Page 153 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
The water is cool as it swims around my fingers, a balm to the brand. I fumble about until something small, round, and smooth knocks against me, tingling vibrantly. I pull out . . . nothing.
“Ah, nothing for the Nothing!” Puck announces over a broadcasting stone, waltzing into the arena. “Who would have predicted that?”
Nothing? But I feel something. The Keeper winks at me, and I gasp.
ItisPeablossom. I’m sure of it. She draws the bowl back to her center and, like the other druids, walks toward one of the arched entrances to the arena. All around us, other exhibitors have their hands dipped into bowls.
Robin Goodfellow struts toward me, his eyes twinkling with mischief and malice as he takes me in. The crowd hushes, anticipation crackling in the air. It’s hard to look away from his face. It’s covered in ribbons of stone—like Fox’s did when he exchanged places with Styx. But it’s more than that, more than a statue forming. Puck is a living monument. Ripples of stony scales swim beneath his skin. His auburn hair is dull and stiff. It’s almost like I’m not looking at Puck anymore but the Baleful Hunt.
“Go on,” he rasps, shooing me with his hand. Dust crumbles from his lips as he speaks. This close, his voice sounds more gravelly and less lilting. Run along now, Nothing.”
Every word amplifies around the arena. Laughter erupts as though he’s made the most hilarious joke in the world. I shoot him daggers and belatedly return to our troop, clutching the invisible round thing in my fist, using the sting it causesagainst the brand to ground myself. Does anyone else see what’s happening to him?
“My dear Good Folk,” Puck shouts as he steps onto the large central rock. It must be a resonance stone. His words amplify, echoing through the tiers of trees. “What a glorious morning. The bad weather teasing us earlier has evaporated. We are smiling, are we not?”
The responding cheer trembles the stands, sending a cascade of botanicals floating down. I dust off my head, reaching my friends with a sick feeling rolling in my stomach. I flick water from my fingers to catch Geraldine or Max’s attention. They’re standing stock still, eyes forward, dutifully listening to Puck’s performance. I glance along the line of exhibitors backed around the arena wall. They’re all watching avidly. Every single bowl is gone.
That was fast.
When the noise dies down, Puck adopts a more somber face. “As you can see, this year’s trials are not quite what anyone expected. But then, where would the fun be without a little chaos? I know Glen agrees.” He points somewhere in the tiers, and more cheers erupt.
Goodfellow grins, basking in their attention. “Are you ready to hear what other surprises we have in store?”
He pauses dramatically, letting the suspense build.
“Listen well, Fair Folk, for I bring you riddles three,
Of trials and truths, of dusk and dreams you’ll see.
Three challenges our brave exhibitors shall face,
Three lies unraveled in this very place.”
The crowd leans in, captivated by his overly dramatic words.
“First, through a nightmare dreamscape, they’ll flee,
While we watch enthralled with their struggle to break free.
Next, their nightmares will come alive,
As we witness their courage, will they survive?
The third, my personal touch, a special treat,
Deep in Nocturna’s heart, their deepest fears they’ll meet.”
Murmurs of excitement ripple through the arena. Goodfellow’s grin widens as he continues.
“But hark! There’s more than meets the eye,
For three great truths hide behind a lie.
One speaks of war, its purpose unclear,
Another of our queen’s slumber, oh so dear.
But first, a secret long concealed,
