They were still sniggering a couple of hundred paces away from the scene.

  Getting in on the action and coming very close to being eliminated felt exhilarating. Not to mention a sixfold increase in stones. Shame though they hadn’t been allowed to talk to the orange team properly. Cathal recounted that instructor Gehler had been upon them in a flash, and he’d forbidden any passing of information since “dead men tell no tales”.

  Now they were heading somewhere Null-Lemwise again, chosen not with careful consideration but because it’d been the team’s trajectory prior to the interruption, and they wanted to put distance from the commotion.

  Nuala looked determined to keep marching further, but Cillian thought they needed to discuss what to do next, so he gestured for Cathal to catch up to the girl and urge her to huddle.

  “What is it?” she asked once they all faced each other, then abruptly started doing sit-ups.

  “Umm… what are ye doing?” Eamon looked puzzled, giving voice to the boys’ collective confusion.

  “Never mind me. Cillian?”

  “Right. So, where are we going? We should plan.”

  “The plan remains the same.” She switched to stretching her calves. “We’re heading toward the action.”

  “Haven’t we just had action?” Cathal asked. “Shouldn’t we, like, lay low for a time?”

  “No. Six stones ain’t enough; we need more. Act now while we still have plenty of energy, then take it easy in the final couple of hours, guarding our hoard of goodies.”

  “I’m all for more action, but…” Eamon shook his canteen at them. “Hear anything? No. It’s cause there’s nothing. I don’t imagine yers any better off. ‘Sides,” he tapped his stomach twice, “no breakfast. Don’t tell me you ain’t starving.”

  “Now that you mention it, yes, I am,” Cathal quickly agreed. “Find the waterskin and take a meal break?”

  Nuala stopped the exercising, scowled at them, then implored Cillian to take her side with those big brown eyes.

  “I agree with you in principle,” he made a placating gesture, “but in practice, the initial nerves and adrenaline from the ambush are wearing off, so I’m starting to really feel my ribs. Climbing, running, jumping around – too frackin’ much.”

  “Aye, Kil, yer breathing shallowly. You alright?” Eamon asked in concern.

  “For the hundredth time, it’s Cillian. And I’m fine, more or less.”

  “Let’s switch now,” Cathal offered.

  “Well, I wouldn’t turn it down. And we need directions anyway.”

  “Yer going to climb again? You’ve just said–”

  “Aether, Eamon, I’m not falling apart, in little pain is all, I can cli–”

  “Let’s walk further,” Nuala interrupted. “We’re being louder than usual; I don’t like staying here. Then you can switch and climb, Cillian.”

  The girl wheeled around and, without waiting for an acknowledgment, strode away. The trio remained rooted to the spot in silence, eyes glued to her retreating back.

  “I understand nothing,” Eamon finally proclaimed. It served to trigger them to hasten after her.

  A few hundred paces later, Nuala halted again and waited for them to catch up. “Sorry, just a bad feeling,” she shared sheepishly.

  Eamon promptly engaged her in some good-natured ribbing, quietly, while Cillian handed the wardship over the troublesome mog to Cathal and crept a short distance away to a naked larch, which, despite the indecency, still put the neighbors to shame on account of its impressive stature. The boy kicked the trunk to make sure the bark wouldn’t crumble, took five big steps back, rolled his shoulders, and rushed. A jump off the ground with the left leg, a powerful push off the tree with the right – and he was dangling in the air like a pendulum.

  Two-thirds up the trunk, Cillian cleared most of the obscuring canopy and was able to spot the center clearing’s sky lanterns, blithely dancing in the wind. They’d overshot again, wandered too far Lem this time. Although, he privately hoped Nuala would agree to change their destination.

  Satisfied, Cillian tore his eyes away from the captivating lights and… came face to face with a forked tongue and a pair of big yellow eyes.

  “Fuck!” he yelped but didn’t lose his grip while the intruder, startled, scurried further up, disappearing on the other side of the trunk.

  “Cillian?!”

  He didn’t respond. An involuntary shudder raced through his body. He made an effort to still himself.

  A deep inhale with his eyes closed.

  Exhale.

  It’s alright.

  “Cillian?” Nuala’s voice, less worried now.

  He showed her a thumbs-up without looking, not realizing that she couldn’t see it, shook his head, and began the descent, making an effort not to rush and chiding himself mentally. Stupid. Of course there are small animals here. It would be impossible to get rid of them all. And pointless.

