To Enter the Path (Vendrix Book 1)

By Stephanie Flores

"Filled with incredible fight scenes, cryptic characters and a few often useless yet lovable characters, this book is worth checking out if you love a good action-packed story and lots of mystery and questions!" ~Underground Book reviews

"A solid read for lovers of fantasy. The author does a wonderful job weaving a compelling world and creating complex characters." ~ More Than Just Romance Reviews

A Vendrix is born. These are mortals that know all spells and enchantments, without having picked up a spell book all their lives. Normally, such power would be drool-worthy, but in this case, it means to be possessed by a demon that’s just using a body as a conduit.

For the townspeople, a beloved family member will now crave carnage and kill siblings and strangers alike.
For the person possessed, they barely last a day before sharpened pitchforks are used against them.

But a drunken minstrel’s foreseen a Vendrix that can actually control the demon. Such a weapon seems to be the only thing that can annihilate the sorcerer that’s been wreaking havoc everywhere.

Zendra’s denying that she’s the Vendrix, despite the fact that she just massacred a horde of wizards with no more exertion of energy than a yawn. Regardless, she’s enlisted by three men wanting to attempt the deadly path to the sorcerer, for fame, adventure, or vengeance.

Now, Valen, an arrogant yet charming wizard prodigy, Brevle, a wise-cracking warrior, Wulard, owns a map (sorry, that’s all he contributes), and Zendra, still unsure if she’s more of a threat to them than the obstacles, must band together, quiet their pessimism, and will their legs to forge through the Path of Fatality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephanie Flores
• Release date: Sep 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005028244

Stephanie Flores

Stephanie Flores was born, and still continues to live in Miami, Florida with her husband, screeching 7 month old, and pain-in-the-neck mutt. When she's not swatting the thousands of mosquitoes in the area, she's teaching science and art to middle school students.What better person to envision a fully imaginary world than someone who teaches pre-teens all day?As a child, her obsessions were turtles, dragons, bats, Greek mythology, and pizza--not much has changed in adulthood.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Whatever happens, whatever you hear, you must not leave this spot, her mother warned, tears rolling down her face as she caressed Zendra’s cheek. She shook her head, clawing at her mother’s clothes, pleading to let her leave the confines of the tree.

Her mother had awoken her in the middle of the night and shoved a small bag full of necessities into her arms. Pieces of bread, a leather canteen with water, and a few articles of clothing. Her father had appeared in the room just as scared as her mother, yelling for them to hurry, only increasing the nervousness paralyzing her.

Of the three, Zendra was the only one with a bag, and wore warmer clothing than needed for that time of year.

She had demanded answers from both her parents, but their only response had been long stares into her eyes, quivering lips, and a lingering hand on her cheek.

Zendra had been tugged out the back towards the wooded area behind their house. With a full moon already casting shadows on the gloomy forest, they zigzagged their way around the trees, fearful of being followed.

All the while, she tried to ask where they were going, what was wrong, but they shushed her or wrapped a hand over her mouth.

When her father stopped, his chest heaving erratically, Zendra followed his fixed gaze, collapsing onto her knees.

Vines slithered across the trees, forming a barrier.

They couldn’t go any further.

She tugged on her father’s shirt and pointed back to the path towards their house. The gnarled shadows from extended tree branches were one thing, but if vines were going to start coming to life, she wanted to head back. Her father disregarded her fear and unsheathed his sword, striking a piece of vine.

Nothing happened. Not a slit nor cut anywhere.

He tried again, grunting, his biceps bulging. A spark flashed where the sword and the vine met, and the force threw him back twenty feet, hard on the ground.

Her own screams of panic were eclipsed by her mother’s, who ran past her to kneel next to him. Her mother placed two fingers on his neck and an ear on his chest. Zendra tapped on her mother’s arm, wanting a smile, a nod, anything to reassure her that her father was still alive.

Nothing.

Her mother’s eyes closed, tears escaping the sides. His chest had stopped moving.

Zendra pounced on her father’s torso, her fist punching his chest.

You can’t leave us here alone!

Her mother grabbed at her hands in shock, until his trembling hand cupped Zendra’s cheek.

