11 #2
I look back to see two contestants enter the bridge. Both chariots are damaged, but the closest is worse. It limps with a wheel barely hanging onto the axel; the other driver struggles but can’t maneuver past it.
A mountainous hand swipes the limping chariot off the bridge.
The troll raises his hand and slams it into the center of one of the bridge’s arches, a huge section breaking away and falling into the gorge. The contender is forced to turn back toward the salt flats. He’ll be abandoned if he can’t find a way to the finish line.
In a rage, the troll breaks another massive arch, this one just behind us. Too close.
“Get us off this thing!” Niall shouts to August.
At the bridge’s end, I see the glowing finish line.
Niall shrieks and I brace for impact as the troll’s hand swipes toward us. August snaps the reins, driving the warhorses through the portal full stride.
We race onto the sandy floor of a massive arena. August pulls the reins hard, teeth gritted and muscles straining. We narrowly avoid one of the other chariots before the warhorses canter sideways and stop. Niall, Koda, and I cling to the chariot’s sides so we aren’t dumped out and trampled.
Our stallions rear, one after the other, before settling back down. Niall helps Koda down and offers me a hand. My prosthesis is stuck in a partial bend. I accept his hand and watch as August steps down from the chariot.
The four of us stand amid our peers, squinting against the sun burning high and bright in the cloudless sky. Warmth stings our frozen skin. Water drips and sluices off us. And the crowd… the crowd in the colosseum roars.
Fists pump in the air. Flags are waved – black for Niall, lavender for the championed girl, and white – so many white flags – for the unchampioned.
My memory flashes back to a battlefield with a large white flag waving far in the distance. It should have stopped the fighting…
I blink, reeling in my thoughts and emotions.
The mortals shout to us, for us. Their words bleed together, indistinguishable.
The other contenders arrive in groups and one on horseback alone.
The spear is cold and heavy in my hand. Are we expected to fight one another for their enjoyment after what we just survived?
Dionysus pours glasses of wine for the divine, who mingle and feast in a lavish box on the shaded side of the arena. Eventually, Hermes flies down from the comfort of their secluded luxury and lands on the sand with a bemused smile and a golden laurel crown on his forearm.
Does this mean it’s over?
A hush falls over the crowd.
“Well done, mortals. Most of you managed to survive the first trial, earning another opportunity to prove you are this generation’s next great hero. Those who fell have proven to be undeserving of the epithet.”
Callous divine bastard.
The people who died today weren’t cowards, and one contender is still alive in that forsaken realm, unable to cross the broken bridge. Stuck with the troll. In the bone-chilling rain. But the gods don’t care about him. They’ve already forgotten he exists.
The messenger takes the flaxen wreath off his arm and strides across the sand to place it on the head of the contender who won the race, and therefore, the first trial. The gray-haired, middle-aged man with the thick glasses August was talking with last night won.
“A racer was left behind, Hermes, but he’s still alive. Will you not show him mercy?” Koda bravely asks from beside me.
Hermes’s head ticks back. “Mercy? What mercy should we give him that we didn’t afford you?”
Koda isn’t worried about what’s fair. He’s worried about the man. And beyond Koda’s compassion, there are rules to consider. What if one of us hadn’t made it?
“If he can make it back here, will he be allowed to continue in the trials?” I blurt.
Hermes’s eyes find mine. “Of course. The portal at the finish will be active until the next trial begins. If he crosses through it before then, he’ll be able to compete in it.
” He glances around at each of us, sodden and still thawing, muscles burning and sore.
“If you claimed a weapon today, it would be wise of you to bring it to the second trial. If you didn’t, it would be in your best interest to procure one. ”
“How?” the championed girl in lavender asks. Her hands are empty.
He shrugs his shoulders. “Do what you must, or risk going without.”
I look around. Only a handful of us carried gold back from the salt, and we all need it. What will some of them do to get it?
“Finishers will be celebrated with a banquet at sundown in the temple,” he informs us, and then waves a hand over the ground. A staircase appears in the colosseum’s sandy floor. At its bottom, a portal glows.
I wait while the other contestants slowly drain back to the island prison, gripping my spear tightly.
Niall helps Koda down one stair at a time, and August waits with me.
As the audience flows in currents to and out of the arena’s exits, the noise drains away with them.
I’m about to take the steps when a familiar voice shouts my name. “Callalie! Callalie Ryan!”
Whirling toward the sound, I find Cillian standing on the bottom row of seats, hands cupped around his mouth.
He waves wildly. I start running on my busted prosthesis and my brother leaps over the wall and lands in the dirt.
He runs to meet me, hugging me tightly. Only a handful of hours have passed since he foolishly crossed to the island with the help of his friend.
But after today, those hours hold the weight of years.
“Our master brought all of us,” he explains before I can ask. “All of Olympus was invited.” He flicks one of the sodden feathers that’s dripping and limp like the hair it’s tied into. “We cheered for you.”
There are two telecasters, one mounted on either side of the arena. Hermes isn’t using either of them.
Cillian tracks my eyes. “The gods made the entire floor a telecaster.”
My thoughts dart toward our grandmother. “How’s Abuela?”
“She refused to go visit anyone today,” he cryptically reveals.
Meaning she was too stubborn to leave home. She’s probably worried sick. “Go check on her. She’ll be a nervous wreck.”
“I have the rest of the day off. I’ll go straight to the portal,” he assures me. And then my baby brother beams a smile. “I knew you could do it.”
“I didn’t win,” I remind him. In fact, our chariot arrived last.
His smile matches our father’s. “Are you sure about that? People wrote your name on their flags. They chanted it from the bottom row to the top.”
I wave him off. “Not just mine.”
“Doesn’t matter. Some of them love you and want to see you wear the laurel.
And that’s enough.” His master, along with the other apprentices in his employ, are waiting for him in the stands.
He waves for Cillian to come along, so my brother gives me one last hug.
“We’ll be watching tonight, too!” Cillian calls over his shoulder as he jogs back to his responsibility.
I stop him with a yell. “Cill?”
He turns to see what I want.
“Did you return the robes?” Please tell me he trusted me.
His smile fades. “I did.”
I quirk a brow. “Unmended?”
He nods. “Unmended.”