  “Sorry,” Cillian said, eying his agitated teammates, once safely back on their level. “Just a reptile. Surprised me.”

  “A reptile?” Eamon looked up the larch. “Big?”

  “No. Huge eyes though. Don’t know what it’s called.”

  “Huh. Nice squeal by the way.”

  “The reptile made that sound, not me.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Where to?” Nuala nudged them both. “Someone might’ve heard you; we should make ourselves scarce.”

  “You agree about the water?” Cillian clarified.

  “It’s three against one, no?”

  “Aye. Just thought you might want another go at convincing us. The midpoint is this way.” A vague gesture somewhere at his 10 o’clock. ”Where’s the waterskin though?” he addressed the question to Cathal.

  “If we’re on the Lem side of the area, then we’re on the right side. That I’m sure of,” the bigger boy answered. “Head Nullside to the very edge then search from there? We’ll see the hangar, so it’d be easy to find. I dropped it at the edge of the forest proper.”

  No one disagreed, so they set off without further discussion.

  In defiance of Nuala’s ominous expectations, precisely nothing occurred for a sizable stretch. Just same old woods and same old sounds.

  On the way, while bowing to pass under a sturdy bough, Cillian experienced an eerie sensation that they’d somehow returned to the very beginning: the forest was quiet, dense, and glowing bright, and he himself – a floater once more.

  Promoting the impression, they soon got wind of something openly advertising its location. Naturally, an investigation was called for, necessitating yet another brief separation. Nuala went and Nuala came back, but that’s when the illusion broke – she brought word of an already looted chest amidst the trees. It couldn’t be the one they themselves had liberated earlier; not far enough Lem. At least, no trap had fallen on their ignorant heads.

  This chapter of their story was just a filler – a fretful but otherwise tedious period of plodding through the underbrush, along with silent questioning if, by some miracle, there was no one else left in the forest with them.

  Maybe the others took each other out, Cillian mused wistfully. Or, more likely, they’re in the same boat as us. Looking for water, but the stream is down Rimwise, so they’re all congregating there.

  He tried to force himself to remain focused on the surroundings and footing, but his mind kept getting away from him. The empty stomach and the dull yet persistent ache in his chest contributed to the distraction.

  Walk around a mound, step over a pit, place one foot in front of the other, again and again and again. Rewind the collars, then repeat. That’s how their journey went.

  Look, dad, I’m a poet now.

  Finally, following an eternity of green nothing, the group began closing in on the side from which they’d entered the forest in the first place. The settlement’s walls became visible in between all the trees. Or, rather, the torches blazing on top of them served to guide the lost souls.

  Nuala led the group to the very edge, then alongside it – to a place roughly opposite the bulging form of the vehicle hangar. “Somewhere here, wasn’t it?”

  “I can take the beacon while you search,” Cillian suggested.

  “It’s fine, I’ve got it,” Cathal replied and without a slither of hesitation pointed at a random copse of trees. “See those? There’s a pair that are almost coiling around each other; that’s the spot. Somewhere in the bushes below.”

  “I’ll fetch it,” Cillian said, already covering the distance. Nuala took his place as the carriers’ guardian.

  It took some prodding around blindly – the greenery refused to give up its secrets without a fight – but he soon found the waterskin. Thumbs-up to the loitering guys – and they moved to join him.

  The waterskin in question turned out to be hefty, easily one and a half liters, and resembled a curving eggplant but made of taut leather. The shape and the lone strap suggested that it was meant to be carried as a sling bag across one’s chest. And likely meant to be used from that position as well, since holding it felt awkward.

  “Finally!” Eamon practically dragged Cathal behind him, stepping around the trees to where Cillian waited. “Come on, Kil, fill me up!”

  He grabbed the strap to put it over his head. “Please never say these words to me ever aga–”

  SNAP!

  They both froze and whirled their heads at the sound.

  A dark figure rose from a jumble of vegetation just a dozen paces away, a smaller one at its back. Both shadows rushed in.

  Fuck! was all Cillian managed to think before the larger form bellowed and threw a thing at them.

  “Oh crap!”

  The projectile was big, clearly not a paintball, but Cillian didn’t have time to study the details – he instinctively swung the waterskin by the strap and let it fly.

