Pil looked up from the note to see Brixton staring at him expectantly. Silently Pil passed him the note, which he read through quickly before throwing it to the small boy who had just walked through the door. The boy, Pil noticed, was the only one who had passed from the last group of runners.
“So, we need to elect a leader. I volunteer. Any objections?” said Brixton quite haughtily.
Pil looked at the other boy who had just finished reading the note. Clearly, the leader took all the risk in this task; Pil couldn’t afford to risk it just to show up Brixton. The other boy was clearly thinking along the same lines and they both agreed to Brixton’s leadership.
“Any ideas, leader?” asked Pil, attempting to keep the sarcastic tone from his voice.
“As a matter of fact, I do have a few. I think we should stand on each other’s shoulders to reach the flag.”
Pil looked up at the tiny triangular flag sitting at the top of the pole. “I don’t know, seems pretty tall.”
“Looks can be deceiving. Anyway, what idea do you propose, Persins?” asked Brixton scornfully.
Pil was taken aback by the use of his last name, but to his surprise, an idea came suddenly to his mind. "Two of us could throw one of the other boys up. We could create a foothold for a person to stand on with our hands, and then have the person jump at the same time as we throw them."
Brixton chortled, “that will never work. What about you?” He flung the question at the other boy, who looked instantly nervous.
“Uh — I — I dunno. Maybe we could make a rope out of our shirts to help us climb the pole or maybe to get the flag down.”
“Well, it is a good thing I’m the leader. We’re going with my idea. It is by far the most practical,” said Brixton arrogantly.
Pil sighed. At least if they failed, he would still pass the test. He shrugged amicably. The other boy nodded in agreement.
“But are you sure? I mean, no one’s ever passed the last test, so if you fail this one, then you have no chance of becoming an Exidite,” said the small boy.
Brixton turned to look at the boy, his expression darkening. “And what is your name?”
The boy turned red, his eyes wide. “It-it’s Brenn. Brenn Bender.”
“Well, Brenn, as you have elected me leader, that’s not your decision to make. Now hurry to the pole. You can be on bottom, and if you let us fall, I promise I’ll make your life hell.”
The boy turned pale and then hurried off to stand by the pole. Brixton turned and raised his eyebrows at Pil. Pil glared at him. Who does this kid think he is? If they weren’t in the middle of a test, Pil might have challenged the boy. As it was, he walked over to Brenn and got ready.
Brenn nodded to Pil and then hunched over, bracing himself against the pole. It was lucky Brenn was short or Pil would have had a harder time getting up. Somehow Pil managed to stand squarely on Brenn’s shoulders and wrapped his arms around the pole to steady himself. To his surprise, Brenn stood quite still and took his weight with ease. It seemed as if his legs were stronger than they looked.
“All right, now, don’t move,” said Brixton as he climbed up their backs. He kicked his foot hard into Pil’s back as he got on him and squirmed his way to the top. Pil did his best to stay still, but Brixton clearly weighed more than he looked, and Pil was quite small, after all.
“Can you reach it?” Brenn asked, his voice betraying the strain of their combined weight.
“Not quite —” Brixton bit off, stretching his arm up. “Nearly there — just need to go up a bit more." Brixton pushed down on Pil's shoulders, even more, his arm and legs stretching upwards. "Almost —”
Suddenly he slipped and toppled over backwards, pulling Pil and Brenn down with him. They landed with a loud thud, tangled together. Pil rubbed his back and sat up. Brenn was lying next to him, panting hard. Brixton was sitting up next to Brenn, his expression furious.
“I told you to stay still!” he barked at Pil.
“I did stay still! You’re the one who fell!”
“I’m the one who fell? Look at you; you’re half the size of an ant. It’s certainly not my fault you have no strength.” Brixton got to his feet as if to show just how small Pil was. “What do you think you’re doing trying to be an Exidite? You filthy lower town —”
“Oi!” yelled Brenn, interrupting him. “Let’s just try it again; our time’s running out.”
Pil got to his feet and glared up at Brixton. Both boys stared at each other with deep loathing.
