Page 136 of Into the Isle

He disappeared into the trees a second later, running toward our side, passing Astrid and sprinting like a bat out of Hel.

“No!” Astrid cried out.

She had been too enamored with taking me out to consider that I had backup, and that this wasn’t all about my solo match-up with the bully.

For Astrid, defeating me was the prize. For me, winning the trial was the ultimate victory.

Astrid growled and tried to disengage so she could grab the yellow flagpole on the ground next to us. I charged, tossing away my spear at the same time.

The look of surprise on Astrid’s face was similar to the look she’d given me shortly before I punched her in the nose during our first altercation in this class.

My arms wrapped around her middle and we went down to the forest floor hard, a tangle of arms and elbows and legs. I wrapped my strong biceps around the burly girl and we both clawed and kicked.

She roared in my ear, thinking that would have some effect—losing herself to battle-fury.

Then the strangest thing happened: I started to lose my grip on her. She became . . . smaller. My hand wasn’t on her shoulder anymore. My legs weren’t tucked around hers like a pro wrestler.

I rolled around in the dirt and grass and twigs, flabbergasted. Bouncing up to my knees, I searched all around—

Just in time to see a black raven appear from under a pile of clothes, hopping toward our flagpole.

My eyes widened. She’s a raven shifter, just like her mother, Tomekeeper Dahlia Anfinn. The “finn” comes from Odin’s legendary ravens, Huginn and Muninn.

As she closed the yellow flag around her dark beak with a squawk, I rolled to my spear on the ground and grabbed it.

Her wings beat and she took to the sky, bringing our flag with it, ripping it free from the pole on the ground.

I cocked my arm back, closed an eye, and aimed.

She reached the end of the glade, almost to the trees—

And I hurled my spear through the air, from my knees, tossing it like a javelin.

Another squawk. Our yellow flag fluttered toward the ground like a floating feather. The black blob of Astrid plummeted toward the ground a second later.

I winced when she landed hard on the dirt. I hadn’t gotten a direct hit on her with the spear—I’d been lucky to hit her at all, clipping enough of her wing to send her sidewinding.

She shifted on the ground, back into a human, naked and desperate. Crawling to the flag, she coughed and grabbed it.

I wobbled to my feet, disoriented from everything happening so fast. Determined not to let her get away.

Why didn’t she just shift into a raven from the get-go?! I wondered. Fly over the trees, get our flag, and fly back?

The answer hit me a second later, as I bore down on her. Because she was too caught up in wanting to bring me down. She let her hatred of me blur her strategy. And strategy is half the name of this gods-damned class.

Astrid got up from her knees with our flag, her bare ass bouncing as she tried to bolt away to her side of the field.

A whistle blew close to my ear. I jolted in surprise.

Hersir Axel shouted, “Game, yellow team! Grim trio.”

Magnus had returned to our side with the blue flag. I took a shuddering breath. Astrid slowed her run and her shoulders slumped.

She screwed her team over by making the trial about me and our perceived “rivalry.”

Now she’d lost the whole damn thing because of it.

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