Vengeance Blooms Read online

  Guardians of the Grove Trilogy

  Vengeance Blooms

  Book One

  Chloe Hodge

  Vengeance Blooms

  Copyright © 2019 by Chloe Szentpeteri

  First edition: August 2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Find me at: chloehodge.com

  Instagram: @chloeschapters

  Facebook: Chloe Hodge Author

  Paperback ISBN: 978-0-6485997-0-8

  E-book ISBN: 978-0-6485997-1-5

  Special thanks and acknowledgement to:

  Editor; Steven Raeburn,

  Cover artist; Erica Timmons at ETC Designs,

  Interior illustrator; Emily Johns

  Interior formatter; Julia Scott at Evenstar Books.

  This book is written in British English.

  Contents

  Dedication

  PROLOGUE

  A New Beginning

  Lady of Light

  Fight or Flight

  On Deaf Ears

  Friend or Foe

  Spirited Away

  Interrogations

  Dearly Departed

  A King Not to Cross

  A Meeting of Mages

  In Plain Sight

  What Lies Beneath

  Discovery Day

  Severed Trust

  Across the Battlefield

  Fari’s Dungeon

  Failure in Victory

  Suffering

  A New Hope

  Portal Puzzles

  Assembly of Assassins

  Soulless

  Before the Dawn

  Mending the Fallen

  Whispers in Shadow

  Preparations

  Chaos

  Betrayal

  Light

  A Promise

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  For Jason,

  ‘a dream is a desire we can all afford.’

  Ashalea Kindaris

  Ash-ah-lee-uh Kin-dah-riss

  She was a formidable woman with the tools to dispatch most evils, and when the time came, she would be ready.

  PROLOGUE

  A Fateful Night

  Dark shapes with twisted bodies and shadows with leering faces clawed at a girl’s skin as she tried ever so hard to escape their clutches. A rotten stench permeated the dark void, and a cloud of shadows surrounded her. But then there was a light, dim at first, then brighter and brighter as she fought so hard to make her way through the writhing masses. Its golden glow beckoned to her; a beacon of hope in a never-ending nightmare.

  Blood spiralled down her arms as she hastened against time, but she was so close, so close. Right as she reached the beacon, fingers outstretched to its cocoon of light, a phantom reared before her, dark as night with eyes red as blood. It reached clawed hands for her, grasping at her neck. She tried to scream but no words escaped her lips. The air left her lungs, she was fading, fading…

  At the stroke of midnight Ashalea Kindaris awoke from her dream. A nightmare, in fact, for she lurched upright gasping for air. Beads of sweat glistened on her brow and her silver hair lay tangled in a messy crown upon her head. She gazed up at the moon beaming through her window and shuddered at the monstrosities her brain curated.

  Uneasiness and dread still gnawed at her heart in waking.

  She shook her head and glanced at the clock before stretching long limbs and throwing off silk covers. The moon dial read 12:03, which meant it was her sixteenth birthday. All feelings of impending doom were forgotten. A faint smile crossed her lips and emerald green eyes lit up with joy at what today would bring.

  An elf’s sixteenth birthday denoted the first day of destiny. A celebration marking the passing of time in an elf’s life from elf-child to elfmaiden or elfman. So it had been for many an age. These celebrations also took place on the twenty-first and thirty-first birthday, which was the day an elf embraced longevity of life and the gift of grace by the goddess Enalia — beauty long-lasting.

  Unlike most of the Elven folk, Ashalea and her family remained outsiders to Woodrandia, the Moonglade Meadows and the Aquafairian Province — the three crowned cities of elves. Why her parents lived as pariahs, Ashalea could not say. Their home sat in neutral territory on the outskirts of Woodrandia, situated atop a cliff that overlooked the coastal village of Fentir. It was a beautiful spot; quiet and cosy, with nothing but sea and sky, and green lawns sprinkled with marigold and dandelions.

  As a little girl she would bask in the sun, her silver hair littered with sticks and grass, her father laughing as they picked out animals from clouds drifting in the sky. At night, she would ask for bedtime stories of all elvish heroes, giggling in glee at the retelling of wondrous deeds or Elven beauties who stole the hearts of men.

  When her mother brushed her hair and she gazed at the mirror’s reflection, Ashalea would ask why she looked so different. Her features bore little likeness to her parents. Her mother’s hair was brunette, her father’s black. And in all the bedtime stories, no elves were ever pictured with silver strands. She questioned these things, and why it was they lived away from other elves. Answers she never received.

  Despite the promises of an elf’s long life, it seemed to Ashalea that those days were long gone. Now she yearned for the company of others her age. She wanted to see the world, test her Magicka skills at the famed Renlock Academy to the north, make some friends, kiss a boy. Any of those would beat the lonesome little life that hers had become.

  Her chance had arrived.

  Today would mark Ashalea’s first adventure, when she would celebrate in true elvish style within Woodrandia; the city she had heard so much about. A day where her own kind would finally welcome her, and she would be lonely no more.

