“Alright,” I say after a moment, deliberately turning to look at my companions over the beckoning clearing. “If we’re going to do this, we need to know what each of us is capable of. All of it, no reservations. I’ve already shared several of my abilities with you guys, and don’t think I haven’t noticed that this has been a one way street so far. If this is a combat challenge, and a serious one, then we need to know what we can do. If you agree, then, as a sign of trust, I will go first. Yes?”

  Threenut and Burl immediately nod, the latter grinning a goofy lizard grin. Zara stares at me for a long moment before reluctantly waving acquiescence with three delicate limbs.

  No complaints? No last dire warnings?

  “Would you listen if I gave any?”

  She sounds petulant, like she hasn’t forgiven me for being rude to her earlier. Boohoo, Kora. Who needs to grow up now? She pauses, thinking, the edge gone from her thoughts.

  “This course you’ve set is not one I understand. It defies everything this Tournament is and has been for Cycles beyond imagination. I myself have served as Mentor in over a hundred Tournaments. Every single time, alliances such as these have been ones of convenience, meant merely to survive the rules of the game, only to fall apart the moment the danger is past. That you have slept in their presence without harm is itself remarkable. I… I do not know.”

  “Twig?” Threenut prompts.

  I shake myself back to the present, entirely unsure how I feel about Kora’s words. Is she coming around? Or has she given up?

  “Right. So my Class is a Unique one called Singularity.”

  “Unique?” Zara practically snaps.

  “Yeah, I went through some shit with the god in charge,” I say, trying to wave her concerns away. “He tried to kill me through some unethical bullshit, and, when I lived, he had to reward me.”

  “The what now?” Burl says, his expression alarmed. “Who tried to what now?”

  “You know, the blue letters? I think some of it’s automated, but some of it is definitely some asshole god.” I deliberately don’t mention that I’m quite certain it is Threenut’s god. “You mean he hasn’t talked shit to any of you? No snarky addendums?”

  At their silence, I feel a little more tension creep into my back. I kind of figured he’d have favorites and least favorites, like any pseudo father figure, and that my experience wouldn’t be wholly abnormal. Is the Seventh even supposed to be doing any of the shit he’s doing?

  “Anyway,” I say awkwardly. “It’ll take all day if you guys keep asking questions. I want to try to get this done by nightfall. Or twilightfall. Whatever. So let me finish, okay?”

  “Sure, sure,” Burl says, waving his hands.

  “Alright. So I can control gravity. Like, make it stronger or weaker, or shift its direction. So I could make up turn to down, or make you feel super heavy, or make something heavy super light. Otherwise, I have the ability to painfully and horrifically return to my, uh, healthy self. And I’ve got an unbreakable ball that a godchild used to play with, and these fancy slippers let me fall without hurting myself.”

  “That’s it?” Zara asks suspiciously. When I nod, she folds six arms into an intricate pattern across her chest. The gesture practically screams doubt. “Then why are you a higher level than us? Making things lighter or heavier?”

  “Not really the discussion we’re having,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Who wants to go next?”

  “Me Skills are simple as soil and rainwater,” Threenut says, hefting his club. “I can make meself faster and make me strikes hit harder. I also see the way to sunlight, a rootsbreadth before it may pass. Both me Artifacts protect me roots, from things what fly and things sharp for hewing.”

  “Wait,” I say, trying to follow the strange cadence of his metaphors. “You have some kind of… precognition? Instinct? About what’s going to happen?”

  “So the Tree has granted me,” Threenut says soberly. “Though only some, and hard it is to guide its growth.”

  “Okay,” I say easily. Nothing he just described surprises me very much considering what I’ve seen of him in action. I turn to Burl. “Buddy?”

  “I can make metal do what I want it to,” he says, shrugging. “Make it smaller or larger, and make it what shape I want. I can also make myself strong, leastways stronger than anyone else in the Corp except for Mr. Grent. I was the outfitter for the Corp, which made me too valuable to throw in the front. ‘S why I was so low level, yeah? Not much soul energy to take in from the back. No Artifacts. All those went to the boss.”

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  “Doesn’t seem very fair, but sure,” I say, nodding. So that’s our front line, if we can get them strong enough. Three I trust, though I don’t know how much Burl will hold up against a foe that is fighting back. “Zara?”

  Despite my trepidation that she’ll remain silent, the Laranya doesn’t hesitate.

