14. Lazarus
LAZARUS
Lazarus is shaking. He can’t make it stop.
The first Trial is in three days, which means he has three days before his goals either come to fruition or are cut off at the root.
He’s not sure he’ll be able to stop himself from flinging his body off the cliff if he fails.
Three days means something else, too. Three days before the Trial is when the theme is released.
So, in just under an hour, he will become even crazier than he already is, piecing together and pulling apart some cryptic clue.
He tries to revel in the comparative calm, but he’s too anxious to let himself settle.
Lunch came and went without him, and now he stands at the chalkboard, remaining alert so he doesn’t miss everyone entering like in the first meeting.
But then he blinks and there they all are, sitting in front of him.
“Hello, Lazarus,” they say together in an unsettling monotone.
He’s losing time, he’s panicking, he’s going insane.
Except when he blinks again, they’re gone. There are still ten minutes until the meeting, and twenty minutes before the theme is announced.
Did he just hallucinate? Is that who he is now: a crazy person who hallucinates? He can’t be a leader. He can’t even think straight. He can’t feel his hands. He can’t breathe.
He barely registers when Zeno enters, unaccompanied by his usual crew.
When Zeno sees him, he does a double-take, walks right over, and holds both sides of Lazarus’ head.
Zeno is going to kill him. Bash his skull against the desk and become Cohort Leader himself.
Is it bad that all Lazarus can feel is relief?
“Lazarus,” Zeno says. “You are going to be okay.”
Oh.
“You need to breathe. You need to remember that you are going to be okay.”
“Why are you helping me?” Lazarus whispers.
“Because you’re my friend,” Zeno responds, like it’s obvious.
Zeno might be the only person in the world who has ever said that to him.
“You have five minutes before everyone else walks in. For those five minutes, you are going to breathe with me, okay?”
Right. Breathing.
“Okay.”
So he breathes.
The five minutes pass quickly, but he feels more grounded than before. He can greet his peers individually as they take their seats. He can answer their questions and ask about their days. And then he can get started.
“In ten minutes,” he begins, reciting the speech he’s been practicing in the bathroom mirror for days, “we are going to be granted the theme of the first Trial. The theme is not going to tell us what the task is, but it will offer a significant hint. The Educator will only announce it once, so everyone take it down in your books and I’ll do the same on the board. ”
He quickly adds, “For now, feel free to chat,” to endear himself to them.
During the designated chatting time, Alexander and Kallias rush into the room late. They have circles under their eyes, like they haven’t slept properly in days.
Maybe they’re as stressed as he is.
The intercom buzzes.
Everything goes silent.
“Auxiliaries,” the Educator says over the room’s slightly muffled speaker.
Lazarus scrambles for a piece of chalk. “I will be brief. Your clue for the first Trial is: Only through light can darkness truly be revealed. Only through wisdom can one see their own ignorance. Only those who have left the cave can understand the simplicity of life inside it.”
He clears his throat. “May the Forms grant you wisdom in Justice.”
“The Allegory of the Cave,” Alexander blurts immediately.
Kleitos scoffs. “Well done, Captain Obvious.”
“That is definitely what the clue was referencing,” Lazarus says, ignoring Kleitos. Then, trying his best to sound encouraging, he adds, “Nice work, Alexander.”
Theokleia—the outgoing, whip-smart girl who sits in the front—raises her hand next.
“It’s clear the Allegory is what the last sentence was pointing to, but the other two are broader,” she says.
“Obviously they’re related to it—all anyone can see are their own shadows, chained in the cave, until one person leaves and finds that there is a world outside in the sun, but when he goes back in he can’t see in the relative darkness—but the assumption is that we already know that.
So they must be included for a different reason.
The words chosen must be hinting toward the task specifically. ”
“Smart. So should we split into three groups and each analyze one of the sentences?”
Kleitos opens his mouth, probably to disagree, but Theokleia and Zeno both cut him off.
“Sounds great.”
“Good idea.”
Lazarus can’t help but be proud.
Shaking out of his skin with anxiety, but still proud.
Maybe this won’t be a nightmare after all.
This is a nightmare.
His group consists of himself, Kleitos, Kallias, Alexander, Zeno, Theokleia, and Eudoxos.
Kleitos keeps picking fights with a yawning Alexander, who won’t stop staring at Kallias, who won’t stop stealing glances at Alexander when he thinks no one is looking.
And those three aren’t even the worst of it. No, the most infuriating thing is that Zeno and Eudoxos will not stop flirting.
His anxiety has been overridden by sheer annoyance that they haven’t done anything about their obvious sexual tension yet.
For the first time in his life, he wants to yell, “Please, Forms, just sleep together.”
But that would be unprofessional.
So he lets them keep flirting. At least they’re flirting on topic, discussing possible meanings for the hint.
When Lazarus adjourns the meeting, they are no closer to a solution.
He’s sure it lies in the first two sentences, like Theokleia said. He just needs to figure out how.
He can’t wait to stay awake for the next three days thinking about it, then for the rest of his life, thinking about all of the thinking he did wrong in the three days he spent thinking about it.
Yippee.