  But first, Elven traditions and new journeys would have to wait until her parents re-joined the living upon waking at dawn. She was wide awake by now, so she slipped on a silver robe and ventured outside. Ashalea would often moon gaze from a rocky outcrop just yonder from her family’s house. The breath-taking views of the horizon were most spectacular in that treasured spot. She enjoyed this time of night, when a few lights could be seen twinkling at Fentir as fishermen went about their work or night owls read books, told tales or drank ale well into the night.

  Ashalea beamed from one pointed ear to another, and crept down the marble hallway, the floor icy cold on her bare feet. She was busy contemplating the splendour awaiting her in a few days’ time when she saw movement flash at the end of the hallway. Like a ghost, she mused, not trusting her Elven eyes, keen as they were. She crept further along the hallway and breathed a sigh of relief as closer inspection revealed a soft breeze through an open window, causing the curtains to float like a spectre in the shadows.

  Satisfied, she ambled along the corridor to peek in on her parents, halting as she stepped on something wet and sticky. Her heel was smeared scarlet. A few steps in front of her revealed more perfect droplets, trailing to her parents’ bedroom. A cold fear crept into her heart and for a moment her body seized, unwilling to take another step. Shaky breaths escaped her lips until she forced one foot in front of another and was at the bedroom door.

  Every thread of common sense and self-preservation screamed at her to run as far as her feet
would take her, but curiosity is a fickle thing, and hearts beat even louder.

  Her wide eyes peered into the room, undisturbed but for the carnage displayed on the bed. Her piercing scream ripped through the darkness before giving way to hysterical sobs. Crisp white sheets were drowned in crimson and her parents’ bodies lay still. Their clothes were ripped with multiple slashes and stab wounds, and their eyes were wide open; a mixture of fear and pain reflective of their final moments. Someone had slashed their throats, removing any chance of calls for help.

  Ashalea stumbled to her mother’s side, taking her hand and patting it, trembling as shock and disbelief coursed through her body.

  “Mother… Mother, come back to me. Don’t leave me alone in this world,” she choked. Her eyes drifted to her father. “Father, please… Don’t go.” Nausea racked her stomach and she crumpled to the floor, allowing the darkness to swallow her. She peered at her hands, stained red with the lifeblood of her family.

  Her mother and father, the only family she had — the only people in her life — were gone. No more bedtime stories, no more counting clouds. Such sweet memories, such bitter sorrow. She wept for a time, until her sadness gave way to fiery rage and survival instincts kicked in.

  Here’s the thing about elves: it is not within their nature to forgive. A grudge may hold for many an age, for what is life if not a long one for elves? It’s a blessing and a curse they should live so long, for elves also find it hard to forget, and what Ashalea saw that day would be forever burnt into her brain. She glanced once more at the shells of her parents and upon closing their eyes, noticed they were holding hands. A final act of love before life was forced from their bodies.

  “Fallanar de pia entua,” she uttered. Sleep in eternal peace.

  Tears welled in her eyes again, but she turned away, wary of danger. Ashalea crept to the doorway, and panic set in as she realised she was now alone and unprotected.

  What to do? Hysteria filled her chest and throat, forcing her to gulp it down with a few deep breaths.

  “Think Ashalea,” she muttered. She made a mental list of all the weapons in the house, limited though they were. Unskilled with swords or knives and unwilling to enter close combat, the only clear solution popped into her head.

  Of course, my bow! Emerald eyes widened, and she whipped her head towards her bedroom. The distance seemed endless as Ashalea crept down the corridor, avoiding the drips of blood as she edged along the wall. It was silent. The air stood still; not a sound to stir the darkness. She was aware of shaky breaths, how loud her heart was beating and the blood pumping in her ears. And the rage. The vengeance that sparked within.

  She had reached the main chamber now and sticking to the shadows, ventured down the hallway to her bedroom, squeezing it shut before racing to the trunk at the end of the bed. It was empty. The bow was gone, along with the quiver and a small knife. Ashalea gaped at the empty chest when her gut suddenly twisted, and her ears registered the soft pad of footsteps. Alarm bells rang in her stomach, but it was too late.

  A shadow emerged from behind her and wrapped a cord around her neck, securing it to her exposed flesh. Clawing at the leather cable bound to her throat, Ashalea kicked and flailed around the room as she tried to launch herself from the decor to throw off the assailant.

  In the mirror, she caught sight of him. A male, Elvish perhaps, it was too hard to tell because something shrouded his form in a shadowy cloud that dispersed from his body into the room. Blood-red eyes glittered with malice, and the smell of death and rotten meat permeated from his body, climbing her nostrils and into her mouth. She was blind, silently screaming for air and drowning in a sickly haze. As her life slipped away, she remembered her dream and the phantom that hunted her, and she knew in her bones this was he.

  As her heart slowed and strength failed, she thought of her mother’s lovely face, smiling and soft, and her father’s easy laugh. Her memories flitted in blissful moments until her mind landed on the mutilated bodies of the those she loved the most. She almost welcomed death so she could see them again, hear them laughing, feel the stroke of a hand on her cheek.

