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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 designsinked 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 longthin 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.
“It’s just a fucking hole. What’s so intimidating about that?” She threw out her hand—
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A smooth deep voice came from inside the temple, one of the Lords.
A cold chill snaked down my spine at the voice. I didn’t turn to see which Lord it was, my eyes were locked on the female. I wanted to see what she was planning to do. Our wielding didn’t work in Odes’s grave. Surely she knew that. Everyone did.
The female gave a mocking smirk just as fire streamed out of her palm and into the chasm. She began to scream as her body started to twitch, the black mists crawled up the fire she was conjuring. She couldn’t let go; she couldn’t evenmove. The mist reached up and surrounded her before it yanked her body into the chasm, her screams echoing off the cliffs.
No one said a word, not even the Lord who spoke before. It happened so fast, it would have been unbelievable if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes as I stared in abject horror.
I guess she wasn’t strong enough either.
No one was certain what happened to the wielded elements that went in there. Our ability to manipulate the elements,funneled by the Spirits, was energy manifested in different forms. The wielder did just that, they wielded the energy in the way that their abilities allowed them to influence it. But none of that mattered at that moment. From what I knew, magic wouldn’t have helped me to survive the fall into the chasm. And it certainly wouldn’t have helped me in Woltawa Forest.
“So what, we just…jump in?” A male with curly red hair down to his chin on one side and half a shaved head called over the gusts of wind. I followed his line of sight to the Sages who ignored him and walked back into the temple.
As if in answer, all our marks glowed again, burning the skin to a sharp stinging sensation. A push from the Spirits. Looking down at the chasm, my breathing came faster, and my heart raced.
The dark-haired male with dreadlocks down the line, a few paces to my right, spoke up, “Let’s see if the Fallen God can kill from the grave.” He stepped off the ledge falling into the black mists.
Another male, shirtless and covered in tattoos, stepped forward, his toes stopped just over the edge briefly, and didn’t say a word as he followed.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath through my nose to center myself while sending a silent prayer to the Gods. Clearing my mind of any thoughts, any fears.
I will not die.
