CHAPTER 6

Although Medrein was forced to deal with the Challenge in a very personal way, approving or dismissing the person Reach sent each year, he would forbid any talk of it beyond that singular purpose. Within Reach, that reticence was respected at varying degrees. Inside our house, any mention of it was cause for rows and violence. I quickly learned to keep quiet.

However, I never thought that my idea of the Challenge could be nebulous. I knew the most important, after all: the rewards, from power to fortune, and the dangers they entailed. Contestants are made to enter a dungeon filled to the brim with perils, monsters, riddles, and treasure. The one to come out wins.

“That’s the gist of it, sure,” says Rev. My arms are loose around her waist as Farsight carries us along the road. Reach is miles behind and we slept only a few hours before getting back on the saddle. “But it’s more complex than that. What do you think will happen to Katha?”

I think for a moment. “She’ll enter the Dungeon Challenge. If she wins, she’ll keep whatever treasure she found, get a level, and be able to ask one wish. Anything she asks for, she’ll get.”

Rev tuts.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Malco. What you’re talking about is the Dungeon Challenge, the big one. But before the Challengers get to that, they must pass several smaller Challenges. Funnels are one of those, the early stages for the guilds that can afford something of that scale. Many go in, and a few come out.”

“A few…?”

“Well,” Reva coughs. “I’m not sure on the particulars. It varies, in any case. Anyway, that’s where contestants get their first levels. Makes it more interesting later.”

“And then?” I ask after a moment.

“I’m not sure,” Rev admits. “Understand, I only know what I know because I’ve been asking questions for years. Every merchant, every Godtouched that seemed amenable to conversation… But even then, it’s not very clear. If you want to know my opinion, it sounds like an extremely slapdash thing.”

“Well, it’s only a few years old, isn’t it?”

Rev shakes her head.

“Older. That’s something I couldn’t really get to the bottom of because no two accounts agree.” She twists the reins in frustration. “Some Red Harbor merchants say the guilds started the Challenge, but get Garram a drink or five and he’ll start raving about the Champions of his youth, which if I’m any judge took place before there was written history.”

We ride in silence for a while. The river gurgles and jumps next to us, and Farsight’s hooves sound muffled in the moist earth.

“How many people do you think have died for this?”

“From what I understand, there’s something in it for the guilds too,” she stalls. “It’s a competition to see who can train the best Challenger. So it’s not just the big guilds organizing Funnels. Every two-bit Godtouched with a hovel to their name and a sandpit to call an arena tries their luck.”

“How many?”

“Hundreds, Malco. Hundreds every year.”

I’m silent for a long while.

“Why do you think they volunteer for it?”

But we both know the answer.

Past the fortune, the respect, and even the everlasting glory, the Challenge bestows levels to the levelless. It seems impossible, more dream than hope, but it’s true: anyone can be like the Godtouched, and the Challenge is the way to that. With the right amount of skill and luck, levels can be yours. Forget about relying on obscure Gifts that most people will never discover. Forget about attaining, through the sweat of your brow, a fraction of that power. It could be as easy as that. Yes, it could mean your life. But then again, it could mean your life.

Godtouched are not bound by such limitations. When they’re born – and I use the word in the loosest sense – they’re already level 1, and from then on, without ever stepping foot in a dungeon, their powers never wane, and only grow.

We do not know how, nor why. If godly capriciousness is to blame, or if we, regular people, are simply the butt of the cosmic joke.

When the Challenge appeared, the draw of it, at least for me and for every child I know who spent their days dreaming of one day emerging victorious from the depths of the earth, wasn’t riches, wasn’t a wish. It was levels. Power. We dreamt of playing their game because they found a way to make even us advance.

Levels mean power and power means everything. With it, you can become like a Godtouched: a legendary warrior, a silent assassin, a powerful mage. Without levels, without power… Well, you get to stay in Reach, and watch as the Godtouched take your friends away. Something that, if you had levels, you would be able to defend against. Somehow. Maybe.

It’s a thing often discussed: kids will ask it openly of each other, and adults will discuss the matter in quiet voices among themselves late in the night. What Archetype would you pick?

