Last Sacrifice (6)

by Richelle Mead

  ʺWhat happened to your head, Rose?ʺ asked Dimitri, suddenly catching a glimpse of it.

  Iʹd been tuning out a little and realized he was talking to me. ʺHuh?ʺ I brushed aside hair that had been obscuring part of my forehead. My fingers came away sticky with blood, triggering vague memories of crashing into the table. I shrugged, ignoring the dizziness Iʹd been feeling. ʺIʹm fine.ʺ

  Dimitri gave Sydney the quickest of glances. ʺGo lay her down and clean it up. Donʹt let her sleep until we can figure out if itʹs a concussion.ʺ

  ʺNo, I canʹt,ʺ I argued. ʺI canʹt leave you alone with her . . .ʺ

  ʺIʹm fine,ʺ he said. ʺRest up so that you can help me later. Youʹre no good to me if youʹre just going to fall over.ʺ

  I still protested, but when Sydney gently took my arm, my stumbling gave me away. She led me to the houseʹs one bedroom, much to my dismay. There was something creepy about knowing I was in a Strigoiʹs bed—even if it was covered with a blue-and-white floral quilt.

  ʺMan,ʺ I said, lying back against the pillow once Sydney had cleaned my forehead. Despite my earlier denial, it felt great to rest. ʺI canʹt get used to the weirdness of a Strigoi living in a place so . . . normal. How are you holding up?ʺ

  ʺBetter than you guys,ʺ said Sydney. She wrapped her arms around herself and eyed the room uncomfortably. ʺBeing around Strigoi is starting to make you guys seem not so bad.ʺ

  ʺWell, at least some goodʹs come out of this,ʺ I remarked. Despite her joke, I knew she had to be terrified. I started to close my eyes and was jolted awake when Sydney poked my arm.

  ʺNo sleep,ʺ she chastised. ʺStay up and talk to me.ʺ

  ʺItʹs not a concussion,ʺ I muttered. ʺBut I suppose we can go over plans to get Sonya to talk.ʺ

  Sydney sat at the foot of the bed and grimaced. ʺNo offense? But I donʹt think sheʹs going to crack.ʺ

  ʺShe will once sheʹs gone a few days without blood.ʺ

  Sydney blanched. ʺA few days?ʺ

  ʺWell, whatever it takes to—ʺ A spike of emotion flitted through the bond, and I froze. Sydney jumped up, her eyes darting around as though a group of Strigoi might have burst into the room.

  ʺWhatʹs wrong?ʺ she exclaimed.

  ʺI have to go to Lissa.ʺ

  ʺYouʹre not supposed to sleep—ʺ

  ʺItʹs not sleeping,ʺ I said bluntly. And with that, I jumped away from Sonyaʹs bedroom and into Lissaʹs perspective.

  She was riding in a van with five other people whom I immediately recognized as other royal nominees. It was an eight-person van and also included a guardian driver with another in the passenger seat who was looking back at Lissa and her companions.

  ʺEach of you will be dropped off in a separate location on the outskirts of a forest and given a map and compass. The ultimate goal is for you to reach the destination on the map and wait out the daylight until we come for you.ʺ

  Lissa and the other nominees exchanged glances and then, almost as one, peered out the vanʹs windows. It was almost noon, and the sunlight was pouring down. ʺWaiting out the daylightʺ was not going to be pleasant but didnʹt sound impossible. Idly, she scratched at a small bandage on her arm and quickly stopped herself. I read from her thoughts what it was: a tiny, barely noticeable dot tattooed into her skin. It was actually similar to Sydneyʹs: blood and earth, mixed with compulsion. Compulsion might be taboo among Moroi, but this was a special situation. The spell in the tattoo prevented the candidates from revealing the monarch tests to others not involved with the process. This was the first test.

  ʺWhat kind of terrain are you sending us to?ʺ demanded Marcus Lazar. ʺWeʹre not all in the same physical shape. Itʹs not fair when some of us have an advantage.ʺ His eyes were on Lissa as he spoke.

