Chapter 17
my sobs rattle in my chest as I’m dragged away by the guards, panic bleating in my ears. All I can think is that Eli can’t get back. He and Lowri can’t get back from his father’s world. They are trapped there. And there’s nothing I can do about it.
I find a hand gripping mine as we’re escorted to the arena for the second Trial, ten days after the first, and I cling to it.
It is the only anchor in a sea of what is fast becoming hopeless.
All I can see is Eli’s face as he stood on the other side of that portal, trying to break through, his panic, the growing realisation that he could not step between worlds and come back.
And Lowri, standing behind him, fingers covering her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks …
Are they hurt? I couldn’t tell. I could only see them, and the trees surrounding them.
The place Eli showed me the night before he left our world entirely.
What I can’t figure out is why. Why can’t he step back?
Is it something holding him there? Or worse … Is his magic no longer strong enough?
Kell murmurs quietly the whole way to the arena, trying to calm me, trying to wrench me from my own mind, from the swift spiralling descent of my thoughts, and into the present.
But as we reach the tunnel, the guards prodding us forward, I’m still shaking.
I have to forget Eli’s face, his panic, or I will be distracted.
And I will not survive the second Trial.
There is a part of me that’s been waiting for Eli to rescue me, to return and make everything all right.
But seeing him trapped there, beyond my reach, I realise he cannot save me now. Not this time.
It’s time for me to save myself.
Sember and Heath walk out into the arena first to the roar of an almighty crowd.
We walk out in ranking order of the first Trial, with Sapira, the lone contender from Stanvard at the back, chin held high.
Soturi and Fey are just ahead of Kell and I, representing the Spines, with the Leicenan contenders, Elséne and Oliette, behind us.
I’ve found them to be very quiet, keeping largely to themselves at the events and parties thrown at court to show us all off.
Pascha, the remaining contender from the Middenwilds is notably absent.
He must have dropped out, forfeiting any possible victory, or maybe he never found a piece of treasure himself and was eliminated.
I wish now that I’d asked, but I was too focused on making allies and trying to escape this place.
And now all I’ve been thinking of is Eli’s arms surrounding me again, of setting Agnes free.
My stomach twists, remembering Pascha’s face after the first Trial. His devastation.
We walk out to the spatter of spring rain.
I tilt my face upwards. The clouds are a dome over the arena, squat and sluggish.
There is no wind, no movement in the sky, and I lick my lips, assessing the terrain.
It could become slippery, and my footwear is not designed to grip.
All my scheming, all I have learned about the ruling council’s plans beyond the Trials, has left my head.
I can only think about Eli. I’m desperate to be with him, but what if he can never get back to our world?
What if it’s permanent? What if he’ll never be able to return to me?
I shake myself, gripping my hands into fists, and remember that I’m no good to him dead. I’m no good to myself, or to Agnes, or my islands, or anyone, if I die today. There is no way out of this, no one coming to rescue me. The only way out, as ever, is through.
I need to focus.
‘Look,’ Kell says, leaning across to me. ‘The arena floor.’
Sweeping my gaze over it, I gasp. We are in the same arena as the first Trial, but it’s no longer a flooded space.
Now it is fully exposed, a large oval stretching off to the distant stands of spectators.
And all over the ground, walls and doors form a complex labyrinth … but then I notice the movement.
‘The walls are shifting,’ I say, whipping to meet Kell’s gaze.
His eyes widen. The maze-like arena below has doors that close and walls that move, creating an impossible Trial.
One that has no discernible pattern. They’re at least twice our height and sheer, unclimbable, seeming to be made of a bronze type of metal.
It’s a mechanical labyrinth with no roof, open so that the spectators can see everything that transpires beneath them.
‘We could be trapped in there. We could be lost for days …’
We all watch as a section in the wall of the arena opens on the furthest side, below the rows of people watching from above.
And several creatures, a pack, move out into the arena, stalking between the walls of the labyrinth.
My heart leaps to my throat as I watch them move, see their jaws open wide, catch the glint in their ravenous eyes. Five monsters that will hunt us.
Five wither beasts.
The ruling council has gathered another creature of nightmare.
I’ve heard stories spoken by merchants in Port Trenn, relayed to us on Rosevear round hearths and at meets.
I begin to shake in earnest as the guards prod us all forward.
I catch Sapira’s soft whimper at the back before she exhales a deep breath.