She moved to be by his feet, ignoring her mother’s instructions to stay back. As much as Zendra wanted to run into his arms, though, she allowed them to whisper to one another without interruption.

When her mother nodded to her, a look of complete resignation in her eyes, Zendra shuffled closer to her father’s face.

He stroked her hair one last time. That’s my beautiful, brave girl, he said. I’m very sorry that this is your fate, but you’ll make us proud. I know it.

Her arms snaked around his neck, her grip tight. Zendra wanted to ask something, anything, but he silenced her with a kiss on her forehead.

Her mother pried her off, and she led her to a redwood only a few feet away from where her father lay.

The crevice in the tree provided a space just big enough that Zendra could slip inside. Her mother cleared the spider webs, trying to make it more pleasant. In its darkness, Zendra squirmed when unseen things crawled around her legs. She tried to be a brave girl as her parents had instructed but she could not keep the tears from coming out. Her mother’s tears, faltering smile, and trembling hand made this seem like an ending, and Zendra wanted to be included, not cowering away within the crevice of a tree trunk.

Her mother searched the tree for dangers, making sure no footsteps led to the area.

Huffing, Zendra sat with her arms folded on top of her raised knees, biting her tongue, forcing herself to be quiet.

Planting a kiss on her forehead, a few tears landing on Zendra’s face, her mother whispered, I love you, Zendra.

Her mother then muttered a spell around the entrance.

Zendra held her bag closer to her, wishing she could understand everything. She longed for her bed, or the stories her parents would tell her in front of the fire before she yawned herself to sleep in their arms. Anything that scared her parents had to be awful.

What had she done to make them leave her here? Why couldn’t they all just go back home where it was safe?

Her mother placed twigs and leaves in front of the entrance of the hole as she wiped away tears.

Zendra shivered.

Who am I hiding from?

The leaves her mother placed hid the outside world, save for one little opening that allowed Zendra to peek through.

Her mother flew to her father’s side again, as he sat up with a groan. She placed her hands in his and kissed him lightly on the lips. Dahven, are you going to be alright?

A sad smile crept across her face, as he caressed her cheek. I’d not die with anyone else, Kora.

As her mother dropped her head onto his chest, the two vanished, leaving Zendra alone and whimpering within the tree.

Chapter 2

What exactly were you two thinking? Where would you go that I could not find you? The words echoed in the clearing.

Dahven stood up, helping Kora to her feet, searching for the source of the voice.

He spoke, trying to mask the trembling within his voice. We hoped for more time. When she’s older, you could seek her out and convince her to become part of your convocation, but for now, she is our child and we will not give her up.

His wife squeezed his hand, unwilling to leave his side.

The clearing echoed again with no trace of the origin of the words: Even as an adult you would not let me have her. You are wasting my time with empty words!

A flash of white beamed out of the forest towards Kora.

She fell to her knees, writhing in agony as the white stream of magic engulfed her, causing sparks of electricity to surge through her body. She convulsed with each spin of the spell encircling her until it dissipated into the night. Smoke rose from her skin as she collapsed beside him.

Dahven fell to his knees, pleading and begging for her to hold on, to live! With most of her skin scorched, he pinned his fists to his sides, fearing a loving touch would cause more pain. Kora barely opened her eyes but smiled as much as her weakened body would allow.

Masking his watery eyes with a grin of his own, Dahven saw another white flash in the corner of his vision. A quick lift of his hand, a recitation of a single word, and the white light jetted towards a tree in the forest instead.

This wizard is going to kill us.

You coward, Dahven screamed into the night sky. You disarm your enemy without even showing yourself! What are you afraid of? Come and fight me!

A puff of smoke and a flash of light and another man stood in the clearing.

Very brave words from someone who’s about to die, the man said, fully robed, a velveteen crimson hood disguising him.

Dahven caught a few glimpses of a shield around the wizard reflecting bits of moonlight at certain angles. That man wore a protection spell. He’d read of this spell, the human sacrifices it took to create it. Invulnerable, but no way to cast a spell from within either.