“Why don’t you go on top, then, and if you can’t reach it, then we’ll say you were the leader. I am not going down because I got pitted with a half-legged Elfin.” Brixton spewed the words out like venom. For a moment Pil wanted to forget the task and fight Brixton, but then he remembered Felicity, who would surely pass, and Dirk. He couldn’t afford to lose.
Pil stormed over to the pole and glared over at Brenn, who was standing still, stunned. Brenn caught his eye and ran over to the base of the pole, hugging it close and setting his legs. Brixton stalked over to them. He spared Pil a glance of pure hatred before climbing forcefully onto Brenn’s shoulders. Pil took a deep breath and began to climb; he did everything he could to not kick Brixton’s face as he climbed upwards. But Pil’s feet did manage to dig uncomfortably into Brixton’s shoulders as he got wobbly up.
He looked up. The flag was still so far away; maybe if they had another person they could reach it, but they were only three people. Pil stretched upwards as far as his arm would allow, but it was still at least another arm’s length higher.
“I can’t reach it, Brixton! Your idea won’t work,” said Pil, stretching onto his tippy toes.
“We don’t have time. Climb the rest of the way!” Brixton yelled back.
Pil hugged the pole and began to worm his way up. The surface of the pole was unusually smooth, however, and he hadn’t gotten very far before he slipped and fell. Pil narrowly missed Brixton and Brenn, landing with a hard thump on his back.
“You bonger, you —” But the rest of Brixton’s sentence was cut off as the door opened behind them. The Elfin in the circular glasses walked slowly into the room, his ever-present clipboard before his eyes. He stopped and glanced around at them, Pil on the floor, the other two boys still against the pole.
“Am I to assume you have failed to retrieve your flag, then?” asked the instructor as Brixton hopped off Brenn’s shoulders.
“Sir, it wasn’t our fault. This one —” Brixton pointed at Pil, who glared at him. “He said he would be the leader. It was his idea to balance on one another.”
“Oh?” said the man slowly, examining them all. “Is this true?” The man consulted his clipboard. “Brenn?”
Brenn squirmed uncomfortably, looking at Pil before glancing up to Brixton, who was glaring down at him with a hard look. Brenn took a deep breath. “Er — Yeah. He — he said it would work.”
“I see, and what were your ideas?” asked the instructor.
“Well, I thought we should throw someone up, creating a handhold and then tossing the person as they jumped,” Brixton told the man, quite convincingly.
Pil glared at Brixton and Brenn, who was now avoiding his eye. He was halfway to shouting at them both for lying when he realized how that would make him look. They had him outnumbered, and no amount of explaining would be able to convince the Exidite otherwise. In fact, it might do more harm than good. The truth might make him look like a petty liar, like Brixton. He swallowed his words and looked up at the Exidite who was observing him closely, his expression unreadable.
The man turned and looked at Brenn. “And you, Benders? What was your plan?”
“I — Uh — I thought we could, could use our clothes to make a rope, and maybe use it to climb up — or maybe pull the flag down.” Brenn avoided the man’s eyes and squirmed under his observation.
“I see,” said the Exidite slowly. “Well, you both go wait in the hallway; I wish to have a word with Mr. Persins.”
&nb
sp; Brixton smirked and stalked out of the room, smiling smugly down at Pil. Pil glared at him until he disappeared through the door and then glanced up at the instructor. His face was expressionless as he peered over his glasses at Pil. He waited until the door was fully closed before speaking.
“Mr. Persins, I would just like to warn you that you need to pass two more tests to qualify as an Exidite. So far, no one has passed the final test. Do you still wish to continue? Your idea might have worked had there been another person in your group. You can still try the last two tests.”
“Yes, sir, I do want to continue,” said Pil, glaring down at the floor.
“Well, then,” said the Exidite, looking at his clipboard. “You should follow the rest of the group through the next door. I believe there are now ten boys remaining.”
Pil walked somberly out into the hall to see Felicity and Dirk waiting for him, looking questioning. “I’ll tell you about it later,” said Pil, simply not in the mood to talk just yet.
