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The tarn ran out of fish.
Peter stared at the clear, empty water. He and everyone in the village had searched ever inch of the small lake in the center of the circular mountain ridge that held their homes. Peter sat on the edge of the water, with his feet below the surface. No fish nipped at his toes, none swam by looking for handouts of fish food.
Nothing.
They’d vanished overnight.
No bodies. No signs of a struggle or a miraculous animal that had snuck inside. Just empty, clear water and the smooth stones that rested on the bottom of the empty lake.
“There’s going to be a Run,” Harry said, with his hands in his pocket. The mayor’s son and Peter’s best friend stood behind him with his shoulders low and bags under his eyes. “Dad decided after the lunch meeting with the elders.”
That was fast.
Peter bit his lip. “Are they sure that’s it? We didn’t just…lose track and overfish?”
Maybe the demon hadn’t made the fish go away.
They could have been wrong.
“You caught one yesterday,” Harry said. He kicked a stone into the water. The ripples spread out and they both watched the stone until it hit the bottom. “There were hundreds of fish in there and everyone knows it.”
They did.
The small village would starve without those fish. The high mountain cliffs controlled by their personal demons kept them all trapped. Peter had climbed an edge once, getting all the way to the top in hopes of finding other food sources from roots or plants, maybe finding some wildlife they could capture and raise for food.
At the top of the hill he’d hit a wall—one he couldn’t see, but kept him from taking a step over the peak to the other side.
The demon wanted fed.
Or entertainment watching the village forced to chose its next meal. Peter had never figured out which, but the end result was always the same: A Run.
“Don’t be last, Pete.” Harry squatted and dropped his forehead between his shoulder blades. “There’ll be ten runners and I know you won’t pass purposefully pass Gwen or Mary Jane, but so help me if you take last because you don’t want to beat Flash or his friends I’ll throw you to the demon myself.”
Peter snorted and turned around to grab Harry by the hair. “I won’t be last if you aren’t.”
“I’m not running, Pete,” Harry said. Peter let go and dropped his hands in his lap. “What do you mean? It’s a Run. Everyone between the ages of fifteen and twenty has to run.”
During the last one, Peter and Harry had been six years old. The demon’s sick sense of “fair play” usually spaced out the need for one with enough time between that each person would only have to compete once.
“As an Osborn heir, I am technically exempt. Or that’s what my dad told me,” Harry said. It made sense—the Osborn family had been their village leaders for as long as they had a written history. He snorted and rubbed the back of his neck. “And I’m not in the best of shape, so why should I pass out a chance to sit out?”
“I can’t blame you for that,” Peter said. He stood and brushed off his pants. “So you’ll be cheering me on, then?”
“You, Gwen, and MJ,” Harry said. He gave Peter a hug and squeezed tight, digging his fingers in. “I don’t care which one of you wins, as long as you’re not last.”
“I won’t be last, Harry.”
Peter promised he wouldn’t be last.
“Oh, Peter, I had so hoped the fish would stay long enough for you to avoid this,” his Aunt May said, serving him the last of their salted fish for an energy boost. “What an ugly thing that haunts us.”
“Everyone has to run at least once, right?” Peter asked. He ate the fish, ignoring the way his aunt’s stomach grumbled. “You did, didn’t you?”
“I did,” she said, turning to stare out the window. “It’s a horrible, awful thing.”
Aunt May hadn’t let Peter watch the last one. She’d shut him away in his room and closed the windows until the entire ceremony had ended. The feeding of the demon in exchange for more fish itself was for the greater good of the village, but the brutal way they chose the sacrifice may not have been the best way.
But there was a reason no one volunteered and there was a reason no one wanted to lose.
“I’m not going to lose, Aunt May,” Peter said. He kissed his aunt on the forehead and grinned. “Harry’d kill me!”
She gave him a sad smile and patted his cheek. “Go, win.”
“I will, I promise.”
Peter promised he wouldn’t be last.
Felicia had broken her leg.
Peter felt sick.
The Run was a long sprint from one end of the lake to the other on the far side, where a flash stretch of earth had seemingly been created at the base of the mountain solely for their competition. It had only three rules:
Don’t start before the buzzer.
