1337 P.B.

  THE LIBRARY OF NEW ALEXANDRIA,

  ILLIYNUM

  "ALL I'M SAYING, MER, IS THAT THE SEASON STARTS SOON."

  Rhea-Anne sits across the table from me, hunched over in an effort to appear like she's studying. Scrolls and string-bound books litter the wooden table between us. I pick my head up from my own studies. "And? The gods will tell us when they do, Rhe."

  "That's my point," she hisses out. "Why haven't they yet? Like last year, okay. They told us three weeks before school was over. We're on the last week now, and nothing. Nada. Ziltch." She drops her quill with an unceremonious movement, almost huffing to herself. Rhea has a point, but she's also impatient sometimes. Doesn't mean I don't love her to death. "Something feels off about this, Mer. I know you feel it too and don't—" She glares pointedly at me as I open my mouth. "—even think about saying it's not."

  I close my mouth.

  "Look, I know you're all calm and collected, but not all of us have a goddess sitting on our shoulder," she points out. My immediate reaction is a sharp shhh! at her, eyes narrowing. I don't want to become the talk of the city just because Rhe couldn't keep her mouth shut. "I know, I know. But look — hasn't Isis told you anything?"

  With my own sigh, my pen drops next to her quill. I shake my head, propping my elbows on the table and resting my head in my hands. "No. But I'm right there with you, Rhe. She's been silent." Our voices are low, and the corner is dark, so I doubt there are any intruding ears or eyes. Besides, libraries like this are patronized by the gods of knowledge, and if there's one thing most of them hate, it's eavesdropping. Most such gods are big not only on knowledge but also privacy. Hence charms and spells to protect private conversations here.

  Rhe lets out a groan of frustration. If we were at her house, I'm sure she would also have smacked her forehead. She tends to do that. "Okay, okay. So. . . Isis is silent. Maybe. . . maybe the librarians know something—"

  "—and you think they'd tell us, breaking their vows?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "No way. We're just some students studying for finals."

  "You're not."

  "And you need to stop saying stuff like that before someone overhears!"

  Rhea concedes with a reluctant nod of her head, sitting back. She tucks her bare feet under her legs in the armchair, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. She wouldn't admit it, but she studies way too much. Normal for Historians, I suppose, but I sometimes wish I could drag her to her house and make her sleep for three days straight. Gods know she needs it. I sigh again. Despite her bad attempt at secret-keeping, she has a point.

  The Training Season has yet to be announced.

  And Isis has been strangely silent with me.

  Then again, by most standards, Isis would be considered overly involved in my life. Even for the Age of Magic — the current era humans live in — that's unusual. And I can't exactly fault her for being so quiet. Isis has done many things for me, and I have quite a lot I'm indebted to her for. If she chooses not to tell me a few details about something, well. . . it's really not my place to question my patron goddess.

  "Look, Rhe, you know you're the first person I'd tell if she says anything." My quiet voice breaks the small silence between us again. Rhe has her eyes closed, her head leant back against the headrest of the chair she's in. Onyx braids laying across her shoulder shift as she does, glittering with hints of gold and silver. I know she's hoping for Thoth or Quetzalcoatl to choose her when she ventures into her career. With her grades, and her study records, they would be lucky to have such a good scholar working for them.

  "I know," she mumbles. "It's just. . . Mer, I've studied this history. I know these sorts of things. The Training Season has never been announced later than the second week before the end of the school year. It's not normal. We need time to prepare, to get ready for the Season."

  Everyone is taught the history of our world in school. By the age of ten, we could recite the Ballad of Altan, describing our history and how we came to coexist with our gods. A twelve-year-old could tell you why sphinxes are not to be dealt with lightly, or why elves were enemies in the last war. They could tell you why the Training Season is so vital to every society today. But Rhe has studied the Training Season in much more depth. This is the area she wants to focus her life on.

  So to have her be so worried is alarming in and of itself.

  "I know. Okay, just. . . I'll see if I can talk to her tonight," I respond. "I—"

  "ATTENTION!"

  Both Rhea and I jump at the shockingly loud yell in the library. Rhea's sunlight-shaded eyes meet mine as we recover, and it's clear that she's beyond worried now. It's a messenger, and more than likely from one of the gods, if he disturbed the library's peace. Leaving our scrolls and texts behind on the table, we both make our way through carved bookshelves and past an ornate staircase leading both up and down. We emerge from behind one of the bookshelves into an open courtyard, Greco-Roman-inspired pillars holding the library up at the edges of the courtyard.

