10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Kya
T he Worthy of each Nation lined the inside perimeter of the temple along the marble walls.
Each was identically cloaked in dark ceremonial robes so no one could tell them apart.
If I were chosen, I would be challenging one of them.
And thank the Gods that they couldn’t use abilities or magic during the engagement.
While some wouldn’t have been so difficult to battle against, most had terrifying power that seemed impossible to win against.
Jymar, the Lord of Gaol, had the ability to negate our natural elemental abilities if close enough.
Zana, Lady of Dusan, was an empath who could use others’ emotions against them, and it was rumored that she could breathe under water.
Dainos, Lord of Torx, could manipulate sound—matching the frequency of an object in order to obliterate it.
Hamal, Lord of Ulrik, could replicate himself, so instead of fighting one of him, you fought several.
And then there was Ryker, Lord of Oryn, who had shadows that could kill a person without him so much as moving.
As I stood amongst the contestants, I wondered which would be challenging the Worthy. Which would walk away with their unmarked lives. Which wouldn’t return .
At one end of the temple, the Sages were gathered upon the dais, spanning the length of one whole side, looming over the contestants.
Nineteen contestants were gathered in the large expanse.
Significantly less than the last century.
Though there was no way of knowing just how many were born with the mark between each Trial or even if it were a consistent amount.
So either there were considerably less fae born with the mark, or a vast amount of them had been killed since the last Trial.
Anyone who was past the Staying age of twenty and who bore the mark was forced to enter the next Trial.
The ages of the contestants could vary anywhere from one hundred and twenty to twenty years old.
Since they had all passed their Staying age, it was impossible to tell their true age.
The older contestants would be a more formidable threat, as some could have had a century or more to train.
I would have liked to have that bit of information as I glanced around at the other Marked around me—which ones were the biggest threat.
I was jolted from my thoughts as the large marble doors behind me slammed shut, and I heard the latching of a bolt lock.
My heart pounded in my chest so violently I was certain others could hear it.
Sweat licked my brow and my palms felt clammy.
I had a feeling that the other contestants were thinking the same thing I was, as their faces paled.
This is it. No turning back now. Survive or die.
I squeezed my eyes shut and inhaled deeply through my nose. The scent of dread was thick in the large expanse of the temple, wafting off of all of us.
I can do this. I can do this. I CAN do this . I have no choice…
Initiation into the Trial had begun. No one was allowed in and no one was allowed out. Immediately after they closed, muffled banging came from the doors then abruptly stopped moments later.
Likely a late contestant.
We were to be inside of the temple at the exact time that the sun was highest in the sky. Any marked contestant who didn’t make it was dead in seconds, their own markings consuming them.
The Sages were huddled in a circle, and began their ritual—a low recitative chant. The unison of their voices filled the temple. It felt ghoulish and transcendent all at once.
No one dared to breathe a word or even make the slightest sound as the Sages called upon the Spirits.
They spoke in the ancient words of the Gods.
The foreboding created a wave of unease that swept across the room as the temple darkened and became so cold that I could see my breath clouding in front of me.
The tension in the air was like a thread pulled, so tight I thought it would snap at any moment.
Keeping my head facing forward, I trained my eyes on the other contestants, trying to get a read on them. While faint, I could feel each of them through the marble floor. The vibrations of rapid heartbeats, the shaking, the tremors.
And something else.
Moving only my eyes, I looked around the room and tried to examine each face that I could see. Someone was excited . I could feel the electricity thrumming from them, though it was muffled, and I couldn’t place who it was coming from. Then it just…stopped.
I shook my head slightly, brushing off that eerie feeling, and resumed studying the males and females around me.
While differing physical features played no role in discerning their nationality, their cultural appearance did.
I tried to get a read on a few of the others, sizing up who could possibly be a threat.
Out of the nineteen contestants, including myself, there were twelve males and seven females.
