“Trust in dreams, for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.”

  Khalil Gibran, Lebanese Poet

  Bethany was back in the hedge maze, its oppressive walls and sharp thorns rising above her like prison walls. The bust of Omoikane sat dormant – its creator preoccupied with the reactivation of his Arena. Ah Puch’s presence had vanished from the darkness as well, leaving only the Shadowman behind.

  Bethany eased open her eyes and fixed her gaze at the smirking Shadowman that towered above her prone form. Her blouse was soaked in her blood, and the pain of the shrapnel in her chest flooded in as her mind and body reunited.

  “Time to die, girl,” the Shadowman hissed, its voice distorted but suddenly human in the absence of its master.

  Bethany spat a mouthful of blood into the dirt. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Her Oracle Eye filled with a kaleidoscope of cosmic light, and she felt her new power activate. Its energy cascaded through her veins and muscles, filling the void left by the blood that drenched the ground beneath her. Her pain disappeared, and was replaced with an iron will and righteous fury.

  She felt alive. Renewed. She breathed deep to fill her lungs with the cool air of the valley and rose to her feet. She stared the Shadowman square in the eye, and the Shadowman flinched.

  I can feel its power within me. I don’t need my ball-peen hammer anymore to shape the light within me. It was the crutch of a scared girl, but now I have within me the strength to make it my own.

  Bethany extended her arm and called upon the power flowing through her. Into it she poured her hopes and her dreams, the love for her friends, and the pain of past betrayals. She refined it with her unbending desire for survival and a righteous anger towards those who would use her for their own gain.

  The cosmic energy took shape in her hand. Threads of rainbow light weaved themselves into the two-foot-long handle and hefty head of a maul – one face perfectly smooth and the other ridged with twin six-inch spikes. At the base of a handle was a loop and chain, the other end of which was fastened around Bethany’s wrist.

  As the cosmic light formed, a name came unbidden to Bethany – more feeling than words, yet crystal clear in her mind.

  The Flow of Eternity.

  Light-etched archaic symbols – a language older than time itself – wound their way across the maul in a weave of complex, intertwined branches. At the base of the handle – the shared core of the branches – were four symbols she recognized.

  The carvings etched upon the four golden disks she had acquired during the Contest.

  The symbol for the Hammer of Light pulsed as it lent its power to give The Flow of Eternity its form. The other three sat dormant, awaiting activation.

  Bethany’s finger brushed the pulsing symbol, and the multi-coloured light brightened, bathing the clearing in brilliant radiance. The darkness was pushed back beyond the clearing, leaving the Shadowman exposed to the light, its shadow armor shuttering in protest.

  Bethany swung the flat side of her maul straight into the distracted Shadowman’s face. The force of the blow sent him flying backwards, bits of shadows severed off in the light as he struck the ground and rolled like a rag doll.

  The Flow of Eternity – I can feel its strength within me, but it feeds heavily on my magic. I can’t sustain it for long. I need to finish this battle quickly.

  She gave the Shadowman no quarter. Closing the distance between them quickly, she swung the maul again, this time with the ridged side. The Shadowman raised its knife to block, but her rainbow light tore through the shadow weapon like paper. The Flow of Eternity struck the creature in the shoulder and Bethany felt the weapon piercing flesh and bone.

  The Shadowman screamed, filling the air with the terrified cries of a thousand tortured souls. Bethany felt the cries roll over like a wave, and she staggered under the unexpected mental blow.

  The creature formed another dagger in its off-hand and swung viciously for Bethany’s belly. She jumped back to dodge but still pressed her attack. Grabbing hold of the glowing chain, she rapidly spun her maul in an arc between them, keeping her distance while slamming its head into the creature’s chest, arms, and thigh. With each blow that struck, her kaleidoscope light tore away another strip of its shadow armor.

  As the Shadowman staggered, Bethany pulled her maul back towards her with the chain and grasped it in both hands. She leapt forward and drove it into square into the creature’s chest. She heard a vicious snap as the creature was hurled backwards, straight into the massive thorns of the maze.

  The force of her blow drove the thorns through the weakened shadow armor and impaled the creature beneath through its back and chest. Held aloft by the thorns, blood begin to drip from the creature’s chest into the dirt below.

  Human blood.

  Cautiously, Bethany held the Flow of Eternity up to the creature’s head and willed her light brighter, until the remaining shadows that covered the creature’s head and torso had been dispelled.

