The Extinction Trials

by S. M. Wilson

  She looked up. Her only view was Lincoln’s disappearing feet. She couldn’t leave Leif. She just couldn’t. The more he struggled, the more the fishing net seemed to wrap around him. Leif couldn’t hold his breath as long as she could. Any second now he would panic and suck in water. After that?

  She pulled her knife from her waistband and kicked her legs furiously. She grabbed part of the billowing net and started cutting, slashing at it with all her might. After a few seconds Leif stilled. She grabbed for his hand and gave it a squeeze. Had he even registered?

  She didn’t stop. She kept slashing away. Freeing the net from around his arms, shoulders and head. Her actions seemed to rouse Leif and he pushed at the nets around his legs and feet, finally kicking them free.

  Storm looked up. There was no sign of Lincoln. That couldn’t be good.

  Her lungs were starting to protest. She swam back down to the seabed and made a grab for one of the boxes. It surprised her. There was no weight to it at all. She pushed up to the surface.

  As she burst out of the water she sucked in a breath, inhaling some of the water that was running down her face. It made her choke and splutter. The shoreline was directly ahead and Lincoln was standing in the surf, opening his box.

  The muscles in her legs ached as she kicked forward. She had to focus. She had to find the energy and strength for the next part of the Trial.

  The box floated easily in the water as she pushed it to shore. A noise behind her let her know that Leif was following. She’d done what she could to help him but it had cost her precious time. Time she couldn’t get back.

  As soon as she felt the seabed under her feet, she tried to stride out of the water quickly, throwing the box onto the beach in front of her.

  She dropped to her knees. The catch on the box seemed stuck and her fingers were so cold she could barely make them function. The breeze swept around her, chilling her even more.

  Leif thudded down next to her. “Thank you,” he muttered as he tried to prise his box open.

  It opened easily, he grabbed the contents and stood up as Storm still struggled with hers. Before she had time to think, Leif jabbed the box with a sharp kick, tipping it over and unjamming the lid.

  The contents fell out onto the shoreline.

  And she froze.

  Knives. Throwing knives.

  She looked around. Hundreds of faces were staring at her. The crowd were held back from the beach but they could see her clearly. But she couldn’t find the face she was looking for. Reban Don was nowhere in sight.

  Leif was already running towards the base of the cliff, and Lincoln had started to climb. But she was frozen to the spot.

  No one knew. No one knew that her mother was a master of the ancient sport. The skill of knife-throwing had long since vanished. When the last few forests had still existed Storm’s mother used to practise her talent there. It was something that had been passed down through her family – Storm’s grandfather had taught her mother, and his father had taught him.

  But no one had taught Stormchaser. There hadn’t been time. She’d watched her mother practise sometimes along the trees. And she’d held a knife before – of course she had. There had always been a set in their home.

  But once her mother had died, the throwing knives had vanished.

  There was only one person who could have chosen this task.

  Reban Don.

  Perhaps he thought he was doing her a favour – giving her an advantage. If he knew her mother, he would have known her special skill. Maybe he thought she’d passed it on to her daughter.

  The shouts of the crowd broke her concentration. “Come on!” they goaded. They weren’t really supporting her – they just wanted to see a decent race.

  She tucked the sheathed knives in her waistband and started running towards the cliff. She was already behind. She’d lost her focus. Would there be a traditional target at the top they had to hit?

  She snapped on the safety harness at the bottom of the cliff. She could see Lincoln’s blue tunic – more than a third of the way up. Leif was climbing fast.

  She started to climb. The ache in her muscles was intense. But she ignored it. What was harder to ignore was the wind, cutting through her wet tunic and freezing her to the bone.

  She was trying to move quickly. But her left hand objected. She hadn’t climbed a cliff since she’d broken it on the first Trial. She gritted her teeth. Lincoln. It was all his fault. His fault she was here. His fault she was doing this again.

  She focused on the cliff. On the handholds. On the outcrops of rock. On the white crumbling cliff that was turning to powder around her as she tried to catch the two people climbing above her. They were all more or less following the same path up the cliff. The most straightforward. The easiest climb to the top.

  She ignored every ache. She ignored every twinge of pain. All her anger, all her rage was focused on the here and now. On reaching the top of this cliff.

  She hated that she was here. She hated that she was doing this.

  As the palms of her hand scraped on the crumbling rock she winced.

  One set of shouts from the crowd was getting quieter, while another set grew louder. They must have allowed some people to watch from the top of the cliff.

  Her stomach churned a little, wondering what was waiting for her.

  There was a cheer. Lincoln must have reached the top. It spurred her on, making her drive harder and faster up the cliff.

  Within moments the cliff edge was there, and she hauled herself up and over onto the thin grass above.

  The crowd was huge. A Stipulator stood nearby with his arm raised, pointing in one direction.

  As soon as she’d pushed herself upright she started running.

  Lincoln and Leif were directly ahead but she couldn’t see exactly what they were doing.

  As she ran, she grabbed for the knives tucked into her waistband. The crowd was shouting.

  Leif turned back towards her. The expression on his face was pure panic. Her eyes fixed ahead, looking for the target. And her running slowed.

