by Eden Beck
There’s no time to think on it.
I stand at the edge of another pool carved into the earth. Pillars jut from the center, ascending in height from one end to the other. Ropes are hung from the trees overhead, meant to carry me between the narrow platforms at their tops.
One leap takes me to the first pillar, and I use the momentum to grab the first rope—one I’m barely able to reach with the very tips of my outstretched fingers—and swing myself up and onto the next pillar.
Once I’ve started, it’s harder to stop than to keep going. A single moment of hesitation atop one of the pillars would send me pitching forward with the momentum … so I move as quickly as possible, almost recklessly so. It becomes an easy rhythm; land, grab, swing, land, grab, swing. There are gasps from the trees down below when my foot nearly slips out from under me on the last one, but I manage to grab the next rope and sweep myself forward in the nick of time.
The next obstacle is basically a set of glorified monkey bars. As I jump off the pillar to grab the first bar, I hear a mechanical click—and big slabs of wood shaped like axes swing down from the trees, the first one crossing between me and the next bar. I let out a laugh half-strangled by the strain in my shoulders. Where did they get this idea, an old 80s cartoon?
It’s obvious what I’m supposed to do; wait at each bar for the axe to swing up and out of the way before I launch myself to the next. But that wouldn’t be fast enough. Or fun.
I flex my fingers on the bar, stretching the sore muscles for a moment before I pull myself up, hooking one leg over the bar, and bring myself to crouch on top of it. There’s no time to stop and consider how high up I actually am now. There might be a pool of water far below, but it might not stop me from injuring myself in the fall.
So carefully, I balance on the balls of my feet, and as the axe swings in front of me, I jump. Not past it, but onto it.
The axe lurches and wobbles beneath me, but it’s thick enough for me to stand on and strong enough to carry me with it. I wrap one arm around the pole attaching it to whatever mechanism hides above and bend my knees for balance. It takes me a second to get used to the motion beneath me, but once I do, it’s an easy leap to the next axe over … and then the next again.
I continue on this way, leaping from one axe to the next without having to pause and time my way between swings. In this way, I ignore the monkey bars down below all together. It isn’t until I get to the last axe that I get a good look at the upcoming obstacle—a flat stretch of platform that curves abruptly upward towards a rock-climbing wall. It’s far below me, much too far since I’m technically supposed to be down on the monkey bars.
Once again, I know how I’m supposed to tackle this obstacle. Had I done this right, I would be dropping down from the monkey bars, running up to the curve, and using my momentum to jump up and grab the lip of the platform. But instead, I’m standing on an axe swinging back and forth like some sort of carnival ride.
I still could drop down to the last bar, drop down to the ground and tackle the obstacle like I was meant to. But then … that would slow me down. I eye the platform ahead of me. It’s slightly lower than where I still stand, one arm clutching to the axe swinging beneath me.
How far can I really jump?
I’ve practiced for this. Every waking moment since I found out about my parent’s past, about Saint M, about the school I was destined to be a part of … every moment has been for this. So, I know the answer, even before a smirk flits across my face.
How far can I jump?
Plenty far.
I push off the wooden axe with my bare feet, using every single muscle in my thighs and calves to propel me forward. A neat tuck and roll brings me to a halt on the platform halfway up. My shoulder stings and I have a stich in my side, but I can’t stop now. I’m so close to the finish. I spring up and grab the first handhold, then the next.
I want desperately to look over my shoulder and gauge the reaction of the crowd that’s gathered down below, but I don’t know how much time I’m allowed, and I’ve wasted too much of it already. Shoulders burning, I reach up toward the next handhold.
The holds are spaced far enough apart that I have to jump between them, each leap making my heart seize in the moments where nothing but the tiniest groove in the stone stands between me and a terrible fall.
This course was built for men twice my size. My breaths are getting shorter and my muscles are burning. I started this course with a disadvantage, and it’s starting to take its toll. I need to finish this quickly.
With the last of my strength, I leap from foothold to foothold, using only my hands for balance. It’s reckless, but it shaves precious seconds off the time I would have spent dangling on this wall between jumps. I continue like this, until the end looms above me.
I grab onto a bar bolted into the edge of the top platform. This is it. I made it.
Rather than just pull myself up, I use the last of the strength in my legs to push off the wall into a handstand, flipping my feet over my head just as I let go of the bar.
I land on my feet at the top and dust myself off.
Let no one say I don’t know how to finish in style.
I must be a sight to behold. There’s mud all over my button-up shirt and sweat is pouring down the back of my neck. My scalp burns where my hair was torn from my head, and my hands are blistering before my very eyes.
I gave it everything. If it wasn’t enough … then at least I can say I really did try my best.
I catch sight of the crowd below as I start the slow descent down a ladder on the other side of the platform.
It’s not just recruits like me. There are teachers, students, and from the pressed suits and abundance of weapons peeking out from inside coat pockets and slung over shoulders, a decent number of active monster hunters too. They’re all staring at me, slack-jawed—except for the three boys I followed here.
They’ve left their post at the start of the course to ogle me too, but they don’t look impressed. From the identical scowls they wear, I’m guessing they don’t appreciate my one-upping them.