  The two objects collided midair – the boy would later be amazed at his aim – something audibly tore, and then red exploded everywhere.

  Cathal yelped. Someone else, too.

  Cillian leaped into the bushes and saw Eamon drop behind the closest trunk, the beacon scraping the hard surface. Don’t smash it!

  “Teag!” a female voice shrilled.

  “DON’T! Fuck! STAY AWAY!” her partner roared in warning and anger. Nearby, water was spilling. Lots of loud cursing in an assortment of voices.

  Cillian rolled out of the feeble cover and jumped to his feet, fumbling for a paintball. Stupid pouch!

  The picture before him made the boy pause.

  The bulky fella’s lower body was smeared in red, disgust and wrath on his face, and he was breathing heavily. The girl, in contrast, appeared completely unblemished. But the biggest eyesore stood further right – Cathal. Unlike the attacker, Cillian’s teammate was positively drenched in paint from head to toe. And the vile fluid had bestowed little mercy on the entwining duo of trees next to him either. The same trees behind which Eamon had found shelter, stretching the string to the limit.

  Amazingly, while the part of the tether closer to Cathal was dribbling scarlet, the beacon itself, Eamon, and Cillian were not. At a cursory glance, anyway.

  Shocked silence reigned, while everyone processed the events and pondered how to proceed. It had all happened so fast.

  Cillian laughed. He couldn’t help himself. That was some astounding teamwork on their part.

  I threw the waterskin; it smashed the thing and redirected it away from us but closer to Cathal, who had enough presence of mind to stand tall and try to shield the beacon, while Eamon dragged it low and partly around the trunk. Is that what happened?

  He kept laughing.

  Cillian had never intended to catapult the projectile away; it’d been a knee-jerk reaction. Eamon, in all likelihood, harbored no notion of protecting the beacon and merely lunged for the nearest cover. And as for Cathal – odds were, the boy had no time to do anything at all; the bubble exploded right in his face. And then he remained upright despite Eamon’s best efforts to pull him down. Simply because he was that much heavier.

  Or maybe Cathal had shielded them deliberately. Remarkable composure, if true.

  Teagan glared at Cillian, not finding any amusement in the situation.

  “Are they done?” The cailin – he recognized Moira now – peeked from behind the broad back.

  The participants traded uncertain glances. Then Eamon found his footing again, cursing heartily, and that sound broke the deadlock.

  Nuala charged into the tussle with an ear-splitting war cry!

  She’d been further away from the action but now rushed at their assailants with a stick, and for a moment Cillian thought she would swing it at Moira, but, instead, the girl used the impromptu weapon to scoop up some paint from the ground and hurled the drops at the other cailin, who squeaked and threw herself to the side, blindly throwing a green paintball in retaliation.

  “Not her! The beacon!” Teagan shouted. Cillian stepped in front of their precious cargo.

  “Wait!” Someone else rose from the bushes deeper into the forest and frantically waved their arms in the air. “Truce!”

  “What are you doing, Aoife?!”

  Right, he should’ve guessed when he’d recognized Moira and Teagan.

  Aoife and Sorcha manifested, their own burden dangling between them. The former was dragging the unwilling latter.

  “Truce!” Aoife repeated once the duo got closer.

  Nuala paused, one end of the stick dipping into the paint again, half crouched. “Truce?! You’ve just ambushed us!”

  “Yes,” Aoife showed her open palms, “and it didn’t work. We should adapt to the situation.”

  “What situation? What stops me from painting you all red right now? You’ve foolishly come near me.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “I don’t think you fully grasp the situation yourself,” Aoife replied calmly. “Your weapon is very short-ranged and far from accurate, while your anchors can’t move.” She pointed at Cathal. “He’s been eliminated, so you have to switch him with another before you do anything else. He is dead. Can’t jump around now.”

  “We should finish them off,” Teagan seethed, “not give them an escape route.”

  “Hush. You’re dead too, Teag, remember? And we could finish them off, but that would highly depend on the timing and accuracy. I don’t imagine Nuala would just stand idle. We might end up eliminated ourselves.”

  “It was stupid to leave our hiding place, Aoife,” Sorcha all but growled.

  “And if Nuala killed Moira while we hid? We’d be left without support for the rest of the contest.”

  Cillian looked at Nuala. She looked back at him, shaking her head. He shrugged. “I say go for it. Could serve us well in the future to have some goodwill with another team. It’s just the first of many events, isn’t it?”

