Page 29 of The Ninth Element

Shaking my head, I say, “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,’ Lirael said. Maybe each trial gives us something tangible to help us in the next one.”

Darian turns entirely toward me, his brow furrowed in contemplation. “Hmm, that’s a wild proposition,” he says, a flicker of doubt crossing his face, but his tone isn’t dismissive. He leans back slightly, one hand resting on his hip. “What advantage did we actually gain from that first trial besides a ticket to this prison?”

“They gave us quarters, new clothes, access to the kitchen, library, weapons in the training ground… "

“Maybe it’s something hidden in our chambers?” he suggests, a thoughtful expression replacing his earlier skepticism.

I pace a few steps, my gaze sweeping the room. “It has to be something significant. Something we wouldn’t have gotten if we’d flunked the first trial.”

Darian shrugs, clearly starting to lose interest. “All I remember is that the first trial was essentially aget-in-or-get-outsituation. No hidden treasures, no secret handshakes.”

Then, it hits me like a bolt of lightning cutting through the fog of confusion. My eyes dart to the bands encircling ourwrists—the very bands they had slapped on us in the courtyard on our arrival, marking us as contenders. I notice the realization dawning in Darian’s eyes as he follows my gaze.

I had barely given the band a second thought since that first night. I had bathed with it, slept with it, and almost forgotten it existed. The band itself is unassuming; it’s just a plain black leather strap with a gold Martysh coin embedded in the center.

Darian mirrors my movement and touches his wrist, his eyes widening. He flips the golden metal over. “There’s something on the back.”

I already know what he sees: two hands clasping each other’s forearms. I’ve always assumed it was a symbol of sworn allegiance between the provinces. No grand revelation there, just a simple symbol on a simple band.

“Look,” Darian growls, likely assuming the same. “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. But I’d rather wear out my boots than sit here pondering riddles.”

With that, he storms out of the room, marching toward the next chamber. I, however, stay rooted in my place for another moment. The leather band and Martyshbod Lirael’s cryptic words feel so close, like a puzzle on the verge of being solved. But I can’t blame his frustration. A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I follow behind him.

On the landing below the stairs, I see two Jamshahi women locked in a heated debate. I recognize them. They’re the top two Jamshahis on the leaderboard—Samira and Olanna.

Are they arguing about the same thing? Perhaps this partnership is the real test: to see how well we can cooperate under the pressure of what seems to be a pointless task.

That thought sparks an idea in my mind.

“Darian!” I call out.

He pauses, raising an eyebrow in question. I appreciate that he always stops when I call rather than ignoring me entirely, even as frustrated as heseems with me.

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

Hesitation flickers in his eyes for a moment, but then a spark of understanding replaces it, and he reaches his hand forward until our forearms are clasped together, our wrists aligned where the leather bands meet.

A tense, breathless silence stretches between us, thick with anticipation, as I hold my breath. For a long, drawn-out moment, there is nothing.

I’m about to step back in disappointment when a subtle warmth blooms from the bracelets, creeping up our arms like a gentle caress but charged with undeniable power. Within a heartbeat, before our disbelieving eyes, the dull black leather shimmers, and a flash of gleaming gold light bursts from our wristbands to pierce the gloom.

Chapter Ten

Darian’s jaw slackens, his eyes wide with disbelief at his transformed band. In that instant, a shimmering wisp of light emerges from the bands, swirling in the air before slowly coalescing into a small, molten-gold Nohvan—the legendary, native creature of the Albir Mountains and the sigil of Martysh.

My readings described true Nohvans as enormous, wolf-bodied, eagle-headed beings with massive wings, a double threat from the realms of both beast and bird, dwelling deep in the mountains and thus rarely seen.

This luminous apparition, however, is a sparrow-sized creature with the form of a Nohvan. The small golden figure glides gracefully above us, its wings casting patterns of light that momentarily enchant us and make the world recede into the distance. Then, with a final swoop, it darts away, leaving a shimmering trail.

Darian snaps out of his trance and grabs my hand. Pure instinct drives us forward as we sprint after the glowing phantom of Nohvan, down the grand staircase, and into the depths of the keep. As we run off, I see Samira and Olanna watching us, then quickly mirror our earlier actions and clasp their arms tightly.

We clatter down the steps toward the crypts, following the golden phantom, as the ancient stones echo with the pounding of our boots. My lungs burn, my head spins, and all I can do is pray that my feet don’t twist and send us plummeting into the abyss.

Reaching the bottom, we follow the dance of light into a long, dimly lit hallway where flickering torches cast eerie shadows on the damp stone walls. As we run along the hallway, the air grows progressively colder, a damp chill that seeps into my bones and thick with the cloying scent of mildew and forgotten secrets. The heat radiating from Darian’s hand clasped around mine is the only source of warmth in this chilling cold.

Another abrupt turn sends us spiraling into a vast, cavernous chamber. My breath hitches. Towering pillars, hewn from a dark stone that seems to absorb what little light there is, claw their way upwards from the stony floor.

The sheer scale of the space is breathtakingly terrifying. In the center, barely discernible in the gloom, sits a narrow stone pedestal. The small Nohvan, a fleeting streak of pure gold amidst the surrounding darkness, arcs gracefully across the chamber before landing silently, almost ethereally, atop the pedestal.

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