10. Lazarus
LAZARUS
Lazarus has been sitting alone in their cohort amphitheater for the past forty-five minutes. He didn’t even notice when everyone left for lunch.
To think, they can sit and eat when the Trials start in twenty-one days. Lazarus hasn’t been able to do anything but stress for weeks.
For years, even.
Or maybe for all of his life.
Everything he has ever done was ‘in preparation for the Trials’—that scary, far-away task looming perpetually on the horizon.
The Guardians drilled it into him. He would be the best Auxiliary. He would be the perfect Cohort Leader. He would be the last man standing in the Trials. He would be the next Educator.
He’s achieved two of those things. But now the other two are no longer distant concepts that he can convince himself he’s capable of achieving. Now they’re… well, now.
Suffice it to say, Lazarus hasn’t slept in days.
Because he needs to do this. He was born to do this.
Apollonia, third member of the Council of Kings, chose him from the dozens of newborns in their year and decided that she would make him next in line. Lazarus isn’t quite sure why, and he isn’t sure that he’s grateful for it either, but that doesn’t matter.
Ever since Apollonia pointed to him and declared him the next Educator, most of the Council and lower-level Guardians have invested in his success.
They say he’s going to bring a new era to the Republic. That he’s going to have a slew of advisors to guide him, to help make every decision. That he will be one of the youngest Educators, second only to Lykos, who came into power at nineteen when the previous Educator died young.
All he needs is to finish the Trials on top. Because if he doesn’t, all of the resources put into his success would be wasted. Apollonia would never speak to him again. None of the Guardians would look him in the eye.
And doing that starts here. He’s been briefed on Trial-winning strategies hundreds of times, and one of the most crucial moments is this one: the first cohort meeting.
It’s smartest to keep your cohort together and be the last twenty Auxiliaries at the end of the third Trial. From there, the cohort fights for their number on the Council. The last one standing is the successor of the Educator, the leader of the land.
There is always a clear favorite in every cohort, and that favorite tends to be the winner. Often the cohort respects that person enough to simply cede the position to them.
So step one is to establish his authority and assess his cohort’s weaknesses and strengths to best lead them. In all of the Trials he’s watched, Trial One has been a team challenge—one that depends on cohesion and trust.
That means that he needs his cohort to listen to him.
He sighs aloud. He can’t name a single time they’ve listened to anything he’s ever said.
Lazarus knows what they think of him. They think he’s too serious. Too severe.
They don’t like him.
But they don’t need to like him to respect him. Or at least, to respect his ability to properly bring them a win.
That’s what today is for, then. Showing them that, if they do hear him out, he can take them far.
There’s another problem, though. Lazarus might be the elected leader of the cohort, but he doesn’t lead socially. If his cohort makes it to the end, they might prefer someone else to become the Educator.
Zeno, for example, is universally adored. Nice to a fault and very genuine. Lazarus thinks Zeno would make a good Educator, though he doesn’t think Zeno thinks he would make a good Educator. Hopefully that lack of confidence will work against him.
Alexander is a wild card who’s had Lazarus shaking in his boots since the day he arrived. He is handsome, charismatic, and clearly smarter than he lets on. If he wanted to win the Trials, Lazarus is sure that he could.
But neither presents as terrifying an opponent as Kallias. People might not like him, but he’s unbelievably beautiful and far too intelligent for his own good. Also, well… Everyone knows that Lykos favors him. And what if Lykos’ wishes in terms of his successor affect the outcome of the Trials?
They wouldn’t rig the Trials, though. That’s dishonorable.
Lazarus checks his ring. Two minutes until the meeting.
He locks his knees to stop himself from pacing the room. He needs to seem relaxed.
Oh, today is the first cohort meeting? I had no idea!
When the meeting time arrives, no one has appeared. Thirty seconds pass before ‘relaxed’ turns to frantic hysteria.
He’s so predictable.
So he occupies himself with drawing trackers and charts on the board, and all he can hear for a long while is the scratching of chalk.
When he finally turns around, he finds everyone somehow already in their seats. They stare at him silently, probably disturbed by his complete lack of awareness.
Damn it, Lazarus.
“Hi, everyone.”
No response.
Forms, he’s so dumb. He’s not equipped for this. He’s going to fail. He can’t lead. He can’t even get people to say ‘hi’ to him!
“Hi, Lazarus,” the cohort echoes back to him.
How long was it between his ‘hi’ and everyone else’s? Did he manage to freak out that much in two seconds?
Forms, he has to get his shit together. All together. In a pile. A shit pile.
Deep breath in, deep breath out.
Shit pile.
“Okay, so. Obviously we don’t have the Trial theme yet, which means there’s no saying what’s coming in three weeks. But, for now, we’ve been granted the opportunity to discuss the Trials in an official capacity as a team.
“I know that people often form their own outer-cohort alliances, but I urge you to stay loyal to your peers in this room. We have the best chance of moving on if we stick together.”
He sounds so formal. Definitely not likeable. But didn’t he decide that he wasn’t capable of being likeable?
“Today is the time to lay down the groundwork for a powerful team before the Trials begin. So, I’ve split the meeting into three different sections.
First, hypothesizing possible challenges for the first Trial.
Second, composing a chart of our individual strengths and weaknesses so that we can compensate for each other.
Third, evaluating possible pairings for Trial Two, the duo challenge.
The Guardians usually pick someone they know we have a rapport with, but we should all be comfortable working with each other one-on-one. Any questions?”
Kleitos’ hand shoots up, and Lazarus is definitely in for it, isn’t he?
“Who says you’re the boss? You just, what, showed up early and decided that you’re the leader?”
Lazarus’ mouth opens, but no sound comes out because what is he meant to say to that?
“We elected him,” Zeno replies for him. “Seven years ago, I think.”
“Yeah, when we were fifteen,” Kleitos spits. “That doesn’t mean he can strut around like a peacock running the show.”
This time support comes from an unlikely corner. “This morning, Lykos said that the meetings would be run by the Cohort Leaders. As I understand, Lazarus is our Cohort Leader. In fact, he won everyone’s vote except for your own, which went to yourself,” Kallias drawls from the back of the room.
Kleitos whips around in his chair violently and glares at Kallias, touching a bandage on his nose that Lazarus hasn’t noticed until now.
“You done?” Lazarus asks, trying to sound confident and sarcastic.
Kleitos shifts his gaze from Kallias to him, but doesn’t fire back.
“Great,” Lazarus says. “Let’s get started, then. I’ve watched every televised Trial I could get access to, and here’s what I’ve gathered so far…”