“I said, look at me!” His voice cuts through the silence like fingernails being dragged along a blackboard. It’s a persistent screech, shrill and high-pitched, scraping the edges of my mind until it’s unbearable.
Taron’s command compels me, and I can’t fight it. My head swivels to look at him, tears welling in my eyes. It’s not Taron.
It’s Elara. Her face is ashen, her cheeks hollow. And her eyes, so black, are swimming with shadows.
She opens her mouth to speak, but her jaw cracks open with a sickening snap. It hangs crooked and slack, an empty gape from which no words, only a hollow, echoing rattle, can escape…
“You killed me.”
The hammering sound of my alarm jerks me awake. I catch the clock before it vaults off the edge of my bedside table, and I hold it for a moment, letting it ring for a few more seconds as I always do to make sure Elara wakes up.
Then I realize there’s no need.
I silence the clock and sit up in bed. My sheets are drenched. There’s an ache in my throat, like a scream that’s burrowed itself deep within. I tear myself out of bed and throw open the curtains. It’s still dark out, but not for long.
Scanning my wardrobe, my options are sparse. There’s also not much that screamscompetitor-in-a-deadly-tournament, so I dress myself in the least grubby thing I own. A plain blue tea dress that used to belong to my mum, a grey hooded shawl and the crescent-moon necklace Elara gave me for my last birthday.
I pause on the landing. Elara’s bedroom door is ajar. It reminds me too much of my dream, and I don’t want to relive the horror, so I quickly descend the stairs.
In the kitchen, I check for any sign of the Soul Wraith. The space is quiet, eerily so. It no longer smells of vanilla and sugar, only of old wooden furniture and wet rags.
Madame Vera’s note on the table makes me pause. I read it once over to ingrain the threat, then loop the rucksack over my shoulders and slam the front door behind me.
Outside, the crisp air makes me shiver as I hurry through the valley. The southern edge of Auxin Forest is quite a walk away, so, as usual, I’m late.
Morning already threatens to break with a hesitant glow, the sun’s rays splintering across the horizon as if shying away from the brilliance of the three moons.
My steps are cautious as I enter the forest, navigating towards the point where the waterways of Stellargrove and Moondance Haven meet.
The forest is a different kind of silent this morning. All around me, trees stretch in a gnarled dance, their leaves hesitant to stir. Every fibre of my being is telling me to turn around, accept my guilt in all of this, report Madame Vera and let the Principal Guard take care of things. My heart, on the other hand, is driving me forward, fuelled by the desperate hope of reclaiming my sister.
The crunch of a fresh apple under my boot reminds me that I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. I look up at the sky. It’s lightening faster now, the three moons already fading.He’ll just have to waitfor me.
I climb up into the fork of a tree and reach up to pluck three apples from its outstretched branches. Two land in my bag, and I force myself to eat the third. I’ll need the energy, I tell myself.
The Reckoning isn’t just about physical strength, and what I lack in brawn compared to other competitors, I intend to make up for with my wits.
It’s then that I see two figures in a nearby clearing. Taron and the burly man. They’re standing by the side of the waterway where a small jetty juts out of the shrubbery, marking a stop on the route. To their left, another waterwayforks into the original one, leading from the neighbouring village, Moondance Haven.
Taron is looking more civilized today – or wearing a shirt, at least. It’s a white button-up number, tucked into brown trousers, paired with a brown leather jacket that squares at his shoulders. It’s clearly made from Lorthen hide, the same as our rucksacks.
Summoning a deep breath, I push through the low-hanging branches that separate me from the men. Their heads pivot at the sound of my approach.
I lock eyes with Taron, then he turns away.
“You’re late,” is all he says.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Save the attitude for the tournament,” says the burly man. He dabs a handkerchief at the beads of sweat dotting the back of his neck. “We’re on a schedule here.”
“Where is she?” I ask. “Where did you take my sister?”
No response.
I plant my hands on my hips, my eyes glued to the back of Taron’s head. The rising sun weaves through his lilac hair. “I’m not doing anything until I know you’ve taken her to a safe place.”
Taron turns towards me. Impatience is etched across his hard features, adding an even sharper edge to his icy-blue stare. “Your sister is dead,” he says. “If you ever want to see her again, you need to stop wasting time.”