The mystery man continued his rehearsed soliloquy about how they should not have fought, how they should’ve listened. Dahven half-listened, half-tried to review the last three years to make sense of everything.

The years Zendra had become a target.

They had never learned the robed man’s identity; he'd always sent apprentices to their house searching for Zendra. They inferred he was a powerful wizard—not many wizards had countless apprentices—and for some reason, had interest in their daughter. They’d received, day in and day out, thousands of threats, decrees, and bribes for over three years.

As a parent, he thought the world of her, but he didn’t think she was so special as to warrant this much attention.

He had understood the robed man’s last threat, though.

Simple and direct: ‘Give her to me or die.’

Those six words were the reason they'd fled, hoping for more time.

The man had finished his speech. The lack of reflections from the natural light meant the shield had faded.

Planting the soles of his shoes on the ground, steadying himself, Dahven threw a surge of power from his hand to the robed figure’s chest.

The wizard deflected it with the same ease as a person blinks.

Dahven charged at the man with his sword in hand, hoping the spell had caught him off guard. The robed figure lifted his arm, shooting a stream of white light that sparked and swerved towards him. Unable to dodge, the spell hit Dahven’s skin, triggering jolts of pain. He fell to the ground, his body spasming. He clenched his jaw, exhaling in short bursts with each recurring zap.

The man chuckled. When will you ever learn?

As the spell withdrew, Dahven lay heaving, his limbs still trembling.

Kora barely stirred. He propped himself on his hands and crawled towards her.

At least they’d be together for the final blow.

The hooded figure muttered something under his breath. A crackling surge of power came out of his hand and encircled the couple, spinning around and lifting them up several feet in the air.

Dahven turned to gaze at his wife. Her hair flew feverishly around her face with the strength of the whirlwind, but her eyes were open and focused on him. He mouthed his love for her, and she returned it.

He didn’t see her currently battered complexion, but the way he would remember her forever. Soft skin with freckles across her nose, brown hair that cascaded in curls to her hips, and a smile that relieved any sadness within his soul.

A black streak jetted towards Dahven’s head.

Kora’s panicked screams and wide eyes only fueled his own fear.

A glimmering white strand came out of his head, removed by the original black streak, and a stabbing pain penetrated his temple. The white strand flew into the night sky, an image appearing: White flowing dress, tearful joy, flowers hidden within her hair.

A memory of their wedding day erased from his memories.

One not of Zendra. Why would the wizard take it?

Another black streak pierced through the whirlwind of white and attacked Kora.

He bellowed in pain, fighting against the wizard’s spell constricting his limbs, desperate to stop her agonizing screams.

Another strand pulled and released into the heavens. This time the image contained a nervous giggle, an interested glare, and a longing for tomorrow: The first day they’d met.

He winced and gritted his teeth with each excavation of their joyous long-term and short-term memories. Searing pricks burnt their way through his skull as images of Zendra’s first steps and birthdays floated away into oblivion.

Now, he couldn’t help but remember all of his wife’s annoyances. This woman fought him on everything, forced him to work longer hours to afford certain luxuries, restricted some of his freedoms.

Have you given up yet? the wizard screamed. One word can mean your freedom.

Exhaling through his nostrils, he tried to respond. Tried to remember why they were fighting this, why he couldn’t give up?

He could only remember changing poop-filled cloths, financial difficulties, and the lack of any independence.

Next to him, the woman’s facial expressions turned from love and adoration to disgust and antipathy.

The word to end this danced on his tongue, but strangled words came from beside him. Your offer is nowhere near as valuable as what you ask us to give you in return.

Before he could object, the wizard replied in a tone that surprisingly held remorse, So be it. If that is your decision, then you shall perish.

When the streaks finished their work, there was another flash of smoke and light and the wizard left. The whirlwind abruptly stopped, leaving nothing but quick gasps, stopped hearts, and two bodies that fell to the ground motionless.

Chapter 3

Huddled in the massive tree, Zendra rocked back and forth, crying. The screams, the last words spoken by the mystery assailant, and the even more horrifying silence that followed echoed within her head.

That can't be my parents. I know it’s not them.

She cleaned her eyes with her sleeves and peered towards the entrance of the crevice.

