The Trial
Alwyn woke disoriented, surrounded by darkness. The air was thin and filled with the thick moist scent of fresh dirt. Something heavy and damp trapped his arms and legs, its pressure pushing on his chest, keeping him immobilized. He tried to gain his barrings in the pitch black nothing, attempting to remember what had happened, how he got to where he was; but all his mind pulled up was a blank. The last thing he could remember was falling asleep on the couch, surrounded by the warmth embrace of Wynter as they listen to one of his grandfather's fanciful war stories. He thought he could remember being carried up to their room, but the memory was so hazy he could easily have dreamt of the moment. Still, it told him nothing of how he'd become trapped.
As he laid there puzzling, a new thought struck him; Wynter, was he okay? If Alwyn was buried under what appeared to be a few tons of dirt, was Wynter also trapped? Had the mountain Brynn lived under collapsed? Was water from that lake pressing down on them? Did Wynter have an air pocket like his. Or had he drowned? Alwyn tried to reach out his senses to Wynter and was frightened to find he couldn't sense the other at the end of their connection. The thin line of the bond that connected them seemed to still be there, a tether comforting him knowing that Wynter was at least alive. But for how long? He couldn't sense any pain or fear, or anything from him. Just a blank, nothing where he should have been.
He felt panic weaving its way into him. The tendrils of icy fear wrapping around his lungs as his heart quickened. His limbs felt numb, and spots formed in the surrounding blackness. The air was too thin. At the rate he was breathing, Alwyn knew it would be moments before he ran out of air completely. He had to calm down, conserve air. He could try to move the surrounding dirt, but if the lake was waiting to rush in, the action could kill him. Plus, he did not know where Wynter or Brynn were. Could he chance destabilizing the dirt and killing them all?
His breath strained, the limited oxygen reaching a level that left each breath an empty and unsatisfying move, that burned his lungs and caused strange shape and colours appear in his vision. If he didn't do something, he was going to die. If water did rush in, he'd be no worse off than he was now. In fact, he might even reach the lake's surface and take a breath before dying. But Wynter, I can't focus on him now. I can find him and save him once I save myself. I won't let him die, not like this; but I can't save him if I'm dead. He tried to convince himself that he wasn't abandoning the shifter and ignoring the pain that laced his chest.
Pushing aside all other thoughts, Alwyn focused on the earth surrounding him, looking for the familiar feeling of pulsing energy that bent between atoms of the dirt and rock. He tried to envision himself back in his grandfather's training room, the stone creature in front of him waiting to be dressed. Slowly he felt the weight on his arms and then his legs lesson until the pocket in his face widen. New air fluttered into the hole, and he gulped it greedily, the sudden oxygen causing an even larger dizzy spell. He waited the sensation out, unable to do anything to help the swimming in his head pass. Just a little more, the knowledge of air and not water having entered his pocket renewed his determination, and he pounced back into focus. Just a little more.
With one final mental shove, the last of the dirt over his face fell away, and he squinted against the harsh light of florescent bulbs. He lifted his arm from its stone case, blocking out some of the burning light to get a look around. The expanse of some form of gymnasium laid out before him. He lay in the centre of the room under a three-foot pile of dirt, rock mixture. The wall directly across from him was a mirror that went about a quarter of the way up before opening to an observation patio behind a thick pane of glass. Squinting, he looked up into the box, noting the tiny figures in suits looking down at him with impassive expressions. But what drew his eyes were the two odd figures off to the side of the more business formal people in the box; He immediately recognised Wynter's stark white hair and towering stance. Relief washed over him; he was all right. But he still couldn't feel anything from the bond.
He wanted to ask what was going on, where was he, why couldn't he feel his mate, who were the men in suits? As he opened his mouth to let the questions spew forth, a lightbulb dinged in his foggy mind; The Initiation Trials. This must have been the first test, moving stone and earth. He hadn't expected it would be a race against his life to complete the challenges; though he knew the next two would be just as perilous.
