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She sighed, her bothered breath hitting hot against my neck. She retreated to her seat on the desk and shrugged, ultimately defeated. "Fine. You have a deal. One more test and then it's straight to the Peaks."
"Great.” I nodded. “So, when will the trial be?" False hope made my voice shrill. Mallo stood suddenly from the table and reached across the desk for her keys.
"Now."
My fingers shook as I pulled the laces of my gloves tight against my forearms and firmly against the palm of my hand—the leather armor felt more like a second skin as it contoured the curves of my body and left little to the imagination. I ran a trembling hand down the span of my stomach, trying to ignore the hollow ache inside. It had been two days since I’d had a full meal, courtesy of my reclusion after learning of Loren’s death. I was fortunate enough to find a full water canteen someone left in the changing rooms and decided to help myself to its contents. The fluid would fill my stomach temporarily and allow me to buy some time.
I just needed to get through this last test.
Mallo was trying to make a point, trying to worsen my chances of succeeding. She knew I hadn't trained since learning of my best friend’s death, knew I hadn't been seen in the Sanctuary filling my stomach with the grub they fed us. I was weak and tired, but I couldn't go back on the bargain I’d made.
I took a lap around the perimeter of the mountain to warm my body. The easy jog sparked the fire in my muscles and stroked the flames as they burned awake. My breathing naturally shifted to a paced rhythm—two beats inhale, one beat exhale. As the blood warmed my joints and made them limber, I accelerated my strides and demanded my heart beat faster.
Mallo was wrong about one thing—I did love to run. I loved the endorphin rush after completing a long seventeen-mile stretch, countless laps around the mountain’s base, the feeling of my body hitting its threshold and lounging in the steady pace of my cadence. But what I loved most was the solitude. Running was a solitary job, and I didn't have to talk to anyone, listen to anyone, or pretend to be someone I wasn't. It was just me, the earth under my feet, and the thoughts which grew less important with every mile.
A whistle sounded sharply, and Mallo waved me in from the gates. The warm-up was over, it was time to test.
Deep breaths.
I was in the Pit, sitting cross-legged on the floor, blindfolded like I had been a thousand times before. Hundreds of hours of my life had been spent in this room, each mark on my body told a story like stitching on a tapestry, and I valued each one like a medal of honor.
But I would not be making new scars today. This was the last time I was going to sit here, no matter how this trial ended. I was going to give it everything I had, no holding back, and leave them with no reason to have reservations. My breathing steadied, the world around me crystallized, clear to each of my senses. I stood on my tired feet and let the weight of my body shift to my toes.
"Ready," I whispered for the final time.
Almost instantly, multiple footsteps approached from either side. I counted the steps—the number equaled the pace of two men charging my way. When their footfalls were nearly on me, I ducked, curving my spine to roll back and onto my hands. I pushed off my palms into a brief handstand, letting my legs cut through the air with power and knock their forearms. I’d bet they both held short daggers based on their proximity. Men with pikes and spears generally maintained a healthy distance from my lethal range.
I heard the daggers fall from their hands and crack on the stone floor. I kicked down to set my body upright again. The momentum traveled through my chest and into my right arm, knocking against the unlucky brute on the opposite side. My arm cut across my body and landed beneath his chin, sending the sick sound of bottom teeth against uppers cracking through the pit. While already leaning toward him, I sent a sharp kick to the other guy, but he anticipated my move and grabbed me firmly around the knee.
He pulled my leg and knocked me off balance, throwing me to the ground flat on my back. The hard blow struck the wind from my lungs, making only short, shallow breaths possible as my diaphragm spasmed and quivered from the shock. A blade scraped off the floor next to me. I rolled to the side as he sent it down on the ghost of my body.
My left hand skimmed the handle of the other blade as I rolled, the smooth wood slid into my palm as I twisted around. Heavy breathing alerted me to the man lunging for me again, the sound of bloodlust lacing his breath.
I pulled my knees to my chest and thrust them up. My body followed through the motion, and I landed lightly on my feet. The air shifted as he drew back his arm. I leaped away just in time and roundhoused my foot to his face. It made contact, but the man turned out to be a distraction. Behind me, I heard the building sound of tension, but before I brought my foot down, the arrow flew. It sunk into my shoulder, the sharp point embedding itself deep into the muscle, scraping bone as I arched my back.
Shit.
I tried to extend a limber arm around and pull it out, but it was in a perfect spot, unreachable by hand. As I clawed the bleeding skin surrounding the arrow, another one met my thigh.
Shit!
That was a cheap shot.
Never had two arrows met me at the same time, never had I allowed this to happen.What is going on with me?My hand dropped instinctively to the arrow embedded in my thigh—instead of blocking the blow coming for my face. The second man's fist discovered my nose in an unfortunate meeting, and the force behind the punch sent me flying backward off my feet. The only bright side from the fall being the arrow in my back caught against a barrier which ripped it out of my skin due to its superficial placement.
Well, it was both good and bad.
I retreated, stars flooding the darkness behind the blindfold as my orientation adjusted, scooting my body across the granite floor while pushing off my feet. My leg tensed at the movement, tugging at the arrow embedded in my thigh, exacerbating the pain and stealing all tactile sensation. I yanked it free with a cry muffled through gritted teeth and threw it to the side, where it clattered across the floor. My nose was broken, and the blood pouring from the vascular site clotted and clogged, spraying across my lips with every forceful exhale attempting to maintain the airway.
I needed to annihilate these guys. I needed to prove I was untouchable. Instead, I was performing worse than ever, and panic started to rise in place of my confidence. Anxiety numbed my senses, blurring anything past my own pathetic trembling. I couldn’t sense anything besides the inevitable approach of failure and my dreams slipping out of my blood-coated fingers. If I didn't calm down, I would lose everything.
His footsteps came closer, but they were muted behind the heartbeat pounding successively faster in my ears. The brutes weren't supposed to kill us, but honestly, I wish he would. I would rather die in this pit than face the foreseeable failure waiting for me. White-hot pain seared through my leg and back, and the throbbing in my nose only pissed me off more.
I wasn't sure if anger or desperation made me do it, but my hands flew to the thick fabric around my eyes and tore it off. This was completely against the rules, but at this point, it didn't matter. I was going to fail, going to be sent to the Peaks. I would never feel the wind in my face or see the light of the stars. I would never step a foot outside this mountain, never feel anything beneath my feet besides a cold granite floor. My legacy was finished before it even started.
Since all my other senses were shot, my eyes were the only thing I had left to rely on, and I absolutely refused to take another arrow. Through watery eyes, I watched the brute stagger towards me, his nose also bleeding from the kick I’d delivered, while flashing a short dagger in his right fist. Still holding my own blade in my non-dominant hand, I flung the knife's edge above me, blocking his attack and locking our blades in a wicked embrace. His stocky frame threatened to crash into me until I slipped from underneath his weight, tossing him to the ground at my side.
My next move was purely instinctual, a feral reaction to the pain wreaking havoc on my body, a desperate attempt to walk out of this pit alive and somewhat satisfied. My vision red, my fingers twitching painfully with a fresh hunger, I used his clumsiness to my advantage and flung the blade at him. I was starving, angry, and in a hateful mood. My fate was sealed with this final test, and I had lost everything I worked for my entire life. Vengeance hardened my heart, melted my morality, and devoured my standards with an irresistible need to hurt this man as much as the mountain had hurt me. A decade of trauma and abuse, of lost fights and countless stitches, was all unleashed on him in this one final blow. But none of these reasons validated what I did, nothing would help me sleep better at night once I realized the consequences of my actions, the finality I claimed with a single dagger and the tips of my aching fingers.
