by A. K. Wilder
I watch them take off, savants with phantoms beside or behind, running the perimeter of the field. I fall in after Belair, who gives me a sympathetic look.
At first, I think we’ll make it, because De’ral and I are in sync, me running, him jogging with thunderous steps. We pace with Belair and his sun leopard but fall behind the others. I actually pass Belair at one point when the Tangeen stops to call his leopard down from a fringing tree. A bevy of doves launch skyward from the branches along with a chorus of laughter from onlooking students. Belair’s face turns as red as his hair. We plow on, the gap between us and the next-to-last student in our group increasing. Near the end, we’re lapped. “Come on, De’ral. We’re going around again.”
Destan, the Aturnian green-robe, overtakes us. He and his sword-wielding phantom fly along at a fast clip. I wonder if it has other skills besides fighting, with its huge eyes and long limbs. I pant and blow as Destan sprints by.
“Don’t worry. You’ll be up to speed soon,” Destan calls over his shoulder. But his phantom makes unintelligible grunts and gurgles that sound a lot like laughter.
My shoulders hunch inward, hearing the laughter again in my head. Before I can control my emotion, De’ral takes two huge strides toward Destan’s phantom. Suddenly, I’m fully in my phantom’s perspective, staring down at the creature. It turns with its sword overhead.
My heart races. “No, De’ral. He’s not an enemy!” Not here on Aku anyway, and not during the elimination trials.
De’ral isn’t listening. He raises his fists, ready to bring them down and flatten the Aturnian’s phantom like a pancake. My only recourse is to call De’ral in, but before I can, he trips over his own feet and smashes to the ground. The jolt snaps the perspective back into my own head. I stop, doubled over, desperate for air.
Belair and his leopard catch up, both panting as hard as I am.
“Did you see?” I ask.
“Your phantom fell flat on his face, Marcus. Everyone on the field saw.”
“Not that,” I grumble. “Before.” I wipe sweat from my brow. “Did you see what he was about to do?”
Belair pulls at my sleeve. “No. Now come on, Marcus! Run.”
I stagger after him. “Keep up,” I tell De’ral as he gains his feet. “And no fighting.” I draw in deep breaths and try to catch up to Belair. “No taking the bait. That goes for both of us.”
Students’ faces blur as I run by. The footfalls of my phantom pound hard, and we are given plenty of room. At the home stretch, I start to smile to myself, until I glance over my shoulder. My phantom has fallen way behind.
“De’ral. What are you doing?”
He stops completely.
“Crack the bones, keep running!” I try to slip inside his perspective, but the way is closed. Could this go any worse?
Meanwhile, my phantom stares into the distance. He takes a few steps toward the main Sanctuary buildings, and the savants below scatter out of the way. The others in my group lap me again, running past us without taking much notice. “Come on, De’ral. We look like idiots.”
But my phantom doesn’t budge. I find a chink and push into his perspective, it’s like sticking my head into a room but not being able to cross the threshold. From De’ral’s sharp vision I see what is so damn fascinating. Across the field and over one street is the library with its high bell tower. A tiny figure stands in a second story window, watching the field. “Ash?”
De’ral points.
I swallow bile and catch my breath. This is just great. He’s paying more attention to my recorder than to me. “She’s not the one to listen to.”
I like what she says.
“Stop it!” I shout at him. “Run!”
De’ral turns to me. Ash is watching.
“Of course, she’s watching us. That’s her job. Now please, let’s give her something worth her time and quill.”
Slowly, he breaks into a jog, then a sprint, gaining on me fast. Now I have to dash to stay ahead, overtaking Belair and his sun leopard, who are flagging as well.
By the time I reach the starting point, I drop to the ground, keeping my meditative position out of sheer willpower. I would much rather be sprawled on my back, gasping for air, but pride prevents it. Plus, Zarah’s ridicule.
Maybe De’ral will step on me and put an end to the humiliation.
“Glad you could join us, Baiseen, Tangeen.” Zarah bends over to peer down her nose at us. “You’d best build up your stamina fast. Those who aren’t showing promise by the end of the week are out.”
Like I need the reminder.
She straightens and addresses the group. “Obstacle course. Look sharp.”
The students take off at a run, all but me and Belair. I stumble, face set forward, trusting that De’ral will follow. “Please follow…” Belair looks like he’s going to cry. I know how he feels.
We trail the others to the far side of the training field to the series of physical tests—twin obstacle courses, side by side with climbing, swinging, jumping, hand-over-hand, running, crawling, balancing, and a water component. Belair and I exchange a look. It’s not optimistic.
Zarah projects her voice over the field. “For the benefit of the southern realms”—she glances at me and Belair—“the obstacle course is used in my class to familiarize you with tactical movements, increase combat endurance, build physical strength, and most importantly, reinforce collaboration with your phantom. You must take the course together, side by side. Not all of you will be able to achieve each segment with your phantoms up, not at first.” She turns again to me. “But I promise you, no one leaves the Isle of Aku as a yellow-robe until they can complete this exercise to my satisfaction.”