  ʺThere is a lot of walking,ʺ said the guardian, face serious. ʺBut itʹs nothing that any candidate—of any age—shouldnʹt be able to handle. And, to be honest, part of the requirements for a king or queen is a certain amount of stamina. Age brings wisdom, but a monarch needs to be healthy. Not an athlete by any means,ʺ added the guardian quickly, seeing Marcus start to open his mouth. ʺBut itʹs no good for the Moroi to have a sickly monarch elected who dies within a year. Harsh, but true. And you also need to be able to endure uncomfortable situations. If you canʹt handle a day in the sun, you canʹt handle a Council meeting.ʺ I think he intended that as a joke, but it was hard to tell since he didnʹt smile. ʺItʹs not a race, though. Take your time getting to the end if you need it. Marked along the map are spots where certain items are hidden—items thatʹll make this more bearable, if you can decipher the clues.ʺ

  ʺCan we use our magic?ʺ asked Ariana Szelsky. She wasnʹt young either, but she looked tough and ready to accept a challenge of endurance.

  ʺYes, you can,ʺ said the guardian solemnly.

  ʺAre we in danger out there?ʺ asked another candidate, Ronald Ozera. ʺAside from the sun?ʺ

  ʺThat,ʺ said the guardian mysteriously, ʺis something youʹll need to learn for yourselves. But, if at any time you want out . . .ʺ He produced a bag of cell phones and distributed them. Maps and compasses followed. ʺCall the programmed number, and weʹll come for you.ʺ

  Nobody had to ask about the hidden message behind that. Calling the number would get you out of the long day of endurance. It would also mean youʹd failed the test and were out of the running for the throne. Lissa glanced at her phone, half-surprised there was even a signal. Theyʹd left Court about an hour ago and were well into the countryside. A line of trees made Lissa think they were nearing their destination.

  So. A test of physical endurance. It wasnʹt quite what sheʹd expected. The trials a monarch went through had long been shrouded in mystery, gaining an almost mystical reputation. This one was pretty practical, and Lissa could understand the reasoning, even if Marcus didnʹt. It truly wasnʹt an athletic competition, and the guardian had a point in saying that the future monarch should possess a certain level of fitness. Glancing at the back of her map, which listed the clues, Lissa realized this would also test their reasoning skills. All very basic stuff—but essential to ruling a nation.

  The van dropped them off one by one at different starting points. With each departing candidate, Lissaʹs anxiety grew. Thereʹs nothing to worry about, she thought. Iʹve just got to sit through a sunny day. She was the next to last person dropped off, with only Ariana remaining behind. Ariana patted Lissaʹs arm as the van door opened.

  ʺGood luck, dear.ʺ

  Lissa gave her a quick smile. These tests might all be a ruse on Lissaʹs part, but Ariana was the real deal, and Lissa prayed the older woman could get through this successfully.

  Left alone as the van drove away, unease spread through Lissa. The simple endurance test suddenly seemed much more daunting and difficult. She was on her own, something that didnʹt happen very often. Iʹd been there for most of her life, and even when Iʹd left, sheʹd had friends around her. But now? It was just her, the map, and the cell phone. And the cell phone was her enemy.

  She walked to the edge of the forest and studied her map. A drawing of a large oak tree marked the beginning, with directions to go northwest. Scanning the trees, Lissa saw three maples, a fir, and—an oak. Heading toward it, she couldnʹt help a smile. If anyone else had botanical landmarks and didnʹt know their plants and trees, they could lose candidacy right there.

  The compass was a classic one. No digital GPS convenience here. Lissa had never used a compass like this, and the protective part of me wished I could jump in and help. I should have known better, though. Lissa was smart and easily figured it out. Heading northwest, she stepped into the woods. While there was no clear path, the forestʹs floor wasnʹt too covered with overgrowth or obstacles.

  The nice part about being in the forest was that the trees blocked out some of the sun. It still wasnʹt an ideal Moroi condition, but it beat being dropped in a desert. Birds sang, and the scenery was lush and green. Keeping an eye out for the next landmark, Lissa tried to relax and prete
nd she was simply on a pleasant hike.

  Yet . . . it was difficult to do that with so much on her mind. Abe and our other friends were now in charge of working and asking questions about the murder. All of them were asleep right now—it was the middle of the Moroi night—but Lissa didnʹt know when sheʹd return and couldnʹt help resenting this test for taking up her time. No, wasting her time. Sheʹd finally accepted the logic behind her friendsʹ nomination—but she still didnʹt like it. She wanted to actively help them.