  There were no traditional targets. Just the other seven Finalists, standing in a row, with a variety of items balanced on their heads.

  Two were crying. Three were shaking. The other two had their eyes closed.

  No.

  They were expected to aim at the top of the Finalists’ heads? With a weapon she’d only handled as a child?

  Lincoln raised one hand, lifting the knife to his eyeline. But his arms were shaking so badly he couldn’t even try to take aim.

  “I can’t do this.” The voice came from the other side of her. Leif. “I can’t kill someone to get more food for our families.”

  The crowd was still shouting. Jeering now. They were getting impatient.

  Storm glanced to where some of the Stipulators stood. One of them glared at her. “Complete the Trial,” he snarled. “Knock one of the targets from your fellow Finalist’s head. First to get back to the starting point will be declared the winner.” His eyes narrowed as he continued to hold her gaze. “For the others, there might be a different end.”

  The mines. He was talking about the mines. If she didn’t do this that’s where they’d send her.

  The wind was whipping her hair around her face. Her stomach was in knots. She looked at the face of the woman directly opposite her. She was trying to stand still and failing miserably; her feet shuffling, tears streaming down her face. It was the blonde Finalist who’d broken her arm and had a wound on her face courtesy of the velociraptors. She’d been through enough. They’d all been through enough. They’d survived an attack by a megalodon and seven days on the dinosaur continent. Why put them through any more?

  She took a deep breath as she pulled the knife from its sheath with her shaking hands. It was smaller than the traditional one that her mother had used, but there was an aching familiarity about it. Now she could see it up close and feel the weight in her hand something washed over her. The gli
nting edge of the blade, the weight of the soft grey handle. It could have been one of her mother’s knives.

  Something twisted inside. Did Reban Don think he’d given her an advantage picking throwing knives? Why would he do that? He’d sent her to Piloria, probably hoping she would die. But maybe she’d been wrong about that. After all, he hadn’t known her identity for certain then. She hadn’t told him who her mother was. And since she didn’t have a birth record, he couldn’t find out for himself.

  If she didn’t win he’d have to send her to the mines – anything else could put his own position at risk. But if she was being given a death sentence, she’d have nothing to lose in revealing his secret to the world – a secret that could destroy him. So maybe he was simply trying to keep her quiet, trying to keep her onside. If he helped her, and she won, he might think his secret was safe.

  So much was tumbling through her mind she could hardly think straight. But the crowd were restless. They wanted to see a winner.

  She looked up at the blonde Finalist again. The woman looked as if she could collapse at any minute. She had cornup balanced on her head. How ironic. The food that had been discovered on the dinosaur continent could now cause her death.

  Leif and Lincoln kept raising their knives, trying to find an aim, and then dropping their arms again without taking a shot. Neither of them would look a fellow Finalist in the eye and risk killing them. No matter what was at stake. It was a step too far. Even for a desperate guy.

  The top of a cliff was the worst place for this task to be set. The wind was fierce, whipping around and changing direction. That, along with a trembling target and shaking hands, made this task near impossible.

  Leif gave a little sob next to her. This was too much. Too much for them all.

  The blonde Finalist met Storm’s gaze again and blinked. “Hurry,” she mouthed. She wanted this over with too. She wanted to know if she would live or die.

  A wave of quiet seemed to come over Storm. She wasn’t on the cliff any more. She was in the forest with her mother. Her mother was wearing a long black dress with a tie at the middle. She was laughing. Her brown shiny hair was swinging from side to side as she walked, the knives held easily in one hand. The sun was shining brightly in the sky and she could hear the birds in the trees above.

  They reached a clearing. There was a large traditional canvas target pinned to a tree. “Here we are,” her mother’s voice lilted towards her.

  It was the ease. The surety. Her mother spun around, lifted her hands and let the knives take flight – one after the other. They whipped through the air landing squarely in the middle of the red target before her mother’s dress and hair had stopped swinging.

  She could do this. She was her mother’s daughter. She was meant to do this.

  She lifted the knife with a steady hand, swiftly took aim at the wobbling cornup and let the knife fly.

  Now, she held her breath. Now, she wanted to squeeze her eyes shut.

  The target hit slightly off-centre, the cornup flying from the woman’s head and landing on the ground below.

  The crowd erupted.

  Storm looked around her. Leif and Lincoln were open-mouthed. “Aim slightly to the right,” she murmured as she dropped the rest of the knives and started running.

  She’d done it. She’d done it.

  Now the crowd screamed at her as she ran past. She still had to make it down the crumbling cliff path, then back along the beach to the stage.

  It should be simple. But her competitive edge and drive pushed her on. She had to keep moving. It didn’t matter that every bone in her body ached. Her feet thudded on the ground. Her hands and arms were outstretched to keep her balance as she tried to stop herself from tumbling down the cliff path.

  There was a loud cheer behind her. Had someone else hit their target? She grabbed onto the rope that was supposed to stop anyone falling from the precarious path. It slid through her hand as she kept running, chaffing at the already worn skin on her palm.

