Loud pounding jolted Cillian awake.

  Bang-bang-bang.

  He sat up.

  Bang-bang-bang.

  Indiscernible shouting was intruding on his domain from the hallway, as well.

  What in the aether?!

  More sudden raps drummed an obnoxious beat – still some distance removed but getting closer. The boy heard his neighbors starting to scramble.

  Then it was his turn – a man unceremoniously kicked the door and yelled for him to “get up and get ready!”

  Cillian blinked stupidly, lightheaded, owing it to the abrupt snap from horizontal to vertical.

  Get ready for what?

  It was still inky black outside.

  Oh hell, now he remembered – their second trip to the forest awaited. The first one had taken place yesterday.

  His feet touched the carpet and felt for the slippers. But in the dark?

  Cillian got up and took a deep breath, heading for the bathroom. There, he let the air out. And smiled. Because he finally could – inhaling and exhaling, that was – without wincing in pain. Unexpectedly, he felt much better than at any point in the last 10 days.

  More shouting came from further down the corridor. Right, I’m supposed to hurry.

  He hastily washed up and, once done, for the first time glanced at the clock. The reading there made his mind stumble. The boy turned to face the window. In his befuddled state, it took him a long moment to comprehend the incongruity – the morning was upon them, no mistake, but the world outside was still engulfed in darkness.

  The skywalker should be ramping up by now.

  There was no time to ponder the fact further; it wasn’t unprecedented in any case. Cillian rushed to put on the pine-green gambeson that had been issued to him the day earlier. The thick garment was intended to be used as a shock absorber between the body and armor, but at the moment it served as the only protection. The two layers of natural sheet wadding would keep him warm. Hopefully.

  The trio of leather straps fastened, their brass buckles forming a column down his torso, he sat on the bed and wriggled his legs into the black quilted pants, which were also provided as part of the special uniform.

  Cillian secured his small belt bag, stuffed the aether compass inside, and stormed out of the room.

  In the corridor, he was met with the confused faces of his immediate neighbors. A look to the left revealed that Eamon hadn’t somehow missed the cacophony and overslept. The boys exchanged glances – Eamon’s bewildered and Cillian’s mostly curious – shrugged, and went downstairs, collecting Nuala on the second floor. Will there be breakfast?

  Apparently not. The dining hall emanated no signs of activity.

  Yesterday, they had spent from early in the morning until dinner in the nearby forest – or a large, fenced-off section of it, at least – as part of their wilderness survival training. They didn’t actually do what he’d thought they would – learn to start a fire, set up camp, find water – and instead concentrated on simply learning to move properly. Everything else would come later, the instructors had said.

  But even just moving proved tricky.

  It was generally inadvisable to run in a forest, with or without a companion, lest you wanted to get lost in a blink. The shining Everstorm stood sentinel far Heavenward, always, but you normally couldn’t see it through the layers of canopy, and a stormchaser’s readings were notoriously unreliable. As for the aether lines overhead, they had fooled many a traveler before: gaze at them for a minute – they appear static; look away momentarily – the smears shift, changing the skyscape completely. Also, even though many beasts overrelied on their aether sense, a good few still boasted excellent hearing, so avoiding aether burning while simultaneously making a lot of racket would be undermining your own efforts in staying undetected.

  Hence them learning to walk, pace measured and deliberate.

  Neither Cillian nor Eamon had felt at home during the venture, but Nuala had looked comfortable throughout, despite claiming that she’d also never been to a forest before. The girl hadn’t moved with grace, not exactly, but she could at least pick a good route from one tree to another and make the steps with her eyes looking forward, not down at her feet.

  Overall, Cillian hadn’t minded the experience much; he’d just been worried that it would set back his recovery. He really didn’t care to relive the escalating pain of the first week in the academy. So far, it appeared he was in luck – no significant new discomfort. He could only hope that today wouldn’t be too taxing on his poor ribs either.

  Outside, a dozen instructors awaited them in front of the main building. Most Cillian had already met, but some were new. The headmaster wasn’t among them.

  Once all students assembled, forming an amorphous blob, Owen Loritz – their “Wilderness Survival” instructor – spread his arms wide, as if trying to embrace them all from a distance, and proclaimed in his usual stentorian voice, “So good of you to join us! Prompt as ever! And don’t be alarmed at the lack of visibility, my friends. In fact, better start getting used to it. As chevaliers, you’d rarely have the luxury of going where there’s existing infrastructure to conveniently light your path!”

  He gestured to his left. “Form a line starting over there and move toward us. You will receive the gear. Hurry up! The forest awaits!”

  The still groggy students did as commanded.

  The line moved slowly; every student had to proceed before three instructors. The first one handed over rations – among them, quarely minuscule leather canteens; another – flashlights and stormchasers; and the final one – Cillian wasn’t sure. At first, he thought the things instructor Gehler – Rory, that was, not Mairead – was distributing were some sort of four-legged creatures. He was down the line and it was quite dark, in his defense. Then he realized that what he’d mistaken for legs were just a limp band on one end and a handcuff on the other. An oblong metal plate with rounded corners spanned between the two, featuring a circular, brass protrusion in the center. There was a keyhole in it.

  “What is this?” the first student to reach instructor Gehler asked while looking doubtfully at the contraption.

  “Just give me your non-dominant arm, and I’ll put it on. We’ll explain later,” was the said instructor’s response.

  Everyone watched as the handcuff part hooked tightly around the fella’s wrist, and then the band followed – higher up his forearm.

  “Not too tight?”

  “Err… it’s fine?”

  “Stand back now.”

  “Form groups as discussed yesterday once finished!” instructor Loritz chimed in.

  Cillian glanced around. Where was their fourth?