A door to Alwyn's right slid open, a dark tunnel illuminated only by a flashing green arrow of light that disappeared down into the dark length. He looked up at the box once more. Most of the suit types had left. Only the eldest of the group, Wynter, and Brynn remained. The elder was speaking to his grandfather while Wynter approached the glass of the box, his hand pressed against the translucent surface, and for a moment he felt a tendril of hope and encouragement flood into him from their bond. He smiled up at the shifter, squaring his shoulders. He'd survived one exam, he could pass the others, and he would save Wynter from the Fae council.
Alwyn followed the pulsing light down the long dark tunnel, his mind wondering what lay beyond the other corridors, where their others being put through similar trails as his own? Did they have mates waiting for them to survive? And he wondered what was waiting for him at the end of his own pathway.
The sliding arrow's pulsating grew in frequency as he approached an open doorway at the end of the hall. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself. Alwyn did not know what might await him in the room, but he knew he had to be prepared for anything; Wynter was counting on him.
As soon as he crossed the threshold onto the wooden floor of his exam room, the chamber dropped. It dropped several feet before jerking to a halt. Alwyn staggered in the darkness, waiting for a sound, a sensation, anything that would alert him to the mission of this exam. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the soft pale light that barely filtered through the gaps in logs that made up the cage he now found himself in.
It seemed, to the halfling, that an eternity had passed before he heard the distinct sound of grinding gears. They spun and churned for a moment, their parts squealing against one another, as only metal could, before the room convulsed. Panic rushed through him as he tried to see what was causing the rattling. It was then that light gleamed off the tip of a sharpened metal spike caught his eye. He lifted his gaze to the ceiling above him to see it slowly lowering itself toward him.
After it had dropped about an inch, the roof paused. The sound of gears halted, and silence filled the air around him once more. He sent out his senses once more, hoping to receive some feedback, any clue to how to stop the new death trap he was in. But just as before, he came up empty.
Think Alwyn, He thought to himself, clenching his eyes closed in focus. They are trying to test either your ability to influence growth or life. You can't feel any existing life energy so… how do you influence the life of dead plants before the ceiling impales you? The ceiling fell again, inching toward him with shuddering screeches of metal and splintering wood.
The threat of death was making it hard for him to focus. At least with the dirt mound, he couldn't hear the cage rearing up to kill him, but here in this small box, the sound of working mechanisms was deafening.
The ceiling lowered again…
And again…
Focus Alwyn…
Pain pierced his skull as a long spike ripped through the thin flesh of his scalp. Alwyn fell to his knees, and then to his back as the warmth of his escaping blood fell from his head to the wood below him. The porous logs soaked up the crimson liquid as if it were a drop of water after days of wandering the savanna. Looking at the quickly drying blood next to him, an idea flowed into his mind. He knew how to beat this puzzle, but it would break his grandfather's rule.
Don't give energy unless you have energy to first take from. His grandfather's words echoed in his mind as Alwyn steadied himself once more. It would be dangerous; he knew if he gave too much that he could die, but he had to try.
So, he gathered his energy every bit he could manage. He felt it within himself, felt every inch of what flowed through his veins, and he felt for the surrounding wood. The blood he had lost had left traces of his own energy in the veins of the logs and he used it to create a bond with the old trees. And slowly he fed his life force to them, he gave until he felt the tree reawaken, and as they came to life, he sent out his will, encouraging new sprouts and vines, telling them to slither and reach, to weave between the gears and around the ropes lowering the roof. He gave and focused till the fatigue and dizziness was so overpowering he could barely focus on the spikes that lay just one mere inch above his tender flesh.
The next drop would either kill him or his attempt would pay off. Adrenaline pumped through him as he listened to the hydraulics kick on, and as the smaller gears worked. He held his breath as he felt the larger gears turn around his vines. He winced in pain as they chomped down mercilessly on his sprouts; it shot fire through his limbs as though it was his arm and not that of the wood that was trapped in the gears. Beyond the pain he waited and waited… nothing farther happened. The roof remained in place, not a single spike moving to impale him, he'd done it.
Relief washed through him, driving out the adrenaline. Now to take some of that energy back, he thought briefly, arms reaching for one of the closest vines. But his vision blurred, and the world slanted. The vine reached for him, but black spots overtook the image of its green leaves. He struggled to fight the darkness, but it fought harder, and Alwyn tumbled in a darkness that was so much deeper than any sleep he had experienced before. And he wondered, Am I dead?
