“I hope you all got a good night’s rest,” instructor Loritz said to the assembled groups of cadets, “and you should hope that the day proves to be long and exhausting–” A cold gust of wind swept over the yard, interrupting the man and making Cillian wish for his old hat with fluffy ear flaps. ”Long – because if you’re done after just a couple of hours? It means you have failed. And as for exhausting – it wouldn’t matter if you last until the very end but have nothing to show for it, hiding in the bushes as you were the entire time, would it?

  “And while you would undoubtedly prioritize collecting prizes, remember that what matters to us,” he indicated himself and his colleagues for emphasis, “is how you do it. You’ll be judged on your decision-making, initiative, teamwork, and what meager skills you possess.”

  Hurry up, man! Standing still in this freezer is frackin’ intolerable. Cillian shuddered.

  Instructor Loritz made a ‘go ahead’ gesture at the other chevaliers, and they proceeded to step toward their respective groups. “While you’re being searched and equipped, I’ll fill you in with the missing details.”

  At that, Cillian looked around, curious to see if anyone was trying to sneak one forbidden yoke or another past the metaphorical sniffing hounds. Their own group’s waterskin was lying safely in a bush, courtesy of Cathal. Not exactly the most thrilling contraband, but every little bit helped. Whether they’d be able to find that particular bush with no skywalker was another matter entirely.

  Patrick Sommer patted Cathal down, checking his pockets, belt bag, and even boots. Someone to their right protested in indignation – Cillian missed what about – while a girl in one of their neighboring bands cheekily told her chaperone that nothing was said about not bringing normal, unmodified flashlights.

  “And you thought we’d just let you take it?” was the woman’s amused response.

  Damn, I should’ve thought of that.

  Then again, a container of water was one thing, but an undetectable flashlight would likely be considered violating the spirit of the competition and taken away by their watcher anyway, initially smuggled in successfully or not.

  As for their other equipment – 15 tokens had netted them a double-target compass, a single gas grenade, four aether duds, and a pair of binoculars (Cillian hadn’t been permitted to take his spy goggles). They’d been briefed that the grenade was designed for outdoor use and was mostly harmless to living beings, although the discharge duration could be iffy – anywhere from 20 to 40 seconds. And the duds were devices that drew aether and did nothing else, serving only to confuse compasses. Three were basic ones – they lasted for two minutes and, once let loose, couldn’t be muzzled again. The last one was more sophisticated – it could be turned on and off at will and had a total charge sufficient for 10 minutes of diversion.

  The foursome were now officially broke – thankfully, a stormchaser and a stopwatch came for free – but Cillian was confident it’d be worth it.

  Owen Loritz was still talking.

  “–these things,” he picked up one of the pseudo-wristwatches, “are your collars. Each one has to be rewound with your team’s key every 30 minutes. Fail to do that – and it will loudly announce this fact to everyone around. That is, it’ll start drawing aether the same way your flashlights do, in its own unique pattern. We detect it – and you’re out.”

  The man smiled at them before fetching a dreaded glass ball from the crate at his feet. “Of course, with a collar comes a leash, and here are yours.”

  Cillian instantly noticed that the real beacon’s orb was a wee smaller than the fake one’s, but the mechanism above it, affixing it to the string, was, in contrast, larger – it was where the device’s own elanroot was likely contained. Taken together with a key fused to the bottom of the ball, the whole yoke resembled a head adorned with a cute little crown and a golden tie.

  “Don’t try to rip the key off. You’d think it should be obvious, but alas,” instructor Loritz scoffed, “experience taught us it has to be spelled out. I’m sure you’re all capable of figuring out the implications of the key’s unusual placement. And, by the way, it also unlocks the treasure chests.”

  He put the beacon down and presented a small black pouch next. “You’ll also have these.” His long fingers untied the cord, and they were presented with the contents. Err… Cillian didn’t know what to make of it. Are these egg yolks? Four of them and somehow solid – suffocating in copious amounts of wadding.

  The instructor snatched one “yolk” and raised it in front of his face to be better seen in the light from a nearby lamppost. “Gelatin paintballs – your ammunition.” He tossed it up and caught it. The ball didn’t fracture. “Same as the beacons, they are sturdier than they look – the shell was made thick – but a solid hit would still crack it and release the paint.”

  Ammunition? Cillian traded curious glances with Eamon and Cathal. Nuala was too busy being handcuffed by instructor Sommer to join the exchange.

  “Every team gets their own color, and every member gets a pouch.”

  Instructor Callum Hipke flitted from group to group, handing over their deadly rounds. Cillian peeked inside – violet.

  “As you’ve already been informed,” Owen Loritz raised his voice, “you’re not allowed to physically attack the others. Instead, if you want to rob another team and kick them out of the running, all you have to do is paint their beacon in your color. From a distance,” he stressed the word, “of at least two meters. Do not come closer than that to another team’s beacon. Remember, we will be watching.”

  The man took a long look at them all, nodded in apparent satisfaction, and carried on, “Only the beacon counts. You can protect it with your bodies if you wish. This is in contrast to the paint traps – with them, anywhere on your body, gambesons and all, is instant game over. Although, they only eliminate the splashed members, not the entire team. Unless you get red – the traps’ color – on the beacon itself.”

