Five wither beasts.
The ruling council has gathered another creature of nightmare. I’ve heard stories spoken by merchants in Port Trenn, relayed to us on Rosevear round hearths and at meets. I begin to shake in earnest as the guards prod us all forward. I catch Sapira’s soft whimper at the back before she exhales a deep breath. Turning to look over my shoulder, I meet her steely gaze and nod. She nods back, pressing her lips together. She must have heard the same stories growing up. But we will not tremble. Not out here, not in front of the crowd. Not in front of the ruling council, or the rulers of our opponents’ territories. We will not show fear. In these Trials that seem on the surface to divide us, pitting territories against each other to gain power in the continent, we are united in wanting to stay alive. And, after the first Trial, none of us wishes to see anyone else die.
I wonder if this happens in every set of Trials, that the contenders form an odd bond. Even if they signed up for these Trials, volunteered and trained and wanted to be here … there is surely a tipping point when you’re actually here. Perhaps it’s seeing the monsters in the first Trial, knowing what you face and realising you could really die. And the glory, the victory, is meaningless in death.
A guard steps between me and Kell, pushing him to the left as I am shoved to the right. Separating us. I don’t have time to reassure him before the commentator begins, their voice blasting over the arena, drowning out all other sound. But we both know what it is that we must do.
‘A glorious day for the second Trial!’ the voice booms, and the crowd cries out in agreement. The rain plasters my hair to my neck as I glance up, trying to pick out individual faces. But it’s just a sea of open mouths, of narrowed gazes, of pumping fists. As thoughtheyare the monster here to consume me.
‘But maybe not such a glorious day for our contenders …’ There’s a wave of laughter and my blood runs hot. How dare these people, this mindless mob,laugh. A growl tears from my throat as I realise I am a spectacle. We arealla spectacle, entertainment, seen as nothing more than creatures in a trap. I am a distraction, a prize the ruling council means to display, to use to coerce the merchants into using an alternative trade route. To pay into their coffers. And dismantle,piece by piece, the power that Skylan holds over the continent.
One of the wither beasts calls to another, a beating sound vibrating in its throat that I can feel echoing through my bones more than I can hear, and they all pause, sniffing the air. Then one snaps its jaws and they continue stalking. But, as I watch, one gets trapped, a door closing on it, and it’s stuck in a closed corridor. That wither beast begins moving back and forth in agitation. I swallow, watching it, trying to mark where it is, so I can at least avoid that area.
‘Each contender will need to cross the maze and find their way to the exit at the opposite side. They must pass through a tunnel out of the arena in order to complete the Trial. But with a few twists and turns, and even a few treasures along the way, it’s all to play for.’ My eyes dart to the maze again, scanning for these supposed treasures. But nothing stands out … Perhaps I need to be in there, searching on the ground, before it becomes apparent.
‘The contenders from Skylan will get a head start for winning the first Trial, and then each territory will follow in the order they placed. We are splitting you up to make it that bit more interesting … What a challenge this will be!’ A wither beast bellows, joined by another, then another, and a shudder runs down my spine. They sound restless, ready to hunt, and with all of us working alone we’re easy targets for a pack that cancommunicate with their bellowing roars. Will they herd us? I wish I knew more about these monsters.
‘Wait for the horn, contenders, and may you bring honour to your country!’
The crowd shrieks as the horn blasts, signalling the beginning of the second Trial. I lock eyes with Kell across the arena and point to one side, hoping he takes the hint. When it’s our turn, I take a huge breath, trying to calm the drumming of my heart, and sit on the edge, looking down into the labyrinth of walls and doors below. It’s a drop of ten feet, easy to twist an ankle if you land badly. Another test. I lower myself over the edge and down into the maze.
I fall and roll, coming up in a crouch. Blinking quickly, I take in my surroundings, placing a hand on the nearest wall. It’s tall and smooth, just as it seemed from above, cool to touch as though it is indeed forged metal sheets and, as I feared, twice my height. Without a grappling hook and rope, there is no way I could climb up and over them. I begin to walk, keeping my hand on the wall, taking the turns that will lead me towards Kell. But, as I’m nearing his side of the arena, there’s a creak and a click at my back. I whip round, finding a doorway has closed. I hear the crowd roar, but I can’t see what they can see. Hastening my footsteps, desperate to reach Kell, or to find a weapon, anything I can defend myself with, I round a corner and stutter to a halt.