  The previous day, they’d had a brief argument about who they should ask to be part of the team. Cillian advocated for someone who actually knew what they were doing in a forest – he didn’t know who it’d be exactly, but there were a couple of cadets clearly more experienced than the others in all things nature. Eamon insisted they should try to persuade a third-ringer instead, since, between him, Cillian, and Nuala, their average rank was a measly 1,67. And Nuala just wanted to have a friendly face along, so there would be no tension.

  In the end, the trio had had to act quickly and asked another second-ringer Eamon said to have befriended, one Cathal Flanagan. He’d been in a different group, so Cillian didn’t know if the boy was any good, but he’d acted friendly enough during the introductions.

  Eamon still fretted over their rank – 1,75 now – but the rest didn’t worry.

  They still hadn’t been told why they needed to separate into teams. A competition of some sort was Cillian’s guess.

  “Today is a rehearsal of the event that will take place the day after tomorrow,” instructor Loritz resumed his briefing once there were twelve separate parties mulling about. “These things,” he pointed at this left forearm, “imitate control gloves. They are not as heavy as the real thing, but you should start getting used to carrying weight here. They also have another function, which will be explained to you on Saturday. Additionally…” He gestured at instructor Haertel who had another crate at her feet, and she opened it.

  A dozen instructors got moving and one by one proceeded to pick up a… What’s this?

  It looked like a string with a head-sized glass ball affixed to it in the middle. The strange yokes collected, the men and women stepped up to their assigned groups. Patrick Sommer, who taught them environmental geology, took place next to Cillian’s lot.

  “The string gets tied to the belts of two people from your team. The glass ball then hangs in between them,” instructor Loritz explained. “The string is elastic but will tear if pulled too far. And the ball is less fragile than it looks, but a good whack would still break it. Two people get to move freely, another two – while attached at the hip, so to speak, and having to step carefully so as not to wreck the glass.”

  The tall man swept his gaze left and right over the skeptical faces and chuckled. “Well, we have to improvise, don’t we? As you are right now, you are not much use to anyone. Can’t entrust you with a weapon, can’t give you a companion, but we still need to teach you what we can. So these things… not only you should get used to moving with a weight on one arm, but, more importantly, you must learn how to move close to a companion. The idea is not to make you and the one beside you inseparable – obviously, this is not how companions work – but to drill into your heads that you always have to keep your partner in mind.”

  He paused for emphasis.

  “So what stops you from simply unlatching the string and carrying the whole thing in your hands? I know what you are thinking.” He grinned. “There will be more instructors in the forest than groups, and on Saturday they will discretely follow and observe you. Moreover,” he pointed at the glass ball of the group nearest to him, “this isn’t the real thing either. The real thing will be a beacon. The specifics will be explained later, but I assure you, you’d have no chance of losing your ‘tail’. You are seen violating the rules – you are disqualified. Of course, if you are not seen… Fair’s fair.”

  He checked his timepiece and nodded. “Who gets to wear the string is up to you. You can also rotate later. Decide now, and we’ll proceed.”

  Cillian looked at his teammates.

  Eamon made a face. “I don’t dig it. We’re supposed to stumble through the forest in the dark and with a glass ball for an unruly pet?”

  “Two of you do,” Nuala said with an innocent smile, taking a step away from instructor Sommer.

  “On no you ain’t! Can’t get out of it that easily!”

  “I’m a lady.”

  “So?”

  “This is undignified.” Her expression said she cared naught for dignity.

  “I’m fine with it,” Cillian said, eying the contraption at their chaperone’s hands. “Who wants to join?”

  “Ugh.” Eamon stopped glaring at the smirking cailin. “I’m certainly not ‘fine’ with it; it’s stupid, but whatever – I’ll do it.”

  Patrick Sommer took it as a signal to start tying the pair of them together. Well, not exactly tying – there were big ring clasps at both ends, so they’d be able to move the string along their belts.

  When he was done, Cillian and Eamon carefully experimented with the available range. It wasn’t much, but two meters felt safe enough. Two and a half would be… stretching it. Heh.

  “Everyone ready? Off we go!” instructor Loritz set off toward the side gate, yet again. At this rate, they would never get to use the main one. Is it rusted shut or something? “We’ll separate once closer to the forest, and your respective minders will explain the rules of the upcoming event. Pick up the pace!”

  The instructors started jogging, and the students had no choice but to follow. So much for not taxing his still-recovering chest, Cillian thought, while making quick arrangements with the others on how to proceed. They decided that Nuala would run in front, to scout the ground ahead, Cillian behind her, and Eamon behind him, with Cathal floating alongside the pair in order to catch the ball or them if necessary.

  After a couple of minutes filled with “Slow down, you’re stretching it!” and “What are you doing back there?”, they found their pace, and Cillian couldn’t help but snigger at the absurdity of the situation.

  Scampering in low visibility and tied to another fella, feeling the glass ball bounce every each way at his rear, he wondered how he ended up in this position. On balance though, he’d take this over what they’d been subject to during the previous week and a half. Better awkward and in a little pain than bored.

  After the first day, which consisted of a rake-load of theory and some gym and cooking practice, the following days had crawled by in the same fashion, only with the initial excitement quickly wearing off. They’d had three more Bestiary classes and three more gym sessions, with Cillian still having to spend the entire time in the pool. “Aether” and cooking classes continued as well.

  In addition to that, they’d also suffered through courses on oral and written communication, diplomacy, logic and critical thinking, environmental geology, general physics, history, world studies, and, finally, topping his personal ranking of tediousness – “Organizational Behavior and Management”.

  Needless to say, the start of the indigo surge, all throughout the five days of the gleambout and beyond, hadn’t been fun.