  “What constitutes ‘painting the beacon’? Covering it entirely?” The question came from Oscar.

  “No, a good smudge is enough. It’s to imitate damaging a beast’s elanroot. An observer will let you know right away.”

  “What if they retaliate and paint our beacon before an observer can declare them ‘dead’? It’d take at least a few seconds, I wager,” the boy persisted.

  “Then you’d get your beacon wiped clean with a solution we all carry. Not to worry, Mr. Magee,” instructor Loritz said wryly, “we’ve been doing this for a long time.”

  When no more questions cropped up, he again turned to address the students at large, “So, what’s with all these complications? Why not just make you fight it out – go at each other hand-to-hand or something equally silly? It’s a fair question.”

  Now it was Cillian’s turn to have his personal space invaded by a pair of rough hands. Patrick Sommer patted his gambeson-clad chest, and the boy suppressed an instinctive urge to pull away. His ribs were still sensitive.

  “I can assure you, killing beasts is not a contest of strength. Or, at least, it very rarely comes down to a contest of strength. Doing things our way,“ instructor Loritz pointed at the boxes full of the beacons and flashlights, ”you learn to navigate the wilderness and watch your footing. You learn to stick together and operate as a team. You learn to keep your distance from beasts and that preparation and precision are key. After all, the best way to kill a beast is to pierce its elanroot, but if you can’t, it’s often preferable to send it scurrying into a trap.

  “You can try to cheat – and you might even be able to get away with it – but, in the long run, the only thing you’ll achieve is cheating yourself.”

  Satisfied that Cillian wasn’t concealing anything unsanctioned on his upper body, their chaperone moved on to plundering his belt bag.

  “And later, once you have some skills, the game will feature modified rulesets. For example, we’ll eventually do away with paint and switch to using special bows and arrowheads. And you’ll wear better protection, naturally.” Another inrush of wind brought an enticing flavor of burning firewood from the laundry house. The man glanced at his watch. “There are a couple more points to explain; your team guide will handle it while escorting you to your starting position. You can equip the beacon there. The game will begin and end with a horn; you won’t miss it.”

  Unexpectedly, the normally austere instructor then favored them with an affectionate smile, as opposed to his usual thin one. “That’s all you need to hear from me; we’ll meet again in a few hours.” Even his voice had lost that trumpeting edge. “And do try to enjoy yourselves, will you? It’s a competition, true, but some stupidity is very much expected from you at this stage. Do your best, adhere to the rules, and you’ll be fine. I wish you all good luck!”

  Their bodies poked where no poking was welcome and their “collars” tightly secured, Cillian and his teammates set off after instructor Sommer. Back into the dingy forest – for the third time in four days.

  On the move, he looked at the trio to gauge their moods. Eamon looked uncharacteristically somber while Cathal radiated waves of worry. Nuala though…

  “Nervous?” she noticed him looking and asked, smiling, almost vibrant.

  “Some,” Cillian shrugged. “You seem to be eager to hunt. Excited.”

  “I am,” she confirmed with a nod. “We’ll crush them! Right, guys?”

  Eamon didn’t immediately start bantering with her, which was atypical. Nuala glided to run alongside and nudged him with her elbow, “You alright?”

  “M?” The boy let the breath escape him, the vapor briefly masking his taut expression. “Oh aye, I’m dandy; just drowsy is all. Hate waking up so–”

  At that moment, another group overtook them on their right, stomping. Cillian glanced that way and saw it was a single fella who was hammering the ground with enthusiasm and scowling at them. Or, more precisely, at him.

  Is this supposed to be an intimidation tactic? Aether, he really is a gorilla.

  Cillian noted Oscar and two girls on Rory’s team. He thought one was Eithne but didn’t know the other.

  The arsehole kept glaring until their mismatched paces separated the groups. At least the little circus act served to pull Eamon out of his funk.

  “The gorilla still has a problem with you, Kil.”

  “An astute observation,” he puffed out.

  “Think he’ll try something?” Cathal asked, anxious.

  “Perhaps. Has to find us first.”

  Privately, Cillian was no longer sure what to make of the fella. The hateful glowers persisted, together with occasional rude comments, but still no follow-up face-to-face confrontation. The beast had been restraining itself for a reason unknown.

  “Well, a gorilla should be right at home in the forest,” Eamon quipped.

  “I don’t think it’s the right type of forest,” countered Nuala.

  Their voyage among the shimmering and sometimes dancing lights toward their starting position would take a while, so Cillian used the opportunity to go over the rules of the contest one more time in his head.

  The key being an inseparable part of the beacon’s royal attire meant they had to come bend a knee to it every half an hour to beg for the honor of having their collars rewound, which made prolonged separations infeasible. And only 4 paintballs per person granted them 16 total shots for 11 opposing teams. They obviously had to be conservative with the available ammunition.