Don’t leave the roped area.
The last person across the finish line at the end was demon chow.
A broken leg might as well have been a death sentence. Peter had heard the horror stories of people elbowing and hitting people to knock them out of the way. Grabbing people and throwing them down was also the norm. Too much fighting meant you might not make it to the line, so it was mostly a rough sprint.
Felicia would be doing that entire run on a broken ankle.
“No pity, Parker,” she said, catching his eyes. “You better believe I’m winning this race and going to cause hell for the asshole that pushed me down the stairs this morning.”
Peter nodded and kept his eyes forward. MJ and Gwen stood to his left, quiet and focused. Flash was somewhere behind him, cracking his knuckles while Harry stood in the viewing box with his dad, fists clenched tight as he hugged himself.
He smacked himself on the cheeks and sucked in a breath.
Someone had to lose.
Peter promised it wouldn’t be him.
Felicia would be fine. She’d get help for her leg after the run—if anyone in their town could win the race with a broken limb, it was their famous “Black Cat” climber.
“It pains me to oversee another Run,” Norman Osborn said, starting the event. He held out his arms and stepped forward. “But what must be done, must be done. If we do not appease our master, the fish will not return and we’ll all starve to death—but you know that. I’m only saying it to remind you of the importance that someone must be sacrificed to save the rest of our village.”
He pulled a pistol out from his jacket and loaded a single bullet. Mr. Osborn pulled back the hammer and held the gun in the air.
“You know the rules. You know why we’re here. Let’s get this over with.” Norman Osborn lifted the pistol and fired. “Run.”
Peter threw himself forward, hoping to get ahead of the pack before he could be grabbed. He was one of the smaller ones and a guy like Flash could toss him aside easily. If he hit someone else they could both fall and it’d be over.
“Run! Run! Run!” Harry screamed from the sidelines. “His voice filled Peter’s ears and pushed him forward.”
Peter kept Gwen and MJ in sight in front of him. He had passed Felicia but he could still hear her shouts of “back off!” just behind him.
They were fine.
His shoes tore in the dirt.
He couldn’t be last.
He promised he wouldn’t be last.
Peter screed his eyes shut and screamed as he forced the adrenaline to power him forward.
The short race ended with Peter collapsed on the other side between MJ and Gwen. Felicia dropped to her knees and her chest heaved a few feet away. Peter was even happy to see Flash cross and turned to look at the last group of people struggling across the line.
Waiting to see who had been last.
Jessica Jones.
Peter’s breath caught when he saw her standing as the last one on the other side of the finish line. She had yet to cross, her teeth gritted in anger as she stood alone—the last one.
He knew why they were running, but it hadn’t sunk in—
“You made it!” Harry said, crashing into Peter’s side. He hugged him and ruffled his hair. “Oh, thank goodness. You ran so fast it was incredible!”
“Yeah,” Peter said. He grabbed Harry’s arm and tugged it. “How did Jessica get behind?”
It didn’t make sense.
She was kind, athletic, and aside from a bit of bad taste in men—she’d had a crush on Peter for a few years, after all—should have finished earlier.
“Jessica tripped,” Harry said, shrugging. He put his arm around Peter’s shoulder and exhaled. “That’s all there is to it.”
Peter nodded and ignored the way Jessica’s foster family sobbed as they greeted her at the line she still hadn’t taken a step over.
Peter had never seen the sacrifice ceremony before.
He’d been too young last time and hadn’t been born the time before. He stood next to Harry and his friends, with his Aunt sitting behind him. Jessica stood at the end of the pier, tied and bound to keep her from running away at the last minute.
She couldn’t leave the mountain side, but apparently there had been one villager who broke free and hid in the woods around their village until he died of old age. No one had been able to catch him, and the restraints had become part of the process ever since.
“Don’t look away, Peter,” his Aunt whispered. “I protected you last time, but you’re old enough now to know.”
“I won’t.”