  It was obvious that their program was frontloaded with theory. Still no archery or crafting or medical aid or anything remotely interesting. Well, Bestiary was fascinating, but the rest... It was just as well that they were only allowed to write home every couple of weeks – there was nothing to brag to his oul man about, anyway. On the other hand, his chest was grateful. After seemingly growing steadily worse over the first week, to the point he couldn’t even swim anymore, just walk, it’d suddenly reversed trajectory on Monday as if operating on a schedule, same as him.

  Please don’t do something stupid today.

  The wide open gate of the vehicle hangar swallowed the river of students and their accompanying instructors. The gambeson-clad procession trotted in between the two rows of mud-caked trucks and then spilled out of the maw on the other side, thundering their boots over the metal tongue extended across the outer wall’s ditch. They were outside the settlement now and were heading toward the nearby trees.

  The dark forest awaited. This should be exciting.

  To be fair, the academy’s opening salvo hadn’t all been tedium and repetitiveness, some excitement had cropped up. Namely, their first earnings and first assignments. Cillian had something weighing down his pockets again.

  Instructor Hass wasn’t kidding when he’d warned them to be ready for knowledge tests at any time. Last Friday, he’d invaded their gym class – during the part when everyone was stretching and Cillian was pool-walking – and made them take a written evaluation on batfoxes and specters, the topic of their Wednesday class. Cillian being in the pool hadn’t exempted him.

  They’d been afforded 10 minutes, but the questionnaire was mercifully short, and he could answer everything on it, even if he had to stand and write with the paper propped up against the wall. The effort had gained him a token the following Monday – the maximum possible for this particular test. Nuala had also earned one, but Eamon had not. He’d made a single mistake, and, apparently, that was enough to fail.

  “One mistake is all you get in this business.”

  Also on Monday, Nuala and some others had earned their first gym tokens. One had to run 6 laps and after every 2nd lap make 10 burpees – all in under 6 minutes. Only a handful of students had managed it, and Cillian figured even fully healed it would present a challenge for him. He wasn’t exactly a runner.

  As far as he knew, no one had actually used tokens for anything yet, but he imagined opportunities would arise shortly.

  And as for the assignments, well, Cillian now understood where all the rumors about the students serving as unpaid menial labor were coming from. Cleaning the showers and locker rooms in the gym, waste disposal in the kitchens and the slaughterhouse, and cutting logs using a manually-operated hydraulic splitter – that was as exhilarating as their current assignments went. Unfortunately, Cillian was too injured to do anything. Not that he’d gotten a chance – even such unpleasant chores came in limited supply.

  How could one earn bonus rewards for “exceptional performance” when moping floors or some such was beyond him. The system was garbage. Given a two-person task, there was absolutely no incentive for a third-ringer to invite a “lesser” to share the hardship and the booty, other than personal connection.

  While he was musing, they scuttered past the groves of withered trees and were now cuddling the edge of the forest proper, just five of them, with the other groups spreading across the expanse. An earthy and woody aroma assaulted their senses – it somehow smelled musty and crisp at the same time.

  “Whoa! This is incredible!” Nuala, half a dozen steps ahead of him, exclaimed. Cillian caught up and joined the girl in her admiration.

  A soft glow was radiating from the tree roots all around. Amber and green streaks traced the contours of the tendrils clinging to the ground, and some extended as far as a meter up the trunks. Each tree seemingly hid a little house at the butt, and the houses’ inviting lights shone through the cracks.

  “Huh,” Eamon uttered. Cathal knelt to take a better look.

  They’d seen the pleasant shine the day before, to be sure, but, under the light of the skywalker, the picture presented had been vastly less impressive. And to Cillian’s eye, it appeared that the intensity ramped up deeper into the woods.

  Instructor Sommer waited ahead of them, impatiently tapping his foot. “Are you done sightseeing? We have a lot of ground to cover; no time to waste.”

  “But, sir, why are they glowing so much more than yesterday?” Nuala asked, prodding one of the gleaming grooves with her finger.

  The man carefully scanned the surroundings before replying, “You tell me. What’s changed today?”

  “The skywalker, obviously,” Eamon replied.

  Cathal straightened out. “Do trees stop glowing when bathed in artificial light?”

  “They don’t stop, no. The glow simply subsides. But an even bigger contributing factor is burning. Before you set foot in the forest yesterday, we had gone ahead and scoured all the dirt. And by that I mean we’d cleaned up the area of any and all trespassers, which involved a considerable amount of aether burning to attract them first. No magical life likes burning, trees included. And it takes some hours for them to return to their natural state.”

  “Oh. So that’s why all the trees close to the settlement are so… shriveled?” Cillian wondered aloud.

  “Indeed. Similar to all other living, aether-consuming organisms, some species of trees are more resilient to burning, but a long enough exposure will eventually lead to death, no matter the tolerance.”

  “No wonder nature hates us,” Cathal muttered.

  Instructor Sommer studied the readings of his aether compass and said with a sigh, “Might as well explain the main rule to you now.” The quartet’s attention snapped back to him. “And that rule is to move. You can only stop moving for 3 minutes every 30 minutes. And it applies to the Saturday’s event, too. Any stops you make outside of these 3-minute spans are only allowed if they serve to advance you forward in another way – be it climbing a tree to scout from above or briefly discussing strategy with your teammates. Emphasis on briefly.

  “I’ll be tailing you at a distance during the event. Today though, we’ll move together in the rhythm specified. I’ll wary the pace, starting with a bout of steady walking. And I’ll explain further rules at each new stop. No flashlights for now. Move along!” He wheeled around, clicked his stopwatch, and began marching away. The students scrambled back into formation and took off in pursuit.

  The group’s chaperone moved in front and to the left of his charges and ordered them not to follow in his footsteps and instead pick their own track. And that’s what Nuala attempted to do. The initial hundred paces into the shimmering unknown were guarded by immature trees amidst a besprinkling of their larger relatives, as well as plentiful fern bushes and woody shrubs.

