by Mary Weber
Any more sharing of what the Labyrinth is like and those boys will supposedly end up in the sudden employ of King Francis’s army.
The voice of the announcer, whom some believe to be Holm himself, carries across the estate. “Now that you’ve been briefed regarding your participation, we hope you’ll settle in to relish the rest of your stay with us. Please enjoy the food, drink, bonfires, and facilities, and please refrain from losing your children, lest the werehounds find them for you.”
“Bobbles! Bobbles for ya!” a woman yells just as we reach the halfway point on the hill. It’s old Mrs. Mench, who’s apparently been assigned the job of giving out celebration necklaces for the event.
I tip my head, and we stop right in front of her. I smile and hold out my hand, and the neighbor woman looks me up and down, then narrows a brow at first mine, then Seleni’s clothing. I brace and wait for her to lose her calm when she recognizes me—but she just nods and hands us each a necklace.
“Thank you,” I say, practicing a deep tone.
“You’re quite welcome, young men. Go find some pretty chums to give them to. Now move along.”
We slip around her and keep walking, and I can feel Seleni’s momentary relief.
“Now for the real test.” She lifts her gaze toward where Beryll and the other boys are waiting for the announcer’s droning to end.
“Be sure to check the handwritten schedule posted at each terrace entrance for all times and events—including ballooning, theater, air aerobics, bread pudding toss, and petting the legendary basilisk. But be careful—they rather enjoy the taste of port flesh. The older the chewier.”
The crowd’s laugh ripples out in waves as we slip through the masses of people—most of whom let us through with comments of “Good luck, boys,” and “It’s as much about character as it is brains.”
When we arrive at the hilltop, we make our way along the thirty-feet-tall hedges to the Labyrinth’s single, gated entrance, which is said to be the only way in or out of the place. In front of it are fifty or so boys, all of whom look to be near the same age as us and just as nervous as the crowd.
“There.” I point to Beryll, who’s standing with Lawrence behind Sam and Will.
“I told him to find and warn them about Germaine.”
As we press toward the four, a few faces turn our way, as if curious what level of competition we’ll be. The rest pass right over the visual assessment I’m used to and simply nod as if accepting us as one of them—then go back to throwing glances at the nearby group of girls cheering for them. The boys casually nudge each other and grin.
“Has anyone seen Miss Lake? Is she around?” Beryll shouts over their heads.
“Over here,” Seleni says, then claps a hand across her mouth and shoots me a look of panic. She pulls her hat lower over her eyes as he turns, and adds in a low voice, “Sorry, thought you were asking about someone else.”
He marches over anyway, and I can feel Seleni’s blood pounding through her arm pressed against mine—but then Beryll smiles. “No worries. You going in there?” He juts his chin at the Labyrinth gate.
She nods. “You looking for your girl?”
I discreetly kick her with my boot.
“I am. Well, best of luck to you.” Beryll sticks his hand out.
I thrust mine to meet it and give it a firm shake, and the next second he’s scanning the crowd again. “If you chaps will excuse me . . .” He tilts his hat and moves off, and I breathe out relief as Seleni slumps against my shoulder.
“I’m going to get us caught, aren’t I?” she whispers.
“You’re going to get you caught. You blow it, and you’re on your own. Same as me.”
She starts to reply, but a sudden flare goes up and a firework explodes with a bang over the party. More cheers are followed by more fireworks. One looks like a basilisk shooting across the sky, his wide mouth and scales a myriad of colors and his long tail waving. Another resembles a school of fish swimming through a reef, like those we have off the coastline. The oohs and aahs grow with each explosion, until the crackers finish in a hail of sparkles so bright, it almost seems like daylight where Seleni and I are standing.
“Ladies and Gents, now welcome yourselves to the highlight of this equinox festivity—the fifty-fifth annual scholarship for a full-ride education to Stemwick University!”
The crowd roars and Seleni and I roar with it, because that truly is something to roar about.