  In the center with his back to us stands a dark-haired man. He turns towards us at the sound of our movements, and around the edges of the courtyard, other students and library visitors are also emerging. Above us, more people appear at the balconies of upper floors.

  "By the sacred decree of the Goddess of Wisdom and War, Athena, all Illiynum citizens must immediately find their way to the nearest Temple," he announces. "Attendance is mandatory, and the gods will be fully aware if you do not show." His voice is sharp, authoritative, like most sacred messengers.

  Athena sent out the decree?

  The messenger is clad in the traditional attire of messengers too, a white tunic with a gold broach clasped at his shoulder. He turns after finishing his speech, and in the next instant, he's gone. He's so fast I almost would think he had wings. Rhea nudges me, and I look over at her.

  "You think—?"

  "Let's go find out."

  ——

  We quickly pack up our belongings, shoving books and scrolls into our packbacks, and gathering up what ones we have yet to check out from the library. On the way out, we pause at the checkout desk, and I set my books down. The head librarian is on duty today, and he gives me a warm smile. "Good evening, Merit. All three of these books, then?"

  "Yes, please, Alexsander." Rhea is flipping through the pages of another book, lost in thought and not paying attention to my exchange. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her slip a bookmark on the top of the page, and I wonder what she's making a note of.

  "There you go. Now, if you could sign here for me, Merit." Alexsander offers me a piece of parchment and a golden quill, and I dip it into the inkwell beside me. The ink drips onto the paper as I sign my name briefly, Merit Kingsman, in the cursive my mother taught me. I push the parchment back to him, and he places it beneath his desk again, before nodding to me.

  "Good luck."

  I turn back. "What?"

  Alexsander looks up from his computer, confusion in his eyes. "Hmm?"

  "Did you say something?" I ask, shifting my books to my bag. I could have sworn he did, but the way he stares at me in confusion makes me think otherwise.

  "I don't believe so. Everything alright, Merit?" He questions, tilting his head just a little.

  "Oh. . . yeah. Yeah, everything's fine." I let out a breath and turn back away, his knowing smile following me. Or perhaps I'm reading too much into this encounter, and it was just some strange whisper I only thought I heard. Rhea gestures to me to hurry up, and I do so, leaving the strange moment behind me.

  My backpack is heavy as we move through the crowds outside the library. Everyone is hurrying to find their way to a nearby temple, which are usually found on every block of this city. Minor altars also occupy the streets between buildings, where you can pay your respects to more minor gods. The major gods are the ones who receive the majority of praise and acclaim. It's the natural order of things.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  The closest temple to us is the Temple of Athena. Fitting, I suppose, since she was the one who sent out this decree. We wade our way through the crowd, linking our hands together so we don't end up losing each other. White marble steps, streaked with gold, lead up to the temple itself, and the crowd stops at the first step. We all know the procedure here. I hear whispering from beside me, glancing over. Some of fellow year classmates are huddled together. They're laughing at some scrap of paper.

  My attention is soon drawn from them to the top of the palace steps as a silver light floods the area. Out of instinct, I shut my eyes, only opening them back when the light has somewhat faded. When I open them again, not one, but two, divine figures stand above us. Rhea's hand tightens her grasp on mine.

  This cannot be good.

  The dying light of the sun glints off the gold helmet of the first figure as he steps forward. He must be the patron god of the messenger who summoned us, as they are clad in the same attire. Only Mercury's attire is much more grand. He wears a white tunic with a winged helmet and winged sandals, but even from here, the god is tall. He towers above us at the side of his companion, and surveys us with a emotionless gaze.

  "As you should be aware of, the Training Season is almost upon us. When it does, your duties to this city and to us will be waived. You will spend the next six months of winter and fall in our training facilities, under the guiding hand of our war gods, or if you have been chosen already, guided by your patron." Mercury's eyes seem to settle on. . . not me, but Rhea. "I understand many of you wonder why we have announced the Season so late into the year."

  She lets out a barely audible gasp beside me.

  Was he really listening in?

  His eyes drift from us. "However, that is not all. Athena?" He turns to his companion.

  Athena has been watching us this entire time, and when she speaks, her voice is low and somber as well. "You know our history. We, the divine, fought for your sake. For all its faults, humanity is, in its own way, a sacred thing. We did not wish to see you fall. In return, we asked you to be ready to fight with us. When the war comes, we will have the armies to win again. . . but we will need generals. Heroes to lead those armies."