Blocking my way is a wither beast.
I freeze, stilling every muscle in my body, hoping it only tracks movement, that I may still be able to escape … but then it snorts, eyes locking with mine. And I know it’s too late.
It has me in its sights.
eli’s words hit her likestone.
I can’t form a portal, Lowri.
I can’t get us back.
He tries to open another portal, thrusting out his hands, shadow wreathing his arms. But all that emerges is a shimmer in the air before him, like a pool with a pebble cast into it. He drops his hands to his sides, then tries again. And again, growling in frustration, agitation marking every movement. The distorted shape of other worlds ripples suddenly on the fifth attempt, and Lowri holds her breath. But then it fades back to the trees before them, the gravestones, the grey tones of this world. And Eli sinks to his knees.
‘I’ve left it too long to return,’ he murmurs. ‘It must be the fog. It must have soaked up any light magic I had … I should have known they’d retaliate, that they wouldn’t suffer a defeat in the isles … and now they’ve got Mira.’ His voice cracks on her name and he turns to Lowri, despair dragging him down. They’vebeen in the graveyard for hours. Twilight is sweeping in, claiming the world and sending chills over Lowri’s skin. She looks at the looming fog above Fallow, just a few minutes’ walk away, and swallows down her own bitterness, her own despair. Lowri doesn’t want to think of what this means for them, that they could be trapped here, trapped in this world of shadow, away from their own world, their own lives … forever.
She takes a deep breath, pushing her own feelings aside, and steps towards Eli, placing a hand on his arm. ‘We’re not getting anywhere here. Let’s go back and make a plan.’
‘Isaiah’s notes – maybe there’s something there, some more knowledge we have yet to uncover,’ Ethlet begins, her voice fading along with her hope for them. It’s clear to all three that the magic they used to get here, Eli’s abundance of power formed and grown over many years in his world, is blocked in this one. It won’t work for the return journey. But none of them say it, none of them acknowledge the enormity of what it means. That they could be trapped here.
Lowri walks ahead this time, with Ethlet and Eli trailing behind her. Ethlet talks in a non-stop monologue about Isaiah’s research, his books of notes, his experiments with the fog – anything to try to get Eli to open up. To talk back.
When they reach the townhouse in Fallow, Eli strides up the narrow staircase, straight to his father’s study, and when Lowri tries to follow him in she finds thedoor locked. For a moment, her fingertips hover over the handle, a witch word on the tip of her tongue to unlock it. It’s always been his weakness, this tendency to brood, to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, to never let anyone past the charming veneer he presents. From what she has seen, only Mira has truly broken through. But she’s not here. And, worse, she’s in danger. Only Lowri is here, and she doesn’t know how to reach him.
With a soft sigh, she leaves him to stew in the tangle of his father’s notes and research, returning downstairs to form a plan.
‘Gracious, can you sense if I am more restored than before?’ Lowri asks as she enters the lounge, finding the grimalkin sprawled before the fireplace. ‘Is my magic at all balanced yet?’
Mostly. You are still rather short on light magic, and, as a witch, you should have more. But there is enough for you to cast a little.
Something he says catches her attention. ‘When you say, as a witch … Do you mean that creatures and humans hold different levels of shadow and light to be in balance?’
Yes. Your cousin wields shadow magic, and for him to be in balance he needs far less light magic than you. But–Gracious swipes his tail back and forth –he is not in balance. Even less so than you. The little light magic he needs has been drained from him and in this world he cannot create more. Just like the others in the Society, just like his father.
Lowri blinks, falling back into the sofa. This changes everything. Everything she thought she knew about magic, everything the coven taught her. The fundamental basis of magic and burnout and balance – it’s not just based on magic in one form. It’s all to do with the two twisting strands of light and shadow. ‘Is the balance of magic between just shadow and light? Are there more strands?’