“Contestants, please give us your attention for a few moments while we go over the specific rules with you. As always, the event will take place over a number of hours. Within that time, only contestants will be allowed inside the Labyrinth, the castle, and the lair. If you are found trespassing, you will be possibly torn apart by our resident beasts and definitely handed over to the authorities. In which case, your entire belongings—including food, clothes, and grandmothers—that are left on these grounds shall be confiscated. Grandmothers will be dealt with according to their baking skills, assuming they have any.”
The assembly erupts into laughter again, but this time there’s an uncertain edge to it.
“Now . . . if you are not one of the contestants, we ask you to please step back at this time.”
I grab Seleni’s elbow sleeve to secure us both in place as the boys around us jostle closer, and the spectators scoot back to give a wider berth.
“Young university hopefuls, Mr. Holm would like to congratulate you on your bravery to enter his contest. Please be aware, once again, that you do so at your own risk and that Holm and the Holm estate bear no responsibility for what happens once you’re inside the Labyrinth. How you choose to play will determine how you survive and in what shape you emerge upon finishing. Mr. Holm strongly encourages you to back out now if you are weak of heart, stomach, or spine.”
I feel Seleni look at me. I clench my jaw and keep my eyes straight ahead on the gate. Just get through the gate and into the maze, Rhen. Once in, you can figure out the rest.
“The rules are as follows:
•“One: The only accessories allowed inside the Labyrinth are the clothes you are wearing. If you’re not wearing clothes, please simply be warned that all, er, loose objects may be at greater risk of injury. Also, should you encounter any moving devices while inside, you’d be wise to keep all appendages as close as possible.
•“Two: The test is broken into multiple parts, and it is up to you how much time you spend on each one. While they pertain to different sections of the Stemwick educational standard, including maths, technology, sciences, and engineering, they are also a fairly reliable judge of character. Again, it is your choice how you play. However, fall behind in any one of them and you’ll wish you hadn’t.
•“Three: You are highly encouraged to think outside the normal, and in fact will not pass otherwise.
•“Four: Upon entering the first section of the contest, you will have precisely eighteen hours to complete it or be eliminated.
•“Five: Interference with the contest itself or injury to other players will be cause for immediate dismissal, prison, and/or public harpooning, depending on the level of infraction.
“Consider yourselves fairly warned. And now”—the voice gets louder and deeper all at the same time—“are you prepared to compete for entrance to the top university in our fair King Francis’s kingdom? Then step forward now or forever hold your peace.” There’s a metallic creaking sound of gates shifting, and a cheer goes up. The boys press in, even as their teary-eyed mums try to catch and hug them.
“Only players at this time, please,” the announcer repeats. “Only players at this time. All else move back.”
“I’m a player.” I say it softly. Quietly. Like a ghost leaf rustling in the air. Firming my resolve.
I stand next to Seleni amid a host of bodies crowding in as they become keyed up with excitement to the point the anticipation is dripping in sweat off their skin. She utters a grunt of disgust, and I give a shrug that says, “Gues
s we better get used to it,” before I lift up to bounce on the balls of my feet like the rest of them are doing.
Until something catches my eye, and I peer over to see Lute also bouncing. I frown. What the? He’s standing on the other side of Will and Sam in the midst of the fray just like Seleni and me. What’s he doing in here? Why isn’t he on the sidelines with his mum and Ben?
I swerve to Seleni and point to him. She looks surprised, then whispers, “Maybe it’s the fishing restrictions. I wonder if he needs it.”
I swallow. Of course he does. He said the fishing couldn’t support his family anymore. I bounce and holler louder even as the thought that he’s here for such a reason rubs against the grain of my gut. He’s only ever wanted to be a fisherman. Now, because of a law, he’s being forced down a different path.
“You boys ready to be slaughtered?” Germaine shouts from in front of Lute. Sneers are plastered securely on his and Rubin’s mouths as they face the group.
I peer at Lute again. He doesn’t know about Germaine’s plans. I grab the side of Seleni’s tunic and tug her his direction. We have to at least get close enough so I can warn him.
