Blood Flowers

It was close to midnight as I pressed myself into a damp maple tree, my gaze fixed on the four-eyed, twelve-hooved stag in the clearing. Its antlers were twisted and tangled and reminded me of the roots of plants kept in pots too small. I trained my arrow on the beast, following its four glowing eyes reflecting the moonlight, my bowstring tensed and ready to be released. Just one of its golden eyes plucked from its skull would pay for a year’s worth of magic lessons at the academy. All four plus its pelt would pay for my entire education and all of my books and materials.

I remember my mother telling me stories of the day I was born. It was the dead of winter, clear and cold. A night much like this one, which happened to be my twenty-fifth birthday. What a way to mark a quarter of a century of life, shivering and muddy in the forest, pretending to be a skilled huntress, and trying to score a briarcrown so I could learn wield magic. My mother told me lots of stories, mostly ones about magical children and fairies. As a thoroughly unmagical child, I always dreamed of someday being like them. Perhaps that is why I was spending my birthday hunting beasts instead of flirting with girls at the tavern.

The briarcrown began to move out of the clearing, following the small patch of grass that had lingered through winter’s early snows. I had to take my shot or the opportunity would be lost. I loosed my arrow and it whizzed just shy of the beast’s head and into the thicket beyond. I cursed under my breath as the animal bounded off into the night, taking its four glowing eyes far away from my silver knife. This was going just like every other night I’d been out here hoping to snag something magical to sell. I thought my birthday might bring me luck, but it did not. If only I could be magical and didn’t require the academy to make me into a mage.

I sighed and shouldered my quiver, deciding to call it a night and go home. Even though my mother had told me over and over again how things would be different when I was grown, I didn’t feel any different. She was dead now, along with my little brother. The long lost father I hoped would always make his return never came back. She promised me that by my twenty-fifth year, I’d be the magical girl I always dreamed of being. But here I was, trudging miserably through the chilly forest, finding one more thing I was woefully bad at and still not able to pay for school.

My self-pitying inner monologue was cut short by the rustle of leaves and the snap of twigs. I ducked down into a bramble and slowly pulled an arrow from my quiver. I was not the only predator that stalked these woods at night. I strained my eyes through the moonlight dappled darkness, hoping it was nothing more than a rabbit or wayward wild turkey. Then I heard the low growl of a feline, a lynx maybe, or even worse, a fangcat. I pressed deeper into the bush and felt thorns scratch against my cheek. Hot, wet blood began to bead on my face and drip into the soil below. I wondered if fangcats were drawn to blood like sharks. Had the blackberry vines doomed me to be ripped apart and scattered across the forest floor?

I lingered in terrifying silence for several moments, trying to keep my breath as even as possible despite my racing heartbeat. Whatever was stalking around in the woods either hadn’t noticed me yet or was still trying to decide if I was worth eating. I closed my eyes, praying to whatever gods would listen to save me. When I opened them, I saw a faint glowing light coming from the ground just below me. Was it an errant moonbeam come to illuminate my hiding spot?

When I allowed myself enough bravery to look down, I saw that little blue flowers had begun to grow at my feet. They glowed with an unnatural, magical light. I felt another dribble of blood cascade from my cheek and where it hit the ground, another flower sprouted from the frozen dirt. I blinked in disbelief. I’d bled many times in these woods, yet not once had my lifeforce conjured flowers. I looked up again to see a pair of eyes looking back, whether it was a fangcat or a lynx, I did not know. Then, just as the briarheart had fled from me, so too did the forest cat.

The immediate danger now passed, I knelt down to examine the blood flowers emerging from the winter soil. They practically hummed with magic, glowing with the same blue sheen as the moon. I started to put the pieces together of all the stories my mother had told me, and her endless promises that someday I’d be magical. I always believed I’d have to enroll in the academy to make that a reality but it seemed the universe had other plans for me.

There was one story she used to tell about fairies. They were not given their magic until they became adults… at age twenty-five. It couldn’t be. My mother possessed no magic, nor did my brother. There was no magic in our family. Unless it came from my father, a mysterious man I knew little to nothing about. Despite his absence, had he given me a gift that had waited until now to fully mature? Another drop of my blood fell onto the ground and from it, another flower bloomed. This was the mark of the fairies, there was no mistaking it.

I wiped my cheek with my sleeve and stood up taller, pulling myself out of the bramble. I returned the arrow to its quiver and set my bow across my back.

“I am a fairy,” I whispered aloud to myself. “I have magic.”

I held out my gloved hand hesitantly, seeing what would happen if I tried to cast a small cantrip. A golden beam of sunlight erupted from my palm and shot up into the sky, illuminating the forest around me. I broke out into an excited laugh and whooped.

“I have magic!”