  Whichever way you present it, any team-to-team tangles are going to look comical. What’s more likely – an unfortunate couple, having to lug their deadweight kid in between them, to successfully dance out of the way of an incoming projectile, or a jealous rival to paint the said kid’s head from a distance?

  Cillian snorted quietly, unsure where these strange metaphors were suddenly coming from.

  Deeper into the woods, ensconced on all sides by the imposing trees and inexpertly wading their way through the shrubbery, the foursome listened to instructor Sommer explain the function of the emergency devices they’d also been provided with. One aether grenade and one signal rocket per person.

  Both devices served as a precaution against an unlikely beast attack. The forests around the settlement – and the fenced-off area in particular – being subject to regular scrubbing didn’t mean there was no chance of a few beasts wandering in. The fence was hardly impenetrable and covered only two sides anyway – cutting off the bottom right “corner” of the forest from the main body.

  In case of an attack, they were encouraged to use both the grenade and the rocket. The grenade was supposedly so potent that any beast would certainly pounce on it first, which would buy the necessary time for an instructor or security rep to reach them.

  Needless to say, using the emergency devices not in an emergency would be punished severely.

  At the designated spot, which wasn’t marked in any obvious fashion, the group were told to sit tight and wait for the horn, since several other teams had to travel much further. Once alone, or at least without Patrick Sommer breathing down their necks, Cillian sought to climb a nearby tree.

  “What are ye doing?”

  He ignored the question and approached the chosen specimen – a typical magical pine, the kind he’d grown familiar with over their previous excursions. The boy craned his neck up and exhaled through the mouth.

  Right, looks straightforward enough.

  After sweeping the area below the lowest branch – Cillian really didn’t fancy landing on a hidden rock and twisting his ankle – he bent his legs and pushed up, reaching with both hands for the hefty appendage. His bare fingers clutched the top, the onrushing chill making him curse himself yet again for forgetting his favorite gloves back in Lua.

  The quartermaster could provide a new pair to Cillian, naturally. For a price.

  Maybe later.

  He tugged on the branch once, twice, and let go.

  Nuala was on his case in an instant, “What? Not up to the challenge, Mr. Climber?”

  “Gauging the soundness. It’s my first time climbing a tree.”

  The bough was too thick to use as a makeshift pull-up bar, so Cillian made a step away from it, as if defeated, only to return with a vengeance in a flash – one step forward and he sprang up, grabbed the appendage from both sides, and used the momentum to swing his right leg over it. Now hanging above the ground by three points of contact, he leveraged the leg hook to force both elbows atop the branch. A sharp kick up with his only free limb followed, and, once it flew back and gave him some boost, he clambered up the rest of the way.

  Not so different from scaling buildings.

  Even his ribs gave him little fuss. Cillian liked to imagine that all parts of his body had missed this… this defiance of the downward pull of the plane. However, the gambeson wasn’t a fan of the thuggish treatment – it already looked roughened up.

  The hardest part safely behind him, conquering the trunk further up proved simplicity itself.

  Huh. It’s even easier than climbing buildings.

  There was always another handhold in reach.

  Past the densest part of the canopy layer the adventurous boy went, until the welcoming sight of the opalescent aether streaks hailed him from above. Cillian waved at the Everstorm shining far in the distance.

  More notably, several floating clusters radiated warmth from somewhere that was actually reachable. Three groups of sky lanterns were tied to the unseen trees, marking the locations of the fence’s corner, the stream situated further away to the Rim, and the Heaven edge of the artificial clearing sitting smack dab in the middle of this isolated area. Instructor Sommer had shared that it was the largest open space inside the perimeter.

  Now what?

  The starting horn blared, making him involuntarily tighten his grip around the trunk. It was quickly echoed by more horns spread throughout the green sea.

  “Kil! Get back down!”

  Cillian eyed the Everstorm one last time.

  Now the game begins.

  They decided on where to go by eliminating the places where they didn’t want to go, not yet.

  The group found themselves somewhere in the Null-Lem (or bottom-left) quarter of the area, relatively close to the fence, with what they’d dubbed “The Corner” awaiting further Lem and far Heavenward. Both “The Center” and “The Stream” were off to the Rim.

  None of them doubted that the central clearing would be a treasure trove, but they collectively agreed it was too early to head there. The same went for the stream and the hidden water supply. They still had full canteens, and no one wished to lug around a big waterskin. It would keep.

  Cillian offered to go Heavenward, parallel to the fence but keeping distance from it, and, for the lack of better ideas, everyone agreed. They rewound the “collars” and set off. Eamon and Cathal took the first “carrier” duty of the day.

  As the team’s current “floater”, Cillian clutched his compass – of the basic variety – in his left hand, ready to scurry over and assist the hapless pair at any moment.

  The march commenced, with Nuala setting the pace. Cillian began on the boys’ right, maintaining a short distance. The forest was quite dense in the area, so the trees and shrubs had a tendency to voice their objections to the neat order, forcing the company to momentarily spread out. Those of them that weren’t tied together, that was.

  Fifteen minutes of roaming the woodland while jumping at every suspicious snap zipped by in no time.

  Nothing.

  Cillian occasionally switched sides, glancing at the compass every so often.