  But not long after, the towering trunks and their canopy took over, blanketing Cillian and his traveling companions. And just like that – the Everstorm was no longer illuminating their path. Losing sight of the only constant on the ever-changing plane, in the dimness no less, disconcerted him more than the boy cared to admit.

  So he diligently followed Nuala’s trail, the tug on his belt a constant reminder of the unwelcome hitchhiker.

  This particular region of the world was dominated by conifer forests, they’d been informed. Flowing past the group, the magical equivalents of larches, firs, spruces, and pines competed for aether and nutrients enriching the soil. Most inhabitants here were of varying shades of green – and none were too bright – but some larches unabashedly vaunted their striking yellow-orange tufts right in the faces of the envious neighbors.

  Navigating between saplings, bulking trees, and soft and hard-stemmed bushes, all the while doing their damnedest not to slip on moss and fungi outgrowth proved dicey. Staying silent at the same time proved categorically impossible. For the younger members of their wandering band, at least. Instructor Sommer experienced little difficulty.

  The glow from the trees was helping tremendously.

  One particularly treacherous part was climbing down, Cillian soon discovered. An abundance of pits and mounds littered the forest floor, and occasional larger troughs hid where you least expected them. Once, he and Eamon had to hold each other by the forearms and clamber down side by side, the tether providing just enough leeway not to smash the ball into the ground. And aye, they weren’t allowed to hold the string either; it had to hang. Cillian harbored doubts about the rule being enforceable on Saturday.

  Instructor Sommer kept leading them along the path known only to him, taking several turns for no discernible reason. When Cillian felt their allotted moving period was nearing its end, they crossed a small clearing, which, bizarrely, was darker than the tightly enclosed stretch they’d just left behind, and took a short break.

  “Three minutes and we continue,” the man declared. “The next spell will be a notch faster, but I’ll also lead you through some poorly lit areas, so it’s time to explain the flashlights.” A bright lance pierced the murk and stabbed a nearby pine.

  “What’s there to explain?” Eamon asked before greedily attaching himself to the mouth of his canteen.

  “Nothing beyond the fact that we’ve modified each one to make their use detectable by an aether compass. You’ve learned how compasses function, correct? In general terms if not the specifics. Normally, a beast’s drawing is detectable on account of the process’ effect on the surrounding aether. Aether burning, in contrast, doesn’t create waves – despite us sometimes likening the reaction’s fallout to ripples – and is more akin to a disease spreading through aether within a certain range. If it generates any observable disturbance, we can’t measure it yet.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Cillian fished out his own flashlight from the belt and scrutinized it.

  “For this reason, your flashlights have been equipped with an additional elanroot, the only purpose of which is to start gobbling up aether as soon as you turn on the light. You rotate the nub at the bottom – and the hermetic capsule housing the root unseals, letting it resume its natural course of operation.”

  Cathal cocked his head. “The hermetic capsule?”

  “Aye. Until it runs out of juice or is sufficiently damaged, an extricated elanroot always strives to fulfill its main purpose – to regenerate the body. Even making the objective impossible by placing the root in a severely confined space won’t stop it from trying. Meaning, if we want to make the process controlled, we have to seal the root in an environment where it can’t draw any aether unless we allow it. The details are unimportant right now. Suffice it to say, with our modifications, if you use a flashlight long enough and close enough to someone with a compass, they would be able to track you. And you don’t want that.”

  A bout of silence ensued.

  Internally rolling his eyes, Cillian obliged the man’s obvious desire to be probed further, “We don’t?”

  “You might’ve already guessed that a competition awaits you on Saturday, and, aye, you wouldn’t want another team to know where to find you or where you’re coming from.”

  “That so?” Nuala mused, plucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Are instructors’ flashlights modified as well?”

  “They are not.”

  “And how long do we have before the use starts getting detectable, and from how far away?”

  The chevalier smiled at her. “Find out for yourself.”

  “Didn’t instructor Loritz say something about these things,” Cillian shook the string, “being replaced with a beacon? I assume the name means they, too, will be traceable?”

  “Correct. But not by the students. Only by us.”

  Cillian scratched his chin. “How does that work?”

  “Different elanroots, different drawing patterns. Your compasses can only detect what we allow them to detect. Simple as that.”

  “Oh.”

  They proceeded deeper. Or so Cillian thought. For all he knew, the man might be amusing himself by dragging them round and round the same thicket of trees.

  As promised, their faithful flashlights, drawing flickering patterns on the branch mazes overhead and the shrubbery underfoot, came in handy almost immediately. Larches, already stripped off their garments, dominated the locale, their shine greatly diminished. The discarded amber needles crunched under their boots.

  It was amidst such a faded company that Cillian took his first stumble of the day.

  “Whoa, Kil!” Eamon cried out. “Be careful!”

  Luckily, he managed to catch himself on a trunk just in time. Chill seeped through his bare fingers, and he jerked his hand away. Aether! Why is it so frackin’ cold?

  “What are you doing?” Nuala called out to them, peeping from behind another trunk and shining a ray right at Cillian’s face. “Do you want to be left behind? Catch up already!”

  They hurriedly did so.

  “Cathal,” Cillian addressed the boy who was currently preoccupied with pushing his way through a shin-tangle of bracken. “Once we stop again, can you quickly step away, say, 30 paces and check the compass? I’ll shout once I turn on the flashlight, and you can count the seconds.”

  Eyes still on the ground, Cathal puffed out, “Sure. Unless instructor Sommer says otherwise.”

  The man did say otherwise when they came to a halt, “You can do it at a second stop from here. Right now I want you to turn your attention to that.” He gestured past the trees toward the widest glade they’d encountered so far. Is there something there?

  “Flashlights off, and check your compasses.”

  Two seconds of hesitant oscillation, then the arrows collectively swiveled to point in the direction of the clearing’s center.

