The Night's Curse #3 (Waverly Stump and The 7 Realms)

Chapter 8

Waverly peeled her eyes quickly from his and glanced at the person seated next to him. Her face brightened at the sight of an Elfin with jet black hair and numerous piercings in both her ears.

It was Luanda, King Asherah's daughter and supposed ambassador. She appeared more mature since Elves tended to grow twice as much in a single year than Humans did. In her left hand was a golden sceptre – Asherah's symbol of power, and a small crown of roses adorned her hair. She stared without interest at her nails as if bored of the delayed beginning of the games.

Just then, a loud conch sounded.

The crowd burst into screams and cheers. A herald welcomed everyone and announced the first game.

"A race between our very own best runners and the equal best of Veston. First one to break the chord wins the victor's laurel." The herald's voice traveled to every end of the temple, magnified by a wide-mouthed object that resembled a trumpet.

The couch came a second time.

From one of the numerous doorways of the temple, four persons stepped out – two fire mortals and two Elves. Waverly immediately recognized the second Elf.

"Brijjet?" She asked in surprise and turned to Diarmaid, who was hooting in excitement.

"Yes, of course. He's our best runner." He said with a wide grin.

"He has powers." Waverly noted.

"Yes and no. Brij already was a fast runner before being blessed with that godly speed." Diarmaid clarified. "He will not be allowed to use those powers now, but I bet you he'd still win us that laurel."

He turned to face the runners as they took their position on the racetracks, his gaze pinned on Brijjet. "Come on, fast feet. Kick their sleazebucket arses."

Waverly frowned when she noticed a Snow Elf directing angry looking clouds onto a part of the field.

"What is she doing?"

"Making it difficult." Diarmaid hungrily said. Thunder crackled within the clouds.

A moment of silence followed, and then, a sharp whistle broke it accompanied by wild cheers. The runners sprinted forward with Brijjet already in the lead. Waverly stood up and peered at them as they disappeared into the sea of clouds.

"Where are they?" She asked, risking a step toward the stone wall before her that served as a blockade.

"Whoever can find their way out first is one step ahead." Diarmaid explained. "Now, please, no more questions, okay? Just watch and have fun."

Waverly kept quiet, watching the clouds. They were thick; grey in some places and black in others. Thunder still crackled loudly inside them, and they stretched on around a part of the track as if never wanting the runners to emerge. Elves were good with illusion magic, and it made Waverly wonder exactly what the runners had been fooled to see inside the fog.

Without warning, her godly senses opened and pushed her right into the clouds. The noise of the spectators reduced to a distant hum, allowing her overhear what went on in the fog.

"Which way now?" The other Elf asked Brijjet. In front of them were a hundred racetracks, leading into winding tunnels. Each tunnel was identical and black as night. The Vestonians were nowhere within sight.

"I don't know." Brijjet asked, panting a little. He pointed to one of the tunnels. "Maybe that way."

No. Waverly said and pointed to the tunnel toward the extreme left. That way.

Brijjet seemed to translate her voice as some sort of instinctive guide because he suddenly halted and looked in the direction she had suggested.

"I think it's that way." He said, pointing to the new tunnel track.