  Her churning thoughts almost led her right past her next landmark: a tree that had fallen ages ago. Moss covered it, and much of the wood was rotten. A star on the map marked it as a place with a clue. She flipped over the map and read:

  I grow and I shrink. I run and I crawl.

  Follow my voice, though I have none at all.

  I never do leave here, but I travel around—

  I float through the sky and I creep through the ground.

  I keep my cache in a vault although I have no wealth,

  Seek out my decay to safeguard your health.

  Um.

  My mind went blank right about then, but Lissaʹs spun. She read it over and over again, examining the individual words and how each line played off the other. I never do leave here. That was the starting point, she decided. Something permanent. She looked around, considered the trees, then dismissed them. They could always be cut and removed. Careful not to stray too far from the fallen tree, she circled the area searching for more. Everything was theoretically transient. What stayed?

  Follow my voice. She came to a halt and closed her eyes, absorbing the sounds around her. Mostly birds. The occasional rustle of leaves. And—

  She opened her eyes and walked briskly to her right. The sound sheʹd heard grew louder, bubbling and trickling. There. A small creek ran through the woods, hardly noticeable. Indeed, it seemed too tiny for the streambed carved out around it.

  ʺBut I bet you grow when it rains,ʺ she murmured, uncaring that she was speaking to a stream. She looked back down at the clue, and I felt her clever mind rapidly piece it all together. The stream was permanent—but traveled. It changed size. It had a voice. It ran in deep parts, crawled when there were obstacles. And when it evaporated, it floated in the air. She frowned, still puzzling the riddle aloud. ʺBut you donʹt decay.ʺ

  Lissa studied the area once more, uneasily thinking decay could apply to any plant life. Her gaze moved past a large maple tree and then jerked back. At its base grew a clump of brown and white mushrooms, several wilting and turning black. She hurried over and knelt down, and that was when she saw it: a small hole dug into the earth nearby. Leaning closer, she saw a flash of color: a purple drawstring bag.

  Triumphantly, Lissa pulled it out and stood up. The bag was made of canvas and had long strings that would allow it to hang over her shoulder as she walked. She opened the bag and peered inside. There, tucked inside the fluffy and fuzzy lining, was the best thing of all: a bottle of water. Until now, Lissa hadnʹt realized how hot and dehydrated sheʹd grown—or how wearying the sun was. The candidates had been told to wear sturdy shoes and practical clothing but hadnʹt been allowed any other supplies. Finding this bottle was priceless.

  Sitting on the log, she took a break, careful to conserve her water. While the map indicated a few more clues and ʺrewards,ʺ she knew she couldnʹt necessarily count on any more helpful bags. So, after several minutesʹ rest, she put away the water and slung the little tote over her shoulder. The map directed her due west, so that was the way she went.

  The heat beat on her as she continued her walk, forcing her to take a few more (conservative) water breaks. She kept reminding herself it wasnʹt a race and that she should take it easy. After a few more clues, she discovered the map wasnʹt quite to scale, so it wasnʹt always obvious how long each leg of the hike was. Nonetheless, she was delighted to successfully solve each clue, though the rewards became more and more baffling.

  One of them was a bunch of sticks sitting on a rock, something she would have sworn was a mistake, but someone civilized had clearly tied the bundle together. She added that into her bag, along with a neatly folded green plastic tarp. By now, sweat was pouring off her, and rolling up the sleeves of her button-down cotton shirt did little to help. She took more frequent breaks. Sunburn became a serious concern, so it was a huge relief when her next clue led to a bottle of sunscreen.

  After a couple hours of battling the intense summer heat, Lissa became so hot and tired that she no longer had the mental energy to be annoyed about missing out on whatever was happening at Court. All that mattered was getting to the end of this test. The map showed two more clues, which she took as a promising sign. She would reach the end soon and then could simply wait for someone to get her. A flash of realization hit her. The tarp. The tarp was a sun block, she decided. She could use it at the end.

