Everything aches. My feet. My back. My body.
I’m achingly tired, achingly hungry, and achingly aware of how annoyed I am with myself because of it. I’ve endured torture, faced my worst fears, led armies into battle, and yet, climbing a mountain with a hangover may just be the death of me.
Andy clinging to my back isn’t helping either. It’s not her weight that’s the problem, especially since I’m borrowing Braxton’s strength. No, it’s the fact that she is so damn lanky that her long limps are hindering my climbing.
“It’s absurd how bony you are,” I mumble, earning a weak punch in the shoulder.
Good. At least she has the strength to hit me.
“When we make it out of here,” I continue casually, “I’ll make sticky buns myself to fatten you up.”
She grunts her approval of that idea, her voice weak. She is fading fast. Her skin is sickly pale, only emphasized by the moonlight, and her breathing is quick and shallow.
I know the difference between pain and poison, and this is certainly the latter.
So, I keep her awake, keep her occupied. My voice is low as I quietly talk to her, teasing her and reminiscing on old times. She mostly responds with breathy laughs or a nod of her head, but I’ll take anything over silence.
The moon is our only guide, casting pale light that does little to illuminate the mountain we have been climbing since the moment we woke up. The terrain is so steep now that Andy is clinging to me with her legs wrapped around my waist, freeing my hands to help me climb.
I feel her head slump against my shoulder, overcome by exhaustion and excruciating pain. “Hey,” I say softly, gently jostling her to keep her awake. “We’re almost there. Just a little longer.” I feel her nod wearily and try to pick up my pace.
I can see the flat plateau of the peak looming above us.
Nearly there.
I’m climbing, hands scraping at the stone and rocks slipping from beneath me. I’ve lost my footing, lost my hold more than once and almost sent us falling to an unfortunate death. But we are nearly there. This nightmare is nearly over. We’re nearly free.
I see the shadows of figures lined all around us. Awaiting us. The Sights watch as we scramble to the top, breathless and beaded with sweat, starving and exhausted.
Exhilarated.
We’ve done it.
I drag myself over the edge, Andy clinging to me fiercely. Only my dignity forces me to my feet, though fatigue threatens to cripple me.
“We did it,” Braxton exhales beside me as we all stand, stunned. The plateau is a large slab of uneven rock and dirt, stretching far wider than it appears from below. I look around, scanning my surroundings, spotting dozens of Sights dotting the peak.
Then my eyes sweep over a tall, wooden pole, buried into the ground at the far end of the peak. A green, battered flag hangs at its top, whipping in the wind.
What new game is this?
Movement stirs in the corner of my eye, and I squint in the dim light to focus on the figures climbing up the opposite side of the plateau, joining us. And despite the darkness, I know exactly who they are.
Jax. Ace. Paedyn.
We all stare at each other, each group stunned and still.
A Sight steps forward, his voice clear as he reads a message off the tattered paper in his hand. “We are glad you learned to work as one, but oh, this Trial is not done. The rules of the game have changed a bit, so the first to capture the flag will win it.” He clears his throat before continuing, “There can only be one winner among you. The only question is who?”
Silence.
Stillness.
His words sink in, seeping their way into my brain. I shouldn’t be surprised. This will make for great entertainment, watching us work together only to tear each other apart in the end.
Because it was too easy, despite how very difficult it was to reach the top of Plummet. And I should know by now that there is always a catch, always a price. My own father taught me that.
We all stare at each other, eyes shifting between our competition and the ragged flag that has suddenly become so vital to our victory.
And then we turn on one another.
Chaos.
