The Final Strife

Jond couldn’t get Anoor’s face out of his mind. So when he entered the second room, every bloodwerk rune he’d learned over the last four mooncycles went straight out of his head. The second room was paneled in wood too, but instead of steel bars the door at the end was glass and rotating at high speed. It was a test of precision: to slow the door down in order to pass through it, Jond would have to use the opposite rune of what was drawn on the glass. Too much force, and the glass doors would shatter.

He wasn’t sure what had irritated him so much about seeing Anoor. Maybe it was because he hadn’t seen Sylah in over two days, and he knew it was because she was with her. The brat in Sylah’s place.

But after this trial Sylah was free, her bargain with Anoor Elsari complete. Sylah would get her to the final trial, and Anoor would have inadvertently taught Jond everything he needed to make it through. Though he never really needed it. Master Inansi had captured a master in bloodwerk at the start of the Aktibar, and they taught him all that Sylah could.

But the time with Sylah had been precious, a gift she had given him every day, and he would have never traded it for strikes in a cell with a master in bloodwerk. When the Sandstorm gave her a task, he thought he’d been giving her something back, something to believe in again. And it did. He saw the spark of dedication reflected in her eyes, he saw her say the words “The Final Strife” and believe them.

But then that spark had fizzled, dulled, replaced by a thoughtful expression, one that probed and questioned every step the Sandstorm took. The Stolen weren’t there to question, they were there to execute.

And so when the Sandstorm asked him to trail her, he did. It was how he had known, how he had seen with his own eyes, Sylah and Anoor leaving the tower they used to train in, just that morning.

He looked at the door at the end and funneled the anger he had been trained to harness. In moments the runes came to him, and he blew the glass door into fragments. Who needed precision if you could use brute strength?

He grinned and climbed over the shards and through to the third and final room.

Enough pining. He was here to win.

—

Anoor could tell the power in the blood was weakening. Sylah’s blood was definitely more powerful than Gorn’s, but it wouldn’t last much longer. Anoor walked through the glass door. She’d slowed its spinning to a sand snail’s pace and entered the third room.

For a moment she thought she was looking into a mirror. It wasn’t until she saw the glass panels that she realized what they’d done. She stood on a small platform above a tank filled with water. The water was so still she could see her reflection. The door out was more than twenty handspans below the surface through a glass tube.

She jumped in, the cold water rushing up her nose and making her splutter for the surface. She dipped beneath the water and tried again, just to see how long she could hold her breath.

Nope, not long enough to get to the door. She got out and sat on the platform. She needed to drop to the floor more quickly, then propel herself through the tube to the door on the other side. Her mind flicked through the Book of Blood. Runes don’t work on a living thing, so she’d need to write on her shoes. But she’d also have to protect the rune because of the water.

The combination began first in her head and then went onto her shoes. The left foot would drop her quickly, the right would push her away from the wall. She plunged into the water, dropping faster than she expected. She let go of the left shoe as soon as she reached the tube and angled the right shoe at the wall. It should have propelled her down the tube, but nothing happened.

The blood. The blood was too old to work. She kicked her legs, but she was too slow. Air escaped her mouth, and she felt her blood racing in her head. She was going to die in this tube.

She was going to die.

—

Something was wrong. She’d been under the water too long. Sylah strained her eyes to see a flicker of movement, anything to indicate life. Suddenly Anoor broke the surface, but not at the exit, at the entrance. The arena seemed to have held its breath with her, and the exhalation of disappointment whooshed around. Anoor would have been first, but the delay gave Efie the lead.

Sylah watched the granddaughter of Jin-Gernomi exit the final room. A trail of water gushed out as the door opened. She’d used her armor to draw bloodwerk runes on, to guide her through the water.

When Sylah looked back to Anoor, she was bent over, redrawing runes on her shoe. Within moments she ducked under the water again.

“Come on, Anoor, come on…”

Both Kwame and Sylah were leaning forward in their seats. The crowd cheered; another competitor had made it through, but Sylah didn’t turn to see who.

Then there was a splash, and the final door in Anoor’s run opened. She flopped onto the ground with the rush of water that followed. Anoor was gasping and spluttering but alive. She had done it. She had gotten through to the final round.

—

Anoor couldn’t get enough air. Her lungs gasped and strained, tears streamed down her face, but no one could see them because of the water dripping off her. Blue blood seeped out of a small cut in her forearm, and she clutched her hand over it.

She’d made it.

She looked for Sylah in the stands, directed her eyes to the top where she knew she would be cheering with the other servants.

Anoor looked at the leader board to see if she’d done enough. Efie was first, followed by Yanis, then her. A squelch of another competitor landing on the ground indicated the final winner of the bloodwerk trial. Anoor didn’t need to turn around to know it was Jond; the hairs on her arms were already raised. The leader board flashed the runelamp next to his name in confirmation.

Efie, Yanis, Jond, and her: the four competitors. They were all that was between her and the title of disciple.