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My nerves don’t settle as the other champions file out. If anything, they get worse. There’s always a moment like this before I go into conflict, a sickening lurch in my stomach where I’m suddenly aware that all the planning and strategizing in the world still isn’t enough to fully prepare for reality. There will always be variables I can’t account for.
The stakes have never been so high before, though.
Bellerophon clasps their hands behind their back and looks at our group. “The first trial begins shortly. You will have two minutes to study the area before the horn sounds. Once it does, you will have five minutes to complete the course. If you fall, you will be automatically eliminated.” They barely wait for us to answer in the affirmative before spinning and heading down the long concrete hallway that we exited from the other day.
Even before I see the crowd, I can hear them. I can feel them in the vibrations of the concrete around me. It’s disconcerting, but I push the feeling away. They’re not here to see me, after all. Understanding that, embracing that, means I don’t have to think overmuch about them. I’m not here to win. I’m only here as support.
Achilles falls into step beside me. “We good?”
“I’m still angry with you.” Except that isn’t quite right. There’s anger, yes, but the overwhelming feeling is loss. This is the beginning of the end that I’ve feared ever since I fell for Achilles. He might not be gone yet, but the grief still takes root all the same.
He gives a jerky nod. “Okay.” He doesn’t tell me we’ll talk later. It goes without saying that we will. Neither of us is the type to leave something festering for long, even if I can’t see a way through this. It doesn’t matter. The only thing I need to see clearly is the trial.
We step through the doorway, and my attention immediately lands on the course in front of us. It’s a series of raised platforms interspersed with different obstacles. I’ve seen similar on television, but this one seems geared equally toward lower body as upper. There are three pathways from beginning to end, and I examine them in sequence, painfully aware of the large red clock ticking down the seconds to when we begin. “Shoes off.”
Achilles doesn’t question me. He simply obeys, yanking off his shoes and socks. “First route?”
I shake my head. “The jump from the end of that rope will be too tricky to time properly. The second looks faster, but that rope swing on the rail might get stalled out in the middle since it’s so long. Go third.” The climbing wall up won’t be a problem, but descending might. Still, it’s better than the other two. Fewer variables in play, even though it’s technically the longest of the bunch, the course jutting out toward the crowd before doubling back to the finish. Each route has four obstacles of varying difficulty, and there’s the time limit to consider. But surely it’s not that simple?
Even as the thought crosses my mind, people in black file out from the entrance opposite us. They’re all wearing Athena’s uniform, and they have black masks pulled down over their faces. That creates an eerie image, and the crowd shrieks with glee at the sight of them. I sigh. “Of course it wouldn’t be so easy as just getting through the course.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
I take off my shoes and socks. Even though I should be focused entirely on the course, on the opponents filtering through it to key positions where they can most effectively stop the champions, I glance at Helen. She’s got a look of concentration on her face, but she’s staring at the first route. It’s on the tip of my tongue to suggest the third, but I bite back the words. Helen isn’t my priority. She can’t be my priority.
Overhead, only thirty seconds remain. The lights flicker and then turn toward the boxed seats overhead. Athena stands there, watching us. I thought the crowd was loud before. It’s nothing compared to when the spotlight shines on her. The entire arena shakes with the force of their sound.
She holds up a hand, a conductor to their fervor, and they go silent almost immediately. As the seconds tick down to zero, her amplified voice says, “The first trial begins…now.”
12
Helen
I don’t hesitate. I fling myself forward, veering toward the left side of the course. Each of the routes available is gnarly, especially with the black-clothed opponents lying in wait, but this is my best bet. My upper body strength is great, but the taller champion’s longer legs will give them an advantage on the climbing wall. I have to aim for the shortest route instead. Or, rather, the shortest route that actually makes sense. The middle one is tempting because it’s basically a fancy rope swing, but I don’t like the angle. It’s a trap.
