Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
NICOLE
This sucks.
It sucks for me, but it also sucks for them, the competitors. There are so many of them here, a sea of hopeful faces and tense bodies, each one vying for attention, for validation, for something that will make this whole ordeal worthwhile.
The silver car I'm sitting in hovers smoothly above the road, the landscape blurring past us in golds and browns. It's climate controlled so I'm finally comfortable, and the seats are so butter soft I sink into them.
But behind me a sea of clones sprint as hard as they can to keep up. It’s so alien, all of them so focused, so determined. So desperate, as if with every step, they’re trying to get our attention.
I glance at Shara next to me in the car, calm and poised. Ellen, Arabella, and Laura said she was unsettling but good-ish, whatever that means. Arabella described her as ”chaotic neutral.” Blood Feather sniffed her and then settled into her lap as if he’s more cat than horse.
“What does this competition consist of?” I ask. Ellen told me, but I want to confirm these new mating games are the same.
Shara doesn’t look at me, her eyes on Blood Feather as she strokes his mane. “It starts with physical challenges.”
“Such as?”
“They’re set by the women, so they change every season, but it's usually running, swimming, and climbing the cliffs.”
I swallow hard, my gaze darting back to the clones. “How many will get hurt? What about fatalities?”
Shara chuckles, as if I’ve said something endearing. “Oh, no fatalities. Injuries are to be expected, of course, but I’ve got volunteer Selthiastocks ready to handle that.”
Her confidence settles my churning gut. Phew. “Then what happens?”
“Interviews tomorrow. It allows females to sample how the males perform across both physical and emotional markers.”
I glance behind us again and catch sight of a surge of clones breaking free from the pack, their bodies straining to catch up to the rear of our car. They’re pushing themselves harder now, sprinting faster despite the exhaustion etched into their faces.
Shara smiles at them, a satisfied expression. “We have so many competing in the first-ever clone games, all to win the females’ attention. We’ll have to compress the interviews somehow.”
I shift in my seat. These games are supposed to be a celebration of courtship, but feel like a big exam with no guarantee of a good result at the end.
The car glides across a sparkling lake, and the clones dive into the water behind us to follow, their heads bobbing up before they start swimming furiously.
We zoom ahead, alighting in a jungle oasis surrounded by towering mountains.
Individual palanquins fan out as if to meet us, and as we get closer, I see a shadowy figure in each one.
Given that there’s a sea of scaled shirtless Olorians attending them, I guess these are the women.
“Here we are, the site of the games.” Shara opens the door, and a group of males rushes to help her out of the car, scales shimmering with silver dust.
She takes their hands with a gracious smile, but when they turn to me, I shake my head and climb out on my own.
The jungle is alive with excited chatter, the air buzzing with the voices of women discussing the clones who will be arriving soon.
It’s like a fashionista party, all the see-through fabric intricately woven over taut stomachs, and their scales shimmer a holographic rainbow.
They’re animated, their enthusiasm contagious, but I can’t shake the knot in my stomach.
The first of the males emerges from the lake, body dripping, muscles gleaming in the sunlight. Other clones follow soon after. They’re already pushing themselves to their limits, and we haven’t even begun.
A voice rings out, silencing the crowd. A redheaded woman with her robes artfully just about covering her nipples steps forward.
“The first challenge is a circuit around the oasis. You will demonstrate your physical capabilities, showing off your stamina, determination and fitness. You have already proven your swimming abilities, and now you will show us your intention to get and keep a mate by running around the perimeter of the jungle before climbing our tallest tower.” She gestures to the gleaming skyscraper jutting out of the center of the jungle like a knife.
She continues, “The first thirty percent will win the advantage of being asked three questions tomorrow. The next thirty percent will be awarded two questions, and the final thirty will only get to answer one question.”
Determination ripples through the clones, jaws setting, fists balling, shoulders tensing. They glare at the sheer building confronting them.
“I thought you said there’d be no fatalities,” I hiss at Shara.
“There won’t be. There are ropes for them to use.”
“And they’re tied on?”
She raises an eyebrow at me. “Any one of the clones can hold onto a rope for multiple human hours. They’re strong, Nic-coal. They won’t fail.”