Disobeying her mother’s orders, she’d tried to leave when she heard their cries, but the foliage that created a rudimentary door produced a slight electric shock to her fingers. Her mother had cast a spell to prevent her from leaving. She’d used it before, when unknown visitors came to the house.

Zendra hesitated to try again. What waited outside for her might only confirm what she dreaded. A sob wrenched hard in her throat at the thought that her loneliness might extend further than just in this tree.

Her mind showed her all the different outcomes that could have occurred outside. Some positive: her parents waited outside with just a few scratches, faces of triumph, and their arms wide open in preparation for a hug. Or a brave knight that came to her rescue. He, having just slain whatever threatened her family, would appear in front of the tree, an arm stretched out awaiting her hand. He’d whisper, I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, and then lead them all to safety.

She tried to keep the more positive images in her mind, although the deep pang within her stomach told her these were dreams of a small child.

Taking a deep breath, and clearing her eyes of tears, she touched the twigs laid in the opening. Zendra drew back her hand, an impulse after the shocks she’d felt all the other times she’d tried to leave.

She took another deep breath and this time left her hand on the entrance, overriding her body’s natural reaction to withdraw.

No shock this time, no twinge of electricity or magic, just the solid feel of a twig.

Sighing, with gentle hands she removed everything that blocked the entrance. No rush to leave or destroy her mother’s last creation.

She crawled out, leaving her legs still within the tree’s protection.

It might have just been her legs, but inside the tree, she could still hold onto her happier memories—jokes her father would tell during dinner, toys her mother had sewn for her. Outside, she would find none of those, just a horrifying present to face.

She ventured further, her bag still clutched within her arms.

The sun hinted at early morning. She’d been inside that tree for almost four hours.

Her stomach tightened. It’s been that long and they haven’t come back?

The sunlight filtering through the canopy of the trees warmed her skin.

The forest surrounding her wasn’t the scary gnarled forest of the previous night’s escape. This lush, pine-scented and inviting piece of nature exuded life and gaiety. Even the birds’ chirps sounded hopeful to her.

No wall of vines blocked the path to freedom anymore either.

Zendra smiled. She’d find her family and they could leave! She skipped along the forest floor, jumping from one beam of light to the other. She bowed, speaking to her imaginary knight as he led her through the foliage to her waiting parents.

Maybe they didn’t remember which tree she’d hidden in. Spotting the differences from one tree to another couldn’t be easy.

Hope pushed her on, making her feet light, until she skipped her way into the clearing.

No birds sang in this space, and even without a canopy, the grass appeared shaded and muted. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she flattened them with her hand.

She turned around, contemplating if she could run back and start the day again. She took a big gulp, forcing herself to continue forward. Her vision remained on the ground, only allowing her to see her shoes and a foot of grass in front.

She followed the burn marks, different scenarios running through her head: they’d been turned into statues, animals, a note on the ground stating ‘be back soon,’ or they’d been immobilized for a few weeks.

When her limited vision caught sight of her mother’s boot, any hope of an optimistic outcome escaped her.

Her worst vision, the image she had shaken away, not wanting it to be true.

The grass beneath her feet showed brown and singed. They lay in front, eyes wide open towards the sky, dread and pain etched on their faces. Blackened skin, and limbs facing every which way.

Zendra knelt beside them, tears streaming down her face. She placed one hand on each of their shoulders and shook them violently.

Leaning her head close to her mother’s mouth, she hoped for any sound of breath. Her fingertips slid down the roughness of their charred skin. I need you to wake up. Don’t leave me!

Her hands raw from slapping them, she kicked at their legs. Maybe she’d anger them enough for them to stir. Little girls shouldn’t be violent. You told me that. Well, look at me now. Wake up! Punish me, or I’ll do it forever.

She threw a rock at her father’s chest, but his body just swayed, and his head hung at an awkward angle.

She plopped down and rocked herself, sliding her hands down her arms.

What if this is my fault?

Trembling, she listened for soft breathing or twigs breaking, anything that might alert her to a presence. Nothing. She had been left alone. An orphan. Her parents would never wake.