  “Is it even allowed? Come to think of it, how is it allowed to carry a trap with ye? We were told not to displace anything!” Eamon demanded an explanation.

  “Teaming up is allowed, several others did it,” Aoife confirmed. “And as for the trap, we were only told not to displace the chests. Nothing was said about the traps.”

  “And how did you find us?” the boy plowed on.

  “If we all agree to a truce, we should move someplace else first, then we’ll talk. The confrontation wasn’t exactly discreet.”

  A series of uncertain non-verbal exchanges crisscrossed the space. Cillian focused on Nuala again and nodded, “They’re fine.”

  She huffed but, after a moment of deliberation, acquiesced, brusquely, “Whatever.”

  Her consent seemed to decide it. Eamon relaxed.

  “Great!” came from Aoife.

  Hot on the heels of her proclamation, instructors Patrick Sommer and Mairead Gehler popped up uninvited. How do they keep doing this? First, the chaperones examined them all, paying special attention to the beacons, then their team’s personal stalker addressed the two victims, “Mr. Baessler, Mr. Flanagan. Since the academy is in sight, you can find your own way back. Make sure you don’t drip the paint all over the place. Submit your outfits and gear for cleaning as soon as you are able.”

  He then unclasped the string from Cathal’s belt, quickly wiped it clean, and relayed it to Cillian.

  “Sorry, Cathal,” he addressed his fallen teammate, who still hadn’t said a single word since the havoc had erupted. Because of shock, anger, or something else, Cillian didn’t know.

  “Aye, great work, Hal! Saved all of us,” Eamon joined, making as if to clap the boy on the back but then thought better of it.

  “We’ll make sure to find you once we win!” Nuala consoled with a smile.

  Cathal, after wiping the smear off his forehead, sighed and finally said, his voice unsteady, “You guys better find more treasures, aye? Six is not divisible by four.” He shook his head and cursed at the drizzling paint. “Aether, just my luck.” He turned to leave.

  Yea, him not leaking all over is a tall order.

  The other team were saying their own goodbyes to Teagan. Moira whispered something too hushed to discern.

  Soon enough, the two boys shuffled out of the forest, not quite together but not quite separate either, while the chaperones melted into the background.

  “Let’s go,” Sorcha started pulling away.

  Aoife resisted. “Hold on.” She addressed Cillian, “You with us?”

  “Wait!” Eamon squatted next to the puddle of red, in the middle of which their waterskin lay. “Bollocks! It’s unsalvageable. Look!”

  Indeed, the cork had deserted at some point. And once the water level had decreased, the nozzle sagged, letting the crimson menace penetrate the fortress and defile the innocent contents. No matter how little paint had managed to sneak in, Cillian wouldn’t be drinking it.

  “We should fish it out anyway,” he said. “It’s the academy’s, meaning, Foerstner’s property.”

  “Null! We should’ve given it to Cathal to carry back.” Nuala regarded the withdrawing figure.

  “We’ll leave it here, then retrieve it once the whole thing’s over. Give me,” Cillian gestured at her stick.

  “I’ve got it.” She proceeded to drag the waterskin out of the puddle nozzle first, not caring that even more paint was stealing its way inside.

  Cillian located the cork, which was squeaky clean, somehow, and gingerly pushed it where it belonged. He really didn’t care to get penalized because they’d returned the waterskin with some part of it missing. He wouldn’t put it past the academy to do it.

  Fuck, what a disaster.

  They retreated Heavenward, away from the edge, and before long halted next to an old tree stump, overgrown with moss. The whole way no one had said anything, but now the hush broke.

  “So?” Nuala turned to face the green team, arms crossed, as soon as everyone found a place to rest. “How did you find us?”

  It was Sorcha who answered with a scoff, “Wasn’t difficult. You were being too clever. And that boy – Cathal, was it? – didn’t even try acting low-key. You noticed the other students washing the trucks nearby, didn’t you?”

  “So you just saw him hiding the waterskin?” Nuala clarified.

  “Teagan did. Said your boy jumped at shadows all the way to the forest. Very subtle.”

  “That prick,” Eamon muttered, taking a seat on the ground and forcing Cillian to do the same.

  “Excuse me?” Moira looked down at him from where she stood next to the stump.

  “I meant Cathal, of course,” he grinned. “Funny though how your boy self-eliminated. Ah, the look on his face.”