Just knowing the number of savants at home who had journeyed to Aku and successfully earned their robes gives me courage. Then again, I’m the only one to raise a warrior among them, so they probably never had an instructor the likes of Zarah, but I prefer to think positively.
“Notice the mix of obstacles,” Zarah continues. “There is a climb-over/crawl-under challenge. Do not skip the second step. Balance is demonstrated here.” She points at the beam. “Don’t forget the water on either side is head high. If you fall, you will have to swim out and go back to the start. If you can’t swim…”
My ears prick.
“Learn how.” Zarah cocks her head and smiles as if enjoying a memory. “After the rope-net climb and grapple wall, there is a ‘no touch’ tunnel. I promise you those barbs are razor sharp.”
I study the situation and see a problem immediately, at least for Belair. I raise my hand. Zarah ignores it.
“Some of your phantoms may not be suited for every obstacle. In that case, you are to direct them to the side, off course, where they will perform a series of combat moves, rolls, and lunges, while you carry on. Those of you with mixed-class phantoms, I want to see both alternate. No favoring just because one comes easier. Have your phantom rejoin you at the next suitable obstacle. Don’t worry about speed today. That will come with time. Destan, take the lead. Show us how it’s done. Cyres is next. The rest of you can line up. Begin!”
It’s good she doesn’t make me go first, or second. It gives me a few moments to recover. De’ral sits down, looking over his shoulder toward the library.
“Can you at least pretend you’re interested?”
He turns toward me, sulky.
I don’t know how it can get worse. Maybe Zarah will have some advice for me. While I muse on that possibility, I watch Destan go through his paces. He and his small, agile, disciplined phantom are a tight team as they run the course with no faults.
When he returns he pats my back as he walks by. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it.”
It gives me hope. It also gives me perspective. He may be Northern Aturnian, but he’s not so different from me. We’re both here to learn and train, to ea
rn our robes. Ash has said many times that change comes from communication. Maybe it begins with me and Destan. With our generation.
“Cyres.” Zarah points at the girl. “Next.”
Cyres is a stocky young woman. I look at her and think strong. Like a tree. No coincidence, her phantom is an agahpa—gnarled tree-like joints, long fingers and toes. It’s the height of Cyres, with skin like bark and black knots for eyes. The legs don’t seem to separate much, and it moves about like a spider, darting and hesitating and darting again. “Hair” caps its head in tendrils similar to Larseen’s ropey locks. I suspect De’ral and I will have troubles, but this phantom? I have no idea how it will make it over the first challenge.
“Go,” Zarah tells the girl.
They take off, Cyres scrambling up the ladder to the platform, her phantom not far behind on its side. It turns out to be more flexible than I’d guessed. They make a promising team until Cyres loses her grip on the rope mid-swing and splashes into the pool, her head going under. The phantom immediately swings to her side of the course, wraps its long toes around the horizontal ladder, and drops a branchy arm down to the muddy pool to rescue the savant.
Cyres coughs and sputters while her phantom pats her on the back.
“Sit this round out, Cyres. You can try again when you recover.” Zarah turns to the start line. “Baiseen, you’re next.”
The students give me plenty of room and there is no jeering this time, not within earshot of Zarah, anyway. “Direct your phantom to jog, keeping up with you on the sideline. That’ll be enough of a challenge for today, I think.”
I think so, too.
“Go.”
I climb the ladder, grab the rope, and swing.
“Move him with you!” Zarah shouts.
I swing to the platform, but De’ral still sits on the grass like a sullen child. “Run with me,” I command. “Don’t make us look any worse than we already do.”
My phantom grudgingly rises, but the rope swings back toward him and he catches it in his hand. “Wait! Let go of the rope!”
He doesn’t. Instead, he takes off. It pulls tight, and he uproots the horizontal bars on his side of the course.
“De’ral! Stop!”
He listens! Finally. But when he comes to a sudden halt, the broken bars slap his back, sending him careening forward. He smashes down into the mud pool, splashing everyone within a twenty-foot radius, which is me, the entire class, and plenty of onlookers. In water up to his waist, he thrashes, knocking the balance beam off its supports as he tries to wipe mud out of his eyes. He manages to pull himself out of the pool, but then slips, and plows straight into the rappel wall.
The entire structure creaks, teeters, and falls over, crushing the no-touch thorn-crawl flat.
“Look out!”
De’ral’s hands come down on the springboard to regain balance, but he slips and grabs the large ring, which immediately breaks off. The weight of him falls full force onto the shimmy pole and snaps it in half like a toothpick. Finally, he gains his feet again and manages to stand upright. Before I can contain him, he takes off, dragging bits of the obstacle course behind him.
“Stop!” I shout aloud this time as he reaches the end. “Wait there. I’ll catch up.” Determined to finish, I go hand over hand to the beam. I don’t hear a word from Zarah, so with my phantom standing quietly, the balancing test isn’t too hard. I manage it, avoid near drowning in the deep water below—somehow, I don’t think De’ral would be so quick to rescue me as Cyres’s phantom had been—and rappel down the wall. What remains of the thorn obstacle isn’t much of a challenge. Petén and I used to spend plenty of time in the brambles, searching for lost arrows behind the practice range when we were younger. I climb the rope ladder to a springboard, launch, miss the ring, and fall flat.