Standing up, wiping away the tears from her face with her palms, she went over to their bodies. She closed their eyes and crossed their arms over their chests.

She couldn’t return to their house—they were quite adamant about leaving the place. She didn’t have any uncles, aunts or cousins she could live with, and all her friends lived near her. Not a very good hiding place to retreat to a cottage just a stone’s throw from where they had lived. Her parents wanted her as far from there as possible.

The flapping of wings broke the silence in the clearing. Two vultures landed several feet from her family and hopped with caution closer to the site.

She gripped a stone, the sharper edges piercing her palm. Nostrils flared, she chucked the rock at the two birds. You can’t have them. They are not yours!

Not waiting to see the accuracy of her aim, she bent to the ground and threw twigs and pieces of bark, and screamed at the top of her lungs until the flapping of wings became their only response. Find a dead rabbit, eat bark if you have to, but these are my parents. I will not see them ripped apart!

Grabbing at one more giant stone, she hurled it towards the retreating birds. It jetted past them and into the forest. From within the trees, she heard a surprised groan.

Zendra gasped, cursing herself for her horrible aim.

She heard pounding footsteps crunching the foliage below as they came towards the clearing, accompanied by swear words from the angry stranger. She clawed at the clearing floor, searching for her father’s sword.

She covered her parent’s bodies with grass, dirt, rocks, anything nearby. She glared at the vultures waiting nearby on a branch. Were their bodies big enough to cover her parents?

She swung her bag across her shoulder, stood up straight, and pointed her father’s sword towards the sound. She played with the positioning of her hands on the hilt.

It might look more menacing to hold it with one hand, but its weight didn’t give her the option.

Chest pounding, she practiced different facial expressions that might scare this stranger away. She crafted a plan to run towards the stranger, screaming and swinging the blade maybe even use teeth and nails.

Then again, she could barely hold this sword up. What were the chances that she’d be able to lift it with enough strength to do harm—let alone mortal harm?

* * *

Sarc marched towards the clearing, the rock thrown at his head in one hand and an axe in the other.

He’d seen buzzards flying overhead and heard sounds coming from the clearing. Too many magical dealings happened here. A smart man knew to mind their own business.

But the stone had hit him on the temple, making it personal.

He figured it was children horsing around and couldn’t hold in a grin when he imagined their shocked faces as he’d crush the rock with his bare hands.

Parting the branches, he saw a dirt-covered, bloodshot-eyed child, that made him drop the stone and axe.

He stood speechless, dumbfounded by the scene, and the trembling little girl who pointed a sword at him.

Hesitantly, Sarc broke the silence. What’s happened to you?

He used the following silence to survey the area, not wanting to move and frighten her. The little girl was covered with scratches, insect bites, and wore clothes stained with dirt and tears. A few feet behind her, on a patch of dead grass, were two motionless bodies. He couldn’t see blood anywhere, or puncture wounds. He wondered if that meant a wizard’s kill.

He raked his fingers through his hair, releasing a long breath. He’d had one too many charity cases in his life, and for all he knew, this child was either in trouble or everyone that knew her was.

She continued to glare at him, her arms shaking under the weight of the sword.

He moved a few steps back and waited, allowing her to assess if he looked like friend or foe.

Her eyes were the only part of her body that moved; the rest stayed fixed in her warrior pose.

Please, let me help you, he said, with the sweetest smile he could muster.

Why did they leave the girl? Why were they killed so close to the entrance of the Path of Fatality?

Regardless, he couldn’t just leave her here to watch these bodies decompose. Sarc waited for a response from her, still kicking himself for walking into these woods and abiding by his own moral codes.

She still said nothing.

I don't live far from here. You’re probably tired, he ventured.

She didn’t waver from her position.

I know I don’t look it, but I’m a great cook. I pour cereal and slice bread that will grant you the same experience as finding gold. He waited for a smirk or a giggle, anything to cut the tension.

Nothing.

He carefully stepped closer, and with his foot, pushed the axe farther away. I can hear your stomach from here.

She relaxed her arms, lowering the weapon towards the ground. She looked back at her parents before returning her stare to him.