I never had any trouble with that. I’d be a Mage.

*

“Aren’t you worried that Medrein will come after us?” I ask one morning as Rev wakes up. We’re holed up next to a small stream, and I’ve been on watch for the last few hours.

“I wish you’d stop calling father that,” she grumbles as she splashes cold river water on her face, trying to shock herself awake.

“I won’t call him father ever again,” I say stubbornly. “Not after what he did.”

Reva stretches, popping a host of bones, then gives me a look.

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“What did he do, Malco?”

I throw a pebble into the water. I’d been doing it to keep myself awake, aiming at different things. “You know what he did. He gave Katha away. Sent her to die.”

When I look back up, I find Rev is still watching me, but her brow is furrowed now. She shrugs, shakes her wet hair, and moves to her pack, where she inspects a long object wrapped in oiled leather. I’ve noticed it before, but Rev evaded my questions each time I asked. Right now, I can’t even be bothered to try.

“You know it’s not that easy,” she says after she puts the object back among her things. “It was either that or risking their wrath. You know what he has to do.”

“Well, why are you here, then? Don’t you think we’d better let them take Katha, just in case they might get offended?” I ask with a pointed note of irony.

Reva shakes her head at me. I know what that means. It means ‘stop being a kid’.

“I don’t blame father for making a choice. I just wish he’d chosen better.” She straightens back up to stretch her back. “I’m going to enter the Challenge myself. That way, they’ll still have someone from Reach, and, I’d like to think, someone with better chances than Katha.”

For a while, all that can be heard is the tiny rivulet gurgling against the rocks.

“I’m not worried about him, by the way” Reva adds. “Father. I left a letter.”

I stare in disbelief.

“You left a letter? Saying, ‘Dear Medrein, I’m popping off to Red Harbor, might be late for dinner.’?“

Rev doesn’t answer. That only makes me throw each pebble harder. Her calm, her ease, is starting to get to me.

“In fact, how did you know I was going to be leaving Reach that night?” I demand. “You were waiting with provisions, a horse, you’d clearly been planning it. How did you know?”

“Your mother told me,” she says, not looking at me.

“What?” I’m standing. I didn’t realize I was standing.

In the face of my anger and disbelief, Rev just sighs.

“Malco, do you think everyone else is stupid?” she asks. “Because they’re not. Everyone knew you were planning on running away. Or at least Dala did, and father didn’t want to acknowledge it. And she’s wrecked, all right? Your mom is absolutely destroyed by what they had to do. So much so that she thought letting you go was the only way to mend that pain.”

I look down, numb and silent.

“I’m not saying you should forgive her outright,” Rev continues, hesitating a little. “Just… don’t be so hard on her. Believe me, you’ll miss her when she’s gone.”

I step away, boiling and ignoring Reva’s call. I walk up the little rivulet, over rocks, and try to get my head in order. Dala let me go. My brave escape was observed, allowed by her. The wound of her betrayal flares up with complicated emotions.

When we pack up and leave, the hills are heavy with clouds. The heat presses down on us, drags us down. I give my sister an uncomfortable look.

“We have no choice,” Reva says. And I don’t argue, because arguing would make it seem like Rev was more interested in saving Katha than I am. But I’m wary all the same. Rev’s accelerated plan is to leave the road and go up the hills instead of around them.

The road doesn’t just mean safety in travelling. It means long detours around the wilder stretches of land, profitable for merchants and patience-straining for everyone else. If we’re to reach Black Sword City in time for the Funnel, the only way is to go up and down the Barrow hills and meet the road on the other side when it straightens to shoot directly towards Red Harbor. That means abandoning people, abandoning safety.

Rev let Farsight wander off yesterday when we neared a village. He wouldn’t be much help in the hills, where the paths are few and roots snag errant hooves with each step. At that point, we abandoned the road and aimed up, taking the hunting trails.

This far from Reach, farther than I ever ventured, it’s harder to tell where safety ends and monsters begin to roam. There are markers, but most are old, faded, broken, or absent entirely. Nothing so far has jumped out to try and turn us into lunch. Sometimes hill doors appear, jutting from the ground or between two boulders leaning against each other, and we stop to look at them, though there is nothing about these tunnels to mark them in any way different from the ones closer to home, where Katha liked to hide. They are as unassuming and as mysterious. We agree that we won’t go inside one, not for any shortcut. We maintain this promise almost for a full day.