  “Your compasses are basic – no distance indicators, no species’ identifiers – but they guide you true: a small chest is sitting there, waiting. It’s filled with stones and a simple drawing dud, which does nothing more than slowly siphon aether from the environment in order to be detectable. Let’s take a closer look.”

  They emerged from the tree cover and stepped next to the wooden chest. It boasted a radial lock but, as instructor Sommer shortly demonstrated, was currently open. Inside they found an assortment of quarely smooth, circular rocks, three in total.

  “The chest may or may not be in the same place on Saturday, who knows. It will be locked, but you’ll all have the keys, one per team. The stones are your prizes. Collect and carry them until the end of the event, at which point they will be exchanged for actual valuables, but do not touch the dud or move the chest. And remember to close the lid when you’re done, so the others don’t see that it’s already been looted.”

  To punctuate the words, the top half of the casket swung shut, and the man beckoned them forward. “There are similar treasures scattered all over the area – some are in clearings like this; some are not. There’s no limit on how many stones you can collect, but don’t try to fool us with fakes. We’ll know, and you will regret it.”

  The next stint was the fastest yet, and Cillian’s ribs made their displeasure known without delay. He cursed the gorilla for the umpteenth time, while both of his boots sank into the grass. He couldn’t even see the dirt here; the whole nearby patch was overflowing with vegetation. The trees on all sides glowed brighter once more, making the artificial illumination no longer necessary.

  A few minutes into it, Nuala suddenly stopped and issued an order, “Slow down; there’s a ravine!”

  The boys cautiously approached, but instructor Sommer, already at the bottom, shouted at them, “Don’t stop! Hurry up!”

  Cillian faced Eamon. “Sit and slide down? Wait, no, the ball will bounce on the ground.” He thought quickly. “I know it’s stupid, but let’s put the belts around our shoulders or necks and slide.”

  Eamon shot him an incredulous look. “What? Around our necks?”

  “So when we sit the ball stays above the ground. Squat, hold hands, and slide. No one said the belts couldn’t be moved.”

  “I said hustle!”

  “Alright!” Nuala took charge. “We do as Cillian suggested. Move your belts! But not both at once!”

  “Can’t we just carry them then?” Cathal wondered. “The belts, I mean.”

  “We’ll ask once down,” Cillian replied, waiting for Eamon to finish.

  “Man, it’s like I’m being collared! By meself!”

  “I’ll wait for you below. Cathal, stay with the doggies. Maybe slide after? Just don’t crash into them.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Cathal laughed.

  “Screw you!”

  Cillian had to admit that holding hands with another collared fella while a stern man glared at them – at least he assumed the man was glaring as he couldn’t spare a glance – was quite funny. They descended without incident.

  “We can do it, ay?” Cillian asked the instructor while brushing dirt off his pants.

  “You can, so long as you actually wear it, not carry,” he replied with emphasis, clearly having overheard Cathal’s suggestion.

  “Do you want to take an opportunity to switch?” Nuala offered. “Cathal and I can take it.”

  “About time!” Eamon exclaimed. “Put it around your neck, too.”

  “You wish,” Nuala smirked.

  “Cease your blabbering and switch quickly. We are behind the schedule as it is.”

  “I’ll go in front,” Cillian volunteered.

  The group continued on their way, and, as he stole a peek at the entangled pair, Cillian wondered if he and Eamon had looked equally ridiculous. Probably less, he thought. They were about the same height, while Nuala was much shorter than any of them, but especially Cathal, who had at least half a head on the other boys.

  Cillian soon discovered that being in front wasn’t much easier – he had to choose pathways that would suit his teammates while consciously not following instructor Sommer. He wasn’t nearly as good at it as Nuala but got by well enough, in his humble opinion. And while power-walking no less.

  No longer focused solely on the girl’s back and his footsteps, the boy realized that the tree roots and butts weren’t the only glowing residents of the forest – now and again he spotted bright, colorful slashes whiz from one leafy cover to the next. That, in turn, made him aware of the constant chirping hubbub they were drowning in.

  Cillian knew that insects were everywhere here – when one species went to sleep, another unerringly took their place. Even within the confines of the academy grounds there was no escaping them. But 10 days of unending stridulation had taught him to block the noise from his mind. Now though, as they sank deeper into the green depths, ignoring it became all but impossible.

  There weren’t nearly as many bugs yesterday, surely? Another thing to thank aether burning for.

  25 minutes of weaving around preceded the company’s next break. When it came, it was abrupt – instructor Sommer raised his fist. Cillian halted and raised a fist of his own.

  Once the stragglers caught up, the man gestured at a huddle of firs and undergrowth innocently lounging ahead. “A trap.” They looked up. A beam of light guided their gazes toward a pigskin bubble dangling between a pair of trunks, about three meters above their heads. “The tripwire.” The beam glided down to accentuate the skinny line skirting the ground.

  Even from relatively close, the setup was barely noticeable in the dimness.

  “The bubble is filled with paint. Get splashed with even a single drop, and you’re out. Fortunately for you, all traps are also detectable, same as the prize boxes, same as the flashlights. But even on the marginally more advanced compasses, which you’ll get an opportunity to acquire tomorrow, you won’t be able to distinguish between them.”

  “And this trap wouldn’t be here on Saturday, would it?” Nuala asked.

  “Likely not. Then again, maybe it’s not worth the effort to move it since I highly doubt any of you even know where we are right now.”

  The man was dead right.

  Cillian glanced down at his compass. The arrow wigwagged randomly before settling to point neither at the trap nor at the only glowing flashlight. He looked up at their chaperone questioningly.

  “They do that. Single-target ones, that is. There is no rhyme nor reason as to which direction they choose when there are interfering vortexes – sometimes they point at one target, sometimes at another, but more often than not you get total gibberish.”

