Page 33 of From the Mouths of Sirens

Without warning, the chariot lurched forward, its golden wheels clattering along the smooth sandstone before gracefully ascending with a soft whoosh. Her thoughts scattered as the chariot moved, all concern about Selussa’s bargain shoving to the back of her mind. The crowd cheered even louder as the tributes began gaining speed, proud voices mingling into a chorus that reminded Saoirse of rushing waves. Her heart fluttered as the chariot slowly began rising, the feeling of weightlessness tingling through her body as they lifted upward. But she held her back straight, trying her best to be the proud champion her people wanted her to be. Who they needed her to be.

Before she knew it, they were in the air and soaring high above the city of Coarinth. The huge silk banner that was attached to the back of the chariot unfurled in the wind like the spill of a waterfall. Deep turquoise and silver streamed behind them like the ripples of the ocean. Saoirse closed her eyes in the light of the soft sunrise, her heart thundering in her chest as they cut through the clouds and wove through floating pavilions. She could feel Sune and Aurelia beside her, their solid presences reassuring even as her body felt untethered from the earth below.

When her breathing stabilized, Saoirse willed herself to crack open her eyes. They descended Mt. Thalia, spiraling down jagged cliffs and treacherous mountain paths. Her stomach twisted as they flew, fear tearing at her frayed nerves. But even as trepidation ate away the edges of her heart and the wind tore at her curls, she caught her breath at the beauty below. Mist clung to them as they left the windward side of the mountain and soared above the fertile earth below. A lush forest unfurled across the rolling hills at the base of the mountain, watered by constant precipitation. Heavy clouds gathered above, plump with water and dark with the promise of a thunderstorm. Swift breezes blew in from the Maeral Sea, misting the wilderness in fog and sea brine. Saoirse dared to look back as they sped over the woodlands, taking in the ominous mountain that now loomed high above them like a great giant of stone. They whispered over the forest, the shadow of their chariot flitting across the treetops like a wraith.

And then it was before them. The arena.

The amphitheater was a stark sweep of gray against the forest, like an accidental smear of paint on a beautiful canvas. The walls of the arena rose high above the towering trees, ancient and covered in vines that curled up the stones like vipers. In some places, the arena crumbled with age and rot, thread-like cracks flooding it with sunlight. The amphitheater had been built long ago, before the Crown was even forged. The Stone Circle had once been a gathering place of the nations. Now, it was a place of bloodshed and competition.

Their Auran driver tilted the reigns down, driving the chariot toward the arena. The winged horses cut through a thick tangle of trees and descended into the clearing, soaring for the ancient road that encircled the amphitheater. The walls of the arena loomed closer and came into focus with every wingbeat. Each carefully laid brick was nearly double the size of the chariot. It was menacing somehow, lurking in the shadow of the woods like a crouched predator waiting to strike.

The Auran driver expertly led the horses to the earth, their hooves pounding the ground in a muted thunder. The amphitheater towered above them. Each row of arched windows were open to the air, much like the pavilions in Coarinth. Saoirse’s heart raced as they drove steadily toward the great beast, her eyes scanning the open archways that climbed upward. The countless tiers looked like teeth lining the jaws of a stone monster waiting to devour them all. A dull roar gradually filled Saoirse’s ears as they drew closer, the cries of thousands of voices echoing through the arena. From the outside, the spectators within the amphitheater were mere specks in the open corridors, moving along the edges like tiny ants. Four flags waved in the wind, sprouting from the spires of four towers that jutted out from the arena. Saoirse’s eyes locked onto the proud flag that represented her own nation. Fear leached into her blood and pooled in her stomach.

This was it.

“We’re here,” Aurelia breathed. “I can’t believe it.”