  The creature – the man – beneath the shadows was middle-aged, his short brown hair in a miliary-style cut showing its first strands of grey. He wore an ill-fitting suit and tie, now covered in blood. He had once been muscular, but his body was now emaciated, as if the shadows had been sustaining themselves on his strength.

  She recognized him. It was the man from the library – from before the God Contest – who had shouted at the ceiling about monsters and demons. She’d thought him mentally ill, until her Oracle Eye had shown her the same invisible beings transforming the city into their shared nightmare.

  “I… I couldn’t stop it,” the man pleaded. The viciousness that had once been reflected in molten eyes had been stripped away with the shadows, leaving only the intense fear of a man death was coming to claim. “The shadows… they made me… please, it hurts.”

  Bethany didn’t respond. She took a careful step backwards, her maul still clutched tightly in her hand, as the man began to weep.

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  “I didn’t have a choice. I accepted his deal. I would have died in that Arena if I’d turned it down, and I didn’t want to die. So I became his servant,” he justified as tears poured down his cheeks.

  “You tried to kill me,” Bethany replied coldly, never taking her eyes off his.

  “He… he told me to kill you. Slowly. He was insistent on that. I had to obey him, or he would have killed me.”

  The man coughed, and blood spilled from his mouth. A droplet landed on Bethany’s cheek. She wiped it away with her thumb and took another step back, considering the man.

  “Which is it?” Bethany challenged his contradiction. “The shadows made you do it, or you chose to follow his orders?”

  The man’s eyes grew wide.

  “Please… help me…” the man begged, avoiding her question.

  He had a choice. He would have killed me to save his skin.

  Bethany turned her back on the man and strode towards the bust of Omoikane.

  “You can’t leave me!” the man screamed as he tried to pull himself free of the thorns. “My master doesn’t forgive failure. Ah P…”

  Before the man could say the god’s name, the remaining shadows suddenly flowed up his body and forced themselves into his mouth. The man spasmed as he remained held aloft by the thorns, his eyes filled with endless fear as the shadows tore him apart from the inside.

  Bethany watched as dozens of shadow knives erupted from his flesh and began to carve him into pieces from the inside out. A circular blade of shadow sliced through his neck, and the man’s head fell to the ground, the life behind his eyes faded and lost to the darkness.

  The shadows disappeared – the only trace of their existence the pile of limbs and gore against the wall of the clearing. Bethany was once again alone in the maze, her stomach unsettled by the sight and deepening stench of the dead man.

  She felt no sympathy, and wondered if the horrors of the God Contest had finally numbed her to the nightmare reality she found herself in, or if she was simply too pragmatic to waste energy grieving for those who would hurt her.

  Either way, he’s dead.

  She felt her magic reserves drop again, and the pain in her chest returned, a cruel reminder that the power of The Flow of Eternity was keeping her alive. When her magic ran out, she’d be on her own, and the shrapnel in her chest would kill her shortly thereafter.

  Bethany hobbled over to the bust of Omoikane, urgency driving each stumbling step.

  “I need help, Omoikane,” she said simply. “Give me your damn riddle so I can find my friends. Rocky’s healing is my only hope.”

  The eyes of the bust flickered over to the pile of limbs and blood, then focused on Bethany. A deep, resigned sigh rumbled forth from its depths. Bethany could picture the elderly god, seated in God Home, holding his head in his hands in exasperation. The sight would have made her laugh if every second hadn’t been bringing her closer to the grave.

  I was quite proud of this Arena.

  Omoikane’s tone was somber, and Bethany wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her or the watching gods.

  This riddle would have pitted you against the fate you had been dealt – to protect the knowledge you carried at the cost of your own life. You see, to simply accept the fate a god has dealt you is to surrender your free will, and those willing to surrender such a precious gift cannot survive the trials to come.

  Omoikane’s eyes flickered towards the sky above, and this time Bethany knew he was speaking to the watching gods. His somber tone became one of anger and outrage.

  Tonight, a god broke the holy law of Authority. They interfered directly in the God Contest, siphoning energy from its depths to fuel their own greed and ambition. Rest assured, we will find the culprit and bring them to justice. The laws of Authority are absolute and cannot be allowed to be breached without severe punishment.

  Bethany stared up at the sky and her Oracle Eye flashed. As they had in Ares’ Arena, the faces of the watching gods began to take shape, nestled amongst the stars above. Their forms were sharper this time – sharp enough for Bethany to see the shock etched on the gods’ faces, and the almost imperceptible note of rebellion hidden in the eyes of those who wore shock as a mask.

