Page 75 of Powerless

Collect from those who have been banded,

And be warned if you return empty-handed.

If you wish to win you must have the most,

Then of your glory, we’ll brag and boast.

But the end is drawing near,

With only six moons to play.

Welcome to the Trials sixth year,

And pray to the Plague that you will stay.

The task of stealing as many bands as possible seems fairly simple; that is, if you can survive in the forest for a week. But I read between the lines of the poem.

They are forcing us to fight one another.

No one will give up their band easily. Blood has been spilled over much less than a leather strap in these Trials. I crumple the paper in my fist, shoving it deep into my pocket before glancing at my own strap of leather encircling my bicep. Tight. So tight that the only way to get these Plague forsaken things off is to cut them from the skin, which will inevitably draw blood despite delicacy.

It’s intentional, clever.

Father has outdone himself this year.

Sweat trickles into my brow, stinging my eyes. The heat could rival that of the Scorches, and I peel off my shirt to wipe at my slick face. My throat is already dry, parched from baking in the morning sun.

Find water first. Opponents second.

I stop, my feet crunching on the vegetation and rough dirt beneath me. Sighing, I look up at one of the menacing pine trees standing in my path. I shake my head, my shoulders, trying to shake away my nerves. Then, I grab hold of the lowest branch and swing my legs up.

Yes, I’ve scaled these trees multiple times, and yes, I’ve conquered my fear of heights. But just because a fear has been conquered, doesn’t mean it’s enjoyable to be confronted with again and again. And yet, here I am, climbing up the tree, taking each branch at a time.

The wind blows and the sun blinds as I continue up the pine in search of water. Minutes, maybe hours later, with limbs aching and heart racing, I finally reach the top. Well, the last branch that will hold my weight. I’m a couple hundred feet in the air now, suspended there by nothing but a large twig beneath my feet. I look down only to instantly regret it.

Keep it together, Kai.

Falling to my death during a Trial would be a pathetic way to die and would completely ruin my reputation, even in death. With that in mind, I clutch the now thin trunk of the tree beside me as I peer through the leaves and over top the canopy of trees.

I feel like I’m back in the ballroom, looking out into a sea of several shades of green. Branches full of leaves swaying in the wind like the finely dressed women swaying on the dance floor only yesterday.

There.

My eyes sweep over a break between the line of trees, a pause in the dance of their leaves. A sliver for a river, a brook, a source of water. At the moment, I don’t care if it’s a damn puddle.

I painstakingly make my way back to solid ground, my breath coming in quick pants. By the time my feet meet the soil, the sun has inched its way across the sky, informing me that it is already late afternoon.

And then I’m off. Off in the direction of the water every contestant craves after being drugged and having to trudge through the forest for hours. Father has woven a trap for us, one we are all willingly walking into.

Hours. Long, tiresome hours of trekking through foliage is what my life has come to. I’ve encountered several poisonous snakes and plants, both of which daring me to draw close.

I’m so bloody bored.

My eyes and body are alert as I trudge forward, though my mind wanders as much as I do. I think on the Trials, the contestants—

And then my thoughts are onher.

Stop.

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