8
Cadoc stumbles back, hilt still in his hand. His eyes narrow at the sword in my grip. I lose the opportunity to strike him down because of my own shock.
Sparkling, Starside steel. An entire sword of it.
It has an energy, a force I can taste. A current runs through the hilt, searing into my blood.
Then the blade shines glorious silver, bright as a star, blinding the world.
Wind tears through the woods, roaring, energy rippling. In a flash, the light retreats into the weapon, leaving only me glancing down at my reflection in the glimmering metal.
The forest has gone still. The challengers have stopped.
Everyone is looking at me lying on the ground, holding a sword that rivals Raker’s. He’s there, on the other side of the woods, and has paused midstep. As if, for once, the famed warrior is stunned.
That’s when I realize this blade might have just saved my life— But it also just made me a target.
I scramble to my feet. Challengers break free from their shock and close in, just like the thorns of the maze. Closer. A dozen blades are pointed at me now.
I try to lift my sword like I have a million times with Stellan, but this weapon weighs as much as it’s worth. I have to use both hands to even continue to hold it—it’s fucking heavy. The sparkling blade glistens, as if excited for the fight. I swallow, decidedly less thrilled. Losing this sword just moments after claiming it would really fucking suck.
Then don’t, I think. I groan as I try to lift it over my head. Weaponless, Cadoc turns on his heel and runs. One of his friends lunges, ready to strike
— A rustling.
Faint at first. Nearly masked by the wind.
Then it’s a roaring. Yelling. Running.
Challengers, screaming. My body stills, trying to hear the words they’re belting out, but I can’t. I can see them, though, in the distance. There’s a wall of them, running for their lives— Only to be overcome and crushed by nothing short of a stampede.
Creatures with horns like javelins are running toward us, heads dipped low,
cutting down everything in their path.
“Oryx,” I hear someone say.
“Run.”
The crowd around me scatters. I take off after them, then stop myself. I remember the first trial of the Culling, in the forest. How some challengers ran and were killed by the archers who scaled the trees.
I won’t be fast enough. I’ll be crushed.
Just sheathing my new blade nearly makes me fall over, but in a rush of panic, I do, then race to the closest trunk and begin to scale it. Some around me have the same idea. Others flee.
The lower branches aren’t stable. My sword adds too much weight. Wood snaps below my foot, and my back hits the ground, stealing my breath. I gasp for air, fighting to move, but I can’t. They’re coming. The ground
rattles beneath my spine.
Fucking move!
I throw my body around another tree and force my way up, nails shredding, the bark scraping my hands raw. I turn. The first of the oryx are almost here. I’m still too low.
With a groan that scrapes the back of my throat, I reach for a higher branch and hope it doesn’t snap this time. My fingers lock around it, and then I’m hanging.
A thud sounds a few yards away. A challenger has fallen from her tree.
She’s scrambling to get up.
Too late. The oryx are here. She’s crushed beneath their hooves.
I’m still too low. I fight to pull myself up, but my new blade is pulling me down. My arms tremble as I lift, inch by inch, and reach for the next
branch.
If it snaps, I’m done. It’s a risk. As it stands, though, the creatures will tear my legs to ribbons.
I wrap my hand around the wood and pull— My entire body lifts, just out of the way of the first pair of horns. I swing wildly, bending my knees, feet barely clearing the oryx’s head.
I reach to the side, shifting my grip, muscles clenching and burning, until my legs can wrap around the trunk.
Then they’re all right below me, and I hold on for dear life.
The stampede tears through the forest, and my very bones rattle. My teeth chatter. The tree sways from side to side, but I hold on, my fingernails slicing through the wood. Branches snap around me. Another challenger falls and is skewered on a pair of horns. Her body rides the charge like a wave, her eyes wide, blood spurting everywhere.
The swords trapped in the trees clash together. I look up—and barely swing out of the way of a fallen blade, cutting branches on its way down.
My grip loosens.
One of my hands slips.
My stomach drops as I hang, feet kicking, just above the sea of horns.
There’s no gap in the stampede. If I fall, I’m dead. My palms go slick.
No. I will not let fear be my death. My eyes close. I think of climbing trees with my sister, in that rare stretch of forest. I think of running and playing games until we had to lie down because our hearts were beating too fast. I think of smiling up at the sun and being excited to do it all again tomorrow.
This will not kill me. I will survive this. I will hold on.
With all the strength I can summon, I pull myself back up, arms shaking, until I reach a steadier branch. I wrap my limbs around the trunk again and will the tree to hold. It shakes so wildly I nearly retch from the movement.
