Arc 3 | Chapter 94: A Careful Sacrifice

Sawyer had volunteered to go first, something Emilia had to commend the boy for. As much as he and one of the other boys, Caro, had played around in the labyrinth, they had never faced anything like this before. Puzzles and games, competitions against each other that often left the loser naked or covered in sticky liquid—that was what they were used to. Faceless monsters, not so much. As it was, they had no idea what losing in a race against the things would entail.

To go first was to risk terrible consequences, but Sawyer had been convincing in his logic as to why it should be him, and not Emilia or V, who take that risk.

⸂

I’ve raced twice and won both times,

⸃ he had started, words rolling out of him a touch too fast. His dark eyes had darted between their little group, huddled up as they attempted to discuss the situation—a difficult task given they couldn’t really communicate—and the strange, faceless beings. ⸂

More importantly, if those things try something, we’re gonna need you two to fight them.

⸃

Neither Emilia nor V could argue with that, or with the boy’s request that they give him one of their weapons, just in case something happened below. Emilia’s {Blood Dagger} had passed between them, the boy’s eyes lighting up the way most children’s did when offered something dangerous and forbidden. She doubted he had ever held anything so dangerous.

“Careful,”

she had signed at him. He seemed to understand, the excited glaze of his eyes calming slightly, although not completely.

If she arrived at the bottom and discovered that he had accidentally hurt himself, or another of the children, trying and failing to use the blade to do stars knew what, she wouldn’t have been surprised. She’d still sent a little prayer to the stars above, hoping nothing would happen. Sawyer wouldn’t need to use her {Blood Dagger} to protect himself and the others, and he would be able to fight his desire to pull it free of its sheath to show it off. They’d all win, or whatever the penalty for losing was, it would be minor.

It wasn’t minor.

So, Sawyer had gone first, {Blood Dagger} tucked safely into his waistband as he slid head first down the slide. His phantom opponent had soared through the twisting tunnels of water as well, his aura one of a serious, determined competitor.

The local boy won. He popped out of the bottom, into the small pool of sparkling pink water below, and when his opponent flew out a second later, they popped out of existence.

That should have been their first sign that something bad would happen to the loser. In the cacophony of celebration above and below, however, the idea that

popping out of existence

might be the penalty for losers of either side had barely rustled through Emilia’s brain. If V thought it were an option, he certainly hadn't said anything about it.

In hindsight, perhaps the way he pushed so forcefully for the strongest local children to go first was a sign he had guessed at it. The other two boys who had gone twice already went, each of them winning by mere seconds. Then they transferred more of the empty eyed children, the same three boys returning to the top in exchange for those children’s safety.

Over and over they went, Emilia minding the children who remained above while those three boys ran themselves down. Occasionally, V would go, one of the smaller children tucked against his chest, because he had thought the risk worth it. Then he’d come up again, exchanging himself and more children, confident in their ability to win, for those who stood no chance of winning.

She should have asked—should have forced an answer out of him. By the time she thought to, however, it was too late. V was gone, along with a handful of the local children.

⸂Go!⸃

someone had screamed as one of the local boys who had already raced a half dozen times dove into the water slide.

He was tired, Emilia had seen it in the moments before he disappeared from sight, his limbs landing not quite right on the tube. The squeaking scrap of skin against the edge of the tunnel, the dark red drops that she barely saw before he vanished, already behind his opponent. When the faceless man exploded out of the bottom first, she hadn’t been surprised, as much as she had also hoped she would be wrong.

And when the boy popped out…

Emilia stood, surveying the damaged morale of the remaining children, most of them now sharing the empty gaze of the children they had been trying to save by risking the safety of their strongest members. She had spent decades learning to deal with the death and destruction etched into her memory. Even she couldn’t shake the disappearance of the children—couldn’t erase the screams of their friends when they realized that first boy had disappeared, his presence erased just as easily as their faceless competitors.

The first time had been bad, every subsequent disappearance worse. Some children had won their races, most had lost. Mental strain. The distraction of disappearance—of death, as far as anyone knew. It was difficult to focus again, after you’d been rattled. The boys who had been sliding the track so many times refused to rise to race again—except for Sawyer. That boy had kept going until Gale had ordered him to stop, taking his place as potential sacrifice in getting as many kids down as possible. Miira, too, and V.

They’d done well, and even though she had tried to race as well, V had refused to let her.

“Some of these kids will break without you,”

he had sensibly pointed out. He was right. Through her support of so many of the children, more were attached to her now than before. Their little bodies pressed against hers, trembling sobs that she couldn’t hear ripping out of them. They wouldn’t have hated to be stuck with V alone, but it would have been harder.

Stupid. This had been her challenge, a stupid, silly obsession she’d had as a child. For someone who had grown up next to the ocean, Rafe had hated the water so much. Getting him into the sun, into the waves—it had always been so hard.