  Eamon strayed into a low thorny bramble and cursed. Nuala shushed him.

  Twenty minutes.

  Still nothing.

  They pushed through one thicket after another, their heavy boots crunching on the grass, leaves, and twigs underfoot, expecting trouble the whole way. But only the usual sounds of the forest kept them company – treetops shaking at the occasional outbursts of wind, sporadic fluttering of wings, and the incessant chirping of the most ubiquitous forest dwellers.

  Gradually, Cillian felt the tone of their silence starting to shift – from very tense to a slightly more confused “why’s nothing happening” kind of tense. All of their expressions slowly relaxed, and their spines turned less rigid.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Evidently, there would be no immediate violence. The teams were likely stationed too far from each other for mayhem to erupt right away.

  Soon, their “collars” vibrated, indicating five minutes until the scheduled rewind, and Nuala signaled a break. Silently, they appeased the agitated mechanisms. Performing the ritual was one of the two times when they were allowed to directly touch the beacon. Even still, picking up and rotating the key rigidly bonded to the glass ball felt awkward.

  “This is anticlimactic,” Eamon commented, sallying forth once again.

  Nuala shot him a sharp look.

  “What?” he asked defensively. “There’s no one around. The other teams are scattered all over. It’s the only time we can guarantee that no one’s listening, methinks.” A hand covered his mouth as if sharing a secret. “Apart from our silent stalker, mind.”

  “Or several,” Cillian added. “They said there would be more chaperones than the teams.”

  A period of further trudging and winding around ticked by uneventfully. Then, while Cillian was gently pushing a sapling out of the way for Eamon and Cathal to safely proceed, Nuala suddenly signaled to stop. They froze. The girl waited, hesitating. She fanned out her fingers and waited some more, the other hand clenching the compass. Finally, the wide spread turned into a fist, twice, in rapid succession. Huddle up, Cillian recalled. He waved for the guys to advance so that the young tree could be gently returned to its unperturbed state.

  The three boys caught up to their scout, and, once near her, Cillian’s compass picked up a target as well.

  Unlike his basic, watch-like implement, the one Nuala was consulting came in the form of an opaque metal sphere. They’d tested it the day before, and its operation was curious – the way to read it was not by sight but by feel. That was, upon detecting an object of interest, the mechanism secreted within would start pushing on the shell from the inside in the decoded direction. If presented with two targets, the compass would guide one way, then another, alternating the “throbbing”.

  It certainly took some getting used to.

  Mr. Rowan Valentin, their chief of inventory, had also told them that this particular model could be further unlocked to give rough distance estimations utilizing the strength of the tug. But the group had lacked the tokens to spare.

  Nuala pointed a finger Heavenward and a notch to the Rim – precisely where Cillian’s own compass was beckoning him. Neither her finger nor his arrow moved – so, a stationary target or someone pretending to be a stationary target.

  The cailin mimed going alone and taking a closer look. After receiving the boys’ nods, she crept forward.

  Cillian took her place and organized the rest to look Lemwise and Nullside – or what he thought were Lem and Null, in any case – while directing his own attention Heavenward and Rimwise.

  They settled into positions and waited.

  This counts as making progress, surely.

  The silence stretched, with their nerves executing a hasty comeback.

  Shit. We haven’t checked from how far away the treasures and traps could be detected.

  He squinted in the direction the girl had disappeared in. It was no use.

  “Where is she?” Eamon eventually mumbled, looking over his shoulder.

  No movement, no foreign sounds, no girls with ponytails wearing colorful headbands.

  Is it 70 paces as well?

  Cillian had only just begun worrying himself when Nuala’s triumphant face popped up in between a pair of old firs.

  “It’s a chest,” she informed them in a hushed tone. “Nothing else seems to be around; I’ve made a small circle.”

  “In a clearing?” Cillian breathed out in relief and clarified.

  “No, just sitting between the trees.”

  “Let’s go then,” said Eamon. “The faster we get it the better.” He turned to leave.

  “Wait!” Cathal stopped him. “How are we doing it?”

  “I’ll step past it, you two come and pick up the stones, while Cillian stays behind.”

  “No,” Cillian disagreed. “I better keep close to them, in the event there are any shots to block. And we should reset the collars now, just in case.”

  “Dandy. Let’s get to it!” Eamon urged.

  They reached the chest without incident, and Cathal used the key to unlock it. Cillian meanwhile resisted an itch to peek over his shoulder and maintained vigilance. But no enemy showed up to pepper them with disgusting blue or orange.

  Violet’s much better.

  Eamon cursed, “Just one. Of bleedin’ course.”

  “Don’t dally,” Nuala hissed. “Grab it, close the lid, and we leave.”

  “Let’s exit the chest’s detection area, and I’ll climb up again. Make sure we haven’t inadvertently strayed Lemwise or something,” Cillian offered.

  “You’re like a monkey yourself, Kil. How did that happen?” Eamon asked curiously.

  “Later.”

  It turned out they had veered off course, but not by much.

  Maybe we should just trust the stormchaser, Cillian thought with a grimace. His ribs would certainly concur.

