Page 57 of From the Myths of Kings

“Well, you’re about to learn,” Neia huffed, shoving it into her hand. She picked up the broken shovel and handed it to Rook, shrugging apologetically. “This is the best we’ve got.”

The second Wyrm burst from the opposite wall, its wriggling body crashing against the rock just under their tottering platform. The walls shuddered with impact and more chips of stone showered down on them. The beams that supported the feeble wood crumbled with the force of the Wyrm’s lunge. The platform’s legs broke apart one by one and dropped like cracked icicles. Saoirse’s stomach dropped with them to the bottom of the pit.

“The ladder!” Neia roared as the scaffolding collapsed from underneath them. Had the ladder not been fixed to the wall with metal rods, it would’ve fallen alongside the platform. Hasana crawled down the ladder after Neia, their shared rope pulling taut.

At the bottom of the pit, the two Wyrms collided in a heap of coiling segments, their lashing movements sending shockwaves through the quarry as they struck the sides violently. Once the shock of burrowing into a dry quarry had worn off and the collapsing scaffolding settled, the beasts would pick up on the frenzy of vibrations from where the four of them flailed on the ladder.

Saoirse was just about to throw herself onto the ladder behind Hasana when the platform gave way from under her feet. She was suddenly weightless, her hands scrambling for a hold on the rungs. She could feel Rook falling behind her, their connecting rope yanking her backward with his weight. They dangled from the cord together, held above the thrashing Wyrms at the bottom of the pit. The metal manacles tore at Saoirse’s wrists as she hung by her arms. She kicked at the wall, trying to find a foothold. The corded threads began unravelling as she and Rook swayed, the rope lodged between a metal rung. Neia swore as their suspended bodies nearly pulled her and Hasana off the ladder.

The rope abruptly snapped, and Saoirse began to freefall. Arms snaked around her as she fell backward through the air, the wind rushing past her. Rook’s breath was hot against her neck as he crushed her against his chest.

“I’ve got you,” he breathed. And suddenly, they weren’t falling. Instead, they soared upward. Rook’s powerful wingbeats filled her ears and Saoirse’s stomach fluttered, half from the height and half from his nearness. Saoirse watched as Grivur’s archers drew back their crossbows, training their arrows on Rook in case he attempted to fly out. He was wary not to fly too high, hovering alongside the ladder where Hasana and Neia were braced against the wall. He carefully set Saoirse on the rungs, his hands moving down her waist as she found her footing.

“What’s our next move?” Rook began.

“Shh!” Neia silenced him. The sound of his voice would carry through the rock.

Rook’s fingers regretfully left the small of Saoirse’s back as she wrapped one palm around a free rung to stabilize herself. Fortunately, she still clutched the pickaxe in her other hand. She sucked in a deep lungful of air, trying to keep her wits about her.

With the ruined platform finally settled on the floor of the pit in a heap of splinters, the Wyrms had stopped their flailing. The blind creatures were now eerily still, their lolling heads cocked toward where they held onto the ladder. They could feel every micro vibration with their skin, every small shudder or ripple that echoed through the stone.

“They’ve found us,” Neia whispered.

Before Saoirse could process what was happening, one of the Wyrms shot forward, launching itself at the ladder like a viper striking from under a rock. Its toothy jaw unhinged with a grotesque squelching noise. Hasana screamed as the Wyrm struck the bottom of the ladder just a few rungs shy of Neia’s feet. The beast let out a repulsive, guttural shriek as its mouth met wood and metal.

Neia swiftly used her pickaxe to sever the rope that still hooked her to Hasana. Instead of scrambling away from the creature’s snapping jaws, she jumped from the ladder and landed directly on the Wyrm’s scaled thorax. She started hacking at the beast’s hide with her pickaxe, her teeth gritted as the Wyrm writhed and screeched with shock. Neia got one good tear in its plated skin before it bucked her off, sending her careening toward the bottom of the quarry.

Saoirse almost yelled Neia’s name, but she caught herself before her voice could carry through the air and reveal her location to the closest Wyrm. Neia fell only a few feet away from the second creature, clapping a hand over her mouth as the wind was knocked from her lungs. The second Wyrm lurched toward her, its gaping mouth jerking as though it could taste the vibrations in the air.

Before it could strike Neia, Rook dove for the sightless creature, wielding his broken shovel like a sword. He smashed its milky-white eyes with the makeshift weapon. Though it was already blind, the beast could still feel pain, and its blood-curdling squeal shook the quarry as Rook continued to stab at its useless eyes. Neia scrambled away from its thrashing tail, the echoes of her footsteps drowned out by the Wyrm’s screams.

Below Saoirse, Hasana remained paralyzed on the ladder, her face frozen with terror. The first Wyrm had recovered from Neia’s initial surprise attack. Blood seeped down its side from where the pickaxe had cleaved its scales apart. It focused its attention back to the ladder and let out an eerie hiss. The Wyrm lunged forward again, teeth flashing in the dim light. Hasana shut her eyes and gripped the trembling ladder even harder as the beast jabbed blindly at the wall.