Rev leads the way. I follow behind, absentminded and tired, when her hand comes up and grabs my shoulder. I stop, alarmed, and gestures until I notice it too. Up ahead there’s the lilt of conversation. Broken words, and then laughter. We exchange a look. Without even talking, we know what’s coming up the path. Godtouched. No one else laughs like that so deep in the hills.

Before I can say or do anything, Rev yanks me off the path, throwing me into the bushes. I fall on the prickly mess, roll off it onto the dirt and underbrush on the other side. I begin to stand, cursing, when the voices grow and then cease immediately. I realize what’s happened: the Godtouched have spotted Rev.

“Good morning,” I hear her say. I can’t see beyond a mess of thorns and branches. The greenery Rev threw me into has closed completely. Light jabs through this prickly curtain in thin needles, and Rev stands out only as a shadow in this pattern.

“Hey, there,” says a voice down the path. Its tone is deep and seasoned, but the rhythm of the words is strange. Too quick and eager. Right after the voice comes a chorus of snickering.

“’Hey there’,” says another voice in mocking tones. “Man, you’re hopeless.”

“Shut up,” says the first voice. “Uh, I’m Kalos. What is your name, fair maiden?”

“Holy shit, man,” says a third voice.

“I’m Reva. I’m on my way home. If you’ll allow me to pass.”

My sister’s shadow steps forward, unperturbed, blocking some pinpricks of light and releasing others. I do my best to move alongside her, picking my way through the underbrush. I manage to snap a twig with every second step, but the Godtouched are clearly too distracted to notice the commotion in the bushes.

“Oh, okay,” says Kalos. “I bid you fair travels, Reva, and—”

“Oh, shut the hell up,” says the second voice, sneering and mean. I see a shadow step up and stand in front of Rev’s. He’s tall and slim. I can’t tell what race he belongs to, but I see it’s one of the sinewy ones. Elf? “Hey, babe. I’m Rao. Remember that name, ‘cause you’ll—”

“Like I said,” Rev interrupts. “I’m on my way home. Would you be so kind as to let me through?”

“No,” says Rao, after a little hesitation. “I wouldn’t be so kind. See, Rev, me and my friends have been combing through this area looking for treasure, monsters, any kind of loot really, and we haven’t had much luck. So I think the best thing would be for you to come to our camp and help us out. What do you say?”

While Rao spoke, I managed to creep forward until I’m crouching an arm’s breadth from him, invisible behind the shrubs that line the path. The thorns and low branches aren’t too bad here. If I can communicate that to Rev… I search, poking the ground with my staff. But there are no rocks. Nothing heavy enough to throw and make a mess. Nothing but thin little sticks.

“What level are you?” my sister demands suddenly.

That throws Rao off.

“Why does that matter?” he asks, defensive.

“Because you don’t look like you’re much above five and there are things in these that hills that break their fast on tens and above. So I’m wondering if you’re on a quest or a suicide attempt.”

There’s an edge to Rev’s voice that I admire and envy. It suggests to anyone listening that she is one of those things, and her patience is wearing thin.

Kalos’ voice comes then.

“We are level four. You see, we are newly arrived in these lands, and…”

“Shut up, Kalos,” Rao snaps. He seems embarrassed by the admission, and Rev jumps on that flank.

“Yeah? Well those are four levels you aren’t getting back when the creep worms catch you. Or the shadow sprites, after dark. So all the help I can give you is in the vein of telling you to turn around and piss off. Maybe come back when you’re a little more experienced.”

And with that, she brushes past him. Their shadows merge into one as she walks by, and her conviction casts a spell all of its own. None of the Godtouched say a thing, and, quick as a cat, Rev is past Rao, walking briskly, when the magic strains, falters, breaks. Rao’s sword comes off its scabbard with a slither and he turns to my sister with the same movement.

“No, sweetie,” he says with a growl. “I think you’re staying.”