  “I am a Weaver. Given time, I can Weave many things together, be it wounds or openings or cracks. I fix that which is broken. I can also, with the right timing, find the seams to cut open that which is whole.”

  “Any Artifacts?” I prompt when she doesn’t continue.

  “None for combat,” she says flatly.

  “Okay,” I say, taking the partial win and moving on. “So it seems kind of clear how this goes. Threenut and Burl are our front line. Zara and I will support as best we can, messing with the enemy and patching you up if you get hit. I can also be responsible for things that are far away. Like a bird, or a pterodactyl, or an asshole with a jetpack, or whatever.”

  “I know what one of those things is,” Burl says sarcastically. “But ‘whatever,’ right? This ain’t showing as fair by my count. Me and Tiny over here throw our bodies in harm’s way, and you get to stand back and what? Look pretty?”

  “I don’t have a weapon, I don’t have armor, and my skin is soft, as you so often remind everyone. What do you want me to do?”

  “Been waiting for you to ask,” Burl says with far too much satisfaction. Like a magician revealing his trick, the Cobald produces a set of papers covered in alien script in one hand and in the other, a strange looking device that, judging by how he’s holding it out to me, has to be a pen. “Just sign and initial in every available spot from beginning to end, and we can get this going.”

  “Uh, get what going?” I say, arching an eyebrow at him.

  “Your employment, of course.” He says it as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

  “Sorry, buddy. I’m not going to work for you.” I eye the impossibly-produced paper warily. “We have terms and conditions and contracts on Earth, too. I wouldn’t sign that if you held a gun to my head.”

  “Not sure what a ‘gun’ is, but I assure you this is fair.” I fold my arms over my chest and glare at the little man. Undaunted, he holds out the pen again. “We Cobalds grow in strength based upon those in our Corp. If you work for me, we’ll have plenty of juice to smoke whatever waits for us in that Challenge.”

  “Then why don’t you work for me?”

  “What?” Burl looks stunned, like I’ve just asked him to throw his mother into a woodchipper. “That’s not how this works, toots. You have to join my Corp. I can’t work for a… softskin.”

  He shudders, like the thought really does terrify him.

  “Well, I’m definitely not signing that.” I glance at the others, who look on, bemused. “And I don’t recommend anyone else does, either. Not only can I not read it, but I’m not going to be subjected to someone else’s will. I’m my own boss.”

  “Terms not good enough for you? Fine.” Burl does something with his hand, and the words on the page magically shift and move, though they remain no more legible than before. “There. More than generous.”

  “Burl, this isn’t a corporation. No one is working for anyone else. Honestly, we’re all working for each oth—”

  “No.” Burl cuts me off with such a look of panic and distress that I carefully step to put Threenut between us. “No, no, no. Don’t tell me you’re a… a… communist?”

  “Whoa, whoa,” I say, lifting my hands. “No one said anything about communism. Though, on a small scale, the idea has merit. You know, each of us contributing what we can, pooling our resources, and then deciding who should—”

  “Listen, softskin, and listen well.” Burl lifts his pen to point it at me like a sword, its tip shaking. “You keep talking, and I’m going to forget that you guys saved me. You keep talking, and me and you are gonna have problems, you hear?”

  Threenut bristles at his tone, but I put a placating hand on the Otachai’s head.

  “Hey, I’m not trying to change you,” I offer, keeping my voice calm, but firm. You know, the babysitting voice. “You want this merit based? You want this capitalist? Then you damn well do work for me, because I have all of the advantages here. I’m not going to make you sign a contract, but you owe me. I stood up for you, pitted myself against a Drelni Blademaster—who, I might add, would have eaten your soul like a snack—just to save your sorry level 3 ass. You’re the weakest one here, and you’re in debt. A debt you haven’t remotely started paying off.”

  Rather than looking angry or offended, Burl’s mouth closes slowly over the course of my speech. A new, strange look enters his eyes. Is that… excitement? Respect? Hope?

  “You’re right, Boss, of course,” Burl says, standing straight and giving me a sharp nod. The change gives me whiplash. “Forgive my disrespect.”

  I almost say ‘no problem’ by reflex, but something tells me it would send the wrong message.

  “Forgiven. This time.”

  He turns, adopting a ready stance, the little mace appearing again in his hands.

  “We’re wasting company time,” he says, grinning. “Let’s start printing some money.”