Some had the half-shaved heads representative of Ulrik, while others had the intricate designs inked onto their skin like those of Oryn, the clean and pristine look of Dusan, the long dreadlocks and muscular bodies of Torx, or the pierced faces of Gaol.
I couldn’t help but notice that no one had donned the painted face and feathers braided into the hair like those of Atara—myself included, not having gone through the citizen initiation after my Staying age, I hadn’t earned that honor.
Then, my spine straightened and the hairs on the back of my neck stood.
Someone is watching me .
Which wouldn’t be surprising, as I was doing the same, but it felt…different. It didn’t feel like eyes were skimming over me, but solely trained on me. I glanced around, careful not to turn my head too much to make it noticeable, but no one was being obvious in their stare.
I scanned the contestants and the Sages.
Then the hooded Lords and Ladies, moving only my eyes while my body was as still as the stone beneath me.
Their faces were concealed in shadow, heads all bowed slightly.
Almost directly to my left, I thought I saw a flash of silver from underneath one of the hoods. It was gone in an instant.
As the Sages finished their recitation, the magic in the air became thick.
In the blink of an eye, the braziers lining the walls filled with a dark red flame.
All of our heads bent in submission to the Spirits’ emergence.
A loud groan sounded as the walls behind the dais began to part, the grating of stone against stone.
A harsh, whispering wind entered the temple through the opening wall, carrying a foul scent and made the loose strands of my hair sway around my face.
Then just as quickly as it started, the grinding came to a halt, leaving one side of the temple open.
After a few moments of silence, the Sages turned to face us, their expressions blank. A Sage with gold rope around his waist stepped forward.
“The Spirits have spoken.” His thunderous voice cut through the silence as he motioned to the tables lined with small glass vials at the bottom of the dias.
“While in the past, contestants were to drink the elixir to gain access to the Woltawa Forest, they have chosen another passage. This shall be your first task. A Test of Loyalty to the Gods. If your heart is truly loyal, you’ll pass, if not, you’ll fall to your death in the depths of Odes’s grave.
” His voice, cold and hard, rang through the temple.
He paused momentarily. The contestants around me shared a look of concern, uncertainty and distress written on their faces.
“Submit yourself to the Rip.” His deep voice boomed across the temple with a firmness that left no room for question.
My breathing hitched, and my heart stopped for a beat. The scent of fear seeped into the room from the contestants. No one knew what was at the bottom of the Rip. Any fae who ventured inside never returned.
What did they expect us to do? Willingly fall into the chasm? Of course they did. It was blind faith. A willingness to die at the command of the Gods.
All at once, we stepped forward, making our way up the dais.
The sounds of heavy boots scuffing against stone echoed off the walls of the temple.
Standing where the walls parted, we all stopped at the edge of the Rip, so wide that I couldn’t see the other side, and glanced down into the abyss.
Wind ripped through the air and I widened my stance for balance.
A darkness so absolute that it felt as if light could not escape filled the void to unknown depths.
Dark mists swirled around just below the edge of the cliff.
The air around it was stark, cold, stale, and devoid of all life.
Only those who had little care for their own life would dare to venture this close to the Rip. One slip and you were never seen again.
In the past, either out of curiosity or stupidity, several had tried entering with ropes to rappel into it or climb down using long thin axes that hooked into crevices of the rock.
Anyone who entered the mists never returned—either having silently fallen to their death or something else.
Some, driven by their curiosity but not courageous enough to venture inside the chasm, braved its ragged edges and threw their magic inside to try to clear the mists.
But it was soon discovered that the mists seem to devour magic.
Like a starved beast, it craved more and pulled the magic from its wielder.
One such case that I came upon, while studying about the Rip during my free time in the Morah library, the wielder wasn’t strong enough to stop the mists from pulling his magic until it ultimately pulled him in with it.
One of the contestants, a female with more than a dozen piercings on her face, stepped closer to the Rip.