Chapter Eight
I stare down the dark hallway at Elara’s bedroom door. It’s slightly ajar, a dim solar lantern flickering within. Someone is whispering, humming a lullaby – one our mother used to sing when we were younger.
“Hush now, child, and close your eyes. May the Ancient Spirits guide your dreams tonight…”
Footsteps creak across the floorboards. I realize they’re my own. I slowly drift forward until I reach Elara’s door.
“Selvanna weaves the dreams you keep, and Aether hums the stars to sleep. Zephyros whispers through the night, his breath the clouds, such silver light. Thalassa’s tides will guard the shore, and keep you safe for evermore…”
My hands are clammy, lips trembling with her name. “E-Elara?”
“Teras holds the mountains high, strong and still beneath the sky. Ignis lights the hearth with flame, to chase away the night’s dark name…”
“You killed her,” says someone behind me. A biting, gritty voice. Taron.
I try to spin, but I can’t. My feet are rooted to the spot, held in place by the invisible force of his talents. His shadow stretches across the wall to my side, growing taller, more jagged as he approaches.
“Your sister is dead because of you,” he adds.
“You don’t know anything. You know nothing about me.” My skin crawls when his cold fingers latch on to my shoulder.
“Look at me,” he commands.
“I don’t want to.”
“I said, look at me!” His voice cuts through the silence like fingernails being dragged along a blackboard. It’s a persistent screech, shrill and high-pitched, scraping the edges of my mind until it’s unbearable.
Taron’s command compels me, and I can’t fight it. My head swivels to look at him, tears welling in my eyes. It’s not Taron.
It’s Elara. Her face is ashen, her cheeks hollow. And her eyes, so black, are swimming with shadows.
She opens her mouth to speak, but her jaw cracks open with a sickening snap. It hangs crooked and slack, an empty gape from which no words, only a hollow, echoing rattle, can escape…
“You killed me.”
The hammering sound of my alarm jerks me awake. I catch the clock before it vaults off the edge of my bedside table, and I hold it for a moment, letting it ring for a few more seconds as I always do to make sure Elara wakes up.
Then I realize there’s no need.
I silence the clock and sit up in bed. My sheets are drenched. There’s an ache in my throat, like a scream that’s burrowed itself deep within. I tear myself out of bed and throw open the curtains. It’s still dark out, but not for long.
Scanning my wardrobe, my options are sparse.
There’s also not much that screams competitor-in-a-deadly-tournament, so I dress myself in the least grubby thing I own.
A plain blue tea dress that used to belong to my mum, a grey hooded shawl and the crescent-moon necklace Elara gave me for my last birthday.
I pause on the landing. Elara’s bedroom door is ajar. It reminds me too much of my dream, and I don’t want to relive the horror, so I quickly descend the stairs.
In the kitchen, I check for any sign of the Soul Wraith. The space is quiet, eerily so. It no longer smells of vanilla and sugar, only of old wooden furniture and wet rags.
Madame Vera’s note on the table makes me pause. I read it once over to ingrain the threat, then loop the rucksack over my shoulders and slam the front door behind me.
Outside, the crisp air makes me shiver as I hurry through the valley. The southern edge of Auxin Forest is quite a walk away, so, as usual, I’m late.
Morning already threatens to break with a hesitant glow, the sun’s rays splintering across the horizon as if shying away from the brilliance of the three moons.
My steps are cautious as I enter the forest, navigating towards the point where the waterways of Stellargrove and Moondance Haven meet.
The forest is a different kind of silent this morning.
All around me, trees stretch in a gnarled dance, their leaves hesitant to stir.
Every fibre of my being is telling me to turn around, accept my guilt in all of this, report Madame Vera and let the Principal Guard take care of things.
My heart, on the other hand, is driving me forward, fuelled by the desperate hope of reclaiming my sister.
The crunch of a fresh apple under my boot reminds me that I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. I look up at the sky. It’s lightening faster now, the three moons already fading. He’ll just have to wait for me.
I climb up into the fork of a tree and reach up to pluck three apples from its outstretched branches. Two land in my bag, and I force myself to eat the third. I’ll need the energy, I tell myself.
The Reckoning isn’t just about physical strength, and what I lack in brawn compared to other competitors, I intend to make up for with my wits.
It’s then that I see two figures in a nearby clearing.
Taron and the burly man. They’re standing by the side of the waterway where a small jetty juts out of the shrubbery, marking a stop on the route.