  “Grand,” Eamon muttered.

  “In any case, how are you all doing on water supply?”

  “Sill half full,” Cathal estimated after shaking his canteen.

  “Same,” Cillian added.

  “There’s barely anything left in mine,” Eamon said. “Spilled me some while trying to drink on the run.”

  “I’ve only made a couple of sips,” Nuala concluded their little inventory check.

  “You should drink more, Ms. Rafferty. Our next stop will be at a stream, the only one inside the fence. You can refill your flasks there; it’s clean enough. We’ll proceed at a sedate pace for two stints.”

  Once they got there, after almost exactly 30 minutes – Cillian suspected they’d been zig-zagging to time their arrival – instructor Sommer allowed the flashlight test to commence.

  Since Cathal was currently enjoying the leash, Eamon was the one who disappeared behind the entwined masses of orange and green. The boy’s muffled shout came, “30 paces! Ready!”

  At that distance, once Cillian turned the nub, it took 3 seconds for Eamon’s compass to pick up the invisible whirlpool brought into existence by the extra elanroot. They tested at 50 paces next – 3 seconds more. But at 70 and beyond, nothing could be detected at all.

  They refilled the canteens and trudged further yet, their slower clip giving Cillian the freedom to contemplate matters other than where to step next.

  Previously, it’d always confused him how humans couldn’t eat meat or vegetables without either painstakingly raising non-magical species for that purpose or meticulously draining the magical ones from aether beforehand but, at the same time, could freely drink water from a river with no aether treatment of any kind.

  Now he had a better idea, thanks to the “Aether” classes. According to them, the omnipresent substance could exist in three different states – elusive, agitated, and tainted. Elusive was by far the most common – it was literally everywhere, with some places enjoying greater concentrations than others – but, as the name implied, was also the least understood.

  The modern theory suggested that the elusive aether, also known as “aethereal”, wasn’t actually in the air or water because it wasn’t entirely physical in nature. It didn’t really move with air or water currents or interact with anything at all other than elanroots and, instead, operated by its own poorly discerned laws. You submerge your canteen into a stream, but when you lift it, the aether that was seemingly trapped inside the vessel will simply stay where it was – still down in the water.

  Cillian couldn’t quite wrap his head around the idea. How can we even detect it then?

  He took a careful sip on the move – without succumbing to poisoning – and wondered if on Saturday they would get more substantial water containers. The treasure chests would serve as natural convergence points, but, with such wee little canteens, so would the stream. Every group would have to get their drinking supplies restocked at least once.

  They hadn’t been told some critical details, to be sure. Case in point being the pseudo-wristwatches with keyholes in them. Instructor Sommer appeared in no hurry to explain the purpose of the contraptions.

  The company continued in a similar manner for the next handful of hours, only making a single longer break to tuck into their food. Cillian had to carry the glass ball two more times – first with Cathal then with Eamon again. They collectively decided Nuala should be their permanent scout while the guys would rotate.

  Cillian’s chest hindered him more and more with each passing stint.

  During those hours, the group encountered two other types of traps – sound and net. The former, if triggered, would announce their annoyance at being disturbed by blasting the ears of the culprits and everyone else unfortunate enough to find themselves in the vicinity. And the latter were just that – nets dropping on top or scooping you up. One could be recovered from, but the other would spell the end of your run.

  Additionally, instructor Sommer revealed more rules about the upcoming event. They weren’t allowed to leave the fenced-off area, which was obvious enough. Physical attacks on the other participants were also out of the question. It didn’t mean that injuries wouldn’t happen, the man cheerfully told them, but intentionally dealing an injury was grounds for immediate disqualification.

  And wrecking the ball was an automatic loss with all collected stones being voided. On a positive note, some unintentional roughhousing by a party that should remain unnamed (it was Eamon) let them discover that small bumps and knocks didn’t pose a threat to the glass orb’s integrity.

  The party in question (Eamon) apologized profusely.

  Quare and awkward or not, the three boys eventually grew accustomed to moving with the constant risk of falling over and smashing their lifeline. The trick, Cillian learned, was to perceive yourself and your intertwined companion as a single four-legged creature suffering a whopping hangover. You choose a slippery slab to plant your boot on or try to squeeze through a vanishingly small gap – and the next thing you see would be the disappointed face of your spouse– ahem, scout.

  The most excruciating part of the entire trip came on the way back when instructor Sommer pulled a double-stint of deliberate, agonizing creeping. Their progress was so slow Cillian couldn’t even think of it as walking; an hour was spent covering a hundred paces.

  Well, maybe he was exaggerating. Just a little. Still, all parts of his exhausted body were very happy to leave the forest behind.

  And none were more grateful than his long-suffering ribs.

  The next day after lunch Cillian and his teammates gathered in Eamon’s room to discuss strategy. They had a light schedule today – just two theoretical courses – since the instructors had mercifully decided to give them a breather before the competition tomorrow.

  Eamon’s room was still a mess, but with most of their members living on the third floor – everyone but Nuala – it made sense to gather somewhere upstairs, and no way Cillian was letting three people into his quarters.

  “Okay, first things first, I won the lottery; should we do the assignment?” Nuala started the conversation, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

  “Of course, why is it even in question?” Cillian asked. “Obviously, it’s your assignment, so you decide, but I don’t see why you wouldn’t.” He looked around and opted to stand, his back to the wall.

  It was the first time any of them had won. Admittedly, it was only the second lottery overall. Participating in a raffle where the prize was work felt a little bizarre, but with non-mandatory assignments being limited as they were, the procedure made sense. And, as one would expect, the lottery wasn’t a simple one but rather weighted, that was, the higher your ring – the higher the chance to win. The students had also been informed that the instructors could temporarily remove any name from contention whenever they wished.