  I stiffen. Athena keeps speaking, but the mark in the middle of my chest begins burning. My hand presses against it through my shirt. Is it truly happening? The Trials are beginning? Now?

  "That is why we have come to a consensus." Athena shares a look with Mercury, before continuing. "When the Training Season begins, so will the Seven Trials." Besides me, Rhea's gasp is much more audible, and she leans into me. If the Trials are beginning, then the gods must know something we don't, and it isn't good. This bad. Extremely bad.

  "But be warned, people of Illiynum. These are not mere games. If you enter, there is no guarantee you will win. Or that you will survive at all. If you still wish to enter, you may inquire at the temples or the libraries for further information and the registration process. Once in, you will await further instructions."

  I almost shiver at her words.

  Mercury speaks up again this time. "We wish you the best of luck, Illiynum, and may the universe favor you forever." He fades into nothing with Athena following suit, and the crowd erupts around us.

  "Rhe—"

  "I know, Mer. War must be coming."

  ? ?? ?

  MERIT'S HOME

  IVORY COURTYARDS,

  ILLIYNUM

  After my parents have debrief the events of the day with us, I drag Rhea up to my room. It was a mandatory family meeting, but I grew up with Rhea, and my parents didn't mind her listening in. Hers simply called her and checked she was alright. School was already drawing to a close, but now my parents — and other working class adults — have to make work arrangements and ensure everything goes smoothly for the next half year.

  The door clicks shut behind us, and Rhea throws her bag onto my bed. Now that we are alone, I relax visibly. She does too, sinking into my desk chair. "For the love of the gods," she mutters. Rhea brushes her braids over shoulder before glancing up at me. "You do know what this means, right?"

  "I wish I didn't."

  "And Is—"

  "Nothing, Rhe. Like I said, I'd tell you."

  I find myself having the same questions, though. Will Isis tell me to participate in the Trials? Will she have me refrain? They're highly dangerous games, meant to sort through the weaker warriors and find the strongest of what's perhaps thousands of contestants. The thought makes my stomach twist into little knots. The Trials will be a bloodbath.

  A sharp knock on my door announces the presence of my older brother, Atticus. Without waiting for a response, he opens it and is just as quick to close it behind him. Atticus stands a few inches taller than me, and his emerald-green eyes sweep over us. "So that announcement was fucking crazy, huh?"

  Rhea clears her throat nervously. "Yeah, it, uh. . . it was."

  I've grown used to Rhea being shy around my brother. I more than suspect she has a crush on him, but I'd rather not confirm my suspicions. Instead, I shrug at him. "Yeah. What, are you going to join the Trials? You'd be crushed like a bug."

  He scoffs. "I have been waiting for this moment, Mer. Training my whole life. The Trials are my ticket to fame and fortune, I'll have you know. Being a Hero of the Gods? Having your name go in the history books besides Achilles and Beowulf and Cú Chulainn? That's a fucking dream come true!" He flexes his bicep with great pride, a grin on his face.

  "Yeah, and what did those heroes get, At? They got a lot of tragedy, that's what. Especially Achilles." I roll my eyes, collapsing onto my bed on my back. "Ugh. Can we just focus on school right now? This is too much for me. None of us are getting into the Trials, anyway, so let's just study."

  "Maybe you aren't," he snaps. "But fine, whatever. Have you—"

  "If one more person asks me about Isis, I'm going to throw a pillow." I prop myself up on my elbows. "Look. Isis is. . . mysterious at the best of times. I don't know what she's doing, or what she plans to tell me. She tells me what I need to know."

  "Have you even tried asking her?"

  "Oh, let me just go pester my patron goddess until she gets annoyed at me and—"

  "Yeah, yeah, okay," Atticus huffs. "I get your point."

  "Thank you." I roll my eyes at him for the second time in a few minutes. "You'll understand when you get chosen."

  Atticus makes a hurt face. "Ouch. Low blow, Mer," he whines, clutching his heart. Despite his mockery of being hurt, I know I probably did strike a nerve. He's waiting to be chosen by a god in his profession, and he's been nervous about it for some time. Atticus plans on being a full-time specialized soldier in the gods' growing army, the Army of the Divine. To get into such an elite army, a god like Ares or Horus has to claim him.

  I dig through my bag, pulling out the library books and notebooks. Rhea reaches for her bag too. Atticus also struck a nerve in me, though. Isis has been quiet and I don't like it. I guess I'm just used to her being a constant presence in my life. It's never really occurred to me that most people go about life without such close contact from a specific god.

