Chapter Eleven_The Ninth Element

On the ninth day after the first trial, as the sun dips below the horizon, we nervously assemble in the inner ward. My heart beats a frantic rhythm as a drumbeat of dread echoes my fervent prayer: please, no sword fights, no duels to the death. I’m more of a strategically hide behind a potted plant and wait for the right time to strike kind of warrior.

 Suddenly, the ancient oak doors of the keep creak open, and a figure emerges, resplendent in dark green and gold. It’s the same Martyshyar who greeted us before the first trial. He’s wearing the same coat adorned with eight gold stars, making him only one rank below Martyshbod Faelar. Flanked by a triad of seven-starred Martyshyars looking like they’d rather be anywhere else, he descends the steps with the measured pace of a man who’s never spilled a drop of tea in his life. Reaching the bottom, his gaze sweeps over us with a cold, calculating appraisal.

 “I am Martyshyar Kamran,” his voice slices through the nervous whispers. Apparently, we weren’t important enough for an introduction before the last trial. “The second trial demands partnership. You have a tenth of the hourglass to find one. Failure to forge an alliance results in elimination.”

 A wave of shock ripples through the crowd. Confusion clouds everyone’s faces. Partners? We are supposed to be rivals, not teammates. This unexpected twist, this reliance on another, is a wrench that sends my heart racing. I remember that seventy-three contenders remain. An odd number. Someone’s getting the boot before the trial even begins!

 My eyes dart towards the Ahiras with a desperate plea in my gaze. Seven of us are still in the game. My breath hitches, and a cold sweat breaks out on my skin as I push through the crowd, my heart pounding like a war drum.

 “Pippin!” Maleed’s voice cuts through the din as I reach them. “Partner with Kameel. Alizan and Elranz, you’ll be together. Eshavan and I will be a pair.”

 “Wait, what about me?” I blurt out, panic rising in my throat. They turn with surprise as if they’d forgotten I existed.

 “It looks like we’re fresh out of partners,” Maleed responds with a dismissive shrug as if my predicament is of no consequence for his highness.

 “But… but Ahira Emmenshah himself gave me his blessing! He said I should win this for Firelands!”

 “Did he?” Kameel drawls skeptically.

 A wave of anger flares inside me, but I suppress it and try to keep my voice steady. “You are not here to win! I am. I told the council I wanted to win. I think it’s only fair that you help me.”

 Maleed’s eyebrows shoot up before he speaks with a voice dripping with condescension. “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself? Last I checked, you were still a lowly four-ringed sorceress, not the Queen of Firelands.”

 A raw scream claws at the back of my throat, a primal urge to unleash the fury brewing inside me. It would be so satisfying to let it rip and watch them cringe under my rage. But I bite it back. Instead, I force calmness into my voice and try to reason with them, to appeal to their logic, even though every fiber of my being screams at the futility of it all.

 “I’m not asking for a crown, just a scrap of cooperation! If you are all planning on losing these trials eventually, why not one of you bow out now before risking the trial that might be dangerous? Isn’t that perfect excuse for one of you to be eliminated without raising suspicions?”

 Kameel sneers, “We don’t take orders from you, girl.”

 I swallow hard. Anger simmers in my gut, but panic is starting to set in, too. A quick survey of the courtyard confirms my worst fears. The Izadeonians and Kishis are as thick as thieves. The Jamshahis and Eyrians have also paired up, and the remaining Myrans and Aramisis are huddled together. Even the Hamden and Maravan crews are whispering and plotting. It’s official: I’m the last one standing.

 Despair wraps its icy fingers around my heart, squeezing tight. Is this it? Is my lifelong dream of becoming a Martyshyar about to be snuffed out by this cruel game of alliances? My chest feels like it’s caving in, and every breath is a struggle. I can almost touch the upcoming panic attack that creeps in closer and closer. And right here, in front of everyone’s eyes! I push the shadows back, but it’s a losing battle.

 I should have worked on fostering friendships and building alliances. I should have said yes to the Izadeonian invitations instead of burying myself in the library. My stomach churns as I picture my future: back in the Firelands library, surrounded by the smell of old books and dust, growing old and forgotten until someone stumbles on my withered corpse years later. It is a fitting end—a life lived in isolation, ending in isolation.

