The announcer’s booming voice shook the arena. Diya and I stayed in the tunnels, waiting for our introductions. He talked of the first Alcalah, of unity and peace, of joining with one’s neighbor in celebrating the best of our kingdoms. Utter nonsense, and eerily identical to the speeches delivered at the Blood Summit.
“This is the sort of honor-of-Awaleen, glory-of-kingdom nonsense Mehti devoured,” Diya murmured. Water dripped in the damp tunnel as the announcer prepared to call us in. “If he had made it to the third trial, he would still never become Victor. What hope would he have of seeing through fabricated illusions when he cannot see through these?”
The announcer called our names, and we emerged into a cacophony of cheers and exuberant faces. A table laden with weapons took up space on each side of the pit. A black line had been drawn in the sand, demarcating Diya’s side from mine. We walked to our sections.
The announcer pranced around a slab of concrete, keeping away from the shifting sand. As soon as he finished speaking, he’d dart back into one of the doors beneath the arena to hide. “The day we have waited for has finally arrived. We thank the Awaleen for the act of entombing themselves with their wicked brother, Rovial. They loved humanity enough to sacrifice themselves for it, and in return, we present to you the strongest Champions the kingdoms have to offer. Our Awala Baira believed in the potential of our imagination and the depths of the human mind. In celebration of Baira, our Champions will be given an elixir to induce vivid hallucinations. They’ll see themselves fighting lions in Orban’s desert flats, evading hunters in Essam’s wilderness. Can they battle through the elixir’s challenges before the sand below them sinks or the other Champion wakes up?” The presenter raised his arms. “But wait! Do you see the four tunnels around our Champions? From one of them will emerge a beast more fearsome than any illusion. If a Champion does not break themselves from Baira’s illusion in time to fight the beast, the sand will be the least of their concerns. Our Victor will be able to cut through the fabricated threat to the real one!”
The announcer picked up a tray. Emerald liquid sloshed within two glass vials. He took the tray’s long handle and extended the vials to hover between us.
“If our Champions cross the black line you see before you, the nature of the fight will change. Instead of success by simply overpowering their opponent, victory will only be won through a fight to the death.”
I would bet every hair on Marek’s yellow head they engineered these elixirs to make the hallucinations such that keeping to our sides of the pit would be near impossible. If we were outrunning hunters and lions in our head, our feet would naturally carry us forward. Rory had talked about these elixirs, about the light poisons they infused to give the body the impression of death and the roots they mixed in to scramble our senses.
Diya and I raised our vials. Good luck, she mouthed.
The elixir wasn’t nearly as sweet as the color suggested. I wrinkled my nose, tossing the empty vial into the sand. Diya wiped her mouth with a grimace.
“Do you feel elevated yet?” Diya asked.
“It’s hard to tell, since I’m already so much taller than you.”
She rolled her eyes, and the action reminded me so strongly of Sefa that I had to look away. Diya hooked an arrow into her bow. “I need to practice aiming. You have a big head, and I would prefer to avoid killing you if I can help it.”
Nausea descended between one insult and the next. It wasn’t unlike the sensations I had experienced at the very start of practicing my magic, when any minute display had me lunging for a bucket.
“Something’s wrong,” I mumbled. My magic hadn’t moved, yet the sickness expanded, surging through me.
Three events came to pass in quick succession.
First, Diya’s eyes rolled to the back of her head. She collapsed in the sand.
Next, a glowing barrier closed around the pit, blocking Diya and me off from the tunnels and the rest of the arena. Screams erupted, but I couldn’t see anything behind the barrier. Which meant they couldn’t see us, either.
My stomach cramped. I crashed into the table, scattering weapons everywhere. The arena spun.
The elixirs. There was magic in the elixirs.
“Soraya,” I ground out.
Soraya knew a direct magical attack would be repelled by the same force distorting her warding spells, so she found a new way to shove her magic past my cuffs: having me ingest it.
Finally, the sickness unhinged its maw and consumed me whole.
My last thought before I hit the sand was a triumphant one. Arin had done it. He had lured them into a trap of his own design. The Mufsids and Urabi would be frenzied, trying to breach the barrier before Soraya succeeded in killing me.