Saoirse had to act. She raced down the rungs, pausing just above Hasana. She pointed down, gesturing for Hasana to climb down the ladder. Despite her terror, she obediently began to descend, her eyes slamming shut once more. Saoirse began hitting the side of the quarry with her pickaxe. She prayed the vibrations would overshadow Hasana’s movements down the ladder.

The Wyrm lunged again, slamming into the wall mere inches above Hasana’s head. Saoirse bit back another scream. The Wyrm recoiled and shook its head, sending shards of stone raining down upon Hasana, who was still painstakingly climbing. Saoirse continued to wedge her pickaxe into the wall, willing the beast to strike at her rather than Hasana. The hideous creature reared back again, this time leveling itself with Saoirse.

Time seemed to slow down, and every second felt like an eternity as the Wyrm readied to strike. Saoirse gripped the hilt of her pickaxe with one hand, turning to face the dreadful beast. And then the Wyrm was lunging forward, moving in slow motion. Its colorless lips tore back to reveal rows of dagger-sharp teeth set into swollen gums. Its jaw unhinged wide enough to fully swallow Saoirse. She could see down its throat, an abyss of quivering pink muscle. When it was only inches away, she thrust the metal pickaxe into the roof of its mouth as hard as she could. She unhooked her feet and dropped down the ladder just as the Wyrm collided with the metal rungs she’d only just been holding onto. The soft flesh of her palms tore as she slid down the rusted ladder. She couldn’t stop the scream that escaped her mouth as her hands burned.

She slammed her feet into the rungs just before colliding with Hasana. Above them, the Wyrm writhed in pain. It had embedded its teeth so firmly into the side of the quarry that it couldn’t detach itself. The Wyrm squealed in its death throes, a bone-chilling cry that almost made Saoirse feel guilty for running her pickaxe through its skull. Almost.

Suddenly its tortured wails went silent. When the Wyrm went limp and gravity took control, its bloated body fell from the wall, a few teeth still lodged into the rock.

“Hold on!” Saoirse ordered. She tucked her head in, wrapping both arms around its rungs and holding herself flush against the ladder. The twitching body of the Wyrm crashed into the ladder, nearly knocking Saoirse from her position. Her palms were on fire, but she refused to let go.

The Wyrm thudded lifelessly at the bottom of the quarry. Saoirse looked down at Hasana, relief washing over her when the Tellusun princess gazed up at her. She’d survived. Her gaze moved beyond Hasana, finding Rook and Neia standing over the corpse of the first Wyrm, their chests heaving.

Hasana and Saoirse scrambled the rest of the way down the ladder, their feet at last finding solid ground. Saoirse shuddered as she passed the two Wyrm corpses, still twitching even in death. There was movement and voices at the top of the quarry, but she didn’t listen. With a ringing in her ears and her heart thundering against her ribs, her entire focus honed in on the three people who stood before her. Perhaps it was just adrenaline or a newfound sense of shared terror, but she felt a rush of affection for each person who’d fought in the trial. She found herself wrapping her arms around Hasana. Rook followed suit, pulling them both into an embrace. Finally, Neia came up behind Saoirse and snaked her arms around them all.

They’d survived the first trial.

Exhaustion crawled across every inch of Saoirse’s body. She had no energy to fight the underguards as they shoved her roughly into the awaiting cell. Her lungs burned, her last dose of titansblood wearing off. She fell to the floor and found the bucket of putrid titansblood. She swallowed the foul concoction, her eyes fluttering closed as it began to take effect.

The image of the Wyrms’ gaping jaws surfaced behind her eyelids. Their cracked, oozing lips tore back to reveal rows of dagger-sharp teeth set into swollen black gums. Her eyes shot open and she sat up quickly. All she could see was the blood staining her clothing, and she suddenly wanted to peel it all off and burn every last scrap of fabric. Nausea roiled in her stomach, and she tried to steady her breathing. They were alive. All four of them. She could live with a little blood on her clothes.

She looked across the cell block at Rook, her tongue burning with questions. He looked as tired as she felt, but he no longer appeared sickly thanks to Hasana’s magic. For now, her magic would hold whatever infection festered from the stab wound at bay. She would give anything to have a moment alone with him. What had he seen on the Isles of Mythos with Aurelia and Sune? How were the Mer relocation efforts going? What had made him beg for her forgiveness in the quarry?

Her attention on Rook was broken as Tezrus was herded into the adjacent cell next to hers. His purple Elder’s robe had been removed. He fled to the corner of the cage, a haunted gleam in his pale eyes. He frantically swept away all the symbols and runes he’d drawn in the dust earlier that day, muttering incoherently to himself. He’d faced his own trial, of sorts. He’d been forced to watch as they fought the Wyrms, paraded like puppets for Grivur to use in his stage production. Even if he hadn’t participated in the actual trial itself, the old man must’ve been terrified for his life standing at the top of the pit next to the mad king.

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