 NO! I refuse to give up. I turn to my last hope, the Ahiras. I’m willing to swallow my pride and kneel in front of them if I have to. Kameel and Maleed look at me like I’m something unpleasant they stepped on, and Pippin’s sympathetic glance is about as useful as an empty teapot. So I turn to the only man whose words carry a weight here. Eshavan’s emerald eyes, cold as ice, lock onto mine, and for a split second, I think I see something flicker in their depths. It’s gone in a flash, but I cling to it like a lifeline.

 “Please,” my voice breaks as I look directly into his eyes. I don’t think anyone else heard, but Eshavan’s eyes shift just a fraction. It’s the smallest glimmer of hope in a sea of despair, and I’m desperate enough to grab onto it with both hands. “Please,” I repeat, my voice louder this time.

 “Are you looking for a partner?” a voice booms from behind.

 I whip around, heart pounding, and there’s Daryan. His eyes flicker towards the Ahiras. A hint of disgust twists his features before he focuses on me again, frozen in a moment of pure panic.

 The Kishis nearby are sporting matching looks of shock. Did Daryan just abandon them like yesterday’s leftovers? A strangled squeak escapes my throat. “Weren’t you…”

 “Do you need a partner or not?” Daryan asks impatiently.

 “Yes! I do, I do!” I almost shout.

 “Good,” he grunts curtly, then turns his steely gaze toward the Kishis. “Sorry. Plans have changed. We’re full.”

 A roar of outrage erupts from them. “Nine hells, Daryan!” Lila, the girl who talked to me on our climb to Jahanwatch, shouts. “We had an agreement! You can’t just abandon it!”

 The others echo her fury. Daryan shrugs with an impassive expression. “Circumstances change. I shall do what’s best for my fellowship.”

 One of the Kishi men, fury contorting his face, advances on Daryan in a menacing stride. Bryn steps forward and materializes between them. The sight of the hulking warrior is enough to halt the Kishi man in his tracks. No one, not in their right mind, would dare challenge Bryn.

 Daryan surveys the dismayed Kishis with cold indifference, then turns to the Izadeonians. “Change of plans. Arien will be with me. Corvys, you’ll be with Cyrias instead.” Finally, he meets my gaze with a curt nod as if sealing our unexpected alliance.

 I can barely draw a breath. One moment, I was staring down the barrel of elimination; the next, I am paired with a contender as formidable as Daryan. I don’t look back at the Ahiras as I walk toward him. Damn them. I am done with those self-serving, cold-hearted bastards.

 And just like that, Martyshyar Kamran shouts, “Time is up. Step forward with your partner.”

 The remaining aspirants stand in pairs with a flurry of movement and hushed last-minute arrangements. The Kishis are still in a huddle and continue to bicker amongst themselves. Martyshyar’s voice rises again. “Now!”

 The Kishis reluctantly pair up, leaving one man isolated. As the last ray of the sun vanishes below the horizon, he collapses, unconscious. Two Martyshmen appear from the corner, dragging his body away.

 “He will wake up tomorrow in the valley with nothing but a headache and a long sail back to Kish. You, however,” his gaze sweeps over us, “may not be so fortunate.”

 We all know what he means. This round isn’t a game of merit or cunning anymore. Our lives are at stake.

 Martyshyar continues, “Working in pairs, Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find an artifact. You’ll recognize it when you see it. Return with this prize by midnight, and you shall pass. Failure to return by the watching hour, or returning empty-handed or without your pair, and you will find yourselves waking in the valley come sunrise. Suppose you are alive, of course. When you arrive with your artifact, you shall place it on that table.” He points to a long table on the right side of the courtyard. “At that point, you’re not allowed to engage with those still in the competition. The sooner you arrive, the higher your rank. The trial begins now.”Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

 The courtyard erupts in a chaotic scramble. Some sprint headlong into the maw of the main keep. Others dash towards the other wards, and a few dart for keeps around the inner ward. The Izadeonians stand firm, not surrendering to the frenzy. Their eyes dart between Daryan, Bryn, and Corbyn, their obvious leader.

 “Let’s divide and conquer,” Corbyn rumbles. “More ground covered, higher chance of finding this mystery prize.”

 “Three wards to cover,” Bryn states, his voice flat and matter-of-fact.

 Corbyn adds, “And several watchtowers.”

 “Arien and I will search the main keep,” Daryan declares, gesturing towards the imposing keep that dominates the inner courtyard, the biggest structure in the castle.

 “Library and kitchens are ours,” Corbyn chimes in, assigning roles with military precision. “Varydas and Hamzyn, you take the western ward. Umyr and Jaymar, the southern ward is yours. Cyrias and Corvys explore the watchtowers.”