No one claps or applauds; I’m not sure if they’re supposed to. As soon as my feet touch the earth, I spot the two security guards pushing their way up through the crowd—but they don’t grab me. One of them presses a finger to his ear, nods in acknowledgement of some instruction given there, and then beckons the second one over to his side. They say something to one another and then glance my way once before slinking back into the shadows of the forest.
I take it as a good sign.
I hang to the back of the crowd until their attention turns elsewhere. Another girl has tried copying my method of climbing the axes on the last challenge, but she’s gotten stuck and can’t seem to will herself to make the first jump.
I take the opportunity and try to slip into the midst of the crowd in the hopes that I’ll be forgotten long enough to go fetch my backpack. I should have enough time before the next trial starts. I’ve nearly made it to a break in the trees where I can sneak away when someone taps my shoulder to stop me.
“What?” I snap in a whisper, trying not to draw any more attention to myself. It’s the boy who did the course before me—and also the one who stepped out to stop of the security guards when they were trying to catch up to me earlier. He’s sweating and grinning and holding my backpack. I snatch it out of his hand.
“How did you find this?”
He steps away, looking taken aback. “I—I saw you hide it right before I started the course,” he says. “I didn’t want you to forget it.”
“I knew where it was,” I say. I know I’m being too harsh, but I blame all the adrenaline. Now that my pulse is slowly returning to normal, I have to force the rest of me to calm down. I shift a little where I stand, and add a hasty, “But thanks”.
“I’m Sawyer, by the way.”
I look at him. He’s taller than me by a few inches, with short, light-brown hair and matching eyes … and the perfe
ct amount of stubble. He brushes some of his hair out of those eyes with a grin.
He’s gorgeous.
I feel my stomach lurch and quickly glance away, cheeks warming. We stand in awkward silence as the last of the recruits, the three boys that ran past me in the hall, finish the course once the girl who got stuck is safely rescued.
I’ve just started to wonder why no one else has started heading towards the next trial when I spot the test administrator; the same one I basically assaulted in order to have a chance at the course. He’s moved up to the front of the crowd and all the other recruits are gathering around him.
“What’s he doing?” I ask, nodding up to the front.
“Announcing who made it through to the third trial,” Sawyer says, moving to stand a little closer to me. “He’s bound to call you. You did amazing. Riding the axes? Genius!”
“But I missed the first goddamn trial,” I say. I can’t take the compliment yet. Not when there’s still a chance I won’t make it to the next one, even after all that.
We push forward towards the other recruits. As the administrator starts reading out names, the respective recruits start moving up on the scoreboard overhead. A line divides the list in half—those that will continue on to the next trial, and those who will not.
My name isn’t even on the list yet.
“Piers Dagher,” the test administrator calls.
One of the three boys that I followed—the one with eyes like artic ice—goes to join the group of advancing recruits as his name skyrockets up on the list. I watch him, but he doesn’t look at me.
“Bennett Little.”
The tallest of the three boys follows Piers, and I note just how massive he is. He towers over the rest of the recruits so much so that even Piers has to reach up to clap him on his broad shoulder to congratulate him when he too makes the cut.
“What’s that guy been eating?” Sawyer whispers to me. I stifle a laugh.
“Owen Collier.”
He’s the last of the boys I followed. Owen’s blonde hair gleams in the sunlight as he runs his hands over it, pleasure spreading across his face when his name appears well above the dividing line. He glances nervously at the crowd as he leaves it, but the expression melts into a satisfied smile when Piers reaches out to pull him into the group.
Several names are called, but they fall too low to join the others. The girl who had to be rescued from the axes is among them. She turns away and covers her face to hide the angry tears that gather there. It’s sad, really. Every one of these people are here for the same reason. We want to rid the world of monsters, keep the darkness and evil at bay.
But there’s a reason for these trials, reasons for why Saint M is considered the best monster hunting school in the world. Not everyone is cut out for hunting. Not on this scale.
“Sawyer Alman.”
“That’s me!” Sawyer gives me a grin and a playful nudge up towards the board as his name appears alongside the other boys’. He jabs me once with his elbow as he walks off to join them on the other side.
Several more names are called until, at last, I’m the only one standing before him. He blinks up at me, and for a moment, I think he’s finished. Then he glances back down at his chart, and he reads my score aloud.
“Avery Black.”
Whispers erupt around me as I step forward. “Black?” “Did he say Black?” “That Black?” “Like, as in Samson and Riley Black?” I wonder what they mean by it, but my eyes are trained forward on the scoreboard.
For one second, nothing changes. Then, with a slight flicker of red light, a new name appears at the bottom of the list. Beside it, after a second, a score appears—propelling me up into the middle ranks of the other recruits. My name, Avery Black, lands just above the dividing line.
I made the cut.
Relief washes over me in the form of a deep, shaky breath. It doesn’t matter that I missed the first test.
There’s no chance I’ll place in the top of the class, but there’s still a chance I’ll get in.