  “To make certain no one pulls ahead too much thanks to a stroke of good fortune rather than their skill.”

  “I agree,” Nuala replied, “but it’s a two-person assignment to wash a truck.” She made a face. “And those trucks are huge. A lot of physical work when we should be resting. Who of you wants to join, anyway?”

  “I’ll join!” Eamon enthusiastically offered. Upon entering the room the boy had immediately jumped on the bed and was now lounging there with both hands behind his head.

  Cillian laughed. “That’s a lot of eagerness for cleaning from someone whose room looks like this.” He nodded at the collection of clothes, boots, and other bric-a-brac forming islands amidst the softness of the wine-colored carpet.

  “Hold on,” Cathal gnawed on his lower lip, sitting on the lone chair as he was, before continuing, “we’re doing this for the team, right?” He eyed them all. “Assuming we spend the tokens on better equipment for tomorrow, it makes sense to have another second-ringer join Nuala to maximize the payout. No offense, Eamon.”

  “Oh come on–”

  “I would be happy to join, but I really do need to rest,” Cillian said. “I’m feeling worse than yesterday and don’t want to push it. And I agree with Cathal – he should be the one to help Nuala.”

  Eamon scrunched his face in a feigned hurt and opened his mouth to protest, so Cillian quickly pressed on, “I mean, Nuala obviously has to do it since it’s her assignment, but if you join her, you’d take waaay too long. Half the time would be spent flirting and bantering, instead of working.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of concentrating on the work, ye know,” Eamon answered a bit grouchily.

  “Do you really want to wash a truck?” Nuala asked him skeptically.

  “It’s not the task that matters but the company.” The boy was all charm once again.

  The girl rolled her eyes and hid a smile. “Oh yes, because shouting at each other over the noise of the hoses is what I consider quality time.”

  “Besides,” Cillian added, “you’ve been complaining all day about being tired and sore. You should take it easy, man.”

  “Fine, fine!” Eamon raised his arms in surrender. “No need to gang up on me, guys. Nuala and Cathal for this job, I dig it. Let’s move on.”

  A moment passed in silence, then Cathal asked, “So we agree to spend what we’ll earn today on better equipment, right?”

  “Depends on the wares,” Nuala shrugged. “I wouldn’t be opposed to a better compass. I’m guessing there will be multi-target ones. And maybe with larger ranges, too.”

  “Some spy goggles wouldn’t be amiss,” Cillian said. “I’m not sure if I’d be allowed to bring my own or not.”

  “Is there any point to them in the dark anyway?” Eamon countered.

  “There is. The glow from the trees would silhouette a target, I reckon. The goggles are not to see the minute details but to detect movement across clearings. I imagine most treasures would be placed in open spaces. And also…” He pondered for a second how to phrase his next thought better. “I propose – and it’s just a proposal, you understand – that we go all in. In terms of tokens, I mean. Spend not just what you two will earn today,” he looked at Cathal and Nuala, “but everything we have, provided there is something worthwhile to spend them on, of course. And aye, I know it’s easy to offer this for someone who only has one token.”

  By this point, basically everyone “knew” what had transpired between him, Keefe, and Rory because the latter hadn’t been shy about spreading his version of events. Cillian had half-expected another assault, but, instead, the knucklehead had confined himself to sharing the tale of the dastardly Cillian stealing the tokens and attacking his honorable self like a rat when politely requested to give the string back.

  Keefe had been keeping quiet, apart from saying once that Rory was full of niss-shit. He evidently didn’t appreciate being used. And Cillian just gave non-answers when asked. There was no point in trying to convince anyone since instructors clearly knew something nasty had happened and didn’t care.

  It was old news now, in any case. The gossip had fizzled out.

  Nuala furrowed her eyebrows. “You think it’s a good idea?”

  “I don’t know–” Cathal began hesitantly.

  “It’s a terrible idea!”

  “Hear me out, okay?” Cillian pushed off the wall to stand straight. “I reckon these ‘treasure hunts’ would be a regular thing, not just a one-off. I also reckon that whatever ‘treasures’ we could potentially win would be much more valuable than anything we could buy with tokens earned doing measly manual labor, so it makes sense to exchange our tokens for a better chance at getting more treasures.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Remember what headmaster Gorman told us on the first day? Something along the lines of ‘the tokens are for unlimited items, while the stones are for limited’. And it makes sense, too, because there’s a clear difference between cleaning trucks and doing well in a competition. Whatever the exclusive rewards are, I think we should have a real go at them.

  “Besides,” he carried on, “everyone seems to just sit on the tokens they have, waiting for something good to be offered, but there’s no point to the tokens if you don’t spend them. Early on, while we’re all still new and the difficult classes haven’t begun yet, is the time to act boldly, because we aren’t really risking much. I mean, come on, we were literally given most of our tokens for free. It’s not like they were hard-earned with sweat and blood. So while everyone’s still hesitating, we should capitalize,” Cillian finished as emphatically as he could, eying the trio for their reactions.

  Cathal pressed his lips together and appeared to be mulling over the proposition. Eamon simply shrugged and kept blithely joggling his leg.

  “I suppose it makes sense?” Nuala tentatively said, leaning back on her outstretched arms. “Even though I did sweat quite a lot for one of them. But, come to think of it, yes – these ‘treasure hunts’, as you call them, would likely have a bigger impact on our personal standings than regular assignments and written tests.” After she considered some more, the girl nodded. “I’m in. Provided that the equipment on offer actually serves to increase our chances. There’s no point in buying multiple advanced compasses just because we could… Although, nothing was said about splitting the party…”

  “I’m in too,” Cathal spoke up when Nuala didn’t say anything else. “It would be a bummer, like, to spend everything and not win anything, but then we just have to do well, right?”

  “Very well,” Eamon sighed, “I rescind my assessment; it’s not a terrible idea. Consider me intrigued. How much do we have anyway? 3 for me.”