My hands begin to bleed, and my fingers almost slip, but I hold on. With every tremor, I hold on. As trees fall around me, I hold on.
Until the forest stills. It’s several moments before I open my eyes and slowly look down.
All that’s left are bodies, mangled beyond recognition, and a few gleaming swords that were shaken from the branches. Some remain on the ground; others fly up and are trapped yet again. None rivals my new weapon. The remaining tombstones are now just piles of ruin.
One by one, challengers start jumping down. How many were ahead?
How many have already gone through? I swing to a lower branch.
An arrow slices away a curl of bark an inch in front of my face.
Valen. I see her in another tree. The Culling is far from over.
I scramble down and run, jumping over what’s left of the bodies. Another arrow whistles nearby, but I use the trees as cover. I run as fast as I can with this blade on my back. All that’s on my mind are those gates.
The forest ends— And there they are.
The gates that divide our lands are tall enough to scrape the clouds.
They’re crafted from pure, sparkling Starside steel, hewn into curling currents of wind and waves and flames, as if casted by the elements themselves. A wall of ancient, unyielding energy pulses from its glimmering metal. The sword on my back jerks against my spine, as if it can feel it too.
Only a deep trench and the long stone bridge across it sits between our
side and theirs.
I’m so close.
The bridge isn’t narrow, but it doesn’t have sides. The drop must be hundreds of feet, maybe more. Mist clouds everything below. Challengers have already started down it—more than fifty. But the gates are still closed.
There’s still time.
I run. Muscles already aching, breath raw in my lungs, I take off toward the silver gates, panting. This is the last step of the Culling. I’m too close not to make it.
My new sword is heavy on my back, slowing me down but invigorating me all the same. This ancient weapon saw something in me worth claiming.
Just as Stellan saw in me something worth saving.
I will make it through. I will be one of the Fifty.
Suddenly, the bridge lurches, and I go flying. I land roughly, rolling, body scraping against the rock, until I flatten myself, holding on however I can. I fight to remain in the center as the edges of the bridge crumble away.
One of the challengers ahead falls right over the side. His scream is
swallowed up by the drop.
The gates have started to open.
They are magnificent, shining, rattling the very foundation of this world as they reveal a slice of green on the other side. A shade of the color I’ve never seen before. One I didn’t even know could exist.
I’m flung again as the gates settle. They’re open.
They’re open.
We all get to our feet and run.
There are more than fifty challengers in front of me. An arrow flies past my ear and takes one down. Then another.
Still, too many remain.
The first challenger is almost through. He punches his blade right up toward the sky, as if he’s trying to stab it, unleashing a victorious bellow.
And then— No one ever mentioned this. Even the most far-fetched legends about the gates and the Questral never mentioned dozens of hill-sized creatures
barreling through the gap.
Right toward us.
Fuck.
The first challenger turns around, and I’m close enough to see the whites of his eyes before one of the beasts swallows him whole.
FUCK!
We all turn and run in the opposite direction.
I make it all of three steps before I hit the ground. Someone’s hand is wrapped around my ankle—a man holding on for dear life as he’s dragged back by one of the creatures. He’s taking me with him, my stomach grating against the stone. I kick against his hold, but it stays strong. Desperate. His nails claw at my skin. The beast opens its jaw, and he slides inside, screaming for help. Then, his pull goes limp.
All that’s left is his arm, his fingers still locked around my ankle. With trembling hands, I tear it away, then get back on my feet, and make a run for it while the creature is distracted.
I stumble to the side—right in another beast’s path.
Heart in my throat, I leap out of the way, landing just inches from the bridge’s edge. My arms pinwheel, rock crumbling beneath my feet. I stagger back, the weight of my sword against my spine helping me barely keep myself on steady ground.
My mind races. My senses are filled with the smell of blood, the roaring of these creatures, and the stampede of challengers running for their lives. I can’t turn and flee back into the forest. Not when I’ve made it this far.
Not when some are about to go through the gates.
I watch as a tall, hooded figure calmly walks toward them, without a care in the world. Harlan Raker’s sword rings as he unsheathes it—and the beasts begin to fall. His blade moves in arcs of silver in front of him, so fast I barely see his movements as he clears a path right through the creatures.
Others follow him, just like I did in the maze.
A dozen of them.
I can feel my chances slipping away as Raker steps through the gates.
Then the rest. There are only thirty-seven spots remaining.
Bridge slick with blood, I bolt forward.
In front of me, a challenger is sprinting in the opposite direction. He’s crushed beneath a massive foot. Another is flung off the side of the bridge.