  “You–!”

  “Please, don’t start anything,” Aoife pleaded. “We don’t want to attract unwelcome attention.”

  Eamon raised his arms in mock surrender.

  “Do you have any water to spare?” Cillian changed the subject, eyeing the waterskin hanging below Moira’s breasts. She sent him a scornful glower. What?

  “We do. We can share with y–” Aoife started but was interrupted by a forceful “No” from both her remaining companions.

  She glared at them. “I was about to say,” her tone turned dangerous, “that we can share with them for a price. I’m not an idiot, thank you very much.”

  “How did you smuggle yours?” Nuala asked.

  “We didn’t,” Sorcha smirked. “Like I said, you tried to be too clever. We were only forbidden from bringing any additional water, so we brought an empty waterskin instead. Then immediately made to the stream and filled it while everyone else’s were still full.”

  “And your chaperone allowed it?”

  “Why wouldn’t she? We didn’t try to hide it during the pat down, and she said nothing. The skin was empty.”

  “How’s yer plan any better than ours? There’s still a risk,” Eamon defended their honor.

  “Because it worked?” Moira asked, turning her nose up at him.

  Cillian didn’t want to keep bickering. “What do you want,” he addressed Aoife, “for filling our canteens?”

  “You have six stones, or so I’ve heard,” Sorcha chipped in. “Not divisible by four, apparently. How about we help you with that? Give us two,” she finished with a smile.

  Eamon looked outraged, “Ye can’t be serious.”

  “We can trade the stones?” Cillian wondered in surprise, asking no one in particular.

  “Why not?” Sorcha replied. “No one’s forbidden us to.”

  “How about a dud instead?” Nuala offered.

  “Too cheap.”

  “One stone would be enough,” Aoife declared. Sorcha opened her mouth to object, but her fellow carrier – or anchor, as the “greens” were calling it – didn’t let her. “One. They would never agree to more.”

  The brunette grimaced, “One stone and one dud then.”

  Cillian, Eamon, and Nuala exchanged glances. The latter took the initiative, “Deal.”

  “Wha?! That’s a robbery!”

  “The alternative is to trudge to the stream right now – a prime spot for an ambush – and I’m not sure we can survive another. That, or go thirsty.”

  Cillian said, “I agree, Eamon.”

  “Aether. Their team is full of third-ringers, and now we give them more stones.”

  “The day’s not over yet.”

  Eamon didn’t say anything to that, and Nuala took it as a signal to commence the trade.

  The canteens refilled and one basic dud transferred over, they proceeded to discuss other matters.

  “What do you mean by ‘devastated’?” Nuala asked while munching on a sandwich.

  Aoife had just finished regaling them with a tale about Liam’s team and Oscar’s – the one with Rory in it – joining forces right from the horn and going on a warpath down the middle early on. Because of their detour toward the stream, they’d only witnessed the tail end of it.

  “Just that,” Aoife shrugged. “I think they took out at least two other teams and looted most of the chests in the area. There were three in the center clearing alone – all empty now; we’ve checked.”

  “Huh,” was all Cillian could say to that.

  “Early on the teams didn’t have anything to steal though,” Eamon commented.

  “Less competition is valuable by itself,” Aoife countered.

  “I think they are cheating somehow,” Moira shared her opinion. “Oscar and Liam are friends, so it makes sense for them to collaborate, but how did they band so quickly? How did they find each other?”

  “They could’ve agreed where to meet beforehand,” Cillian pointed out. “That’s not cheating.”

  “Maybe. But Teag said that Oscar had brought communicators to the academy, so I’m wondering if they’re usi–”

  “A communicator?” Eamon interrupted her, causing the girl to scowl at him again. “What’s that?”

  “You haven’t mentioned it before,” Sorcha said curiously, dragging her eyes away from the compass. “Isn’t it useless though?”

  “Sorry, I’ve only just remembered it; Teag mentioned it offhand.”

  “Hello-o! What’s a communicator? Care to enlighten us lowly ones?”

  “What? Can’t discern the meaning of the word by yourself, you amadan boy?”

  “Moira!” Aoife chided. “What’s gotten into you?”

  “Sorry,” the girl lost steam and mumbled but still shot daggers at Eamon.

  “I think my oul fella mentioned it once,” Cillian said in the ensuing lull. “Two parts – transmitter and receiver – I think? But I don’t know how they function.”

