The Heartland Trials

Chapter Two

As if the world was lost in translation, I allowed my mind to go on another level. The earth shook from the pounding of feet that stamped and spun in the air; their bodies bending and folding, bones cracking; a few bodies became longer as the bones extended in length, and hair edged its way through the skin. Sounds of children's cries filled the air as their first transition came into effect. One by one, their forms taking place, and my own taking its time to show. My posture shortened, but speed became easy. Hair grew around the muzzle of my face; around me, I could see different fur colors and designs. Some were lines – vertical, horizontal, zig-zag – and others had formed shapes. Mine was a heart that was on my chest. Each of us ran on two's, the children, not able to keep their balance as steady as the rest of us, went on all fours.

Catching up to Jasp's speed, I turned to gaze at his look; snout pointed, slightly bigger than mine. His fur hung off his arms, nearly getting tangled in the weeds he crossed through. His intrepid stature was envious, his eyes glowed with a smolder that'd capture one's heart instantly. He wore his heart on his sleeve. That's what I enjoyed most about him. He would do anything for anyone, perhaps that is why before my parents passed on they arranged for us to get married.

We locked eyes; his gold-infested eyes brought comfort to my heart, I felt calm when I was near his side, and I felt stronger as a person. There was no one in this world that could tear us apart, not the outside sects, and not even the witches or Lewis could stop us from loving each other and marrying. I played with the thought in my head, unaware of my surroundings – I blocked out the yelling from behind. Without realizing, my body crashed into a tree, the side of my face smacked into the trunk. Flashes of white and red went across my eyes. I passed out then.

Rumbling from the ground woke me then; it was the sound of thunder, and then a flash of lightning came in. I rolled my eyes, rubbed the side of my face that contacted the trunk of the tree, and slowly got to my feet. I fell back into my human form, I could no longer see sight of my sect. Feeling disoriented, I began to walk slowly, feeling around for any familiar ground. Patting my feet across the ground, I stumbled over what seemed to be a large object of some sort. Catching myself against a nearby tree, I slowly turned to peer at the object. Hidden beneath the deep green plants and wildflowers laid a body. It wasn't just any body; it was the body of one of the members of the most powerful witch coven in my community of sects: Spellington Coven. I choked on a scream that was begging to escape my lips. I held onto the tree, moving my head to each side to see if there was anyone else nearby that might have seen the murder. The ginger-boy laid face-down in the dirt. I inched my foot near his head, hoping he was not actually dead, and was playing a cruel prank on me.

Lightly tapping his face with my foot, I confirmed that he was indeed dead – my throat fell to my stomach. Leaning against the tree, I clenched at my stomach, slowly sliding down the trunk until my knees were bent. In the process of me attempting to not breathe in the raunchy smell of death, I reached for what was left of my ripped pocket and grabbed a whistle. In my sect, each woman is given a whistle as a gift to signal when they are in trouble. Some whistles were brought down from generations, and some were brand new. Each whistle, including my own, were handcrafted by nearby witch covens. Although we do not have the closest relations with each sect and coven, and with my sect being the youngest, we still do our best to meet in the small market, forty miles east of Monterrey Sect, to exchange and buy these whistles and various other goods.

I studied the whistle for a moment, and held it to my chest for an abbreviated time until I brought it to my lips and blew. The pitch was loud; it stretched for about five miles, and it wasn't much luck as no one had responded. There was no running. Everything was still, dead, dark, and absent. I was absent. I was not dying, but I was absent from the world I knew.

Standing to my feet, I heard a rustle to my left. I reached for my back pocket, swiftly pulling out a blade; whoever was creeping around, they weren't going to leave alive. Out of the green, came a brown woman and a brown man. Both looked deranged, and angry.

"Who are you?" I asked, my body frame slightly hunched, and my eyes flooding with skepticism.

"Connie and Numan." The woman spoke with a soft voice. She stepped closer, and I backed up slightly, cornering the body.

Connie looked at me, slightly bewildered. "You hurt me?" she asked, analyzing the blade in my hand. She looked towards the ground, her eyes nearly rolling to the back of her head.

My facial features grew numb; I was not sure how I was reacting, all I wanted was to scream and run. My body froze in its place. "You kill friend!" Connie shrieked, and darted for me. The man, who was named Numan, grabbed her from behind. He appeared to not speak, only gave what could've been an angered grunt. "Numan," Connie began, her head fell in defeat, and her body belted out cries.

"I don't know who did this, Connie. I'm sorry this happened. I am just as shocked as you." I began to panic. My eyes darted from the body to her defeated demeanor.

"Scott!" She cried out in horror. "You pay, girl! You pay, your sect pays, you have no right!" Connie continued, stamping her feet, and trying to force Numan to release her.

I flinched when I heard the name, Scott. My mind drew a blank, but still listening to her cries and hollering his name, a flashback came. In the flashback, I could see Scott and I, seated around a fire, chanting and music playing. It was dark. Our bodies were naked; and around us were men and women circling the children of the sects; enchanting them with sticks; flames from the sticks roared above each child; the ashes from the smoke landed on each of us. The ashes symbolized property. We were the property of our sects. The flame on the sticks symbolized trust; we had trust in each other.

"Scott Lang?" Connie stopped once I spoke his name. Her head slowly rose up, her eyes dug into my soul, and it felt as if she was tearing each part of me away to get to my core.

She nodded.

I felt nauseas then; the man whose body laid before me, was the man who became like a brother to me when I was younger. We lost contact eventually, that was because by the age of thirteen, we were preparing for whatever job our sect or coven granted us. As for myself, I was granted gatherer, which meant whatever my sect killed, I and another member of my sect, would have to collect the kill and return it to the Circle, our town square.

"You kill, you pay!" She shouted once more.

"I would never do that!" I shouted back, swinging the blade in the air. Numan's face grew angry, his eyes darted for the blade.

Pushing Connie to the ground, he lunged for my arm, throwing me to the ground. In between him wrestling to take the blade from my hand, the blade slipped and dug through my backside. A blood curdling scream caught the ears of nearby travelers. Luckily, these travelers were from my sect.

"Geneva," one of them gasped.

Numan got up, and left me on the ground, gasping for air. "Leave her like she left Scott." Connie spat.

"No! She's our problem; you take Scott Lang's body, and we will take Geneva. We've got supplies." The woman from my sect, Sarah was her name, said.

Sarah dug through the bag she tossed to her side. She pulled out bandages, water, what looked to be antibiotics for pain, and a homemade thermometer. The man who was with Sarah, Jacob, helped Numan drape a blanket out. They slowly turned the body over. It looked as if his body was drained of blood; his arms were bruised and discolored, and veins in his eyes had popped. His mouth was protruded. Connie screamed in terror until they covered him one last time in another blanket. They stretched another piece of material out, and lowered the covered body onto it, and began to roll him into the material. They draped him the same way Egyptians wrapped their kings.

Connie slowly got to her feet, then began to follow Numan, who hung Scott's body over his head. I could hear her whimpering until they both disappeared.

Sarah and Jacob helped me up, myarms around their necks, and we walked back to the sect, where many werewondering what happened to me. During the walk back, no one said a word, and noone would utter a word until the council found out.