Pil followed the group of boys down the hallway and through the next door. Brixton Bells looked over his shoulder and threw Pil a smug look of satisfaction. Pil looked back down at the floor and felt a cool breeze as he walked into the next task. He looked up. In front of the ten remaining boys was a large empty room. In the middle of the floor stood Harlem Havok, waiting for them with his arms folded behind his back.
5
Combat
“Welcome to the third task. Congratulations on making it this far. The next task will test your combat capability. You will be split into groups of two, and after choosing from these weapons,” Harlem pointed to a long table full of different weapons, “you will spar for seven minutes. The opponent who scores the most hits will win the match. Each of you will be given two chances to win a match. This test is very important to the order of Exidite. All of you have heard of our fatal enemy, the Bahbeq.” Half of the boys tried to suppress a shudder at the mention of this name. “They have been searching to extinguish us more than ever. They are the horror stories you were raised on, they are the nightmare that wakes you, and I can tell you firsthand that they are every bit as dangerous as the stories say. I do not need to explain how vital it is that you have the means to protect yourselves and your comrades.”
There was a ringing silence in the moments after this pronouncement. Felicity glanced over at Pil, but he pretended not to see her as he stared stoically at the far wall. He had been frozen at the mention of the Bahbeq, but he didn't want his friends to worry themselves about him any more than they already were.
“For the first group, we will have Mr. Persins and Mr. Bells.” Pil jumped at the sound of his name and then glanced hurriedly at Brixton who was looking over his shoulder at Pil, a smile playing around his lips.
“Go on,” said Felicity, giving Pil a gentle push. Pil hesitated a moment and then pushed his way to the front of the group to stand next to Brixton.
“An easy win, I think,” whispered Brixton so that only Pil could hear him.
Pil said nothing but started walking over to the table filled with Elfin weapons. There was every weapon Pil had ever heard of and more, but his eye slid over all of them, looking for a hilt. Finally, he saw the sword section. He glanced briefly at them. They were real steel, but the edges had all been blunted, and the tips filed down. Still, Pil thought, they could be lethal in the right hands. He debated briefly before holding up a bastard sword that looked the right size for him. It was surprisingly heavy. Pil had only used a wooden sword that he had made himself. Would the weight slow him down?
Brixton appeared suddenly by his side. He smirked briefly at Pil before grabbing his weapon, hardly looking at the table at all. Brixton had picked up a dangerous looking flail. It had a leather-wrapped steel handle, with two long chains hanging off the tip. Instead of the normal deadly spiked metal balls at the ends of the flail. It had heavy-looking wooden globes.
“Please head to the center of the room,” Harlem said, indicating where they should stand. “This is a sparring match. These weapons can cause real damage, and you must not swing to kill. This is not a game, however. Prepare yourselves for injury. I will be the acting referee — if you go too far, I will intervene. Ready?”
Both boys nodded. “Then on the count of three, you may begin. One… Two… Three!”
Without missing a beat, Brixton swung the flail high and brought it down hard towards Pil’s head. But Pil was ready for the attack. He dodged to the side and then dashed in. Brixton reacted quicker than Pil could have anticipated. As soon as Pil had dodged, he swung the long chains again, chasing after his fleeing target. Pil ducked as the iron chains threatened to wrap around his body, twisting downwards mid-stride.
Neither boy could get an inch. It was immediately clear to Pil that this was not Brixton’s first time using a flail. He was having a hard enough time avoiding getting caught in the ever-moving chains, let alone getting any closer to hitting Brixton. The boys danced around the room. Pil had a short-ranged weapon and was forced to use all his natural Elfin evasive skills and expend quite a bit of energy. Brixton gave him no respite, sending swing after swing in his direction, forcing him to dodge and duck, rather than risk being disarmed by the chains. Look for an opening, thought Pil after having to perform a tricky backflip to avoid being beheaded. He knew his time was running out quickly, and if he didn’t get in a hit, he would fail out of the Exidite.