  Nuala was nowhere to be seen, but he knew what she was currently doing – standing still at a good distance while holding the said instrument in one outstretched hand and her aether compass in another. Such was the requisite setup for the device to point where it was supposed to be pointing – Heavenward – with any degree of accuracy.

  A stormchaser relied on the fact that, generally, all aether tended to flow away from the Everstorm. However, even a small disturbance to the aether current in the vicinity was liable to screw the measurements. It didn’t matter that the elanroot in their beacon had come from a shadow stalker – one of the species whose entire thing was stealth, according to instructor Sommer – and therefore its drawing didn’t resemble a vortex at all and was so subtle as to be only detectable by specialized equipment because it had very little effect on the surrounding aether. Nuala still had to step away from the glass orb and keep an eye on the compass for any other upsets to the natural order if she wanted to have a chance of getting the correct result.

  The girl returned. The small, propeller-like mechanism on top of the stormchaser was back to spinning incessantly. She looked up at Cillian and pointed to her 6 o’clock. He nodded in confirmation.

  Shortly after correcting their heading, the group came upon an incline. It was steep but climbable, and, with the vegetation being potentially slippery and obscuring the ground, they took no chances. Cathal and Eamon climbed up in parallel, on all fours, deliberately stretching the string to keep the beacon in the air, while Cillian chased them, ready to help.

  An equally steep descent followed the ensuing rocky plateau. Cursing, the intertwined pair slid down with the belts around their necks.

  “Never seen doggies with two collars before,” Nuala ‘whispered’ to Cillian. Eamon threw mud at her.

  They took an opportunity to rest and switch carriers – Cillian and Cathal this time – and also discuss what to do next, since the comforting tree shine was beginning to diminish.

  Nuala said, “If we keep heading Heavenward it’d likely keep getting darker. Should we turn Rim now, toward the action?”

  When Eamon just shrugged, too busy sating his thirst, and Cathal didn’t offer any input either, Cillian voiced his opinion, “I’d like to venture Heavenward a wee further. Dark places are good for hiding treasures, no?” He looked at the girl. “Twenty minutes?”

  She peered into the tenebrous expanse through the binoculars. “As long as everyone watches their footing.”

  “Dark places are also good for hiding dangers, ye know,” Eamon pointed out but didn’t disagree.

  “Flashlights?” Cathal prompted.

  “I think it’s safe to use them on and off for no longer than three seconds at a time.” Cillian fetched his own. “I mean, if someone’s within 30 paces, they already know where we are.”

  “Yes,” Nuala nodded. “Three seconds, unless a longer use is absolutely necessary. Beacon integrity is more important than secrecy.”

  The details agreed upon, the group again preemptively rewound their accursed pseudo-wristwatches and embarked further toward the fence.

  Since it was Cathal’s second shift in a row, Cillian volunteered for the rear duty. They’d discovered yesterday that trailing after the beacon was by far the hardest task since it required being switched on all the time. Case in point…

  He felt the increasing pull on the belt and hastened his pace. A dozen meters, then the taller boy in front eased off the throttle. Cillian adjusted to prevent the string from going too slack. The duo scrambled up a low mound together. A leafy branch slapped his forehead.

  “Sorry,” Cathal whispered.

  The group’s pace grew even more measured and their steps even more careful as well-illuminated and dingy patches alternated, painting a crosswalk on the forest floor. The back and forth felt almost deliberate. At the same time, the surroundings were growing less suffocating.

  We must be nearing the fence by now, Cillian thought. Did the academy deliberately cut down the older trees here?

  They were still present in numbers, but the overall generation shift was unmistakable – more and more brazen saplings cropped up, trying to push the oul fellas out of the way. The young bucks didn’t glow nearly as much, for all their bluster, which accounted for the drop-off in radiance.

  Cillian made good use of his flashlight. Up ahead, Nuala, miraculously, didn’t seem to need hers much at all. How can she see anything?

  His wondering was interrupted by the girl in question, who stopped and gestured for the rest to mimic her.

  It was another stationary point of interest, almost directly Rimwise. They’d been lucky to skirt the edges of its detection zone.

  As before, Nuala went to take a look and soon returned with the news of a trap. The netting, she told them, was hard to spot. Prior to setting off again, Cillian temporarily handed the beacon over to Eamon and climbed a tree to assess their whereabouts.

  “We’re close to the fence; 300 meters would be my guess. Might as well turn now,” Cillian shared with his teammates while latching the string back to his belt. “I reckon there’s nothing interesting near the edges; the instructors wouldn’t want us to fight over a treasure on the border, potentially attracting monsters to the area.”

  “Nah,” Eamon argued. “We’ve come this far; should go check out the fence. I’m curious to see if they chopped down the trees for it. There could be a path.”

  Cillian imagined how he would build a hypothetical fence in a forest. “Aye, they must have. Unless they built it swerving around obstructions rather than straight. I couldn’t see clearly from the top.”

  “We can be bold and rush alongside it?” Nuala suggested. “Then cut straight Nullside toward the central clearing?”