  This cheered her up, as did the next prize: more water and a floppy, wide-brimmed hat that helped keep the sunlight from her face. Unfortunately, after that, what appeared to be a short leg of the trip turned out to be twice as long as she expected. By the time she finally reached the next clue, she was more interested in taking a water break than digging out whatever else the guardians had left her.

  My heart went out to her. I wished so, so badly that I could help. That was my job, to protect her. She shouldnʹt be alone. Or should she? Was that also part of the test? In a world where royals were almost always surrounded by guardians, this solitude had to be a total shock. Moroi were hardy and had excellent senses, but they werenʹt built for extreme heat and challenging terrain. I could have probably jogged the course easily. Admittedly, I wasnʹt sure I would have had Lissaʹs deductive skills in figuring out the clues.

  Lissaʹs last reward was flint and steel, not that she had any idea what they were. I recognized them instantly as the tools of a fire-making kit but couldnʹt for the world figure out why sheʹd need to build a fire on a day like this. With a shrug, she added the items to her bag and kept going.

  And thatʹs when things started to get cold. Really cold.

  She didnʹt entirely process it at first, mainly because the sun was still shining so brilliantly. Her brain said what she felt was impossible, but her goose bumps and chattering teeth said otherwise. She rolled her sleeves back down and quickened her pace, wishing that the sudden cold had at least come with cloud cover. Walking faster and exerting herself more helped heat her body.

  Until it began to rain.

  It started off as a mist, then changed to drizzle, and finally turned into a steady curtain of water. Her hair and clothing became soaked, making the cold temperature that much worse. Yet . . . the sun still shone, its light an annoyance to her sensitive skin but offering no warmth in compensation.

  Magic, she realized. This weather is magical. It was part of the test. Somehow, Moroi air and water magic users had united to defy the hot, sunny weather. That was why she had a tarp—to block the sun and the rain. She considered getting it out now and wearing it like a cloak but quickly decided to wait until she reached the endpoint. She had no idea how far away that really was, though. Twenty feet? Twenty miles? The chill of the rain crept over her, seeping under her skin. It was miserable.

  The cell phone in the bag was her ticket out. It was barely late afternoon. She had a long time to wait before this test ended. All she had to do was make one call . . . one call, and sheʹd be out of this mess and back to working on what she should be at Court. No. A kernel of determination flared up within her. This challenge was no longer about the Moroi throne or Tatianaʹs murder. It was a test she would take on for herself. Sheʹd led a soft and sheltered life, letting others protect her. She would endure this on her own—and she would pass.

  This determination took her to the mapʹs end, a clearing ringed in trees. Two of the trees were small and close enough together that Lissa thought she might be able to drape the tarp into some sort of reasonable shelter. With cold, fumbling fingers, she managed to get it ou
t of the bag and unfold it to its full size—which was fortunately much larger than sheʹd suspected. Her mood began to lift as she worked with the tarp and figured out how to create a small canopy. She crawled inside once it was complete, glad to be out of the falling rain.

  But that didnʹt change the fact that she was wet. Or that the ground was also wet—and muddy. The tarp also didnʹt protect her against the cold. She felt a flash of bitterness, recalling the guardians saying magic was allowed in this test. She hadnʹt thought magic would be useful at the time, but now, she could certainly see the perks of being a water user to control the rain and keep it off her. Or, better yet: being a fire user. She wished Christian was with her. She would have welcomed the warmth of both his magic and his embrace. For this kind of situation, spirit seriously sucked—unless, perhaps, she got hypothermia and needed to try to heal herself (which never worked as well as it did on other people). No, she decided. There could be no question: water and fire users had the advantage in this test.

  Thatʹs when it hit her.

  Fire!

  Lissa straightened up from where sheʹd been huddled. She hadnʹt recognized the iron and flint for what they were, but now, vague recollections of fire-making were coming back to her. Sheʹd never been taught those skills directly but was pretty sure striking the stones together would make a spark—if she only had dry wood. Everything out there was soaked. . . .

  Except for the bundle of sticks in her bag. Laughing out loud, she untied the sticks and set them in a place shielded from the rain. After arranging them in what seemed like a campfire-friendly pattern, she tried to figure out what to do with the steel and flint. In movies, she thought sheʹd seen people just hit them to make sparks fly. So, thatʹs what she did.