And then it happened. Brixton swung too wide, and there was a pause in his furious assault. Pil took it and ran in to close the distance before he could recover. Even as Brixton swung back the flail, Pil struck, hitting him hard in the side and knocking him roughly to the floor. Both boys stood there panting. Brixton was holding his ribs and glaring murderously at Pil from the floor. There was a tense pause and then he swung. The chains came low, looking to entangle Pil’s footing, but he was too quick. He sidestepped the attack and rushed in to strike another blow, but Brixton had gotten up. He turned quickly and struck out with his foot, connecting brutally with Pil’s temple.
There was a ringing noise in Pil’s head as he regained his balance. Again, both boys were catching their breath. Pil shook his head, trying to clear the numb sensation that was spreading from the injury. He had to end this. Pil rushed in. Before Brixton had a chance to react, he stuck his sword in the wood ground and then, using his momentum and the sword’s hold, he flipped high into the air, landing gracefully on the opposite side of Brixton. Pil struck like a snake. His foot dug hard into the back of Bell’s knee, forcing him to kneel. Even as Brixton swung his arm around, Pil struck again. A nasty squelch came from Bell’s injured ribs. The boy fell on his face, breathing hard and gripping his side.
“The match is over. Pil Persins, you have passed this test. You may proceed through the door behind me and wait for the rest of the matches to finish. Brixton Bells, you have only one more chance to pass.”
Pil looked at Harlem, astonished. He didn’t get to watch the rest of the matches? His gaze fell on Felicity who was standing stock-still, her face pale, her eyes locked on his. He wanted to argue, to ask if he could stay and watch. But one look at Brixton, who had gotten shakily to his feet, glaring at Pil with pure hatred in his heart, and Pil knew; there were things they both wanted at that moment. But as Brixton shuffled back to the crowd, Pil thought again about how this is what it meant to join the Exidite. Everything was a test, and if he failed, he lost everything. Pil turned and walked quickly across the floor and into the next room without glancing back.
The next room looked much the same as the waiting room after the first test. Pil looked for the chairs and sat down to wait. It was all he could do to not run back and look out the door. The minutes went by slower than usual as he waited. Finally, the door opened, and Pil looked up in relief as the enormous shape of Dirk walked through the door.
“Knew you’d pass,” said Pil, smiling at his friend.
Dirk smiled. “Yeah, wasn’t a very long match, I fought the short kid, Brenn, the
one from your group — Aria’s seeing to him now; he didn’t fare too well.”
Pil laughed. “Good, I don’t like him very much.”
“What happened in your last test by the way?”
Pil relayed what had happened with Brixton, trying to not sound too bitter.
“That charred, stuck up —” Dirk spat out furiously. “Wish I had fought him now — I hope he doesn’t win his second match. Wait a minute, that means you have to pass the last test to become an Entri, doesn’t it?” said Dirk, alarmed.
Pil nodded.
“But no one has ever passed that test —”
“I know, Dirk. Don’t remind me,” said Pil with a grimace. “I’ll just have to be the first, won’t I?”
“If anyone can do it, it’s you — you’re smart, even smarter than Felicity, and you are the best fighter out of our group. No one from lower town could ever beat you when you had a sword in your hand.”
Pil smiled gratefully. “I hope that’s all it takes, but who knows? — Look, if you and Felicity pass and I don’t —”
“Then we’ll quit. There’s no point if you’re not —”
“No. Listen, Dirk, you have to go on without me. I’ll try again in a year, and maybe then —”
Dirk broke across him, shaking his head. “No, no, no. We will go together or not at all.”
Pil looked down, secretly pleased, and said nothing more as Dirk sat down next to him. He was glad of Dirk’s confidence in him; it gave him hope. He had to at least try. Maybe, just maybe, he could be the first Elfin ever to pass the fourth task. But what if he didn’t? What if he had to go back home and explain how he had been so close… It was painful to even think about. Peach and Pa’ would understand, of course, but still, this was supposed to be his one shot — his chance to see for himself what lies outside the compact dirt walls of Westleton.
After the Dark Page 4
