Page 52 of The Ordeals
‘They’re all hopefuls,’ I breathe. My pulse thrums in my ears as I shift my gaze to the space around them, to these statues moving inch by inch towards us … Now I can see their faces more clearly, I don’t recognise a single illusionist in this group. There are eight of them, all with varying expressions of total horror as they look at us, pleading with silent, fearful eyes. Ice douses my veins and I shuffle back, even though they are several feet away. There’s something about their faces, the way their hands are reaching towards us, inch by inch …
I sniff the chamomile, studying the lawn and find the odd glint woven through the green. It’s a trap.
‘Don’t step on the lawn. Don’t get any closer,’ I say, slamming my hand into Alden’s chest. ‘Stay close to the hedge. The lawn doesn’t look natural to me. Do you smell that chamomile?’
Alden pales. ‘It’s not chamomile. It’s bitter, almost cloying … it’s poison.’
‘An immobilant, like in the Crucible, maybe? Slow-acting, usually fatal. But the stone …’ Greg gulps. ‘No sign of this being an illusion, I take it? Because if they’re all turning to stone, that’s alchemy and it’s pretty bloody strong.’
I squint at the statues, then the space around them. They’re rivals; I should be glad of less competition, but for these poor, trapped hopefuls to die like this, it’s … horrifying. I catch the faintest shimmer in the air, so small, so fleeting, I could have mistaken it for a flare of sunlight and breathe out a sigh of relief. ‘They’re not statues. They’re not made of stone … yet. And it’s not the work of an alchemist. They’ve been poisoned. This wielding is botany.’
‘Wait a minute … you canseethe magic of a botanist?’ Alden asks incredulously, eyes widening as he searches mine. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ I snap, avoiding his eyes, even as I realise what this means. If it’s not an illusion, then I can seeotherforms of magic too. Perhaps it’s Killmarth, the training and finally practising my wielding with diligence, but those glints are not an illusion. I can sense it’s a different kind of wielding. This is real, they are fellow hopefuls, and they’re poisoned by that lawn. The kind of poison to turn someone to stone is something I’ve never heard of. A powerful immobilant laid down by a powerful botanist. I search the hedges as well, wondering if I’ll find some sign of a professor wielding … but it’s only us here. This trap was laid before we arrived in this maze.
‘All right, so we edge around the lawn, take the hedge to our right—’ Greg begins.
‘And leave them here?’ I say. This doesn’t sit well with me, not after a lifetime of chasing marks, of knowingly placing people I followed in danger. I want to shrug that off. I want to be more than the person I was before Killmarth, and that means saving these hopefuls. This doesn’t feel like we’d be beating them to the heart of the maze fairly. It feels like a test, like this is part of the Ordeal. I turn to Alden. ‘Can you help them, like you helped me in the Crucible? Is there an antidote you can make?’
‘I can, but it will cost me. I don’t have the base plants for an antidote like I carried into the Crucible. I didn’t prepare for this today. And it means I can’t protect—’ He grimaces, averting his eyes from me.
‘Me,’ I say, crossing my arms. ‘You were about to sayme, weren’t you.’
Alden, rubs a hand along the back of his neck. ‘It’s just logic. I need an illusionist to get through this Ordeal, clearly. See any others around here? Not to mention, you’re my partner, and we both have to complete it to pass.’
‘So if you use up too much magic saving them …’ I wave a hand at the hopefuls, creeping ever closer ‘… you don’t trust me to get us through to the heart of the maze, do you? You think you’ll have to carry me still, like I’m … like I’m weak. Only useful to spot illusions so you know where the traps are. Is that it?’ I scowl at him. ‘Haven’t we gone over this? Equals and all that? Or was that just to keep me sweet?’
‘Is thatit?’ he repeats, eyes finally sliding to meet mine. ‘You’re afraid of appearing weak?’
‘I don’t need you torescueme. I can get through thisat your side. Take me out of the equation right now. I mean, why I’m evenpartof the equation—’
‘Why indeed,’ he says, turning those caramel-flecked eyes on me again.
Every word dies in my throat as his gaze fixes on mine and I can’t … I can’t look away. Those eyes, soft and steady …What is happening?I can’t have feelings for Alden Locke. Not in that way. And he doesn’t either.
Does he?
‘No …’ Greg shouts abruptly, breaking the moment and lunges forward, waving manically. ‘T! T! Don’t step on the lawn, don’t—’
‘Shit,’ Alden breathes.
I whip around, finding the petrified hopefuls have half turned from us, already spotting Tessa across the lawn. She waves, features creasing in relief and I realise she’s running, arms pumping, and behind her, behind her is Richards … with an axe. My heart shoots up to my throat, watching as Tessa flees across the lawn, Richards chasing her, blood streaked across his chest—
‘No! Tessa,don’t—’
But it’s too late. She takes another step, then another and as though she’s stuck in treacle, her limbs begin moving slower and slower. Panic suffuses her features and I can barely draw breath, heart thumping in my ears as Richards steps on the lawn behind her, moving in slow motion too and Tessa completely … stops. I gape in disbelief. She’s too far onto the lawn for me to skirt around the edge and pull her back, and the immobilant will begin suffusing her veins, steadily locking her limbs in place before reaching for her organs, her heart, herthroat… Real fear grips me as our eyes lock.
She’ll die.
Richards raises the axe at her back, but he’s already frozen up, features all twisted up with hate and the first inkling of fear. I steady myself, gripping my switchblade so hard, it digs into my bones. He was after her. He was after my friend … and he was going to killher. Fear for Tessa drips into fury as I imagine all the ways I will bleed Richards dry.
Alden groans, already rolling up his sleeves, planting his feet and raising his hands to wield.
‘Wait,’ I say, eyeing Richards, that bastard with his smug face, with the axe coated in blood, and bat Alden’s left arm down. ‘Let’s think this through. If you save them by wielding, will it free Richards too?’
He squints, calculating. ‘I reckon I can direct my wielding. It’ll take more focus, more energy. But it’s doable. We can leave him behind.’
I nod, satisfied, but then something else occurs to me. ‘So that’s using a lot more power? Focusing it like that? I need you to save Tessa, but is there any other way? Surely these hedges have the plants you need, or, or the ground, you can craft a tonic, I could try and run across to her—’