  I never really understood what made me special to her, either. All I know is that Isis speaks of plans she has for me, and how I'm special to her. Some days, she is warm, and I see how she is a maternal deity. Other days, she is colder, and I understand why she is a goddess of magic and mystery.

  I shrug off my thoughts and turn over one of the borrowed books in my hands. Chosen by the Gods: The Complete History of Altan. My history test is in two days, and I need to memorize ancient places such as New York City and Los Angeles. If I remember correctly, both were major cities that were some of the first to go when the darkness attacked.

  I open the book.

  Rhea sits beside me on the bed, and Atticus returns with his own studying materials. As much as he denies it, he doesn't like having to study alone. He spreads his notes out on my desk, and begins muttering to himself. My room is rather normal, I think, with posters of current celebrities and even some pre-war vinyl CDs from the band Lord Huron in the corner. Pre-war music was actually quite good. The light overheard flickers on occasion, and I assume it's from someone using magic nearby.

  Two minutes into studying and I throw a pillow at my brother. "Can you shut up?"

  "Ow! What was that for?"

  "You're muttering to yourself again!" I snap, flipping him off when he looks up.

  "I'm studying, you ass!"

  "Well, study quieter!"

  He throws the pillow back at my face, and I'm immediately ready to react, when the door opens again. This time, it's my mother standing there. I freeze, but she doesn't even notice Atticus and I squabbling. "Merit, darling, please come downstairs." She leaves before I can even react.

  Well, this just got a lot weirder.

  Atticus and Rhea are right behind me as I exit my room. "You're in trouble," he snickers and I elbow him in the ribcage. "Ow!"

  "Stop being a loser. I did nothing wrong." Rhea grasps my arm briefly, and when I look at her, she's frowning. "Rhe, I'm sure it's nothing. Just my parents annoyed at me. . . or something."

  I don't tell her that my tyet — Isis' mark — is burning again.

  Instead, I straighten my back with a deep breath. This is just a silly routine family meeting or something, I'm sure. Or whatever. It's possible they want to discuss anything Isis has said to me too. Or maybe they want to know if I'm alright. Or how school's going. Or — or if I'm going to participate in the Trials.

  The resounding answer is a no.

  Heroes are tragic, and I'd rather live a quiet life with the things I have, but happy.

  The first thing I notice about the stranger in my living room are his eyes. One of his eyes is a deep grey, and the other is a pale brown. It's reminiscent of the god Horus' eyes, which the people he has claimed all bear. It's odd, though. What would a follower of Horus — a war god — being doing here in my house? And a Ranger, no less?

  The Trials?

  No. No one in my house has signed up for them. Tartarus, it's not even been a full day since they were announced. No one here even had the time to sign up for them. And wouldn't a messenger of Mercury or Hermes being more fitting anyway?

  "Merit Kingsman?" His smile is friendly enough.

  "Yes. . .?" I respond. "And who are you?" Behind him, my parents are glancing at each other. It does nothing to reassure me. "What's going on?"

  "Miss Kingsman, I have a letter for you." The messenger gives me a bow, handing me an envelope. The envelope is sealed with gold wax and I almost drop it in surprise. The seal, a crescent moon shrouding the sun, is that of the royal family of Altan. But why—? I manage to tear it open, my heart beginning to pound.

  Merit Kingsman,

  It is the pleasure of the royal family of Altan to welcome you to the Seven Trials of Heroes. Your entry has been judged and deemed acceptable. You will be escorted by a Ranger to the Palace Temple, and from there, will be placed into the appropriate cabin lodgings. Further instructions will be provided when you arrive. We await your arrival, and hope you have a pleasant journey.

  May the universe forever favor you.

  — King Henri

  The world has stopped spinning.

  No, no, no. This can't be happening. I didn't apply for the Trials, nor do I want to participate. I'll surely die. No!

  "Sir, you must be mistaken—" I whisper. At some point, I realize, Rhea has taken the letter from my hands. "I didn't sign up for the Trials. I do not wish to compete. I'm barely good with a sword, and I'll die in the first Trial!"

  The messenger just shrugs. "I only deliver what I am told, ma'am. I'm here to escort you to the Palace Temple. It's a long journey, so I suggest we begin tonight. Your school has been notified that you will be absent for the reminder of this year. Your education will be handled by the Palace scholars, and anything else you require will be handled by Palace experts as well."

  'Make me proud, my chosen.'

  And suddenly, I know exactly who put me into the Trials.