12. Chapter Twelve #2
"So ready," I reply, scanning the steadily building crowd.
Soon, the stands will be packed, and the High General, also this year's Trials Master, will get the first one underway.
Dropping my voice to a low whisper, I lean in and ask, "Are you all set for tomorrow?
" We have to be careful what we say with so many people around, but that question would sound innocent enough.
"All packed," Willa confirms, not saying anything else, and I realize it's because three other Shields I vaguely recognize are walking up the steps to join us.
Felix nods with a conspiratorial grin. We'd filled him in on the plan the day after our conversation.
True to form, he was more hesitant than his sister at first. Not that I blame him.
Curiosity at seeing more of Atafye won out in the end.
He's been stockpiling light sticks, crystalline food wraps, and Goddess knows what else he thinks will be useful out there.
Turning to Willa, he asks, "Where's your least favorite brother? I haven't seen Zenn at home for days, and he doesn't seem to be here."
She rolls her eyes and shrugs. "Him and Hendrix left yesterday with the rest of the squad. Something about an urgent mission."
"Nice of him to say goodbye." Felix can't hide the touch of bitterness in his tone. They're not as close as they used to be, and, though he'd probably never admit it, I think it hurts.
"Oh, relax. He didn't tell me either. I only know because I was at the stables when they were riding out," Willa counters, leaning over to steal another drink from the tray balanced precariously on the seat next to him.
"Didn't think he'd want to miss all this," I chime in, gesturing to where their father is about to start the competition.
Felix casually drapes an arm around the back of my seat.
"Yeah, well, that just means more drinks and more women for me.
" He empties his glass in two huge swallows, leaning into me and joking, "Unless you're finally ready to give in to this undeniable pull between us and commemorate the occasion with me, Aly? "
Willa scoffs loudly and mimes being sick while I laugh, nudging him in the ribs with my elbow. "Zero chance of that happening, sunshine. Sadly, it's forbidden, and you know it." My nudge may have been more of a jab, because it's met with a dramatic yelp of pain.
"Damn, can't blame a guy for trying." He huffs with a wry grin.
"Hey, where did you disappear to after the opening feast the other night?
I came looking for you." Not sure he'd like my explanation, given his previous remark, so I'm relieved when a loud horn sounds, drawing our attention to the raised dais at the center of the massive arena below.
The formalities are brief. Teams of mostly twenty-one-year-olds from all three realms enter through the tunnel, and everyone is transfixed by the reveal of the pen of colossal wild boar, their tusks and hooves magically enhanced with help from a few skilled Adaptors.
The point of this first round is for the competing Shields and Endurers to prove they can work together and evade or eliminate the rabid animals while protecting a large section of crops closely resembling ginsenga, with its fluffy red flowers.
It couldn’t be the real plant, since ginsenga is one of the key ingredients in the nutrient supplement and can't be wasted.
Even though only severe malnourishment blocks access to powers, magic is suppressed within the arena for a better spectacle and because Wielders are taught it's dangerous to rely on it too heavily.
The intensity of the action is all-consuming, and the day flies by. Round two involves a fierce game where the three realms prove their strength and agility by fighting over possession of an oval-shaped leather ball, collecting points every time they carry it across enemy lines.
There seems to be a division between the more physical players up front, smashing into the opposition and lifting each other into the air to steal the ball, and the smaller, faster players racing around behind them, looking for opportunities to break through.
I'm in awe of their grace, especially from the powerful women who play with such ferocity and skill.
To the delight of the crowd, there's also a highly amusing moment around the halfway mark, when the adjudicator is trampled after not getting out of the way of the scrum of bodies pushing and shoving in the churned mud.
He limps off the field filthy but mostly unharmed, to a chorus of raucous applause, whistles, and jeers.
The final and most deadly trial arrives, and, as always, it involves testing the mental strength of the competitors to ensure they're fit to attune with an Amplifier.
The ultimate prize, according to the High General.
The sentiment doesn't sit right with me, especially now that I've spoken to Aven and understand how uniquely individual they are.
Nonetheless, everyone who survives this round will have the opportunity to claim their Amp, either here or when they return home.
The individual winner is awarded a thousand gold coins and a private audience with the King and Queen.
And whichever realm has the most players finish is crowned the winner of this year's Trials.
Other than glory and a trophy, the winners are gifted priceless Amplifier foals from the other two kingdoms. Apparently, all this makes the extreme injuries and occasional fatality worth it.
So far, three competitors have been severely injured today, including one from Zel. The sheer physicality of the challenges and the high risk of death are exactly why I never would've had the nerves, or the fitness, to survive this insanity.
An opaque shadowy dome rises around the arena, separating us from the playing field while the General explains how the remaining players will have to race through dark tunnels being revealed by orange Endurer magic pulling back the cover of the subterranean level.
From our elevated position, we see obstacles littered throughout the jumble of pathways, hidden fire pits, tangles of thorny death-grip vines, and bubbles of what appear to be noxious gases, with a nasty-looking, steep stone climbing wall at the end.
An hour in, and it's hard not to be invested.
The thundering noise of the crowd has subdued, as if we're all holding our breath, watching the bruised and battered competitors approach the final ascent.
There's a collective gasp when a man from Teyleoss falls from halfway up, screaming for help when he lands with a resounding crack.
A Zel woman glances down before picking up her speed, eventually dragging herself over the top of the wall to take the victory only a few feet ahead of another competitor.
Cheering erupts as the barrier falls, and she lifts her arms above her head.
The noise and celebrations increase as each person emerges, reaching fever pitch when the final tally is done, and the mostly Zelindian crowd hears that we won.