Chapter 29 #2
Earth was the element of stability, of patience, of things that endured. Drawing on it had always been like drawing up a handful of dense, wet clay and shaping it on a potter’s wheel, the magic flowing through my hands with weight and certainty.
This was like reaching through mud. Thick, sticky mud that clung to my fingers and refused to hold its shape.
I squeezed sluggish gobs of power through the sigil sequence Dante had recommended. The guardian’s left arm twitched, a jerky, spasmodic movement like a sleeper disturbed by a bad dream. Then nothing.
Had the Trials’ organizers somehow blocked our full access to elemental powers?
Next to me, Elio was having even worse luck.
His guardian lurched violently to one side the moment his spell sequence completed. One massive stone foot dragged through the sand, carving a ragged trench, and the entire statue listed at an angle that made my heart stutter. For one terrible second, I thought it was going to topple.
Elio invoked an Air spell and caught it. Somehow. His hands were shaking visibly with effort, the blue-white shimmer of his Air spell sputtering and flaring as he fought to keep the guardian upright. The statue straightened, wobbled, and settled into a stance that looked stable.
“Smooth,” he muttered, and I heard the strain in his voice.
I turned back to my guardian. Come on. Move!
I channeled more Earth power, pouring more power into the directional rune. The guardian’s arm lifted—slowly, grudgingly, as if the stone itself were reluctant to obey.
Then I saw Theron del Mar raise his hand like a man beckoning a servant. He snapped his fingers.
One of the opposing guardians came alive.
And not with the grudging, partial response Elio and I had managed thus far.
No, Theron’s guardian moved forward with the fluid, crushing certainty of a landslide. Its stone feet hit the sand with ponderous but rapid steps, its sigils blazing a fierce red.
It was coming straight for us.
Lyra watched us with the mild interest of someone observing an experiment whose outcome was already known. Her own guardian remained frozen in place, as if she were holding it in reserve.
“Talisa—” Elio began.
I didn’t hear the rest. I was too busy throwing everything I had into the spell that should have sent my guardian forward to meet the advancing threat.
My statue took a single, creaking step forward. Then it raised its shield arm in a gesture that might, generously, have been interpreted as defensive.
The opposing guardian reached us in three more strides.
I had time to see Theron’s smirk, the lazy confidence in his posture as he directed his statue with casual flicks of his fingers.
Then the opposing guardian’s cudgel connected with my statue’s chest.
The impact traveled up the connection between me and the guardian like a physical blow. I felt it in my sternum, a jolt that drove the air from my lungs and sent me staggering back a step. Elio caught my elbow, his fingers digging into my arm as he kept me upright.
Cracks raced across my guardian’s torso, deep, jagged fractures that rapidly spread from the point of impact. The statue groaned, a deep, bass sound that vibrated through the sand and up through the soles of my shoes.
For one suspended moment, nothing happened. My guardian stood with its shield arm raised, its blank stone face expressionless, the cracks mapping its torso in a web of failure.
Then its arm fell, shearing away at the shoulder with a sound like a tree splitting.
Its torso sagged, fragments of pale marble sliding inward as the structural integrity gave way.
Then the legs buckled, and the guardian crashed down into a heap of splintered rock on the arena floor, raising a blinding cloud of dust.
I heard a collective gasp of horror from the commoner sections of the amphitheater. It was followed by derisive laughter from the nobles’ benches, accompanied by shouts and catcalls.
“Didn’t even last two minutes!”
The clock above the arena read 8:17.
We had eight minutes and seventeen seconds left to disable both of our opponents’ guardians while keeping our one remaining statue functional.
The same statue that was currently resisting Elio’s commands to make it move.
I turned to look at him.
His face was bone-white. Sweat beaded along his hairline despite the cold, and his chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. His hands were shaking.
His frustration and rage flooded through our new connection, as if a door between us had been left ajar and a draft was carrying his emotions straight into my chest.
His anger tasted metallic on the back of my tongue. His desperation pressed against the inside of my skull, making it hard to concentrate.
“It’s not listening to me!” Elio said. “Talisa, something’s wrong… just like yesterday. If you can’t do your thing again, we’re—”
He stopped.
But I knew what he’d been about to say. We’re going to lose.
Theron’s guardian turned on its heel and strode back to stand in its original position.
Why didn’t he destroy Elio’s guardian, too?
I saw Lyra say something to Theron, her hand resting lightly on his arm, her smile sharp enough now to cut glass. He bowed theatrically to her, and she curtsied in return.
The spectators loved it.
Overhead, the clock continued to tick down. 7:59. 7:58. 7:57.
Elio’s anger and desperation pulsed inside me like a second heartbeat as he continued to pour more power into the Earth spell holding our remaining guardian upright.
We can’t out-muscle this.
But there had to be another way. There had to be.
I watched Lyra laugh and raise her arms alongside Theron. Both opposing guardians stirred to life at the same time and slowly advanced on us, one crushing step at a time.
They were behaving as if their victory was inevitable, and playing to the crowd of their cheering, clapping peers in the aristocratic seats.
Once their guardians reached our remaining statue, it would end the same way the first one had. In rubble.
Seven minutes and forty seconds left.
Think, Talisa. Think.