  “That’s risky,” Cathal bit his bottom lip. “What if someone’s, like, sitting in ambush?”

  “It’s a big perimeter to monitor,” she shrugged. “They’d have to be quare lucky for someone to run across their ambush.”

  “They wouldn’t be sitting near the ends of the fence but close to the middle,” Cathal insisted. “Exactly where you propose we go.”

  “See the fence first then decide?” Cillian cut in.

  They did. And discovered that the barrier was of the wrought iron, spiked variety. There were indeed gaps on both sides, sufficient for two people to pass shoulder to shoulder. Sporadic blotches of bracken blemished the otherwise naked soil.

  A cautious peek at both sides revealed… nothing. Not a soul.

  “Where is everybody?” Cathal asked what was on everyone’s minds. “Shouldn’t we have stumbled upon another team by now?”

  “Not necessarily,” Cillian replied. “We’ve been at it for what? Not even two hours yet? It’s a big area.”

  “So, we doing this?” Eamon sounded eager. “I’m starting to grow bored. All this creeping around is doing me head in.”

  Nuala looked at Cathal and Cillian with raised eyebrows.

  “I think it’s, uhh, not worth the risk,” Cathal said diplomatically. “What are we even going to achieve by rushing? Why can’t we just keep doing what we’ve been doing so far?”

  “My concern is about being seen as ‘hiding in the bushes’ by the instructors. Not engaging. You remember what instructor Loritz said?” Nuala argued.

  “I do. I also remember him saying we would be judged on our decision-making.”

  “I think we should stop talking and commit to some course of action, and I vote we run but be smart about it.” Cillian didn’t necessarily think it was such a good idea either, but they were here now, weren’t they? “There’s enough space for Eamon to run alongside us, blocking the beacon,” he continued. “And it’s anything but easy to accurately throw a paintball at a fast-moving target that is bouncing around all the time. In the dark no less.”

  “If there’s an ambush,” Nuala picked up after him, “it’d be a single guy jumping ahead to stop us, with his friends waiting in the woods to take their shots. We could just turn around and–”

  “Why does it have to be a guy ambushing us? Couldn’t it be a girl?” Eamon poked her.

  Cathal was growing frustrated. “Aye, unless there’s another one jumping to cut us off.”

  “And leave their carriers unprotected?”

  “I just don’t see the benefit–”

  “We need to start acting aggressively, get into the thick of things already. And we have a gas grenade, remember?” Nuala reminded him.

  “Which would be wasted on some skirmish with nothing of value around!”

  “Guys,” Cillian interjected once more, urgently this time, pointing to his left, “We have a guest.”

  Like a specter, Patrick Sommer appeared out of nowhere. Eamon jumped.

  “You have to stop standing around unless you’re taking your meal break now,” the man told them calmly. His subsequent disappearance was just as abrupt.

  “Aether. Forgot about him,” Eamon laughed nervously.

  “We should go.” Cillian looked at Cathal, nodding toward the fence. The fella sighed but didn’t argue further.

  “I’ll prepare the grenade,” Nuala assured him.

  They ran. Moving at least three times as fast as at any point previously.

  It felt good to travel over relatively clear terrain even if Cillian’s ribs disagreed. They much preferred a slower clip.

  Ten minutes into the run, their compasses picked up something Nullside, but, before they could decide what to do about it, the signal vanished. Someone, then. It was the first sign of life they’d encountered, spooky ghosts notwithstanding.

  There was nothing to it; they resumed the trek forward, pumping their legs even harder. For all they knew, another team had found them and was even now racing to intercept. But having no obstructions meant they could easily outpace anyone stuck in the woods.

  Apart from that small scare, the journey proved uneventful. The foursome ran close to their collective top speed – considering the circumstances, that was – for another five minutes, followed by a short stint at a more leisurely tempo. Then Nuala called for a dive back into the trees.

  They power-walked a good distance away before finally deeming it safe enough for a respite.

  The guys were all breathing hard. Eamon sat on the ground with his eyes closed, gulping air, while Cillian refrained from bending over – he knew it’d only hurt more – and was feeling up his chest. On the run, a sharp pang had nearly made him stumble, but it felt better now. Cathal was hungrily demolishing his water supply.

  Nuala, naturally, looked like she could do it all over again. Bleedin’ witch…

  Cillian drank from his own canteen, taking note of the meager leftovers. And they weren’t even halfway done yet.

  Three minutes wasn’t enough of a rest, so, with some prodding from Nuala, the team opted to start making small circles around a collection of trees, hoping it would prevent the specter from growing agitated again.

  Then, all too soon, another climb up a tree was in order. Cillian took much longer this time and, upon reuniting with the ground, shared their current position with the rest.

  “The center clearing’s sky lanterns are this way.” He drew a line on the ground, pointing predominantly Nullside but also back Lem. They’d overshot a little. “We’re going there?”

  “Yes. I have a feeling we’ve missed a lot of action by skirting around,” Nuala said quickly. “No objections?”

  When none came, even from Cathal, they headed out. It was Eamon and Cillian’s turn to take care of the kid.