Emilia, originally hailing from the interior, had fallen in love with the ocean through pictures, long before she ever dreamed of being lucky enough to live near it. Lakes and ponds, diving and sailing and a thousand over water sports. Gliding over the water on boards or falling off the Strats into it from a breathtaking fall—she loved every aspect of the water.

It had been her mission for over a year to get Rafe to like the water. He had eventually learned to tolerate it, although he would never love it the way she did. The key to his heart letting in a speck of affection had been competition. Rafe was just as stupidly competitive as she could be.

Be better

, especially compared to your own personal best—especially compared to your friends and annoying siblings.

They had all loved going to the water slides, their parents ordering bubbles to take them into Roasalia along with a babysitter or two. Really, the babysitters had been unnecessary. That young—that excited to swim and dive and slide—none of them had been flight risks. Even Malcolm, grumpy older sibling, forced along because his childhood was quickly coming to an end, that he was, had enjoyed himself—had enjoyed teasing his younger brothers, and occasionally, their cousins.

Do better.

Be better.

Be faster, stronger. Go harder.

Train.

Train.

Train.

It was a ridiculous thing to obsess over, but they all belonged to powerful families. Their parents loved work and philanthropy and parties, and in the case of Rafe’s parents, had plans for their kids. Her parents had been a bit better, their main expectation that their kids be happy when they grew up.

Maybe that was part of why it was impossible to go home, the fact that she wasn’t as happy as she knew they wanted her to be.

Eventually, of course, their obsession with water slides had faded away, just as most childhood obsessions do. Days spent at water parks shifted into weekends sleeping under the stars at their hideout. School became a thing, their eyes shifting towards knowledge and learning more, more, more. There was always more to learn, more to read. The childhood hobbies they loved fell away in favour of new ones they loved more.

Malcolm left, his gap decade cut down to only a few years because he could never quite settle into

normal

life, and the rest of them moved up in life—had D-Levels tested and Censors installed and then life had shifted so harshly that, had they not already been expecting it, it probably would have broken their little group.

They had expected it, though, even if their parents hadn’t. Somewhere around then, the water slides that they’d still made a point to visit once or twice a year vanished from their minds. Emilia hadn’t even thought about those childhood memories of happy competitiveness in decades—probably since that first summer when they didn’t go a single time, when the mark across her calendar saying they had actually had plans to go that day went ignored. Everyone forgot, or didn’t care enough to mention it, and that was the end.

She’d been looking forward to racing again, during the time between entering the second challenge area and everything going awry. Maybe she and V could have raced, a child tucked into each of their laps.

That never happened, and when V and Gale insisted that she descend via the elevator—insisted she not risk herself because the kids needed her—she had been relieved, and horrified at her relief. Someone would have to race for her, someone already exhausted, most likely.

Emilia still couldn’t argue, and let herself be dragged to the elevator by V.

“Meet you at the bottom,”

she had said to him, swallowing down the fear already rippling through her. He looked tired, and why wouldn’t he? He’d gone so many times, racing a creature that was far faster when facing him than it was against the children.

The man had told her, before everything went to shit, that he’d never even been on a water slide before, a sad smile tugging at his mouth.

“There wasn’t anything like it where I grew up, and my parents weren’t the sort to travel for this sort of thing, or trust us to go alone.”

The other visitor had looked almost excited to get the chance, even if he knew he probably wouldn’t be any good at it.

He wasn’t. Every time he returned, Emilia could see more blood beginning to pool under his skin. Did bruises not heal here? She wasn’t sure she’d ever made a note of whether they did or not.

“Yeah, at the bottom,”

V had agreed as he hit the down button, the lie in his voice apparent. A sort of lie, in annoyed hindsight and jokes that wouldn’t come until much later, but realistically, he intended for it to be a lie. He knew she wouldn’t have left him if she’d known his plan.

Emilia had barely registered the elevator’s descent. It was as though one moment they were at the top, the next, Sawyer and Miira were pulling them out—the last group. Above, four people had prepared to race against their faceless opponents.

Two made it down.

V wasn’t one of them, his final words said to her through a teasing voice, even though he was yelling. Tired, worn out—that was how he had sounded, calling down to her what she had expected and yet found a total surprise.

“They could be alive. Someone needs to go after them, just in case.”

V had been the last to race, his opponent shooting out nearly five seconds before he appeared. He really had been intent to lose—intent to chase after the children they had lost, even if they had no idea if those the labyrinth had disappeared were alive or not.

“Idiot…” Emilia muttered, bare foot scuffing over the ground. “If you don’t come back, I’m totally kicking your ass when we meet in real life.”

She sucked in a long breath, steeling herself as she looked up. Regroup. They needed to regroup.

“Okay. Clothes first, what do you think?” she said, looking down at little Astra, staring up at her with eyes that were far less afraid than they probably should have been.

In hindsight, she should have given the strange child a little more thought. There was so much going on at the time—so much grief and stress, and so many children to manage—that she could probably be forgiven for not realizing something was off with the perpetually silent child.

Probably.