Squeezing her eyes shut, and flinching when the vultures flapped their wings, she asked, "May I borrow a shovel?

Chapter 4

With her parents dead, what is the plan now for finding her? Galba inquired towards his pacing master, mystified as to why he had killed the couple, especially with the spell they were saving for someone else.

They had discussed the simple plan several times and at length.

They would capture her parents, bring them to the Mountains of Murk, and then mix in a little bit of torture and magical imagery to coerce them into telling the wizards where the girl hid. Why Marnivus, his master, had deviated so from the plan without even the slightest notion of the girl’s whereabouts remained a mystery.

Marnivus told him he had searched every inch of the forest after their murder. Yet he couldn’t find any trace of the child.

Galba’s eyes wandered about his room, waiting for his master to stop pacing and answer.

A small, lifeless, gray-stoned place with an elevated plank of wood for a bed, and a window on one wall, only slightly larger than the average-sized hand, was what he called home. Directly across from the bed stood a table with a glass orb resting on it.

When not in use, he thought it looked like an empty fish bowl.

He stayed here because of a promise and a debt, but he’d hoped for better accommodations.

Galba caught Marnivus eyeing him, outlined by the lit candelabra. One side of Marnivus’ lip lifted in disgust, not only at Galba’s question, but because he was wearing the same tattered black velvet robe with gold trimming that he detested.

They had had countless arguments over his lack of facial hair, but it tickled him to know it unnerved Marnivus to see a wizard with unruly short brown hair and no beard to twist or ponder with.

The other wizards in Marnivus’ castle would pull him aside and gossip that his master was known for torture.

That never worried him, he knew no amount of incessant arguing would garner his death. Who else would be competent enough—or brave enough—to do Marnivus’ bidding?

Her parents would never give her up. I needed to give her a reason to come to the Mountains herself. Revenge is a good motivator, Marnivus stated, without the dripping disdain that usually peppered his words.

In fifteen years, he had yet to grow accustomed to the mood swings that could seize Marnivus without warning. The last statement almost had a hint of regret, and the way his shoulders slumped only added to his solemn expression.

Marnivus’ face warped back to its more common sinister expression, and Galba braced himself for the explosion that always followed the short-lived warm emotions.

As far as he knew, Marnivus, by all accounts, was born looking devious. He had heard it said that women flinched the first time they looked at his face when he was a baby. Now, he exuded every bit the image of a quintessential sorcerer.

His tall, slender frame towered over many. He had a long, peppered beard that hung past his waist, and thinning, greasy hair that he covered with a small pointed hat. His black eyes showed no distinction between pupil and iris, and he wore a dark crimson robe that dragged on the ground, embroidered with golden vertical notches no bigger than an inch.

Galba had heard that each notch was rumored to represent a new spell he’d mastered or the number of his victims.

He hadn’t ever asked for specifics.

The chefs in the castle said Marnivus had tried doing right by his widowed mother in his childhood years: he’d saved baby birds, left half his food to homeless wanderers, and even helped the elderly walk across the street.

Then things changed.

Marnivus’ mother had grown sick, and he was instructed to visit the apothecary. Feeding on the desperation of a devoted son, a wizard lured the boy into the Mountains with promises of cures and everlasting health. Once inside his realm, Marnivus was chained, tortured, and forced to bear witness to his mother’s ailment.

Years passed, his mother died alone, and he had become a prisoner to this wizard’s walls. Ordered to be compliant, he was beaten, starved, and bullied, becoming the apprentice the wizard had always wanted.

He began studying, casting, and honing wizardry skills that rivaled the best there were. His good nature had been eaten away, and all that remained was an unfeeling sociopath. One who’d learned not to trust, not to care, and had no ill-feelings about ridding the world of such selfish inhabitants.

Those in charge of the stables said he climbed up the Mountains of Murk’s hierarchy swiftly, the largest change in him occurring after he’d stabbed his master, and then claimed all of his spells and followers. He won battles and slayed competition in the night, growing greater and more knowledgeable of incantations and spells.

Many thought he’d bargained with demons for immortality or made horrible sacrifices of unknowing victims just to gain an ounce of a potion or the last word to a spell. His