  The boy anticipated a long, monotonous walk before they’d encounter any activity but was proven wrong when barely 200 meters later they stumbled upon an unmoving signal.

  As was the standard protocol by now, Nuala went alone to investigate. She was gone a long time, taking the maximum agreed-upon period of 20 minutes, before returning with an exciting report. How does she even find us again?

  “There’s a clearing with a chest,” the girl revealed. “I haven’t actually seen the chest, but it’s there. But more importantly,” her smile grew wicked, “I think it’s a trap. And not an academy-made trap.”

  Cillian caught her meaning. “You reckon someone’s waiting to pounce on whoever shows up to claim the prize?”

  “Yes. I’ve caught a silhouette moving on the other side of the clearing, I’m sure of it. I thought to attack them when they go after the chest, but they haven’t. They’re just sitting there. We should go now; I’ll explain further on the move. We will ambush the ambushers!” Giddiness was all but pouring out of the girl.

  The boys exchanged amused glances.

  This time, they all edged toward the treasure together.

  “I’ve been thinking about how I would ambush someone in this situation,” Nuala resumed where she’d left off. “The fern is tall enough to hide in there, so ideally I’d position myself and Cathal on two sides of the chest, lying in wait, with you two,” she indicated Eamon and Cillian, ”squatting in the trees with the beacon, well hidden, so no one finds you. But because we need to rewind the collars, we’d have to return to you periodically – unless someone comes along quickly – which would give us away if the timing is unfortunate.

  “So, instead, I would place all three of you on one side, with myself hiding on the opposite side. And when someone comes, I’d attack and take them out or at least force them to scramble your way. You’d be protected by Cathal, and, while I would have to rewind from time to time, this way I could circle around, not walk in the open, and still be ready to engage.”

  “And you think that’s how they set up?” Cillian asked once she took a moment to breathe. “And they likely haven’t looted the chest yet, lest an enemy’s scout figures it’s empty and doesn’t call the carriers.”

  “Exactly. After prey shows up and falls into their trap, they’d bring their own carriers to the chest to loot it, and that’s when we’ll strike.”

  “No, not exactly,” Eamon rained down on her parade. “If they are smart, they’ve already collected the stones and filled the chest with fakes, so it remains heavy.”

  “Shit, you’re right,” Nuala grimaced. “The carriers would just sit where they are.” She sighed and swiftly remade her ponytail. “Then we have to find them. The carriers, I mean. Once the hunters spring the trap, they’d leave the carriers alone for a short time. We wait until they take out their victims, then attack the carriers in turn, and make out with the loot from both teams!”

  “How do we find the carriers though?” Cathal spoke up.

  “Nuala said she’d seen them,” Eamon replied.

  “No, she said she’d seen a silhouette. One?”

  Nuala stopped hopping in place and visibly contemplated. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I saw movement; hard to say how many people.” The cailin then directed them further Lemwise. “This way. We’ll walk around the clearing.”

  “It’s not the central clearing, is it?” Eamon asked.

  “No, there are no floating lanterns.”

  They kept to the fringes of the chest’s detection area, diving in and out, until, eventually, Nuala motioned to stop.

  “So, we doing this?” Eamon grinned at the repeat of his own question from earlier.

  “I think the plan is too complicated,” Cillian threw in his opinion. “What if no one else shows up? For how long are we going to sit in wait?”

  “I agree,” Cathal sided with him.

  “Alternative offers then?” challenged Nuala.

  “We should be less ambitious and just attack them right now, not wait for someone else to join the fray,” Cillian proposed.

  “I’ve thought of that,” Nuala nodded. “But the issue is getting a drop on them while the carriers are protected and they’re all on edge, monitoring the surroundings. Odds are, they’d spot us creeping up on them and flee. But if both hunters are otherwise occupied, the carriers wouldn’t run far or else they would risk not being able to reunite later.”

  “I have an idea,” Cillian said. “It’s simultaneously more and less dangerous.”

  “Go on,” Nuala encouraged.

  Cillian gestured at her bag. “You haven’t lost the grenade, have you?”

  Four figures were sitting in the trees, removed a dozen strides from the clearing’s edge, with their adversaries hiding half a hundred paces to the right, as claimed by the lone girl in their number. There was no certainty that the foes they desired the most were truly there, but the band had faith in their scout – no less than two shadows crouched under the canopy, being vigilant and careful. Not vigilant and careful enough if one had the eyes of a batfox, evidently.

  The aforementioned fox had left the green haven and was now sneaking her way toward the glade’s center, to all appearances unaware she was being stalked by the creatures equally horrid and dangerous.

  Looking left and right, she reached the object of her yearning – sitting as it was on a small rise – lifted it up in admiration for only a breath, and then, seemingly satisfied, silently, as was her nature, placed it back upon the throne, before heading back the way she’d emerged from. Cautious and watchful as ever.

  Once in the safety of shadows, the quartet of faces, reunited, their eyes ablaze, nodded in mutual encouragement and proceeded to split. What are they planning?

  One duo – two boys with a decapitated head dangling between them – went to repeat the girl’s sacred journey. Although, what kind of barbaric tradition demanded a head as a tribute?

