Chapter Twenty-two
I emerge from the ocean with water cascading off my drenched uniform. For all its weightlessness, it’s certainly not waterproof.
The salty air puckers my skin, and I shiver from the sea’s chill. My waterlogged boots struggle in the sand as I trudge on to the beach. I immediately check on my shears. Thank the stars. They’re still safely tucked near my heel.
“I’ve got sand in places where sand should never be,” Taron grumbles.
“That makes two of us,” I say. But there’s no time for discomfort.
The red team is already on the move, a flash of colour disappearing behind a rocky outcrop. In contrast, our green team is a mess. Some are frantically adjusting clothes, and others checking gear. We don’t have time for this.
“Everyone all right?” Kara shouts as she yanks her wet hair into a ponytail. “Looks like we’re working together for this round.”
“Nice,” Rhius muses.
“Not happening.” Cyrus buffs the brooch pinned near his collar, a hexagonal bronze piece adorned with a blazing sun. The Solaran crest. “Gideon and I work better alone. Ready to go, Gid?”
His servant nods his head, blinking through the mop of brown hair falling across his brow. “Right behind you, Your Highness.”
Shouldering past Kara, the pair cross the beach in the direction of the green arch at the edge of the jungle.
“Wait!” I call, remembering the scroll’s contents. The warrior who dares face the jungle alone may get scorched by its breath. “What about the Games Master’s warning?”
“Yeah, scorching breath or whatever,” Mei adds.
But Cyrus and Gideon have already passed through the arch and disappeared beyond the foliage, clearly content with going at it alone.
“Let’s see the jungle try to torch us,” Gigi says. “Gunther and I are with Cyrus on this one. See you when we see you.” The twins kick up sand behind them as they run.
Kara shrugs at those of us remaining. “Sorry, guys, looks like teamwork’s off the table. I’m sure you’ll be fine on your own.”
“What a waste of time. Let’s go.” Taron’s body feels cool when he steps around me, grabs my hand and pulls me across the beach.
Our group disbands, and the start of this trial feels every bit as chaotic as the first. My stomach roils at the rotten smell that suddenly permeates the air. Like spoiled meat or mouldy fruit. The smell of loathing. I’m not sure who it’s radiating from, but it doesn’t matter.
Kara and Savannah pull ahead with Mei and Rhius on their heels. Behind us, I can hear Cleo and Xander arguing.
“What do you mean you want to back out?” Xander moans. “If you surrender, I get disqualified by default.”
“It’s just … none of this is what I thought it’d be.”
“No, we’re not giving up. Come on.”
The moment I pass through the green arch at the edge of the wilderness, the sounds of the jungle crash over us.
It’s loud and piercing, an overwhelming cacophony of chirps, howls and rustling leaves that oscillates through the air.
The heat feels thicker here, more oppressive, the scent of damp earth clinging to every breath.
Leaves as broad as shields arch over us, and I’m entranced by the flicker of luminous insects flitting past my face.
Their translucent wings, veined like cracked glass, hum softly as they dart in erratic patterns and leave faint trails of light in their wake.
“Can you believe this place?” I reach for a cluster of lumen flowers hanging from a vine. As my fingers graze their silky petals, they shimmer with a soft pinkish glow, bending towards my touch.
“We don’t have time,” Taron says, pulling me away.
We move quickly, adrenaline fuelling our strides as we push deeper into the dense foliage. Vines twist around gnarled trees, their surfaces rough and dappled with colourful moss in various shades of pinks and yellows and blues.
“Can you still see them?” I ask, when Kara’s ponytail is no longer whipping just beyond the nearest shrub, and Rhius’s pounding footsteps give way to the shrill squawk of a bird in the treetops.
“No, can you?” Taron asks.
“If I could, I wouldn’t have asked.” I sigh. “Sorry, I just don’t want to get lost in here.”
“I won’t let that happen.” Taron turns to look at me and frowns. His head dips down, eyes drifting to my lips – no, my neck. I’m surprised when he steps closer, and every hair on my body rises when he lifts a hand to my shoulder. His hand hovers.
Then his fingers brush my neck, and a shiver uncurls within me. Taron pinches at something near my collar. When he pulls away, my mouth is dry.
I fight the urge to gasp for air as he discards a luminous insect pinched between his fingers. The insect sputters in anger before fluttering away.
“A silverfish moth,” he says. “They cause a horrible rash if they stain you.”
I swallow hard before smothering the warm, prickling feeling sliding through my limbs as he parts two broad leaves and continues through the jungle.
We’re running again and, soon, our surroundings begin to change.
The greenery darkens. The luminescent flowers give way to crisp, charred remains.
We’re surrounded by twisted blackened husks that vaguely resemble trees.
The air turns acrid, smelling of smoke and decay.
I twist my heel on the ground, and it comes away caked with ash.
“What is this place?” I ask. “More importantly, what happened here?”
Taron and I scan the devastation. It’s an abandoned village, dotted with the skeletal remains of huts and indistinguishable stone structures. Whatever walls still stand are scorched black, their surfaces cracked and crumbling, reeking of burned wood.
The warrior who dares face the jungle alone may get scorched by its breath.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” Taron says.
We cautiously navigate around the debris, but the narrow streets are empty. The silence is broken only by the gritty sound of ash crunching beneath our boots and whispers in the wind that seem to mourn for the place.
Somewhere above, a crow’s screech pierces the stillness. The last time I heard a crow, it marked the morning my sister died.
“This place is giving me the creeps,” I mutter.
We near an open square in the centre of the village, where an obelisk juts from the ground.
It’s surrounded by remnants of an old marketplace.