  “It’s experimental. Wireless communication,” Aoife explained. “Not too different from how aether compasses work – detecting a vortex at a distance – but significantly more fine-tuned. In theory, you could make a device that allowed you to start and stop drawing intermittently and with precision or even employ different elanroots with their own drawing patterns to transmit a binary code, then use a sophisticated ‘compass’ to receive and decode it.”

  She took a bite of her own sandwich and chased it with water. After two heartbeats of silent munching, her explanation resumed, “But Sorcha’s right, that’s the theory. In practice, I don’t think there are any models with ranges exceeding half a kilometer. But more importantly, unlike a compass, any hypothetical receiver device would have to use aether burning to power itself, and it would have to stay turned on the entire time, which is liable to get you swarmed anywhere where there isn’t a skywalker shining from above. And within any sort of civilized settlement, there would be too many overlapping vortices to receive anything.”

  “Perfect for this situation though,” Sorcha said, considering. “No risk of being swarmed and very little interference. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Yes. And it would be a very Oscar thing to do – use a seemingly useless toy to his advantage,” Moira concluded in satisfaction.

  “Aye. Provided that he somehow smuggled it to the academy, then smuggled it here, and is also capable of using it without anyone being the wiser,” Cillian noted doubtfully.

  “There are ways around all of that,” Sorcha shook her head. “And who said no one sees him using it? Favoritism is expected here, second-ringer,” she emphasized meaningfully.

  “Point.”

  More speculation about the other teams’ activities followed – Nuala gleefully recounted the story of their skirmish with the “oranges” – after which, by an unspoken agreement, both groups began to dust themselves off and prepare for departure. No one wanted to remain idle for much longer.

  Before separating, they agreed on the truce extending until the ending horn, in case their paths crossed again. Still, truce or not, no information on each other’s immediate itineraries was volunteered. Not that Cillian’s team had anything planned.

  The “greens” decamped first, heading Heavenward. The trio of cailini gave off a determined air, to his eye. Although, Moira still looked a wee grumpy; she likely didn’t consider the Teagan/Cathal trade awfully fair.

  Once they were out of earshot, Nuala spun around and suggested, “Rim?”

  “Rim,” Cillian nodded. “Been all over Lem already. All the way, you reckon? Or turn toward the center?”

  “I don’t know if there’s any point in going to the center anymore.” Nuala looked thoughtful. “There could be more chests scattered around the middle though, like the one where we ambushed the ‘oranges’. Oscar couldn’t have gotten all of them, surely.”

  “Let’s play it by ear then. Go Rimwise and decide on the move depending on what we encounter.”

  “Good enough.”

  “Isn’t the stream down Rim?” Eamon asked. “An ambush spot, and we agreed we didn’t want to get ambushed again. Ring any bells?”

  Nuala shook her head. “We don’t have to get close to it anymore; our canteens are replenished, so it’s different.”

  “Come,” Cillian urged, “we’ve dallied enough. Glory awaits.”

  “Ha! Or an ignoble end.”

  Aye. One or another.

  Huh, that’s… very convenient, Cillian thought while listening to Nuala’s account of an unlooted treasure in the woods.

  They’d only been traveling for 10 or so minutes when it’d made itself known on their compasses. Too good to be true?

  According to the girl, the chest was filled with something – real stones or fake remained to be seen – and there were no obvious signs of disturbance. No footprints, no broken branches – no nothing.

  And no reason not to check it, certainly. Cillian was just being paranoid.

  Turned out, he had indeed worried unnecessarily. They crept to the chest, monitoring the surroundings and ready to bail the entire time, but the treasure didn’t transform into a pit of snakes or something even more wretched, like their classmates. The group simply picked up the stones – two of them this time – and skedaddled.

  Riding their luck even further, they opted not to head directly Rimwise but rather arch toward “The Center” first.

  The course altered, Cillian and his allies journeyed in silence, tensions high, and, in turn, were kept company by the same oppressive silence all around.

  Close to the “top” of the agreed upon detour, they encountered another chest – devoid of the riches, unfortunately – along with plentiful signs of “violence” – paint was splattered all over, of sickening blue and yellow hues.

