Page 70 of On Broken Bonds

“What?” I ask.

His gaze remains fixed on the swamp.

For a moment, I don't think he's going to answer. Then he lets out a long breath. “They've definitely magicked it.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means this isn't a coincidence.” His jaw tightens. “They've altered the forest. Every path leads here. Every team is being funneled toward this swamp.”

My stomach drops.

I look back toward the desert behind us, suddenly feeling very small. All that effort. All that planning. We'd spent the better part of a day convincing ourselves we were making progress when, in reality, we'd been little more than mice running through a maze.

“Why?” I ask quietly.

Thorian laughs, but there's no humor in the sound. “Because they like to be entertained.”

The answer shouldn't surprise me. It does anyway. The gods are immortals with unimaginable power. They could create kingdoms. Move mountains. End wars. And apparently they've chosen to spend their time forcing desperate people into a swamp so they can watch what happens.

“They want a spectacle,” Thorian continues. “A bottleneck. A place where competitors are forced together. Monsters. Traps. Rival teams. Whatever they've hidden in there, they expect people to die.”

A chill crawls over my skin despite the lingering heat from the desert.

I find myself staring at the dark water again. The swamp suddenly feels different. Like a mouth waiting to swallow us whole.

“You're right,” Fenric says. “Fuck.”

Despite everything, I let out a small laugh. It's either laugh or panic.

“So what do we do?” I ask.

“No matter what, we're going to have to go into the swamp and face whatever dangers they've constructed for us, as well as survive the other competitors,” Thorian explains. “The longer we wait, the more teams arrive. The more teams arrive, the worse our chances become.”

I stare out across the water. Every instinct I possess tells me to stay away from it. Unfortunately, the gods seem to have removed that option.

“Fuck,” I say.

That earns the faintest hint of a smile from Thorian. It’s not enough to fully appear, just enough that I know it's there.

“Well,” Fenric says, looking considerably less enthusiastic than he sounds, “guess we'd better figure out a way to cross. Better now than when we're even more tired and hot.”

The thought of becoming more tired and hot is enough to make me want to cry.

Before any of us can suggest a plan, a loud splash echoes across the water. All three of us turn. The Hollow Blades have apparently decided planning is optional. The group wades directly into the swamp, pushing through the murky water with weapons drawn. One of them nearly loses a boot in the mud within the first few steps.

Nobody laughs.

Around the shoreline, every team has gone still. Dozens of eyes track the Hollow Blades' progress.

Waiting.

Judging.

Wondering the same thing. Are they about to discover the safest path through the swamp? Or are they about to die horribly and save the rest of us the trouble of finding out the hidden dangers of the swamp for ourselves?

20

Nyx