To their left, another waterway forks into the original one, leading from the neighbouring village, Moondance Haven.
Taron is looking more civilized today – or wearing a shirt, at least. It’s a white button-up number, tucked into brown trousers, paired with a brown leather jacket that squares at his shoulders. It’s clearly made from Lorthen hide, the same as our rucksacks.
Summoning a deep breath, I push through the low-hanging branches that separate me from the men. Their heads pivot at the sound of my approach.
I lock eyes with Taron, then he turns away.
“You’re late,” is all he says.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Save the attitude for the tournament,” says the burly man. He dabs a handkerchief at the beads of sweat dotting the back of his neck. “We’re on a schedule here.”
“Where is she?” I ask. “Where did you take my sister?”
No response.
I plant my hands on my hips, my eyes glued to the back of Taron’s head. The rising sun weaves through his lilac hair. “I’m not doing anything until I know you’ve taken her to a safe place.”
Taron turns towards me. Impatience is etched across his hard features, adding an even sharper edge to his icy-blue stare. “Your sister is dead,” he says. “If you ever want to see her again, you need to stop wasting time.”
I stiffen. “OK. H-how exactly are we going to switch places with the real contestants?”
Taron nods at the water. “In a few minutes, a watercraft will approach. The helmsman owes Madame Vera. He’ll fake a broken fin, and the real competitors will get off while he pretends to inspect the damage. You’ll cause a distraction, and the two of us will subdue them.”
I laugh. “A distraction? What exactly do you want me to do?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
I shoot him a glare, fingers bunching into fists to stifle the pulsating energy gathering in my palms. He thinks he holds all the cards and that he can boss me around because he has some kind of leverage.
But we’re both ensnared in this deadly game. Which means Madame Vera’s regard for his life can’t be any warmer than it is for mine.
Taron turns his back to me, crossing his arms. Leverage or not, he’s right. For now, for Elara, I have to do what he says.
A sudden rush of water in the distance breaks the stretching silence. A watercraft is approaching.
“Be ready – here they come,” the burly man barks, and we duck behind the foliage together.
The watercraft glides to a halt alongside the jetty. Its rounded hull is textured by the natural grain of rich, dark wood, carved motifs of swirling currents and leaping fish. Inlaid shells and stones shimmer softly, reflecting the morning light like ripples on water.
A sharp female voice pierces the air. “What’s happening? Why have we stopped?”
From my concealed spot, I can see the helmsman feigning concern. “Apologies,” I hear him respond, glancing at the back of the watercraft. “Seems one of the fins is broken.”
“So, what? Are you expecting us to get out?” the female voice snaps.
“For a minute, please,” says the helmsman. “I won’t be long.”
“This is ridiculous. Absolutely outrageous.”
The helmsman pulls a wooden lever by the side of his seat at the front of the vessel, and the arched canopy overhead, made of vines and woven branches, gracefully retracts.
Two passengers step out on to the jetty – the disgruntled girl, with a fiery-red pixie cut to match her attitude, ignoring the hand offered by the tall, lanky boy next to her, a chestnut fringe falling across his face.
She turns back to face the helmsman. “Come on! Chop-chop,” she barks. “We’re actually in a hurry here. I’ve still got to pick up my banquet gown from the tailor.”
What a rich brat. I shouldn’t have expected anything less from a privately trained team. Her wealth is as clear as the air of superiority in her accent, undeserved privilege dripping from her every word. At least she makes what we’re about to do a tad bit easier.
“Go on,” hisses Taron.
I lunge forward, pretending to stumble from our concealed spot to the edge of the waterway. “Help me, please… Help!” I screech. My hands are in my hair, my bottom lip trembling as I look behind me in fake terror. “Please, don’t let him hurt me!”
The girl takes a step away from me, a hint of fear in her eyes, but her teammate rushes forward, which means I have him right where I want him.
“Please, you have to help me,” I say again, throwing myself at him. “He’s after me… He’s too strong…”
“Who?” The girl demands. “Who’s after you?”
I point a shaky finger through the trees at where Taron is standing. I feel a flicker of satisfaction at what I imagine is his confusion. He never specified what kind of distraction he wanted, but I can guarantee this isn’t it. Still, he doesn’t have a choice.
If he wants the plan to work, he has to play his part.
There’s a pause, and then he bursts out of the undergrowth. The two competitors regard him with suspicion, trying to make sense of the bizarre situation.
I give another shriek. “H-he cornered me in the forest.”