Saoirse clutched Aurelia’s hand, trying to keep herself from trembling as they entered through an enormous curved archway. Much to her surprise, Sune also offered her his hand, his composed demeanor only showing a hint of apprehension as she took it. The three of them stayed like that as they entered the hollow outer ring of the Stone Circle. The corridor was larger than Saoirse imagined it to be, its ceiling rising into the darkness well beyond view. The outer wall was lit by giant sconces that lined the empty hall, broken up by shafts of sunlight that pooled in from the archways. Tangles of vines and ropes of ivy crept up the dark walls, curling around stone and rock in a protective embrace. Toward the inner wall, stone steps were carved into the amphitheater itself, leading up to the soaring upper levels where the people of Revelore would observe the trials.

The muted chorus of cheering onlookers above had become a faint buzz in Saoirse’s ears as Vangelis Mitrou met them in the empty hall. The Tournament Ambassador wore a deep turquoise tunic that laced up all the way up to his neck. Threads of silver wove around his shoulders and formed the crest of Elorshin on his chest in an intricate tapestry: two kelpies rearing up in unison, foam-capped waves cresting their shoulders.

The ambassador bowed to them with a flourish. “Tributes,” he addressed them, rising from the bow. Even through the muted clamor of spectators, Vangelis’s voice was crisp and clear. “Welcome to the Stone Circle. This arena will determine all of our fates. If you would please follow me to your tribute chambers.”

The air was stale within the corridor as they followed the ambassador, thick with humidity and suffocating with each step. Perhaps it was merely nerves, but Saoirse felt as though she could hardly breathe. Vangelis led them to an inner wall that was embedded into the amphitheater, his robes swishing across the floor. They climbed up a set of hidden stairs in silence, all of them lost to their own thoughts. As Saoirse followed the ambassador, she wondered how many tributes he had led through the arena and watched die in the end. She grimaced and prayed she wouldn’t be another tribute lost to the trials.

The staircase was lined with a thick blanket of dust, lit only by a scattering of dim sconces. Spidery cracks ran through the stone walls and cobwebs clung to the broken stairs like forgotten memories. It was obvious that the secret passageway was scarcely touched, only used every ten years and no more. Saoirse would’ve thought that the hosting nation would’ve at least put in a little effort in sweeping up ancient cobwebs here and there, but evidently Aurandel didn’t feel the need to make their chambers hospitable.

Vangelis finally stopped at a shadowed landing and led them through a doorway. Above them, the dull roar of the crowd and the soft pounding of boots against stone sent shivers up Saoirse’s spine. They entered a simple chamber, lit only by torches that cast foreboding shadows on the walls. In comparison to the dingy staircase outside, this room was clean and tidy. Fresh flowers encircled the room, displayed in shining gold vases. Banners of deep blue and silver hung from the ceiling, fanning out across the chamber. Strands of polished sea shells and pearls hung like vines from the rafters, cascading down the walls.

A small handful of their Mer attendants had gathered in the tribute chambers, their faces full of pride. Many of their eyes were glossy with tears that caught the light. It wasn’t just about her childish dreams anymore. What happened within the arena would determine the fate of her people. All fleeting thoughts of Rook and the Sea Witch’s bargain dissolved from her mind, melting into an insatiable hunger to win the Tournament, no matter the cost. Not just for her own pride. Not just to prove her father wrong. But to redeem Elorshin and restore her people’s former glory.

“Welcome, tributes,” Isme said, stepping forward. Saoirse couldn’t help but smile at her attendant’s familiar face as she strode toward them. “You’ve donned your tribute attire,” Isme said with a nod to their garments. “Now for the finishing touches.”

Another attendant stepped forward, holding three swaths of fabric in her hands. Isme took one of the folded garments, unfurling it in the center of the room. The cloak was perhaps the most beautiful garment Saoirse had ever seen, its shimmering silver threads catching the torchlight as Isme gently unfolded it. The silky surface of the cloak was smooth and iridescent, like the silver ripples of moonlight against the sea. It was embroidered with delicate patterns of glowing thread, forming the familiar crest of Elorshin across the back.

“We may have no say in your uniforms,” Isme explained, “but we are allowed to tailor a cape for you.” She stood behind Sune, lifting the cloak around his shoulders and fastening it in the front. Something about the moment felt sacred, the gravity of the trials heavy in the air. Tears pricked in Saoirse’s eyes as she watched Isme fasten the next cloak to Aurelia’s shoulders.

