?” Her brows raise, offended. “I don’t need or want your help. I only helped you because I’d never forgive myself if I allowed Markus to take advantage of you. So many wizards get away with that, and nothing is done. I need this win to put an end to wizards who just don’t understand the word ‘no!’”
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” I frown and kick up sand as I trudge along the beach. “What I meant was: I don’t need this win. What I need is to defeat Vahilda to free myself of my blood oath.”
Justine holds a hand, urging us all to take a breather as we come to a sudden stop. “Defeat Vahilda? Blood oath?” she blinks at me. “That’s how you slipped through the cracks. Vahilda allowed you to piggyback off her connection to Parnissi to bring you here. But there is a slight issue with your plan. You cannot defeat Vahilda. No offense.”
“None taken.” Hanging my head shamefully, I ask, “Is there another way to free myself?”
“No. I’m sorry.” Justine taps her foot in the sand and taps a finger on her cheekbone. “I’ll think of something. Might there be a reason why you are ever-so adamant about breaking your bond? I mean, the great Vahilda did train you—”
“She killed my father.”
Justine’s jaw drops, her face strewn with a puzzled look. “Have you reported this to the Elite?”
“No. I only found out yesterday,” I huff.
The witch clenches her hands into fists. “Goddess, I’d hate to say this,” she says as she extends limp-wristed hands to her boyfriends. Ashley and Dana each take Justine’s hands as the witch bites her bottom lip. “Elyse.” My name like fire in her mouth. “We’ll help you win the Flower Trials.”
“W-why? I don’t want to win. I just want to confront Vahilda.”
“You will in front of an audience of thousands,” Justine smirks at me and nods her head in promise.