  Bethany Fox. Despite the… unorthodox events of the Arena, you have nonetheless demonstrated the foundational character my maze sought to evaluate. Even as your soul crossed death’s door, you fought against fate and ultimately came out victorious. I judge you to be a worthy contender in this most holy contest. May you find yourself a champion at its end.

  An entertained cheer rang out from the assembled gods, but Bethany had no time to acknowledge them. She felt her magic reserves tick down, now dangerously low. It would only be a few moments before the Flow of Eternity faded away and robbed her of its life-sustaining energy.

  “I… I need to find help,” Bethany prompted, her voice weak and desperate despite her attempt to appear strong.

  Yes, of course. Proceed to the end of the maze. Take with you the knowledge you have earned, and the power from the creatures you have slain.

  The barrier that led from the clearing vanished, and her backpack and four silver Emporium coins floated towards her. She plucked the coins from the air and stashed them in her pocket, then slid the backpack over her shoulders. She hissed in pain as it touched her back, her breath growing weaker with every second that passed.

  Bethany stumbled towards the exit. The Flow of Eternity flickered and faded away as her magic was finally exhausted, and she felt the full pain in her chest return. Biting her lip, she forced herself to continue walking forward as blood began to flow once more from the wounds in her chest. Each step was harder to take than the last.

  Her vision blurred, and she fought a powerful urge to lay down and shut her eyes, so she may drift off to sleep. A sleep, she knew, she wouldn’t wake up from.

  She took another step.

  Voices drifted on the breeze – her friends, and several others she didn’t recognize – as she took the final step that carried her over the threshold and into the end of the maze.

  She found herself in a massive clearing where dozens of maze passageways intersected. In the middle was a great bronze statue of Omoikane, a spiral staircase back to the city hovering above it, just out of reach. Her friends were gathered in a circle beside the statue, alongside three strangers.

  “… Rocky? Em… Emily?” Bethany tried to shout, though her words came out as little more than a whimper. She coughed, and blood cascaded out of her mouth and down her chin.

  The conversation stopped, and her friends turned her direction.

  “Bethany? Bethany!” Emily shouted, as they barreled towards her at full speed, Rocky’s hands already glowing blue as he channeled his healing magic.

  “Hey… guys…,” Bethany whispered, as she finally stopped fighting to stay awake.

  Her eyes rolled back in her head and her knees buckled, and the last thing she remembered was collapsing into Elias’ arms as unconsciousness claimed her.

  * * *

  Ah Puch watched the girl dismantle his Shadowman, his desiccated lips stretched wide in amusement.

  The death of the man was inconsequential. He was the weakest amongst those that had sworn him servitude in exchange for a temporary reprieve from the depths of Xibalba. Ah Puch had not intended him to survive Omoikane’s maze – the shadows would have consumed him if this girl hadn’t finished him first.

  It was Omoikane anger that truly mattered. The Authority was known to be strict and unforgiving. It was Omoikane – his right hand and oldest friend – who provided calm counsel and tempered him. For the gods to witness Omoikane’s anger and hear him speak of Authority’s absolute power and severe punishment– it was more than Ah Puch could have hoped for. Especially after Omoikane’s involvement in the unpopular imprisonment of Oracle.

  Omoikane had given credibility to the New Order’s assertion of the tyranny of Authority. He had unwittingly given power to the narrative that the gods were no longer safe under the old regime. Already the New Order had three more lesser gods clamoring to join their growing resistance.

  “Soon, Omoikane, you’ll have outlived your usefulness, save for one final act – one final gift for our rebellion,” Ah Puch whispered. A thousand years of planning had brought them here – a complex web of machinations that would unravel the very fabric of their society.

  Ah Puch watched the girl collapse into the arms of her friends, the large one’s hands already pressed against her chest to begin healing her.

  “The girl’s power was unexpected. It was unlike any other I have seen in a God Contest. She may prove useful.”

  The god of death materialized a translucent glass orb – a device crafted by Fulla, the Goddess of Secrets, as an undetectable means of communication – and tuned it to another of his human servants.

  In the darkness below, Ah Puch’s voice emanated from the darkness, and a woman with shoulder-length blond hair with a strip of black listened intently.

  “Becka, I have a task for you. I need to you make a new friend…”