She held her breath as Isme stood behind her, the moment feeling as rushed and chaotic as it was sweet and momentous. Isme’s gentle fingers settled the cloak on her shoulders, clasping it tightly. Despite the cloak rising just above her ankles, it was impossibly light and airy, spilling down her back in a cascade of weightless silver. Wearing the cloak, she felt assured of herself and steady, as if the blessings of her people were woven into the fabric itself.

“This cloak was spun with threads of bioluminescent algae,” Isme said proudly, taking a step back and surveying them. “You’ll find that in the dark, these cloaks will keep you close. Wear them proudly, tributes.” She gave them a short bow, stepping back into the crowd of attendants with an encouraging smile on her face.

Vangelis appeared by their sides again, ready to escort them to the next phase of the trial. Instead of leading them back down the stairwell, the Ambassador escorted them to a parallel staircase that ran adjacent to the tribute chambers. The stone steps descended beyond the first level, tunneling into the earth itself. The air grew moist and cool as they lowered into the ground, the sound of the cheering crowd absorbed into soil and rock. Saoirse couldn’t tell how far down they had climbed, darkness and shadow enveloping them from all angles. The shadows were broken by flickering scones of blue flame, casting splashes of murky light on the ancient steps. Just as Isme described, the delicate embroidery of their cloaks glowed in the dark, its silver threads curling across their backs in the inky darkness.

They were silent as they climbed down, only the sounds of their shallow breaths and the whisper of their cloaks against steps mingling together in the quiet. With every step into the underbelly of the ampitheatre, Saoirse’s chest constricted. She felt as though they descended to the underworld, slowly being swallowed up by stone and soil. Palms sweating, Saoirse fought to keep her breathing calm as they finally hit the bottom of the staircase. She would’ve preferred the piercing roar of the crowd over the unending, numbing silence that proliferated this subterranean level.

At the base of the steps, a large hallway unfolded in the darkness. The walls were lined with metal bars and locking mechanisms. With a start Saoirse realized they were cells. Her skin crawled as they walked past endless rows of rusting cages, unwilling to imagine what horrors had been kept inside them long ago. Dark stains on the stone floor looked suspiciously like blood in the torchlight.

As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Vangelis offered, “live animals and creatures have been contained here throughout the centuries.” Saoirse didn’t have to ask why the beasts were kept down here. The trials had frequently featured challenges that required tributes to survive the hungry jaws of bloodthirsty monsters. She didn’t know if she felt worse for the poor beasts or for the people who were shredded by their claws.

After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the end of the hallway. The anticipation that had built up in Saoirse’s heart threatened to spill over as Vangelis led them into a small cell. He pried open the iron door, a haunting creak cutting through the silence. Instead of stepping inside first, the ambassador gestured for them to enter without him. After a moment of hesitation, Sune slipped through the doorway, his boots scuffing along the stone floor. The dark room was cramped and bare, metal bars lining the walls just as the other cells in the hallway. The minute she crowded in behind Aurelia, the cell door slammed shut. The lock clicked behind it, and something like guilt flashed in Vangelis’s eyes.

“Hel’s Teeth,” Aurelia cursed, putting her face up to the bars. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I apologize,” he told them through the cell bars with a wave of his hand. “You were selected to represent Elorshin, and there is no way out of it. Though I’d never expect any of you to betray your country, I must guarantee that each of you will compete in the Tournament.” He folded his hands across his chest, surveying them from the other side. “You’d be surprised how many tributes have attempted to escape their fates over the years.”

Aurelia glared at him through the bars, her lip curling in disgust and humiliation. “You think so little of us, Ambassador?” she asked, wrapping both hands around the bars.

“Like I said,'' Vangelis replied sheepishly, “It is just part of my duties as your representative. Drink your titansblood elixir now, if you haven’t already. It could be a while before you get another chance.”

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