  “I relished the warmth of their blood as it spilled on my hands,” its raspy voice cut through her broken thoughts. “She couldn’t scream. Couldn’t call for help. And your agony is just the beginning.”

  A single tear swept down Ashalea’s cheek. She could hear her heart pumping slower and slower, its screams booming in her ear drums. The creature cackled in the background as her mind began to shut down. It hissed in glee as it continued to taunt her, but she could no longer listen. Her eyes blurred and her heart accepted defeat. But then she heard one more thing. One whispered word.

  “Ashalea.”

  Green eyes popped open in shock, and spurred by sudden anger and defiance, Ashalea found one last leap of strength and smashed her head back into the creature’s face. With the cord still wrapped around her throat, she bounded from the floor into her bedroom window, knocking the creature’s head into the glass, and loosening its grip on the cord. Coughing and stumbling through the shadows, she made her way outside, gasping and gulping in clean air. Determined to outwit the creature, she re-entered the house through the side entrance, creeping down the second corridor once more.

  Angry shrieks echoed off the walls as it searched for her, growing distant as it exited her home. Ashalea seized the opportunity and made a dash towards the northern door which led to the nearby woods. Her legs moved with a newfound will as she bolted for the trees, hoping the cover would give her an advantage. For a brief, bitter moment she thought she had bested the creature. But there it was, shadowy clouds forming in front of her, its face leering and laughing in pleasure. Ashalea’s heart sank as she was forced to pull up short and it occurred to her with daunting realisation. It’s toying with me.

  A blade sliced through the smoky cloud in one swift movement and it took her brain a moment to register the object protruding from her stomach. Blood seeped through silver gown and a black oozy substance crawled into her veins, toxic venom seizing her limbs with paralysis. The creature stared at her, its face close to hers, watching as her eyes lost all hope.

  Ashalea turned around, using the last of her energy to stagger towards the cliff. If she would die, she wanted to do so by the sea, near her favourite nook. It had the best view there; the best send-off.

  The last wish of a dying girl on her birthday.

  At the precipice she flopped to the ground, feeling life fade away once again. Her eyes traced the stars, and she wondered if her mother and father had taken their place among them. Ashalea gazed at two white dots beaming upon her and imagined them as her parents, guiding her as they always had. She had all but fainted when a voice cried out from the darkness and a blinding white light burned above all others. Trying to turn her neck, all she could do was wait and try to silence the gasps that rattled from her ribs.

  A final shriek pierced the sky, then nothing. If it weren’t for the poison coursing through her veins, and the hole in her belly, she could be happy staring at the stars, peaceful and content as she always used to be in this place. In this home.

  As her blurry eyes began to close, she glimpsed her saviour kneeling above her, hands outstretched as he whispered words in the ancient tongue. Golden light coursed from his palms into her wound, and a warming sensation tingled her stomach. The pain lessened ever so slightly, and a sliver of hope filled her soul.

  Something told her she would yet live to see another day. The last thing she remembered on that fateful night was a seething hatred of this evil and a vow to avenge her parents’ death. If she survived this day, she would have vengeance on another.

  Then the world went black.

  A New Beginning

  The huntress stalked through green woods, treading carefully to avoid rocks, logs, or twigs. Sunlight burst through canopies in bold rays, creating a halo effect between trunks. Flowers bloomed, and birds chirped merrily in distant branches. It was around midday and a
nimals awake during daylight hours went about their usual business, paying little mind to the goings on of the strange woman.

  Brown, scuffed boots enclosed chestnut leggings topped by a light leather breastplate and an emerald green hood. Capable hands held a crude fashioned bow, and a quiver with feathered arrows was slung over one shoulder. A long, silver braid graced her back, crowning a face with high cheekbones, a dusty pink pout, a speckle of freckles on the nose and green eyes that spoke of darker stories.

  Ashalea was eager for the hunt. Keen eyes scanned the forest floors and treetops, and her sensitive ears were on high alert. But despite the animals this way and that, she wasn’t hunting for food

  this day, nor had she any other, for elves did not eat meat. Instead, she waited for a signal.

  Right on time, a whistle screeched, and she was off. Targets lay ahead of her, scattered high and low. Some moving, some still. She tore through the undergrowth, nocking one arrow after another as each made its mark. She dodged overhanging vines and leapt up fallen tree trunks, causing birds to flutter at the disturbance.

  It was in these fleeting moments she felt truly alive. The curve of a bow in her hand, the silkiness of feathered arrows between her fingertips, the blood rushing through her veins — it made her powerful, purposeful. As an arrow hit bullseye on the final target and she reached a clearing, the whistle screeched once more, calling an end to the game.

  “Twenty out of twenty” a voice boomed with satisfaction.

  An old man crouched by a trickling stream winding its way amongst a bed of rocks. He was washing his face, and his white beard dangled comically like an icicle, wet from the water. After wiping long brown sleeves across his weathered face, sparkling blue eyes peered up from beneath bushy brows and a kind smile crossed his somewhat hidden lips.

  “Getting better every day, Ashalea,” he nodded in satisfaction. “I think you might be ready.”