 The plan is clear and efficient.

 Daryan orders, “Whoever finds their artifact blows the whistle. We regroup here and share the spoils before placing the artifact on that table.”

 Everyone nods their heads in obedience before Daryan and I, a newly minted pair, burst toward the main keep. We breeze through the massive oak doors without a single guard stopping us like we own the place.

 Corridors snake off in every direction, and shadowy doorways lurk around every corner. This place has more twists and turns than my father’s love life. We could spend the rest of our lives poking around in every nook and cranny and probably still miss the secret room where they keep the sweets.

 “I’ll take the left. You take the right,” Daryan barks as he dives headfirst into the nearest room. “It has to be something obvious. Don’t waste time searching every hole in the wall!”

 But he doesn’t know. He can’t know. For all we know, the object could be a speck of dust hidden in a crack in the wall or a massive, glowing orb sitting in plain sight. All we were told was that we will recognize it when we see it.

 I push open the first door, revealing a huge chamber filled with chests, towering bookshelves, and overflowing closets. With careful precision, I start my search. Every chest is opened, every paper and parchment sifted through, every drawer inspected, every piece of furniture scrutinized. No corner goes unchecked. By the time I’m done, I feel like I’ve aged a decade. This keep is a monster, and even with our divide-and-conquer approach, I’m starting to think we are fighting a losing battle.

 I tear through the second room, but my mind is still in the last one. Did I miss the hidden artifact in the first room, buried under a mountain of forgotten documents? There is no time to dwell on it now; the sand is dripping.

 As I move to the next even larger chamber, a sense of dread starts growing inside me. With each room, the fear of failing becomes stronger. What if I’ve already passed the object hidden beneath a pile of papers? I force myself to remain focused, holding on to the hope that maybe someone else will find the artifact, and their method of discovery or recognizing the shape of the artifact will be our salvation in the end.

 Room after room blurs together like a collection of wasted time. The keep’s layout seems to mock me, and doubt creeps in like a cold draft. By the time I finish the ground floor’s left side, I’m exhausted. I don’t know the time, but we can’t be too far away from midnight. Daryan’s noisy rummaging echoes from above. Ascending the stairs, I’m greeted by a seemingly endless hallway of doors. Six floors in this keep alone, apart from its own watchtowers and battlements. Panic starts to nibble at the edges of my composure.

 Random. Illogical.

 These are the words that keep swirling in my mind. Can this truly be the test? Was mindlessly rummaging through drawers the key to becoming Martyshyar? It feels utterly useless to me. But I need another perspective.

 Pushing open the door where I last heard Daryan, I find him in the midst of his unorthodox search. Unlike my methodical exploration, Daryan is rifling through drawers, their contents spilling onto the floor in a chaotic mess. I can’t help but picture the furious Martyshmen – this place will likely need a complete reorganization after tonight.

 “This can’t be it,” I blurt out, “There has to be something we’re missing!”

 Daryan spares me a quick glance, his hands still working with the intensity of a man possessed. “I’m open to suggestions,”

 “These trials are meant to test our skills. Searching every hole isn’t exactly a noble skill.”

 “Agreed,” he concedes with a grunt. “I’ve been wracking my brain this whole time but haven’t come up with another idea yet. At least I’m not standing still.”

 I cast my mind back to Martyshyar Kamran’s instructions. Time until midnight. We’ll know the object when we see it. That was all he said. Unlike the first challenge, there are no riddles in his words, no cryptic hints.

 But have the last nine days offered any clues? I sift through my memories, replaying my explorations of the fortress, searching for a spark of recognition. Jahanwatch, however, is a treasure trove of oddities - every corner is crammed with peculiar artifacts and hidden passageways. Nothing specific jumps out at me.

 “Are you going to stand there pondering the meaning of life or lend a hand to the search?” Daryan’s voice drips with dry sarcasm.

 He probably regrets partnering with me. I feel guilty but can’t shake the feeling that mindless ransacking isn’t the answer. So I plant myself on my spot like a stubborn weed, refusing to move.

 Nine days. Nine days of observations, conversations, explorations, and reading. The Martyshmen, characteristically secretive, offered nothing. They barely talked to us since our arrival.

 I mentally retrace my steps, revisiting every unlocked room when I walked across the castle, from the storerooms holding forgotten sabers to the giant infirmary, the library, and the Alchemist’s rooms. Nothing triggers any sense of abnormality. It could be anything, though, perhaps an unassuming object I had overlooked during my explorations.