I can tell by the splintered wood scattered across the cobblestones, some still retaining its past form as wagon wheels, and a tattered tarp that flutters in the breeze, barely clinging to a post fastened to a wall.
I can’t help but wonder. Did the Astrals conjure this place for the tournament, or did it once pulse with life? If so … what had happened here?
Then, a flash of red.
And another, in between two ruined buildings.
“Wren,” I say.
“I saw them,” he confirms.
I spin towards him as a column of sand knocks into him from the side. He falls, and I pivot, barely dodging a spear of radiant light flying past me. My hands find my head, instinctively covering myself.
Taron staggers to his feet. “Are you OK?”
“Yeah.”
As the haze from the sand settles, two figures clad in red emerge from an alley into the square. Selene and Troy. A dusting of sand hovers around Selene’s feet, ready to be shaped into a weapon or shield at a moment’s notice.
“Maeve and Wren from Moondance Haven. Not much more to say about you, is there?” Selene says, smoothing her sleek black ponytail.
Troy chimes in. “Hopefully, the Games Master can spin you a nice little story. Make it sound like you at least put up a fight before we killed you.”
I step back until I find the solid form of Taron’s body behind me. “Why are you doing this? The goal of the trial is to get to the arch.”
“Didn’t you read the scroll?” Selene spits. “Majority rules. Your team can’t win if there aren’t any greens left to cross the arch.”
“The same can be said for the red team.” Taron licks his lips. I see his fingers twitch lightly at his sides. He’s focusing his Luna talents.
In seconds, Troy is dragged, struggling, through the air towards us. He brandishes a light blade in defence, prompting Taron to sidestep to avoid a potential impaling. Despite the counter-move, however, Taron still manages to slam Troy to the ground.
A strange sensation tightens around my ankles, and looking down, I see sand enveloping my feet and crawling up, trapping me in its grip.
“Only two of us can leave this square alive, you know that,” Selene says, flexing her fingers like she’s moulding clay. I can’t break free from the sand, I realize, as she springs forward.
Taron collides with Selene in a bone-crushing thump that sends both of them sprawling. Selene retaliates by trapping Taron in a shell of sand, but he defies the constraints, shattering the granules.
“Oh, you are annoying,” she bites out.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” As Taron pulls the dagger from his belt sheath and lunges at Selene, I grab my fern shears from my boot and start hacking at the sand to free myself. Something moves in my peripheral vision. Troy is approaching.
No sooner do I break free from the sand than I have to dodge his blade of light, aimed directly at my face. My instinct is to tap into the well of my fears and anxieties, shaping them into a whip that lashes itself around his foot.
I yank on it, and he tumbles. Then I’m sprinting to where Taron and Selene are fighting among the remnants of a wooden cart.
As I run, a warm sensation grazes my arm. It starts as a wet, numb feeling, then a blade of light zips past me and panic sets in. The warmth transforms into searing pain. I’ve been cut.
My heel snags on the ground. I fall. Three more blades fly overhead, only narrowly missing me. I grip my upper arm. Blood is already soaking through my uniform.
This is real. I could die.
“You’re lucky – that was a close call.” Troy approaches, and I scramble back on the ground. He grabs me by the foot and drags me towards him. “Though I’m afraid your luck’s about to run out.”
“I don’t … think so!” With my free foot, I deliver a well-aimed kick to his shin. He releases me, and I lurch forward, launching on top of him.
We wrestle around in the ash and dirt.
“Get your … fingers out of my eyes…” Troy forms another light blade and aims it at my heart.
I grab his free hand, prepared to do the one thing I swore I’d never do.
But I have to. For my survival. Instead of absorbing the negative energy that already swirls within him, I do the opposite.
I gather every ounce of my own and disperse it, channelling it into Troy’s skin; his very flesh and bones.
The transformation is slow, but also immediate. Troy struggles to move.
“What are you doing to me?” he cries, his voice full of confusion and a great deal of pain.
I avert my gaze and push through, channelling every ounce of suffering I’ve endured in the past few days into him.
The gut-wrenching sight of my sister’s lifeless form, my seething hatred for Madame Vera, and the escalating weight of guilt for setting all of this in motion. For robbing Elara of her life.
Troy quivers, his eyes losing focus. His pleas grow softer as I guide his head down on to the ground. A stillness settles upon him; he’s alive but rendered powerless, a hollow shell. Another Emo on the Principal Guard should be able to fix him, I think.
I look down at Troy. Immobilized and at my mercy. He was someone’s son, someone’s brother. But he was also a fool for willingly entering this tournament of death.
My breath is thin, the air toxic with what I’ve done. I’ve taken a life. He’s still breathing, but his brain is dead. A sudden movement beside me startles me.
“It had to be done,” Taron says.
I gulp when I look behind him. Selene’s body hangs limp, impaled on the spoke of a cart wheel.
My voice trembles as I ask, “Is she…”
Taron responds with a simple, “Yes.” His hand cups my shoulder. “Maeve, you know we didn’t have a choice. If not them, it would’ve been us.”
My gaze drops to where his fingers press against the fabric of my uniform, the outside of his thumb grazing the soft skin of my neck. My sleeve is soaked with blood.
“I know,” I mutter in barely a whisper.
“Are you OK?”
“It’s just a graze.”
“Good.” Taron extends a hand to lift me off the ground.
The silence between us doesn’t last long. The sound of someone kicking up rubble makes our heads collectively swivel. There, in between the ruins, are the flickering shadows of the other red team members.
Somewhere, someone screams. And then: a thundering roar.
“What the hell was that?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Taron says, moving towards the sound, “but I think we’re about to find out what the Games Master’s warning meant.”