Releasing the breath I'd been holding, I took in another. Going back to the Reformatory wasn’t an option.
“GO!”
I launched from the starting line, shoving a few competitors near me sideways as I went. The crowd was packed so tight it was impossible to distinguish one person from another. I threw out a leg and tripped someone about to pass me. A crush of bodies swelled forward on the sand, all of us pounding forward as fast as we could.
Quicker than I anticipated, the throng separated into distinct lines. Most people were maintaining the same speedsI was, shoes slapping against the sand as we ran. That wasn't good.
Someone to my right cried out in pain, and I risked glancing sideways to see that a set of rocks had been laid out with a rope across them. Three people had tripped on it and fallen face first into the sand.
That could have easily been me. Henrik winked at me from ahead of them. He'd had a hand in their tripping. Not that I could fault him, I'd also tripped and shoved my fair share of competitors, too. I focused forward again.
An official stood ahead, bracelet visible on his wrist.
A large log stack of felled slimstalk covered in barnacles was beside him, high enough that it could only be jumped with significant speed. I strained my legs since they weren't complaining yet, trying to get out every bit of speed ahead of the lunge needed to scale the logs. It loomed as I neared it. Not yet.Not yet...Now!
Jumping as high as I could, I barely managed to clear it and skinned my left leg on the barnacles in the process. I landed hard and almost fell over, the impact vibrating up my feet. There was no time to pause. Steadying myself, I kept running. The injury wasn't too bad. It was a minor cut, not enough to slow me down. I wouldn't let it.
Someone else screamed in frustration behind me. I didn't turn back to look, it was only going to continue this way until we got to the end of this race.
Colored sand up ahead denoted a spread of trap often used for miasma creatures. A resin pit. Beyond the outer perimeter, these pits were filled with sticky resin and spikes at the bottom to impale anything unfortunate enough to fall in. Here, they’d left a narrow web of gaps between the traps, just enough that my nimble footwork made short work of them.
My ankles began to protest as soon as I finished crossing. Ignoring them proved difficult.
Up ahead a portion of the shore had been hedged off with a giant cargo net, with steps open in the center leading up to a raised platform.
Another competitor was balancing as they crossed whatever was at the top of those steps, and yet another was scaling the net as it twisted beneath their weight. There was no question which approach I'd be taking.
The rope net was tall, and seemed to grow taller with my proximity. But I was a natural climber.
From here I could see a petite woman was attempting to crawl her way through the gaps between the netting, but she was unable to balance her weight properly without footing on one side. An athletic man who had finished climbing down saw her struggle and paused, wasting precious seconds to help pull her through.
I couldn't afford to slow down for any such kindnesses.
Another organizer stood beside the steps, jotting something down as I approached. Slowing only marginally, I used my momentum to launch myself as far up the cargo net as I could, grip fisted around each handhold. The scrapes on my palm burned, but I didn't feel any slickness of blood.
Clamoring up the net quickly, the rope bent beneath my hands. It was difficult to get leverage on, and my boot became tangled. Yanking it out of the loop, a whistle came from above me. Above me, Henrik reached an arm down. After only a moment's hesitation, I grabbed it and he pulled me up.
We didn't spare precious air for words, both scrambling down the other side and back onto the ground. Henrik gave me a brief salute, then took off at a speed that put my own running to shame.
The steps in between the nets had been a trap, and one that several racers had fallen for. There was a long knotted rope braced with rope railings on each side, raised at least thirty feet off the ground, stretching out for several yards. A huge resin-pit trap waited below for anyone who fell. Some people were clinging to the rope bridge with their hands and trying to crawl their way across, others were trying to balance on the knots as they crossed. No matter what approach they took, every option was slow.
Slow was not happening today.
Jumping to the sand below, I bolted forward yet again.
Sweat was gathering on my forehead and underarms. Soon it would start dripping and my sight would be affected.
At this point, the school of people was beginning to thin. I wasn't the fastest, but it was frustrating to see several dozen people so far ahead of me. My lungs and legs were beginning to burn from the stress I was putting on them, but I kept up the fastest pace I could.
It felt like we'd only been running for another few minutes when signs of the next obstacle and organizer appeared.
Trenches had been dug into the sandbank that would force you up a series of hills on your way back up, with a weighted net laid out across the entirety of the trench to force you to crawl your way through on your stomach.
It was a clever way to slow down and funnel everyone.
Several of those in front of me were midway through crossing it, while only a few others were just finishing climbing free on the other side.
I dropped down onto my palms and knees, scrabbling and crawling forward underneath the weighted net, even as I spat sand out of my face. The slanted angle of the trench made it especially challenging to navigate, but I kicked and punchedout with vigorous force with each movement to propel myself farther. And deter anyone else from getting too close.