  “3 as well. Nuala, you have,” Cathal looked at the girl, who showed him five fingers, “5. Add Cillian’s 1, which makes 12. Plus whatever we’ll get for the truck – likely 14 or 15 in total.”

  “I’m glad we agree. What about our strategy?” Cillian attempted to move the discussion along. “I think stealth is the name of the game, not speed.”

  “For sure,” Eamon said. “No way I’m running for six hours. And no way we can keep the stupid ball intact for that long unless we are really careful.”

  “The conditions favor stealth,” Nuala agreed. “I think what we did yesterday worked fine. Have a scout with a better compass, two carriers, and one floater.”

  “Scout,” Eamon scoffed playfully. “You meant to say ‘Nuala’, aye? The princess who will be exempt from carrying the stupid orb?”

  “Well if you guys didn’t suck so much at finding a path and keeping a low profile…” She craned her neck and smirked at the boy.

  “I’ve no objections. Carrying the ball with the leprechaun looked awkward anyway,” Cillian nodded.

  Nuala wagged a ‘V’ at him and said, “And no talking, guys. We should come up with some basic hand signals, like a raised fist for ‘stop’. And if you see a signal, repeat it, so everyone sees.”

  The next five minutes were spent doing just that – they added gestures for “Huddle!”, “Trap ahead!”, “Enemy sighted!”, and a few more to their arsenal.

  “Speaking of enemies, I don’t have to point out that no one said anything about smashing another team’s ball, do I?” Eamon asked lazily, his eyes closed.

  Cillian was about to mention it himself. “Aye, noticed that too.”

  “Yes they did,” Cathal objected. “No physical attacks are allowed–”

  “No attacks on the students are allowed,” Cillian corrected. “It doesn’t mean you can’t break someone else’s beacon. Instructor Sommer would’ve said so explicitly if that was the case.”

  Cathal frowned.

  “I’m not proposing we go hunting the others,” Cillian elaborated. “I’m saying we should expect attacks from the others. After all, you get your beacon wrecked – your stones are up for grabs. Although, I’m not sure how is it supposed to work. We just drop them?”

  “An instructor would show up and take them,” Eamon shrugged, “then put them somewhere detectable. Or just hand them over to whoever smashed your ball – smashed your balls, hehe – if that’s what happened.”

  “I’m not sure, guys,” Cathal said doubtfully. “That seems…”

  “I’m not convinced either,” Nuala cut in. “If you’re allowed to break the others’ beacons but not allowed to physically attack anyone, how are you supposed to defend? Just run away? The attacker would have a big advantage.”

  “Right,” Cillian conceded after a pause. “We’re likely missing something, or, more precisely, deliberately haven’t been told everything yet. But I still think there’s going to be some way to confront one another, otherwise why the emphasis on staying undetected?”

  “And we still don’t know what the yokes with keyholes are for,” added Nuala.

  “Something stupid, I bet,” Eamon said, rolling his eyes. “The whole thing is just silly.”

  Their speculation carried on for another 40 minutes until it was time for Nuala and Cathal to leave for their assignment, at which point Cillian remembered his earlier concern about water.

  “Wait,” he called out to the duo before they could depart. “You reckon they’d open the vehicle hangar on both sides for you?”

  Nuala asked, “What does it matter?”

  “You remember the minuscule canteens we were given?” They nodded. “It’s on purpose – to make the stream another point of convergence. I’m pretty sure we’d be searched tomorrow so none of us takes anything we ain’t supposed to. What I’m saying is that if the trucks are parked outside the outer wall, which seems likely since they wouldn’t want all that grime to be dripping on the inside, then maybe you could take a big waterskin from the kitchens, fill it up, and hide it somewhere in the woods.“

  “Uhh…” Cathal and Nuala exchanged uncertain glances. “How do you propose we do that?”

  “And why?” the girl piled on.

  “Well, maybe you could take a break to ‘relieve yourself’, Cathal, or something. Obviously, don’t risk it if you’re closely monitored. But there are going to be several large trucks and multiple groups hosing water on them and shouting at each other, so an opportunity might present itself. And as for the why – I’m of the mind that we should seek any advantage we can get, no matter how small. Particularly when it involves little downside. Look,” Cillian gently padded his chest, “I’m still not one hundred percent, none of us are third-ringers, and we don’t have much experience navigating the wilds, so I’m just saying that we’re already behind when it comes to our earnings. We shouldn’t pass by any potential edge.”

  “I agree,” Eamon said firmly. “And there’s nothing suspicious about bringing a waterskin with you. Washing a truck? It’s thirsty work, that. And if you see a chance…”

  “Alright, we’ll do it,” Nuala asserted before Cathal could say the opposite. She wheeled around. “Let’s go; we need to hurry.”

  They left, with Eamon’s eyes following them out the door. Following Nuala’s retreating form, to be precise. After a good ten seconds had passed, he suddenly asked, “So. What do you make of him?”

  Cillian blinked. “Who? Cathal?” He shrugged. “Hardly know him. In good shape though.”

  An annoyed look crossed the other boy’s face. “Aye, everyone seems to be compared to me. Do you run marathons in yer free time?”

  “I don’t think you need to worry about fitness much; we have conditioning for a reason,” Cillian said, taking a step away from the wall. “Want to go to the repo? Need to return a book, and I want to find something else to read.”

  “Nah, I’ll relax today. Too much running as it is.”

  “And you wanted to wash a truck,” Cillian smiled. “Don’t strain yourself lying around.”

  Eamon repeated Nuala’s rude gesture from earlier and yawned. “Have fun!”

  Outside, Cillian took a cautious peek left and right – you never knew these days – gently shut the door, and went about his day.

  Tomorrow he will finally have something exciting to write home about.