The clones are still catching their breath from the initial sprint, but there’s no time for rest. My heart sinks. This is just the beginning and, in the heat and all the pressure surrounding them, these tests must be grueling.
But as soon as the klaxon sounds, they throw themselves into the challenge.
I watch clone after clone stream by us, pushing themselves to the limit, and it’s impossible not to feel a pang of sympathy for the ones at the back.
They all so desperately want a mate, someone to call their own, someone to love them.
And man do I get it. Wrapping my fingers around Blood Feather, I fight back a surge of tears. I’m not going to cry. I’m not.
“So, is it just the two days of tests?” I ask Shara as she leads me into a gathering of beautifully dressed females.
Flowing fabrics and intricate embroidery catch the sunlight like liquid jewels.
The women here look like they belong to a different planet again, one far removed from the grit of the chase happening right next to them.
Shara glances at me. “Three days. Today is physical, the next is to show personalities. The final test is one that’s enjoyable for the females as well. Our primal instincts favor males who fight and win for us and, despite all our advancements, we can’t completely tame this deep desire.”
I tilt my head, considering her words. That’s not so different from humans, really. No matter how much we convince ourselves that courtship is about connection and personality, there’s always that spark of something primal, something older than reason.
“What’s the final test?” I ask, my thoughts flickering to Ellen’s story.
She mentioned being captured and stuck in some kind of tube for Ilia to rescue her in a dangerous jungle.
It sounded inconvenient at best, maybe even a little scary.
But I have no doubt the poor clones chasing me would throw themselves into danger for a chance to shine.
Shara’s lips curve into a knowing smile. “The jungle trial, harking back to our beginnings,” she says. “There’s always an element of mild peril for the females who wish to participate.”
“Mild peril?”
“Just enough to heighten the stakes,” she replies. “It’s rather thrilling. Even people who don’t want to participate in the games watch the final day. For the females here, it’s a chance to see which males can rise to the occasion.”
I nod slowly, my eyes drifting to the jungle. I haven’t spotted any clones climbing the skyscraper yet, but they’d probably consider it an honor to save one of the women here, to stand out even for a moment.
Another woman asks, “Will you want to find a mate here, Nicole?”
The question hits me like a punch to the chest. Some look at me like I hung the stars in the skies.
“No,” I say, forcing the word out. My voice is steady, but it feels like a betrayal of all the effort poured into catching my attention. “I’m not looking for a mate.”
Shara studies me, her gaze curious but not probing. “I see.”
I force myself to smile, but inside, I’m hollow.
How many of them are hoping? How many have already set their sights on me, hoping to win my favor?
It’s uncomfortable, and I keep my gaze bouncing around, not wanting to linger on any one face for too long.
But despite myself, I can’t help scanning them, searching for a particular figure, a particular face.
And then I see him.
It’s just a fleeting moment, a shared glance in the chaos of the competition. His eyes meet mine, and there’s something in the way he looks at me, an intensity that makes my breath hitch. It’s him.
Arture.
What’s he doing out there? Is he part of the mating games?
My heart lurches in my chest as I stand frozen, watching him disappear into the crowd of competitors. He’s here, and I don’t know if that makes things better or worse.
“Come,” Shara says, linking arms with me. “Let’s go inside, out of the heat.” And she and the other women head for the glittering skyscraper the clones will be climbing.
ARTURE
There she is, standing small beside the other women, her arms folded protectively over Blood Feather, her eyes distant. She looks… lost. Vulnerable. It makes my hearts ache in a way that’s entirely unbearable.
“I’m coming,” I shout to her, but she'll never hear me over the mass of desperate clones, their running feet stamping. I’ve got to get to her, not compete in these stupid games, but she’s part of them now.
I surge forward, shoving past the wall of competitors, each clone more determined than the last. The crowd presses back against me, a chaotic swarm of bodies pushing, blocking, jostling for position.
My Gerverstock strength keeps me upright, but it’s a struggle to move forward and each step feels like dragging myself through quicksand.
I glance up again, desperate for another glimpse of her, but she’s gone. The women have disappeared inside the compound, swallowed by towering walls and endless windows.