The next beast doesn’t slow as it charges right toward me.
It bares its fangs. Opens its mouth like it’s going to devour me whole.
Fuck.
I can’t outrun it. So, I need to think.
I might not be the strongest, or the fastest, or have any of the right tools, but I have my mind. And I’ve had to fight to survive every day for the last decade, without a family. I’ve always found a way out of every snare. Sheer desperation has made me resourceful.
A plan forms, and it might be the worst one I’ve ever had, or the best. I won’t be sure, until it’s too late. The beast rushes at me and, with a shaking breath, I stand my ground, both arms reaching back, sweaty fingers gripping the hilt of my new blade. I slowly pull it out, letting its weight bring it forward, until its tip is against the ground.
Time slows, and I wonder if it’s because it’s my last seconds. I wonder if it’s a mercy from the gods. Then I remember that the gods are merciless.
This is not my end.
This creature will not kill me.
The stone beneath my feet shakes as the beast gets closer. It moves in long, vaulting strides. Its face is twisted. It has dark scales, thick legs, and a body that could fit a dozen of us in its multiple stomachs. Its mouth is full of rows of teeth like a fully stocked forge. I can almost see my reflection in those gleaming fangs as it gets closer. Closer. Until I can feel the heat of its
rancid breath against my face.
This better fucking work.
At the very last moment, I fall back, knees bent, legs in angles at my sides, body flattened—and lift my newfound sword all the way up with both
arms and every sputtering ounce of strength I have left.
And the blade cuts right up the beast’s stomach, splitting it open. Guts and hot blood rain down on me. I barely close my eyes in time. A primal roar thunders above.
Its body crashes behind my head. I hear it slide … before that howl fades away, as it slips right over the side. The drop is so far, I don’t hear it land.
Alive.
I’m … still alive.
My crushing relief doesn’t last more than a few seconds. I can’t stay here, buried in a pile of guts. I can’t retch at the smell. I need to move. I open my eyes and am met with a stretch of cloudless sky. It’s almost peaceful. It’s almost too easy to just take a breath. But I can’t.
I will know what the sky looks like on the other side. I will see it for myself. I will see the gods, in all their glory, on their knees, begging for someone to save them the same way my family did.
I rise, just like Stellan taught me. Covered in guts, I get to my feet and lift my blade once more, fighting to keep the metal steady. Another beast is hurtling toward me. I brace myself, trying not to slip in all the blood— But the next creature runs right past me. The one after that doesn’t even seem to notice me, not like the one I took down, which seemed to be hunting me. I study its face closely as it passes me by.
That’s when I realize the creatures don’t have eyes.
They can’t see. They are going off scent.
I smell like them.
Covered in their blood and guts, I smell like them.
Up ahead, I catch a flash of red hair. Kira. She’s on her hands and knees, crawling to the other side of the bridge, arms shaking.
“Forty-two have passed!” someone yells. It’s one of Cadoc’s friends, calling to the others.
Before I can think better of it, I drag my hands through the blood and guts at my feet, then bolt toward Kira, shoes slipping, skin hot with the beast’s blood, until I’m at her side.
There isn’t time to explain. I smear the red on her head, on her arms, down her sides. She gasps, but once she sees my face, she stills.
Trust, I think. So, that’s what that looks like.
The beast hurtling toward her changes its path.
“Go.”
The creatures that ran down the length of the bridge are now turning back around. They’re hungry for more. I drag us to the side, rolling, and a foot the size of my body barely misses us.
Another person isn’t so lucky. A challenger just short of the gates gets crushed, bones snapping like twigs.
Blood. Mortal blood everywhere, and we slip in it, falling, sliding, taking each other down. I try to grip anything, anything, but the stone is slippery,
and—
A hand.
No. A handle.
Zane’s ax.
He’s right ahead of us. “Forty-six have made it through,” he says, just as Valen runs past us, making it through the gates. “Make that forty-seven.”
Three spots left.
But we’re here, just feet shy of the entrance. We race forward. Kira’s through first. Zane’s next. I leap— And am dragged back by my braid, that’s gone loose from its pins. My head rings as it bounces off the stone. One of Cadoc’s friends. I’m too late.
He’s about to walk through. He’s about to be the fiftieth.
All of this … for nothing.
I watch from the ground as Zane does the unthinkable. He strides back through the gates—and shoves the man off the side of the bridge.
I look up at him, stunned. Zane just reaches out a hand. “Everyone deserves a chance to die a brutal death,” he says.
I take his hand.
And we both walk through the gates.