“Contestants, you may now enter,” the announcer says.
The gates stop creaking. Then, with a clang, they swing inward.
The bodies around me jolt into movement—shoving and jostling and clawing their shoes into the dirt to give them any slight advantage. I grip Seleni’s tunic and shove us into position behind Beryll, Sam, Will, and Lute.
Seleni looks at me, and I nod.
The boys in front of us yell and lunge forward.
We jump in.
15
The moment we step through the gates, the boys behind us shove and press us into the bodies ahead, until male hips and elbows and hands are plastered against every minute curve of my frame. I might cringe if I could breathe, but I’m too busy trying to stay upright to think of anything more than finding air and avoiding being trampled in the sweaty stampede.
A hand grabs tight to mine, and from the corner of my eye, I see that Seleni looks like she’s drowning. I pull her over and push her ahead, and the next second the boys in front have broken free, and we erupt into a square garden barely wide enough to hold three carriages.
It’s a box. Made of grass at our feet and hedges reaching almost as high as the castle, with only the sky above and a few of those hanging white bulbs for light. And no exit other than the one we just came through.
The sound of grating metal pricks the air and, with another clang, the gates swing shut.
I blink and glance around along with everyone else to see who made it in and who didn’t. Silence falls around our breathing—which becomes slower and heavier the longer we wait. One minute turns into an uncomfortable two.
Then into three.
“What is this?” a boy behind Seleni mutters.
“We’re like trapped cattle,” another says.
“Maybe he really does feed contestants to his beasts.”
“Not funny, Rubin,” Lawrence growls.
A movement shakes one of the hedges and is accompanied by what sounds like the hiss of a snake. It’s followed by a thump and then a scream, and Seleni and I jerk together just as I note an empty space where a boy to the left of us just stood. Another slithering noise emits on my right, and I look over just as another cry goes up. Then another. The rustling grows louder and suddenly it’s close and the boy next to me is plucked up and dragged through the air into the hedge. It closes around him like a mouth eating its prey, and the next second he’s disappeared.
“Duck!” someone yells just as a thin, trailing vine snaps out and grabs one of Will’s friends by his arms. Quick as lightning it drags him into the foliage.
My eyes widen. The vines are everywhere—hovering above and around us, slithering this way and that, as if tasting the air. In spite of the fact they’re a scientific impossibility.
I squeeze Seleni’s hand, shut my eyes, and wait for one to take us because we shouldn’t be here. But it doesn’t. And as quickly as it started, the rustling stops, the vines recede, and the hedge goes back to normal. Whatever normal is.
“What in Caldon’s name was that?” Lawrence yells.
“Tsk, tsk, the rules are clear—only first-time contestants are allowed. And no contraband.” Like the chimes of a clock, the words ripple on all sides, until they echo through my bones and skin. I frown.
“But now that we’ve dealt with them fairly—hurry, hurry, find your way. No stopping now, come what may.”
The tone and musical flow are unmistakable. It’s Mr. Kellen, the odd, elderly gentleman from my uncle’s party. One moment he’s speaking, and the next he’s standing in front of us, clapping amid a chorus of gasps and cursing. Except instead of his pipe, he now holds a cup of something steaming, which he lifts and sips as he waits for our silence.
I stare at him. Is Kellen Mr. Holm? I inch behind Beryll and Sam and tug Seleni to follow because I have no idea if he can see us or his magic can sense us. Why hasn’t it already?
“Good evening, gents,” he says, when the boys have calmed. “In the wall behind me you’ll find four doors.” He grins, then takes another sip of tea as the hedge he’s standing in front of rustles and four silver doors appear, each one three feet from the other.
An utterance of “ah” goes through the crowd.
