Page 50 of The Ordeals
‘The cold ones?’ I ask. But only silence greets me. They are both in place again, staring out, guarding the entrance to this maze. I narrow my eyes. ‘Was that my fourth question?’
The gargoyle on the right paws at the stone column, vicious gaze fixed on me. A shiver ripples down my spine and I decide not to push my luck as I step swiftly past them, entering this maze, and the second Ordeal. As soon as I walk away from the entrance, further into the folds of this hedge maze, all sound of the ocean stutters out. In its place is a void. No noise, not even birdsong. My footsteps are muffled and in this deafening silence, I find myself straining to hear even a breath. It’s soft grass underfoot, but I wish I’d worn my boots today. Instead, I’m in brogues, perfect for a day in the college,but not in an Ordeal when I might need to move. I run my hand over the hedge, biting my lip. There’s nothing to fashion a weapon out of, no trees to strip of a branch to whittle. With only my switchblade as a weapon, I feel horribly underprepared.
Where are the other hopefuls? Surely they can’t have all completed it already. The only thing I can do, I reason, ignoring the swooping in my chest as I choose a left turn in the maze, is to stick to a direction and look out for ripples and threads. Any sign that there is an illusion at play. And I have to find Alden. He’s my partner, and we both have to make it out alive.
A whisper of wind whips through a fork in the maze and I consider whether to turn left, or right. I could continue to take left turns and hope that logic prevails, that this maze is built with a breakable code. But realistically, I know it won’t be that simple. And on the left, I can’t be sure, but there seems to be a ripple, an odd ruffling wave running along the sides of the hedge. I hesitate, the strange breeze whipping up once more, and I strain to hear as a voice seems to beckon, a voice saying my name, a weak, childlike voice calling for help.
‘Fuck that,’ I mutter, turning for the right-hand fork. I continue on, pulling the paper out of my pocket and quickly scribble each turn I take, so at least Icouldreverse it and end up back at the entrance. After several more turns, and nothing but pressing silence, I pause to consider if I could somehow climb one of these hedge walls. If I could get some height and see over the maze, perhaps even find the heart of it that the gargoyles mentioned—
I turn a corner too quickly and stumble over the body without even realising it’s there. Eyes, staring up at nothing. It’s Zelene, another illusionist. Silver-white hair in a feral tangle, one shoe ripped from her foot, lying several feet away, a gash across her throat, blood in a pool around her.
A slight inhalation and my head snaps up, catching the eyes of another hopeful. Curly blonde hair, wide, fearful eyes, blood on her hands. I swallow, moving my feet, poised for attack. It’s Frances, this hopeful, and if she’s here now … is she the murderer?
But between blinks, she turns, hurrying away and before I can follow her, or do anything except feel every thundering beat of my heart, a twig snaps behind me.
‘Oh, you do smell good …’
My switchblade is in my hand and as I turn, magic crackles all around me, the threads of illusion snapping and reforming. A few feet away is the woman I saw in the Morlagh. A maniacal grin spreads across her features as she flexes her slender fingers, a bead of blood dripping slowly from the corner of her mouth. It’s an illusion; it has to be. Greg killed this creature, ripped out her heart in the woods. She collapsed into nothing but dust and grey—
‘Sophia?’
I gasp, twisting quickly, and find Greg behind me. Turning back, all I find are the remnants of illusion, of magic twisting into nothing but mist. The illusions around this place manipulate the mind, playing on individual fears. If it’s Lewellyn, setting them in this maze too, then she can create an illusion that reacts to emotion, evolving to tailor itself to each person. Clever. I release a strangled breath, looking up at Greg and find no glimmers or glints surrounding him. He’s real. ‘Greg, shit, you made me jump …’
‘Is it really you? You’re real?’ he asks, taking a tentative step towards me. ‘I-I can’t tell. I thought I saw Tessa, but when I got closer, it was just a shadow, a dead end … then I thought I saw a full moon above, just hanging there, all huge above me … oh gods …’
I look across at the young woman, Zelene, splayed on the ground, her glassy, dead eyes turned skyward. ‘Just found her. Did you see that woman, and-and Frances? She ran, but—’
‘I only saw you,’ Greg says. He wipes a hand down his face and looks at me. ‘Tessa trusts you, so I trust you … but is itreallyyou, Sophia?’
‘It’s really me,’ I say, shuffling around the body and walking towards him. I note the bloodshot eyes, the fear permeating his features, and most importantly, the lack of magic surrounding him. ‘Ask me a question most people wouldn’t know and you’ll know I’m not an illusion.’
‘All right …’ He swallows. ‘What happened to me during the last Ordeal?’
‘You were bitten in the Morlagh by a werewolf. I helped you get to a cabin and we waited out the night. We played cards.’
He nods, relief clearing his features. ‘Had to make sure.’
‘Have you seen anyone else? You’re looking … stable by the way.’
He laughs darkly. ‘I look like shit, but thanks. At least I could try for this Ordeal. But I need to find Tessa and, honestly, I just want to get out of here. Creepy place, isn’t it?’
‘Really creepy,’ I agree. We cast one last look at the body of the hopeful. I know we’re both thinking it. We’re too late to save her, and we can’t carry her. We have to leave her, and hope whoever or whatever did this to her, doesn’t come after us next. ‘Have you gone far? Don’t suppose you’ve written down the turnings you took …’
He shakes his head, and reluctantly, we both shuffle away, Greg falling into step beside me. ‘Unfortunately not. Didn’t think of that.’
‘Hmm. What is your magic by the way?’
‘I’m a masquier, like Tessa,’ he says. ‘Only she’s better at changing into other human forms. My magic seems to incline towards plant life.’
‘Trees and things like that?’
‘Yes. I can blend pretty well, say, if I wanted to blend with this hedge.’ He sticks his arm out next to the hedge and frowns down at it. After a moment, it almost disappears. Part of the green and twig of the hedge.
‘Fascinating,’ I breathe. ‘I had no idea there were different types of masquier.’
‘Tessa is better to be fair. Far more powerful – her grandmother has been training her for years. She can impersonate most people if she’s given enough time to study them. But it’s how I crossed the courtyard at the Crucible, I changed myself into a twisting vine and slithered across next to Tessa. Tripped her up though, which she still hasn’t forgiven me for.’
Before I can respond, a shriek crashes through the silence. We both still, turning back and forth, searching for where it came from. I hold my hand up, ready to use my magic, to appear as though I am not here, to fade into the hedge at my back—