Wynter immediately felt the change in Alwyn, left his life faltering, fading at the edge of their connection. The bond twisted and bent, sending waves of pain flaring through his chest as he looked down at the cage room holding his mate. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.
The shifter vaulted from the observation booth, tearing though the layers of glass, mirror, gears, and wood to get to his mate. He lifted the ceiling, tearing it away with barely concealed claws, kneeling down to check out the unconscious male. He was dying. Wynter could tell that from the bond, but he could find no source of injury. The slight cut on Alwyn's head had already healed, and the spikes had otherwise not entered the boy's body. Still, his life force waned, its struggle to hold on ripping through the shifter.
Wynter felt useless as he sat next to the raven, wanting to do anything but knowing he had nothing to offer. His mate was dying and all he could do was sit there on his knees and hope for a miracle.
****
Alwyn was floating, a strange weightless sensation as he lay in darkness. He felt his mind stitching itself together, gathering senses till he knew he was sitting somewhere against a tree. The hard bark bit into his back through his thin shirt. Something warm and soft lay in his lap. The warmth moved and shifted as the source breathed in and out evenly. With effort, the male peeled his eyes open.
The forest clearing he found himself in struck a familiar chord in his mind. The way the stars sparkled overhead, every few minutes a streak of light shooting by as a star fell across the heavens. Around him, the morning dew had frozen into droplets of crystal on every surface. It reflected the moonlight in a way that felt like magic dust settling around him.
Absently, his hand rubbed along the sleeping form in his lap. The hair reminded him of a husky, all rough hair at the ends, with soft, thick down toward the skin. Against his cold fingertips, the animal's skin was warm. The canine grunted as his icy appendage touched its boiling skin. Its head rolled, the white wolf starring up at Alwyn with striking red eyes. Wynter, his mind supplied him with a name to match the cub laying with him. Yet he rebelled against the idea, the familiarity. Sure, Wynter was a wolf, but he was a grown wolf, and he was… Where was he?
A female voice broke through his focus before he could dwell on the question. It floated away, barely an idea of it having entered his mind left as he lifted his eyes from the pup. The woman was tall, with hair the colour of night and brown eyes that resembled the bark in the surrounding trees. Her smile tugged at Alwyn's mind, but as he tried to remember, a smile of sadness overtook him. He pushed away the emotion. He would rather the floating weightlessness of the clearing. The emotions she provoked were too heavy, too strong. He didn't want to deal with the pain and fear anymore.
Her voice broke through his focus again, pulling his attention to her. She was demanding in her presence, but gentle and welcoming in appearance. Alwyn couldn't deny her hold on him, and as he watched her gliding on feather light strides toward him, his mind supplied for him what he was trying to deny, Mom.
He wanted to rush to her, feel her arms wind around him and squeeze him, just like how she used to. The young man could barely remember the sensation of her hugs anymore, but he could remember how receiving one made it appear everything bad was miles away, that he was safe. How he craved to feel it once more, but his legs wouldn't move. None of his body would obey a single command. Alwyn could even get his hand to untangle from the fur of his canine companion.
He opened his mouth to call out to her, to ask her a question or tell her he was sorry, or… anything that could come to mind, but his tongue was like lead. It sat heavy and unresponsive, leaving him confused and bursting with confusion and energy.
She reached him, her soft palm resting on his check as she smiled once more at him. It was as if she were marvelling at his appearance, how much he had grown since they'd last spoken. The hand traced his features, memorising every curve of his face, every texture of his hair. Then she pulled away. Her smile was almost sad this time as she looked at him. Once again, he tried to command his tongue to speak, but found it as paralyzed as the last time.
She leaned forward, her lips pressing tenderly to his forward. It left a warm feeling on his skin that slowly spread. It was seductive, pulling him away from the clearing, away from her. He wanted to hold on, to fight the warmth that was pushing him from his paralyzed form and away from the serene clearing.
"I love you," He heard as the sensation engulfed him and he fell away completely, back into the darkness and pain.
