Chapter Twenty-one #2
The word hangs between us, and I wonder if he realizes the weight it bears.
He doesn’t know that I’ve seen inside his head – fleeting glimpses of his past, of him wandering the streets, alone and lost and hungry.
He doesn’t know that I saw Madame Vera take him in, the terrible things she made him do – things that scarred him.
Was that what he meant that night at the tavern when he said he wanted to be free?
My heart aches to know more, but I don’t ask. I can’t. Not when the peace between us is so delicate. Instead, I watch the sea, letting the gentle sound of the waves soothe the storm in my chest.
“Brim sounds nice,” I say.
“I think you’d like it there.”
“I think I’d like it there, too.”
I close my eyes, letting the morning light warm my face.
Then I hear noises. The stir of other competitors emerging from their cabins.
In no time, the calmness of the morning is quickly disrupted by the low murmur of voices as teams gather about, stretching stiff limbs and glancing around with tired eyes.
The first thing I notice is their uniforms.
I nudge Taron with my elbow. “Looks like we’re not the only ones in green.”
He scans the crowd. “Two colours. Red and green. We’ve been split into bigger teams.”
I count six teams dressed in green and another six in red.
Towards the front of the ship, Cyrus leans casually against the railing while Gideon is crouched low in front of him, polishing his boots. Both clad in green. As though Cyrus can feel me watching him, his dark eyes flick to me, and he nods.
I look away. I can’t give him the satisfaction of taking in the way his uniform clings to his broad shoulders, how his light-blond hair, woven into a plait, catches the light like threads spun from sunlight.
“Great,” Taron mutters, tensing beside me.
But it’s not just Cyrus he’s sneering at.
Kara and Savannah, also looking proud in green, are floating between the teams, their beaming smiles not quite reaching their eyes as they fawn over people’s hair and make-up and dole out good-luck wishes.
Then there’s Gunther and Gigi. The twins stand huddled together. Gunther has his arms crossed, surveying the competitors with sharp green eyes to match his uniform, while his sibling bounces on the balls of their feet, brimming with energy even this early in the morning.
I haven’t interacted with them much since the banquet, but I’m glad they’re on the green team. There’s something about their connection, the way they communicate so silently and unpredictably, that makes me wonder whether they’d be the ones to watch.
I pick out the rest of the green team gathered on the deck. There’s Mei, the girl with green-streaked hair. She stands off to the side, hands perched on her hips, though her attention flicks towards Taron more than once.
Beside her towers Rhius, the other Emo. His expression is unreadable beneath the shadow of his brow, but I wonder if he sees it, too – the murky plumes of collective fear and uncertainty, woven with threads of envy and arrogance, hovering above the boat like a stormy cloud.
Probably not. From my experience, most Emos choose to ignore negative energies, focusing instead on the stronger, brighter, more sought-after positive energies.
Can he see any in the air right now, permeating from the competitors? Excitement, perhaps? Anticipation? I wonder what it looks like. Whether it’s gold and radiant like sunshine, curling through the air like steam off a hot cup of tea.
I locate the final members of our green team. It’s the nervous brunette I glimpsed at the banquet, and her tall greasy-haired teammate. Cleo and Xander.
She’s fidgeting again now, and he’s rambling once more. I recognize the dynamic – one voice overshadowing another, taking up all the space without realizing it. They won’t last long in this game.
“Look, there it is!” says Troy, wearing a red uniform, as he storms to the front of the ship and leans forward across the bow.
“Aurora Isle,” breathes his teammate, Selene.
The deck grows quieter as all eyes turn to the horizon. A small beach stretches wide under the sun, a sweep of soft, powdery sand that seems almost too white to be real.
The waves lap gently at the shore, leaving behind foamy traces that glimmer like pearls before retreating into the sea.
Just past the edge of the sand, the jungle rises abruptly. Twisted vines and roots sprawl over each other, weaving into an almost impenetrable wall of green.
I’m not sure what I expected Aurora Isle to look like, but it’s strangely reminiscent of the forest back home – the trees murmuring their secrets and lumen flowers unfurling in the sheltered corners where dawn’s light has yet to reach.
Somewhere within the thick jungle, a massive stone arch juts from the canopy like a tooth.
I recognize it from the map Taron made us memorize.
It’s our next marker, the checkpoint for the second trial.
Only the first six teams to reach it will move on to the final round. As for the rest … well, I’m not sure.
I suppose those who survive will be lost to the jungle until the tournament is over and the High Council sends in a recovery team. They will have to hope they’re found before the island disappears for another ten Stellar Years.
I breathe in, my nostrils stinging from the sea’s sharp air, mingling with the rich, earthy smell of the island. Despite the swelling sun on the horizon, the air is cool. I look around, trying to gauge the reactions of the other contestants.
The cogs are turning behind their eyes, everyone trying to make sense of the landscape. From where I stand, I can see two more arches, one red and one green, located on opposite ends of the beach that fringes the jungle.
“Our starting points, perhaps?” Savannah’s voice comes from behind me, as though she’s reading my mind. And, as though her words were a command, The Leviathan’s crew comes charging on deck.
They’re preparing two large dinghies – one red and one green – on either side of the ship. Chains grind and scrape against rusty pulleys. It’s a harsh, grating sound, echoing through the air as the dinghies plunge into the water below.
The crew waits until they bob gently in the water before lowering rope ladders in preparation for our descent.
My heart begins to race, a cruel, nauseating mix of dread and anticipation swelling in my chest. This is it. It’s happening. The air feels electric, a hum of stirring emotions vibrating through my bones. We all stand in silence, watching the island.
And then it comes.
A deep, resonant gong echoes across the water.