 My mind races as I mentally flip through the books I devoured in the library. The trials barely received any attention. And then, suddenly, a spark ignites in my mind. I almost blurt out a strangled cry before catching myself.

 “There was something!” I finally manage to say, stopping Daryan’s mid-drawer-toss. He whirls around.

 “In the library. One of the books had a peculiar sentence. It’s what Martyshbod Faelar said on the first night.”

 Daryan’s foot taps impatiently on the floor, but he is paying attention.

 “Didn’t she say something about each trial…giving us an advantage for the next one?”

 He shoots me a skeptical look. “I remember. She probably meant we get the advantage of moving on to the next round.”

 “But what if there’s more to it? The first trial proved that we should take everything they say to us literally. ‘Every word, every sign, every piece of information could be crucial,’ Faelar said. Maybe each trial gives us something tangible to help us in the next one.”

 Daryan pauses and turns entirely toward me. “Hmm, that’s a wild proposition, Arien. But what advantage did we actually gain from that first trial besides a ticket to this prison? The Seemorg didn’t exactly hand out sweets. It didn’t even talk to me.”

 “Me neither. It was a one-sided exchange at best. After the trials, though. They gave us quarters, new clothes, access to the kitchen, library, weapons in the training ground…”

 “Maybe it’s something hidden in our chambers?”

 “It has to be something significant. Something we wouldn’t have gotten if we’d flunked the first trial.”

 Daryan shrugs, still skeptical. “All I remember is that the first trial was essentially a ‘get in or get out’ situation. No hidden treasures, no secret handshakes.”

 Then it strikes me as a bolt of lightning splits through the fog of confusion. Daryan’s face mirrors my sudden realization as my eyes dart to the bands encircling our wrists. The very bands they’d slapped on us in the courtyard upon our arrival, marking us as contenders.

 I’d barely given it a second thought after that first night. I’d showered with it, slept with it, and practically forgotten its existence. It is snug around my wrist, impossible to remove without a knife.

 The band itself is nothing special; it is just a plain black leather strap with a gold Martysh coin dabbed in the middle, the only thing that breaks up the endless black. The Martysh sigil – a wolf’s head intertwined with an eagle’s head – is etched into the metal.

 Daryan mirrors my movement and touches his wrist. A moment later, his eyes widen as he flips the golden metal over. “There’s something on the back,”

 I already know what he sees. Two hands clasped together, holding on each other’s forearms, above the wrist, and below the elbow. The first time I saw it, I assumed it was a symbol of sworn allegiance between the provinces. No grand revelation there. Just a simple symbol on a simple band.

 “Look,” Daryan growls. “We’re burning sand here, and I’m not about to fail this trial because we’re playing ‘guess the hidden meaning’ with a piece of leather. You think searching every nook and cranny is a waste of time? Fine. Do as you please. But I’d rather wear out my boots than sit here pondering riddles.”

 With that, he barges out of the room, stomping towards the next chamber along the hallway.

 The leather band, the Martyshyar’s cryptic words – it feels so close, a puzzle on the verge of being solved. But I can’t blame his frustration. A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I trail behind him.

 Below the stairs, on the landing floor, two Jamshahi women are locked in a heated debate. I recognize them. Their names are Samira and Olanna. They are the top two Jamshahis on the leaderboard, trailing behind Maleed. Are they arguing about the same thing? Maybe this partnership was the real test – to see how well we could cooperate under the pressure of a seemingly pointless task.

 And with that thought, the answer sparks in my mind.

 “Daryan!” I call out.

 He pauses, with an eyebrow raised in question. As much as he seems frustrated with me, I have to appreciate how he stops at my call every time instead of ignoring me entirely.

 With a surge of confidence, I approach him and extend my arm. Confusion clouds his features as I gesture towards his arm. “Hold my forearm,” I urge, tilting my head towards the symbol on the band. “Like the symbol.”

 Hesitation dances in his eyes for a moment, and then a spark of understanding dawns. He mirrors my pose, and our forearms press together, wrists aligned where the leather bands meet. A tense silence hangs between us.

 And then, something extraordinary happens. A gentle warmth radiates from the bracelets, spreading up our arms like a comforting embrace. Before our astonished eyes, the dull black leather transforms into shimmering gold, and the Martysh coin pulsates with an inner light as if it has a heartbeat of its own. Daryan’s jaw drops, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stares at his transformed band. Mine mirrors his expression, and in that moment, something emerges from our intertwined hands.

AliNovel

Chapter Eleven