****
Alwyn woke slowly from the dream, feeling wetness on his face from his tears. His mom had looked just as he remembered her. He could still feel the warmth of her lips on his forehead. The halfling laid there a moment, stuck between dreaming and waking, before the memories of the previous trial flooded back to him.
He tried to sit up, to look around himself, but his body was a useless lump around him. All he could force to move was his eyes and head. It provided him with a limited view of a white ceiling, covered in florescent lights. To his left, he could make out some vine type plants. He could feel them wrapped around his left arm, and he felt the warmth of energy being transferred from them into himself. His vision blurred for a moment as he straightened out his head again. He waited for the haze to clear before letting his vision fall to his right. He saw a closed door and a chair that was pulled up to the bed. The chair was interesting, but it wasn't the intricate designs of woven wooden plant steam that made up the apparatus that caught his attention. It was the figure in the chair.
In all the time he'd spent in the strange world with Wynter, never once had he actually seen the shifter sleep. Sure, they had slept with each other almost the whole time, but it was always Alwyn who fell asleep first and woke last. So, to see the softness of the males features as he slumbered slouched over Alwyn's bed, was a first. He marvelled at how much younger Wynter looked without the hard expressions that usually took up his features. His eyebrows were relaxed, not bunched up, and his eyelashes rested much farther on his cheeks than Alwyn had thought they would. They were even longer than his own. bastard, Alwyn thought jokingly.
As if feeling someone watching him, the shifter moved, sleep dripping off of him and with it the vision of the soft innocent child disappearing under the mask of an indomitable male ruler. Alwyn smiled at his mate as the amber eyes locked on him. Worry, concern, fear, and relief fluttered through the depth of his eyes in quick sensation before he half leapt across the mattress, tackling the halfling in a visor tight embrace, nose nuzzling into his neck.
"Wynter? What happened? Where are we? Did I pass the test? When's the next one? How long was I unconscious? Do we still have time before the Fae Council expects us? Wynter?" Questions poured out of his mouth so fast he barely breathed between the sentences. The sifter laughed with relief at hearing such ferocity in his mate after almost losing him.
"You passed alright; you actually shocked the judges with that reckless stunt you pulled." It wasn't Wynter who responded, but the familiar voice of a female. Alwyn lifted his head from the shifter, struggling to see past the human wolf at the woman sitting at the foot of his bed. He recognised her black hair and serious expression that mirrored his mates; Wynter's sister. "Your grandfather also went in your place to the council to save my brother's hide. You've been recovering for nearly three days." She smiled at him, lips pulling back to showcase a set of sharp incisors.
"So, we're safe?" Alwyn asked, hoping that the council had received his grandfather well. They were both still alive, weren't they? "It's, over, right? They are going to let Wynter live?"
Her smile faltered briefly. "You're safe. They agreed to let you live with your grandfathers' word of heritage." She paused, and Alwyn felt fear, a heavy poison in his gut.
"And Wynter?" He prompted, searching her face, feeling the shifter stiffen around him.
"Sentenced to exile. So, better than dead – but only slightly." She sounded unimpressed, almost angry. But something told Alwyn that it was more at the thought of never getting to see her brother again, and not at a wish of death. "They agreed to let him stay with you while you recovered, so that you may decide whether to remain in Alfheim with your grandfather or join my brother in exile."
Alwyn pulled back from the shifter, trying to catch his red eyes. For a moment, he saw the pup from the clearing looking back at him. A fear was held in those depths that tore at Alwyn's heart. Before the trials Wynter had asked him what he planned to do after they were free, whether he'd stay or go home; his answer hadn't changed. "I'll go wherever Wynter does." Alwyn said, looking at his mate, hoping to convey his love for the other through his words.
Wynter missed the smile that spread across the sister's face as she watched the halfling assure her brother. He'd been such a mess worrying over losing his soul-bond, no matter the reassurances she and others had made to him. The shifter hadn't moved from the bedside, not even to eat.
But they'd be together now, in the human world. Even if that meant she'd never get to see her brother again, even if it meant that she'd have to take over the pack in his absence, she would be happy for them; because it meant her brother would get to live happily with his bond – with his caidreamh.