I go to stand next to Sawyer, who’s looking at me with a slightly puzzled expression. The crowd is still whispering, and I catch more than one hasty glance my way. I lift my chin and fix my gaze straight ahead, toward the school.
Somehow, my name precedes me. The name Black carries with it a reputation … but for what … I don’t know yet.
Chapter Two
The group follows the test administrator deeper into the forest. I walk with Sawyer, glancing over my shoulder at the rejected applicants. A few of them are heading toward the courtyard in the opposite direction, but others are following us, melding into the crowd of onlookers.
“They’re going to watch, I guess,” Sawyer says, noticing my gaze.
I don’t respond. There’s no point in wasting breath with small talk. I saw the way he looked at me earlier.
“Why did everyone react like that when they announced my name?”
He turns sharply to look at me. “You’re not serious, right?”
I arch an eyebrow at him in reply. It takes him several seconds to choke out the next words.
“Your parents. They’re Samson and—”
“Riley Black. Yes. Or were, I guess. They’re dead though …” I trail off, glancing around me to catch more stares. “Something tells me you already knew that.”
He’s gone almost breathless. “You really don’t know? I mean. Samson and Riley … they’re only the most famous monster hunters to ever live.”
I don’t miss a beat. “Well, that explains it then.”
He laughs, but it’s that sort of nervous sound people make when they don’t know how to react. “From that show you put on back there … I just figured you’ve been training your whole life for this. For them. Some sort of vengeance thing, you know?”
“Oh, I have vengeance in mind for sure,” I say. It doesn’t matter how famous they were when they were alive, they’re dead now … and something killed them. “But up until this time last year, I never would’ve believed you if you told me monsters were real … let alone that my parents spent their lives hunting them.”
Sawyer stops short so suddenly that the person walking behind him runs straight into his back. “C’mon,” he says, grabbing my arm and dragging me to the side so I don’t cause a multi-recruit collision in the middle of the path. I’m annoyed, but I don’t stop him until we’ve reached the edge of the trees.
“What are you doing?”
He ignores my question. “So you’re telling me you only found out about this whole world a year ago?”
I shrug. “Yeah, but it took me a while to find out about Saint M. I almost didn’t make the admissions deadline.”
He looks like he’s having trouble processing what I’m saying. “And all that?” He points back at the obstacle course disappearing behind us in the trees. “How’d you do all that?”
“Well, I spent the last six months getting ready.”
He looks stunned. “Six months? You could do that with the obstacle course after just six months?”
I just stare back. “How long did it take you?”
He gawps back at me, lost for words. “I … my whole … years, Avery. Years.” He looks at me with a new appreciation. “Holy shit, Avery. You really are the Black’s daughter.”
The admiration in his voice makes annoyance bubble up in me unexpectedly, and I have to bite my tongue to keep myself from saying something unkind. Up until this moment, right now, I had no idea my parents had any kind of reputation … let alone fame. Any advantage I may have for being related to them is outweighed by the fact that I’m years behind, a lifetime behind, the rest of these recruits in training and practical knowledge.
But how can I tell Sawyer that? How can I tell him that I had to leave that whole life behind me to be here, or that the fact that he seems to know more about my parents than I, their daughter, does, makes me want to punch him in the face.
I’m saved from having to tell Sawyer any
of this by the test administrator, who seems to have finally led us to our destination. We step out of the thick underbrush and into a large clearing with several prefab buildings.
He announces that the third trial—instincts—will begin shortly.
I glance up at Sawyer as he explains how the next trials will operate. He isn’t looking at me anymore, just frowning down at the ground in front of him like it’s another puzzle he can’t work out.
Once he’s done explaining how we’ll rotate through the next event, we’re freed to take a short break before it starts. The administrator’s eyes wander over to me as he suggests we all take a moment to freshen up.
I look down at my shredded pantyhose and bare feet. No need to tell me twice. I leave Sawyer to his puzzling and head for the bathroom like a girl on a mission.
The prefab building is blessedly cool inside. Some of the other recruits line up outside by the water fountains, but they all stop and look at me when I walk by. Their sudden silence tells me more than more whispers could. They’re watching me, waiting to see if I’ll live up to some expectations I wasn’t even aware of until just minutes ago.
I shift my backpack higher up on my shoulders as I walk past them into the bathroom, where I’m finally granted some privacy from prying eyes.
I slide into a stall and lock it behind me. There’s not much room in here, but it’s clean. I peel off my pantyhose and drop them straight into the little trash receptacle bolted to the wall. No saving those. I shouldn’t have bothered in the first place.
Despite the caked mud, my skirt and shirt can still be salvaged, so I tuck them into a pocket of my backpack by themselves so they don’t get all the rest of my possessions dirty. I switch out my bra for the sports bra I packed and pull on a pair of leggings and an old T-shirt. My bare feet I trade for worn, well-loved sneakers. I’m a hot mess, but at least now I look the part.
Once out of the stall, I can still hear the voices of others outside, but none of them have tried to follow me in yet. I take advantage of this brief moment and plug my phone in to charge while I splash water on my cheeks and try to fix my hair so it stays out of my face, and attached to my head, this time.