When the sun set and the moon rose, the entire Village—save for the smallest of children hidden away in their homes—the water parted and a figure slunk out. Peter couldn’t make out his shape in the shadows, but it was big and there were teeth he saw between the ripples of black.
Jessica struggled on the dock, scooting back with a hoarse voice too proud to scream.
The bulky demon grinned wide, showing off the teeth before a long, thick pink tongue fell out of his mouth and slurped. Jessica screamed then and rolled over, inching away like a worm. The demon picked her up with a clawed hand and tossed her back onto the shore.
Mr. Osborn gasped and the older villagers looked stunned—something wasn’t right.
“If you are going to play games to decide who to give me, you should stick to your rules,” the demon said. His voice echoed in Peter’s head, like he was speaking directly in his ear even though he was far away. “The last to finish is the Osborn boy. Give me that one and you can have your fish back.”
“What are you talking about?” Mr. Osborn said, slamming his hand on the railing. “Harry isn’t an option! He didn’t race at all.”
“Exactly.” The monster snickered. “So he lost. You didn’t actually believe me when I said he could sit out, did you?”
“You monster.”
“Demon.”
Mr. Osborn slammed his hand into the wood, gritting his teeth. Harry trembled behind him and Peter grabbed his hand to hold it. Mr. Osborn wouldn’t really give them, Harry would he?
“What’re you waiting for, Osborn?” Mr. Hardy snapped from the bottom row. “You said it yourself! Someone has to go to get our fish back and the demon was kind enough to pick for us!”
A chorus of agreement murmured among the village.
Mr. Osborn shouted, “Shut up! I’m the leader of this village. It’s my decision and Harry is not an option!”
“You are a servant of this village,” the demon said. “The choice is mine and I want him.”
Harry dropped to his knees. His shaking had grown so bad his teeth rattled. Peter touched his back and swallowed. Harry would be eaten by a demon or the village would starve.
Could he live with that?
Easy answer: No.
Aunt May would forgive him.
Harry wouldn’t, but Peter wasn’t giving Harry the choice.
He had promised he wouldn’t lose—and he hadn’t.
But that’s as far as Peter’s promise had to go.
Peter stood and gave his aunt a look. She knew. Aunt May covered her mouth and her eyes watered, but she gave him a nod. He mouthed “I’m sorry” before he put both hands on Harry’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Harry. You’ll be okay.”
“Pete?” Harry asked. He turned over his shoulder and gaped. “What are you doing?”
“Saving you.”
Peter threw himself over the railing and shoved himself through the crowds screaming at Osborn to give up his son. He passed Jessica on the ground, being helped by Felicia, before making his way down the dock to the demon.
The demon watched him with large white eyes and a tongue still hanging out of its mouth.
“Does it have to be Harry Osborn?” Peter asked, stopping in the center of the dock, where Jessica had been earlier. “Would you take me instead?”
“Don’t you dare, Pete!” Harry screamed from behind him. Peter dared a glance to see Norman Osborn with a death grip on his son’s arms, holding his boy agains this chest to keep him from running down the pier. “Don’t you dare! Get back here!”
The tongue rested on the dock and touched Peter’s leg. The demon’s mouth was an inch from him, but he didn’t feel a breath.
“You want to save him that badly?” It whispered. “You want to be mine?”
“No,” Peter replied. He held his breath and bit his lip. “But I won’t be able to live with myself if you take Harry.”
“Fair enough,” the demon said. It slammed a hand on the dock, breaking the boards behind him. The demon raised its voice and shouted, “Deal! Osborn can keep his brat.”
The demon snatched Peter off the dock, cutting off his breath with a strong grip in his dark hand. It felt slick with goo, but tight enough to squeeze and break his lungs. His feet weren’t touching the ground.
He couldn’t breath.
“Peter!”
More than one voice called his name, but he couldn’t separate them with the ringing in his ears and his own pounding heartbeat.
“Everyone’s so scared for you,” the demon said. He laughed and his shifted his hand to hold Peter by the back of his shirt. His tongue slipped under him and Peter’s hand squished on the wet surface. “Their fear tastes delicious.”
“Pete!”
The demon swallowed Peter whole.