  They reached the holy site uninterrupted – for even if you were the type to collect the heads of your enemies as trophies, none should stand in your way when walking the path of absolution.

  Unless, of course, you try to defile the relic. Oh, Aether above! The deranged pair were performing the wickedness most foul! They were trying to mate the sacred artifact with the head! Have they not an ounce of humanity in them?!

  Enraged, their adversaries rose in defense of the relic. Monsters of the highest order they might be, even they couldn’t abide by such sacrilege taking place before their very eyes. Two bodies rushed at the villains, mighty roars piercing the air, but, as proved often the case with the hearts most blackened, their atrocities come in many forms.

  With a devilish hiss, smoke filled the air from where the delinquents cowered, swallowing both friend and foe alike. Have they set the site on fire?!

  Cries of alarm and fury, clearly caused by these despicable acts, erupted from those left in the forest. A scuffle ensued, but who was fighting who? Would the heroes prevail?

  Alas, my friends, as proved often the case with the hearts most blackened, their tricks come in many forms as well.

  With the smoke gone, we were left with the scene of utter devasta– actually… not a lot appeared to have changed at all. One protector remained rooted to the spot, very much alive, same as the relic.

  But where are the villains?

  Cillian was running for his life.

  Shit!

  It was proving to be exceedingly difficult.

  “Caught you, bastards!” the pursuing girl yelled, gaining on them.

  Eamon chose this moment to act a fool – he let go of Cillian’s hand, drew level, and, seemingly forgetting about their shared burden, went right instead of left at the next thicket of trees.

  Double niss-shit!

  Cillian threw himself across and barely avoided crashing into the obstacle. “Freeze, Eamon! DON’T PULL!” He was stumbling.

  An orange ball smashed into his side, exploded, and drenched the gambeson.

  Thankfully, Eamon halted in time to keep the tether in one piece. Just about.

  Cillian caught himself on a trunk, but now the hunter was upon them.

  “Oh fuck!”

  As agreed, the pair hurriedly linked their arms and began jumping around, preventing her from getting a clear look at the beacon.

  “Stop fucking bouncing!” The girl’s face was contorted in fury. To her credit, she kept the distance as mandated.

  Another paintball whisked past.

  She faked a lounge right and came from the left. Cillian watched in despair as their instinctive reaction to the feint brought them precisely where she’d intended.

  An orange blur – and the orb shook, no longer pristine.

  “YES!”

  “No no no!” Eamon shouted, his chest heaving.

  “YES! Got you! You steamin’ bastards!”

  Cillian didn’t even know the girl’s name, yet she’d been doggedly pursuing them all through the smoke and then across their planned escape route. He’d hoped that both enemy hunters would be too disoriented to mount a chase, but alas. Now their beacon was “destroyed”. Not all was lost though; running away had always been a contingency.

  Come on, Nuala. Come on, Cathal. Get them!

  As if on cue, instructor Sommer materialized out of thin air again, but this time his specter act and words were received gratefully. At least, by the boys.

  “Unfortunately for you, Ms. Adenauer, you’re too late. Your team was eliminated a few minutes earlier.”

  Cillian whooped in relief and sagged to the ground.

  “What?! Are you kidding me?!”

  His plan worked! Barely.

  “YES! Got you! You, uhh, you rotten harpy!” Eamon was vastly more conspicuous in his celebration.

  “I’m not, I assure you.”

  “Stop bouncing, man!”

  The boy did and instead triumphantly thrust his outstretched arms in the air.

  “But I’ve smashed them, sir! Smashed them! Right here!”

  “I know. And your relentlessness is commendable. However, your teammates were much less successful in their altercation. Here,” the man gave Eamon two black pouches. “Eight purple paintballs. Well done.”

  “What alterca–?” The girl froze, stomped the ground in frustration, and seethed, “Oh you bleedin’ niss lovers, I swear I’m going to–!”

  We get our ammo restocked? And a compliment from an instructor? How quare.

  She offered more choice words about the present company. Her “worthless” allies, too, weren’t spared from the barrage of insults.

  Next, their beacon got wiped clean in a hurry.

  “She has some lungs on her,” Eamon commented, a note of admiration creeping into his voice.

  Amidst the girl’s continued tirade, Nuala and Cathal caught up, both sporting huge grins, the defeated foes and a pair of chevaliers close on their tail.

  Instructor Rory Gehler handed over the main part of their prize – the other team’s share of stones – then took the duty of escorting the disheartened group out of the forest and out of the contest. The locale immediately grew an order of magnitude quieter.

  Although, they could still hear the cailin ripping into her teammates.

  “Stop smiling like simpletons and get going.” Their primary chaperone’s attitude returned back to normal.

  They followed his order – because an order it was – but not before exchanging quick fist bumps.

  “Onward to victory!” Eamon proclaimed.

  Nuala and Cathal laughed happily. Cillian eyed the shining surroundings, nudged his entangled partner, and, all together, they set off once again.

  The group might have more stones now, and they’d even managed to increase their paintball supply.

  But the job was only half done.