  Eamon entertained himself by putting his investigator hat on and strutting back and forth – as much as the “leash” allowed – while twirling an imaginary mustache. The fact-finding mission led to nothing, alas – in the end, the boy cited insufficient evidence as a reason for his inability to deduce who had come out on top. Not that it mattered. At least, the empty chest served as confirmation of the green team’s report, so venturing any further that way wasn’t worth it.

  Back on the path leading Rimwise they went, the forest not offering anything out of the ordinary. Really, Cillian was getting thoroughly sick of the place; the hours spent here felt like days. He was exhausted and sore, and his concentration dropped to an all-time low.

  Just as the boy contemplated the likelihood of Nuala agreeing that they’d done enough for one day, the cailin of his thoughts raised a fist. Cillian didn’t even notice it at first and only stopped when Eamon tapped him on the shoulder.

  It was yet another point of interest, forward and right, raucously advertising its presence. They wasted no energy on exchanging words or gestures; the dance was well-known to all at this point. After rewinding, Nuala detached herself with a nod while the boys crouched and prepared to wait for her to come back.

  When the girl faded into the labyrinth, Cillian looked up at the sky – indigo smears dominated the battlefield, but a surprising amount of violet troops were giving a valiant showing as well. The two legions were soundly trashing all other colors. A promising sign? The boy closed his eyes and relaxed – stupid, he knew – but it felt good to let all the tension gradually vent. He could practically hear the hiss.

  Cillian should have known better, of course, than allow himself to imagine that they would collect one or two more stones and then merrily hide until the end, enjoying snacks and swapping childhood stories.

  Aether always punished sappy hopes such as those.

  The first sign that something was amiss came when he opened his eyes and caught sight of… the ghost, Patrick Sommer, studying them from up close. A small nod. Alarmed, it was Cillian’s turn to tap Eamon’s back but, when he wheeled around, of the man there was no trace left. At once confused, he cast about, trying to catch sight of the interloper again.

  What was that?

  Instructor Sommer had remained unseen from the start.

  A mistake? A deliberate move?

  The next sign took the form of vanishing rather than appearing. His compass, previously pointing in the direction Nuala had gone, had its arrow now slack, the end touching the surface. The object they’d spied was drawing no longer.

  That could not be misread – the traps and treasures here did not just shut off.

  Cillian motioned Eamon to be still, then rose, his nerves flooding back in a hurry. He listened intently – breathing, their own, nothing else. Then, a soft crunch.

  A number of things happened at once.

  The boys spotted a figure on the right, in the dark, very close. Discovered, it dropped stealth with a snarl and readied to lunge.

  “OH SHIT!”

  Cillian scrambled back.

  “AMBUSH!” barged in a blaring shout – Nuala? – together with her thundering footsteps.

  The stalker froze and wasted a heartbeat by looking her way.

  Eamon’s flashlight pierced the murk, revealing…

  The gorilla!

  “FUCK!” their enemy cursed, shielding his eyes.

  Eamon yelped and jerked to get moving, but Cillian grabbed him. Too close; he’d catch us with ease.

  “What the–! Let go!”

  His eyes not leaving the beast, Cillian moved faster than ever – prepared the ammo, and, once Rory lowered his hand, threw the paintballs right at his face. One, then another, one more!

  “GO!”

  Only two found the target – no matter. Time to leave!

  The beast spat and roared, then rushed at them blindly and fell, but the pair barely noticed – their legs were already propelling them Lemwise with maddening pace.

  The timing worked great – Nuala caught up, out of nowhere, taking her place by their side. The trio sprinted away.

  She yelled again, “FLASHLIGHTS ON! WE’LL OUTRUN THEM!”

  “The fuck are you screaming about?!” clamored Eamon.

  “It’s on purpose,” she wheezed. “Don’t use them!”

  “What?!”

  “Keep running, go to the edge; I’ll catch up!”

  Before they could protest, she slowed and veered off.

  “Where are ye going?!”

  Cillian couldn’t risk peeking behind and opted to trust her. He pulled Eamon by the arm to stop him from blasting off in pursuit.

  “Rot! What in the null is she doing?!”

  “Bleedin’ run, man!”

  They did.

  Minutes or mere seconds later – he didn’t know – the girl rejoined them, face set. Not a sliver of fear on it, only joy.

  “Wha–” Eamon stumbled, but Cillian caught him. “What have you done?”

  “No talking, just run. Follow me!”

  So they ran.

  Fuck, what a disaster.

  Irish slang: