Page 204 of Mud

He came back soon and said he’d spoken to a couple ofplayers, who’d told him what we could have guessed ourselves.

Apparently, only those who’d completed the Greenfire challenge could access the Whitefire one. Even Whitefire players had started the game in other covens’ challenges, unlike the rest of us—of course, they had. Of course, they made us bond first—that’s whythey made us bond! So they could torture us here, in this challenge. So they could tear us apart completely by making us kill these innocent animals.

According to Taland, the players who were here the longest, who’d ended up in the Valley right off their first challenge, were the ones who were killing their bonded because they’d had enough. They needed to get away from this frozen hell, so they were getting it over with.

Meanwhile, most were still trying, hoping for a miracle. Waiting, just like us.

We were stuck.

I remembered the stories I used to read as a girl. I used to love those that spoke of things that were, not the things we could see. Things that remained a mystery to the world—like the rocs.

History said that there was a people, a small town running from one of their own who had turned so evil his magic devoured anything it touched. They never said what kind of a mage he was, just that he’d become dark, soulless, and one day had decided that he wanted his small town of Iridians to be no more.

They tried to fight him, but none succeeded, so in the end they packed their bags and went in search of a newhome, somewhere where the evil mage wouldn’t follow, where he couldn’t hurt them anymore.

They traveled for years until they found the rocs in their Valley, sought shelter and told them all about the evil mage, and the rocs agreed to let them live in their home on two conditions. One—they had to give up their magic so that they may never hurt another living being again; and two—they had to swear peace to the rocs and ensure peace for them from all other Iridians who sometimes came and tried to hunt them down for no reason.

The people of the town had no choice but to accept. They settled in the Valley, forever thankful to the rocs for saving them, for the evil mage couldn’t wander even near without them knowing, without their watchful eyes seeing. He could never again hurt any of the people he used to share a home with, and so he left, never to be seen or heard of again.

The people prospered. Built their new town. Built the rocs a statue so big the world had never seen anything like it, to honor them and their peace. They quickly learned how to live without magic, how to serve their saviors without spells.

And in turn, the rocs watched after them until they perished, ensured they were safe from all threats, and always full with the best of foods nature had to offer, and always…healthy.

Healthy because they bathed in the lake of the Valley, which had magic of its own—regenerative powers that made the old young again, the weak strong. It was said that the mages of this Valley lived longer than any other human being ever had until the rocs went extinct.

So many people had gone off to search for the lake of the valley for its powers. So many explorers had wasteddecades of their lives in an impossible quest, always to come back empty-handed because the lake and the Valley were a myth. Stories, just stories—not real.

But this game wasn’t supposed to be real, either, yet it was. It was very real in how it felt, what it made us do. It had turned all of us into killers—allof us. But to sacrifice these animals, too?

What if the story of the Valley was real here, too? Just for this game, nothing more.

What if there was an actual lake underneath that ice surrounding the statue, and its water could heal the vulcera, all the other familiars?

What if?

Slowly, I put the vulcera’s head down on the ice again. “I’m sorry, pretty girl. I’ll be back,” I whispered when she let out a whine. She seemed to be breathing just slightly slower when I was close to her, but I needed to move.

Not just because I was starving, and I was completely numb from spending so much time sitting there on the ice. Had it been hours, or maybe even a day? I had no idea, but I stood up, and when my legs were too weak to hold me, I tried harder.

“Sweetness, what are you doing? Have you made up your mind yet?”

I looked down at Taland, holding his eagle against his chest like a concerned parent would a baby. I never once thought I’d see him like this, but here we were.

He was waiting for me to make up my mind to kill my vulcera.

He refused to kill his eagle, though, and I suspected he was secretly hoping that I took all the time in the world because then he didn’t have to do anything but sit here on the ice with me.

“I’m not going to kill her, Taland,” I whispered, shaking my head, fighting back the tears at the mere thought.

“We talked about this,” he said, eyes dull, skin pale, so pale.

And we did talk about it another two times since we came back from that map. “I know, but I can’t. I won’t.”

I turned to the statue again, so big it suffocated me all the way here, over a hundred feet away.

“So, what—you’ll just give up?” said Taland, standing up with me, his eagle small enough that he was able to carry it with him still.

“No, of course not.” I pointed at the statue. “The stories say that the lake of the Valley had regenerative powers. They made this place based on descriptions from history and story books. The lake should be underneath the ice surrounding the statue.”

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