Turning to look over my shoulder, I meet her steely gaze and nod.
She nods back, pressing her lips together.
She must have heard the same stories growing up.
But we will not tremble. Not out here, not in front of the crowd.
Not in front of the ruling council, or the rulers of our opponents’ territories.
We will not show fear. In these Trials that seem on the surface to divide us, pitting territories against each other to gain power in the continent, we are united in wanting to stay alive.
And, after the first Trial, none of us wishes to see anyone else die.
I wonder if this happens in every set of Trials, that the contenders form an odd bond.
Even if they signed up for these Trials, volunteered and trained and wanted to be here …
there is surely a tipping point when you’re actually here.
Perhaps it’s seeing the monsters in the first Trial, knowing what you face and realising you could really die.
And the glory, the victory, is meaningless in death.
A guard steps between me and Kell, pushing him to the left as I am shoved to the right. Separating us. I don’t have time to reassure him before the commentator begins, their voice blasting over the arena, drowning out all other sound. But we both know what it is that we must do.
‘A glorious day for the second Trial!’ the voice booms, and the crowd cries out in agreement.
The rain plasters my hair to my neck as I glance up, trying to pick out individual faces.
But it’s just a sea of open mouths, of narrowed gazes, of pumping fists.
As though they are the monster here to consume me.
‘But maybe not such a glorious day for our contenders …’ There’s a wave of laughter and my blood runs hot.
How dare these people, this mindless mob, laugh.
A growl tears from my throat as I realise I am a spectacle.
We are all a spectacle, entertainment, seen as nothing more than creatures in a trap.
I am a distraction, a prize the ruling council means to display, to use to coerce the merchants into using an alternative trade route.
To pay into their coffers. And dismantle, piece by piece, the power that Skylan holds over the continent.
One of the wither beasts calls to another, a beating sound vibrating in its throat that I can feel echoing through my bones more than I can hear, and they all pause, sniffing the air.
Then one snaps its jaws and they continue stalking.
But, as I watch, one gets trapped, a door closing on it, and it’s stuck in a closed corridor.
That wither beast begins moving back and forth in agitation.
I swallow, watching it, trying to mark where it is, so I can at least avoid that area.
‘Each contender will need to cross the maze and find their way to the exit at the opposite side. They must pass through a tunnel out of the arena in order to complete the Trial. But with a few twists and turns, and even a few treasures along the way, it’s all to play for.
’ My eyes dart to the maze again, scanning for these supposed treasures.
But nothing stands out … Perhaps I need to be in there, searching on the ground, before it becomes apparent.
‘The contenders from Skylan will get a head start for winning the first Trial, and then each territory will follow in the order they placed. We are splitting you up to make it that bit more interesting … What a challenge this will be!’ A wither beast bellows, joined by another, then another, and a shudder runs down my spine.
They sound restless, ready to hunt, and with all of us working alone we’re easy targets for a pack that can communicate with their bellowing roars.
Will they herd us? I wish I knew more about these monsters.
‘Wait for the horn, contenders, and may you bring honour to your country!’
The crowd shrieks as the horn blasts, signalling the beginning of the second Trial.
I lock eyes with Kell across the arena and point to one side, hoping he takes the hint.
When it’s our turn, I take a huge breath, trying to calm the drumming of my heart, and sit on the edge, looking down into the labyrinth of walls and doors below.
It’s a drop of ten feet, easy to twist an ankle if you land badly.
Another test. I lower myself over the edge and down into the maze.
I fall and roll, coming up in a crouch. Blinking quickly, I take in my surroundings, placing a hand on the nearest wall.
It’s tall and smooth, just as it seemed from above, cool to touch as though it is indeed forged metal sheets and, as I feared, twice my height.
Without a grappling hook and rope, there is no way I could climb up and over them.
I begin to walk, keeping my hand on the wall, taking the turns that will lead me towards Kell.
But, as I’m nearing his side of the arena, there’s a creak and a click at my back.
I whip round, finding a doorway has closed.
I hear the crowd roar, but I can’t see what they can see.
Hastening my footsteps, desperate to reach Kell, or to find a weapon, anything I can defend myself with, I round a corner and stutter to a halt.
Blocking my way is a wither beast.
I freeze, stilling every muscle in my body, hoping it only tracks movement, that I may still be able to escape … but then it snorts, eyes locking with mine. And I know it’s too late.
It has me in its sights.