Chapter 31 #2
“And opposing them,” the herald announced, “Lady Cresta of Pomerado and Lord Bernardo de Espola! You will command the crimson home base once we have set up the stations!”
I looked over at the six remaining noble teams. Lady Cresta of Pomerado was already on her feet, her glossy black hair arranged in an architectural masterpiece of braids, her blue-green eyes sharp with calculation.
Beside her, Lord Bernardo de Espola cracked his knuckles one by one, his sun-streaked dark brown curls falling across his forehead as he rose with leisurely grace. I saw the third-year markers on their collars.
The herald left the dais, and his assistants quickly whisked the temporary stage away.
The arena’s transformation began with the tingling sensation of a powerful Earth magic spell being cast nearby. A deep, subterranean groan traveled up through the marble benches and vibrated through my bones and teeth.
As I watched, fascinated, the sand on the arena floor shuddered and fell away as if swallowed by a mouth opening beneath the earth.
Massive slabs of dark stone rose from the revealed floor, each one the size of a merchant’s wagon, bumping and grinding against each other with a sound that set my teeth on edge.
Then I sensed a second powerful spell start, and the slabs slowly levitated. Some rose higher than others, creating gaps between them that widened and narrowed as they hung in mid-air and drifted on an Air spell’s currents.
Some of the floating slabs were large enough to hold four people comfortably.
Others were barely wide enough for a single footstep.
They moved in opposing directions, colliding with percussive cracks that echoed off the curved walls, then rebounding to shear past each other with inches to spare.
The air above the arena floor was now a grinding, heaving maze of stone in constant, violent motion.
Only two slabs remained stable amid the chaos.
Larger than the others, squared off at the edges, they hovered at a fixed height at each end of the oval arena while the other slabs churned above the area’s floor like ice in a thawing river.
Each stable slab bore a levitation sigil glowing on its surface—a different color for each competing team.
These were presumably the home bases.
Beneath the slabs, the arena floor had restored itself to a smooth, sandy surface.
The herald’s voice, even magically amplified, was hard to hear over the roaring and grinding of the stone slabs.
“The rules for the Fracture Arena are as follows! Each competing team is assigned one designated home base platform. The home base will remain stable unless directly destabilized by the opposing team’s spells!”
I watched a slab the size of a dinner table shear past the edge of a home base with enough force to send stone chips flying. My throat went dry as I understood why a larger infirmary tent might be needed today.
“To win the duel, your team must force both members of the opposing team off their home base platform for a full count of ten, or render them unable to defend their position before the fifteen-minute timer expires!”
“Great,” Elio muttered, barely audible over the constant din of clashing stone. “More time for someone to get squashed.”
I felt sick. Mira and Juno were short and slight for their age. It would be so easy for even a smaller slab to crush one or both of them.
The herald continued: “In this round, competitors may wield spells directly against each other, provided those spells are not intended to kill or cause lasting injury! Combat magic is permitted! Defense, offense, and territorial control will all be tested!”
Combat magic. The words dropped into the pit of my stomach and lay there like stones.
Mama and Papa had trained us in healing spells.
As first-year students, we’d learned some of the theory behind combat magic in our Fundamentals class. But combat spells were the curriculum of upper-division classes and the private training offered to aristocratic families who raised their children to serve in the military.
“If neither team prevails at the end of the allotted time, their duel will go into overtime until one team either wins or surrenders. Competitors, take your positions!” the herald’s voice boomed.
Lady Cresta grinned. She and Lord Bernardo both practically danced down the short flight of steps leading to the arena floor. They looked as if they’d been waiting for this moment their entire lives.
My sisters rose from the bench. Juno’s face had gone expressionless, the way it did when she was most afraid. Mira’s hands were clenched at her sides, her knuckles white. Both looked a little green under their sun-kissed olive complexions.
“You can do this,” Elio said in his most encouraging tone. “You’re brilliant and resourceful. Right, Talisa?”
“Good luck and be careful. I know you’ll make us all proud,” I said, my voice cracking.
I hugged each of my sisters and watched them walk, hand in hand, out to their assigned home base.
“They’ll beat Cresta and Bernardo,” Elio predicted confidently.
“They’re only thirteen.” I wrapped my arms around myself. “And they’re facing fourth-years who’ve probably been training for combat since their powers awakened.”
Across the arena, Cresta and Bernardo had reached their home base.
They floated up with the aid of a levitation spell and stepped onto it together.
It didn’t so much as dip under their combined weight.
Bernardo tested the platform’s stability by jumping up and down experimentally, then nodded and turned to survey the grinding chaos around his home base.
My sisters approached their platform from the opposite side of the arena. Together, they raised their hands and cast a levitation charm of their own. Mama had taught it to us as soon as our magic awakened, so that we could reach the top shelves in our family’s apothecary.
They floated up onto their assigned home base, then stood back to back, surveying the grinding, jolting chaos around them with nervous expressions.
The now-familiar floating clock appeared above the arena. 15:00.
The starting bell rang.