  Beneath her was the beach and the stretch of ground she had to run along. Crowds lined the way. They were all watching. All eyes were on her. Some had their hands in the air cheering. Others were pointing. Gravity and the momentum of her feet on the steep slope kept her focus. She slid, the ground coming away beneath her feet. She stuck out her hands to break her fall as she heard the thudding behind her. The thudding of another pair of feet.

  She rolled down the slope, tucking in her head and letting her shoulders take the impact. It knocked the wind from her, but the downward slope of the ground was almost an advantage. She virtually landed on her feet again as she swayed and tried to steady herself.

  “Move!” came the yell from behind. Dust flew up around her as someone tried to stop himself crashing into her. The voice was instantly recognizable. Lincoln. He was right on her heels.

  She didn’t even give herself a second. She just started running again, brushing the grit and dirt from her skinned elbows. She couldn’t even think about the pain. There was no time.

  The faces of the crowd blurred as she ran. She didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to be distracted. Reban Don stood on the stage ahead, his arms folded across his chest, his black cloak billowing in the wind.

  She heard a voice again, screaming above everyone else in the crowd. “Go, Storm. Go!”

  Dell. He was still there. Still in her corner. Would he still be there when he saw what she might do next?

  As the ground flattened beneath her feet she could sense Lincoln. He was right at her shoulder.

  She tried to suck air into her lungs to give herself more power. More energy to fire her tired muscles. All she could hear was the thudding ground next to her.

  She didn’t let herself look sideways. She didn’t need to. On a flat run, Lincoln would always beat her. He had longer limbs and more power. She just had to keep the pace, keep the momentum of her stride going as she ate up the ground underneath her.

  “Go, Storm!” chanted the crowd. It was compelling, almost addictive. It drove her on, gave her that one final burst of strength and speed that she desperately needed to reach her goal.

  The finishing line was ahead. Closer and closer.

  But not quite close enough. She could sense him. Sense him right there beside her.

  She gave one final push, one final leap as she reached her arms out ahead and put all her power, every tiny scrap of energy left into that final jump, as her feet left the ground and she surged through the air.

  This time when she hit the ground all she heard was noise.

  This time when she hit the ground she didn’t jump back up. She lay on the ground and looked up at the sky.

  The sky that looked exactly the same on Earthasia as it did on Piloria.

  Two continents. One planet. How had it come to this?

  Lincoln was on the ground next to her. His head was in his hands. He was sobbing. He knew he’d lost and he knew what it meant. She’d never seen him cry. He’d barely shown any emotion the whole time she’d known him.

  Something in her heart wrenched. Finally, he was showing vulnerability. The side of himself he’d kept locked up tight. It made him seem more human.

  And it made her feel more human. If she had a sister, what would she do to save her?

  A figure in black appeared above her. Reban Don. “Get up,” he said.

  She raised her eyebrows at him and held out her hand. The challenge was there.

  Everyone in the crowd was watching. He could hardly refuse. And she could tell that he knew it was deliberate. Good.

  He reached down and grabbed her, pulling her with more strength that she would have expected. She practically flew off the ground.

  His face was unreadable. Was he relieved or mad?

  She didn’t know and she wouldn’t let herself care.

  He spun round, his cloak swirling out behind him as he headed back up the steps of the stage. She touched Lincoln’s shoulder and followed.

  Reban Don stood i
n front of the crowd. “We have a winner.” He grabbed her hand and lifted it. “Stormchaser Knux.”

  The crowd erupted. It was as if her earlier actions had been forgotten. All they knew now was that they’d watched the final Trial and found a victor.

  She looked across the sea of faces, searching for any she might recognize. Searching frantically. This time it wasn’t Dell.

  As the crowd quietened she found who she was looking for.

  She threw a glance at Reban Don and addressed the crowd. “I, Stormchaser Knux, claim the rights to the rewards. I claim the unlimited food rations, the promoted housing, the health care, the extra power. I claim it for me…” She glanced at Reban Don, keeping her voice rock steady as she walked down from the stage towards her target. It was easy.

  The frail little girl, who could blow away in a gust of wind, didn’t expect it. Storm grabbed her hand and raised it high. “For me, and for my family,” she finished determinedly.

  The crowd automatically cheered.

  Lincoln’s head shot up. His eyes widened. Storm put her arm around Arta’s back and steered her towards the stage. “Play along,” she whispered.

  She walked back up on the stage holding her head high.

  Reban stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the crowd. “You don’t have family,” he hissed.

  “Prove it,” she dared.

  But she didn’t wait for him to answer. “I also have family in Norden,” she shouted, pointing at Kronar’s and Rune’s siblings, who were crowded near the front. “Brothers and sisters who will join me.”

  Leif had appeared next to Lincoln and Storm, his eyes wide as the crowd swarmed around her and Arta, lifting them above their heads.

  Lincoln looked stunned. His mother rushed over and flung her arms around his neck. His gaze was fixed firmly on Storm’s. “Thank you,” he mouthed.

  She nodded. The crowd were jubilant, the energy electric and as they spun her and Arta around she caught sight of Reban Don, still on the stage.

  He looked at her directly with his furious violet eyes. “This isn’t over.”