“Behind those doors is the beginning of your future.” Kellen holds out one delicate hand—and from it falls a key attached to a chain that’s attached to his forefinger. “Follow the path and the voice of Mr. Holm, and you might make it through the first task.” He gives a sly smile that looks oddly mesmerizing on his merry face. “If you make it through, you’ll move on to the next obstacle. Fail, however, and you’ll be at my mercy.”
He swings the key out in front of him—like a hypnotist does with a watch. And for a moment I swear that’s exactly what he’s doing—hypnotizing us—because for the life of me I can’t look away. Can’t look anywhere but there—at Kellen, and his lavender eyes, and that precise pendulum-moving key.
“Your quest is a key. The first one who finds and uses it correctly will escape the Labyrinth. Alive.” He jerks the key up and into his palm in one swift motion, making me blink. Then steps back. “Find the key and open the door to your future,” he says again, as a mist begins seeping from the ground and rippling around his feet. Soon it’s swirling up his legs, then his arms and face and that silver hair, and a murmur picks up among the boys in front of us.
His voice cracks the air again. “Pick a door, any door—but those players you go in with will be the team you’re stuck with. Until they are whittled away one by one and the last person standing will be the one who won. But for now, the question becomes—how well do you know your maths?” His words fade and a swell of music tinkles and the mist surrounding him thickens. Until there’s a poof, and the space where he stood is empty.
“Here is your first clue.” His voice reverberates in my head. And in the spot where he’d been standing, four words are etched into the ground.
WHAT ARE YOUR FEARS?
The boys are blinking and looking around, same as Seleni and me.
“So . . . we pick a door?” someone whispers.
“But which door? How do we choose?”
“Is there a difference?”
“Who cares? He just said to hurry.” Germaine strides for the farthest door on the right, yanks the handle, and hurls himself through. Two seconds later, Rubin follows suit, and as if a spell has been broken, the place erupts into chaos.
I dodge to the side to avoid getting shoved and grab a handful of Beryll’s shirt to pull him and Seleni with me toward Will and Sam and Lute. If Beryll notices, he doesn’t seem to care—probably because everyone else in here is doing the same.
“Which door?” Beryll yells to Lawrence.
“Follow Germaine,” I reply in a deep voice.
He obeys and tags after three kids who are going for it too, and
Seleni and I trail the lot of them until suddenly it’s my turn, and I’m charging through the doorway into Caldon-knows-what.
The moment we enter, the hedge shivers and ripples, and I don’t have to spin around to know that the door behind us has just dissipated. I look anyway and find I’m correct. There’s no exit—only forward. The feasibility of such a thing is beyond me, but it doesn’t matter—there’s no time. I turn back and see Lute stopped on a narrow path that shoots thirteen feet ahead before it splits into a cross-section going two opposite directions. The back of Rubin’s blue tunic is just disappearing around the left curve, and the three boys we followed through are heading for the right.
Lawrence grabs Beryll’s sleeve. “Wait!” He points at the bushes the tall hedges are created from.
They’re Sleeping Man-Traps, one touch of which will leave a grown man passed out cold for a solid five hours. Da and I regularly use the poison in sleeping aids for patients—but having it here? I look around. This isn’t just about getting through this section the fastest—it’s about getting through it at all.
“Sleeping weeds,” Lawrence says. “They’ll knock you out.”
Lute nods as his face flashes recognition. “Don’t touch the sides, boys.” Then points at Lawrence. “Want to lead the way, kid?”
Lawrence firms his jaw and starts forward on the path just as three more boys erupt from the disappearing door behind us. With little more than a shout of “Move!” they hustle through and head for where Rubin disappeared. Except the moment they turn the corner to enter that path, the hedge shifts and closes around them and another section opens to our right. As if growing and shriveling.
“What the?” Sam looks at Will.
Lawrence ignores them and hurries us to the only path now available. But the moment we take it, the hedge closes behind us, same as it did to the others.
Two more paths promptly open, and Lawrence looks at the group.
“Go left this time.” Beryll takes the lead, but before we reach the path, the vines cave in and force us to go right again.
“I think we’re making a circle,” Sam shouts.