No one laughs. They are all staring through mud-covered faces at the ruined obstacle course. I struggle to my feet and climb back up to the springboard.
“Enough.” Zarah strides over to me.
I can’t see a scrap of orange fabric on the front of her robe that isn’t spattered in mud.
“I think we have a fair bit of work cut out for us, wouldn’t you say?” She doesn’t let me answer. “Pair up for sparring,” she orders the others.
When I drop to my knees and bring De’ral in, I’m not sure I’ll ever stand again. But I manage and make to stagger back to the group. “Not you, Baiseen.”
“Mistress?”
“You’re with me.”
35
Ash
“Oh, Marcus.” It’s a panoramic view from the library tower and what a mess. He and De’ral have singlehandedly demolished the obstacle course. Why didn’t I stay at my desk? It’s going in the record now, though as Brogal always says, when you sink to the bottom, there’s only room to rise.
Marcus and Belair better rise fast.
I drag myself from the window, returning to the job of recording. The first step is to copy down the moon phases from the planetary ephemeris. In my original notes, I’d marked them from observation—up until the attack on the headland. With those records gone, the rise and set and “weight” of the moon is one of the many things to confirm and include in both Marcus’s and Belair’s records. I select a hawk quill and thumb over to the new moonrise, the day we left Baiseen.
“Interruption coming.”
I startle and look up. “Talus?”
“Finding everything you need?”
The white-robe woman didn’t make a sound coming up the stairs. Time to solve the mystery, though looking her in the eye makes me fidget.
“Yes, thank you.” How to put this? “Mistress Talus…” Surely, if I misstate her name twice in as many breaths, she’ll correct me.
Her calm expression doesn’t change. “Something I can help with?”
My brow knits. No correction, which is odd. The last thing she looks like is a prankster.
“Actually, no. Master Huewin’s supplied me with everything I need.”
“Then why aren’t you down there with the other recorders, taking in the events?”
I blow my bangs off my forehead. She’s right. I should be there, recording, but happily, I’ve a valid excuse to be here instead, not on the field, noting every fall and stumble. “I thought I’d give Marcus and Belair a day to settle in.”
“That bad?” Her lips twitch, like she’s trying not to smile.
I admit, I’m a bit taken aback. “They’re green-robes,” I say in a rush. “They’ll both be magnificent, given time.” I choke on my words as a vision of Marcus’s warrior crushing men and horses beneath him comes to mind.
Her eyes darken and she turns away. “Time is what they don’t have.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Pardon me, Mistress?”
Talus goes to the high arched window and I join her. “There they are.”
I watch in silence. Marcus’s phantom turns again toward the library, and I send a thought out to him. “Can you pay attention to Marcus? This is a competition, remember?”
When I turn around, I find myself alone. “Talus?”
Chills skitter down my spine as I look toward the stairwell and back up the rows of books. Nothing. If I didn’t know better, I’d believe I imagined her.
What with the tapping at my window again last night, it’s not a calming thought. Still, I go back to work. When I reach my desk, a book sits open on top of the stack. “Where did you come from?”
I glance around one last time for Talus. So odd.
I’m about to flip the book closed when the symbols in the middle of the page catch my eye. I trace them with my finger, exhaling long and slow. Two spirals, each spinning opposite directions, overlapping in a fancy knot. They look similar to the twin circles I’ve seen multiple times since the apothecary’s notice in Clearwater. I frown, studying the image clos
er. The script looks much like what Master Brogal called Retreen, waving it off as a dead Tangeen language. Nothing but an auction list, he’d said, but in the margins of a song book about the Mar?
I check the title and see it’s a Sierrak text on planets and stars; not where I’d expect to find a dead language from Tangeen. This passage actually looks like the ancient Sierrak script of the stargazers, Retoren. I don’t speak it, but Kaylin pocketed the notice on the docks. I’ll have to ask him.
“Ash?”
I jump. “Master Huewin.”
Is everyone part cat here? The library keeper smiles down on me without showing any teeth. He’s in a long orange robe, different from the quilted robes and pants the savants in training wear, but more like Yuki’s. The hem brushes the floor and his cuffs cover all but his bony fingertips. “How’s the recording going?” His brows rise. “Have everything you need?”
“I’ve made a start, thank you. The reference materials are very helpful.” I smile warmly at the bookshelves surrounding me. “I’ll enter my notes into the new record books next week. I so appreciate the ones you reserved for me. They’re lovely.”
“I know a sketch artist who might contribute to the Heir’s record, and the Tangeen’s as well, unless you have skills?”
My inner voice laughs, and I have to agree. “I draw like a toddler.”
Master Huewin chuckles. “Then I will make the introduction.”
“Appreciated. And what about maps? Since our route here was a bit off course, I would like to include one.”
His smile turns brittle. “Naturally.”
His uncomfortable expression makes me hesitate. Yuki reacted strongly to the Ferus River Falls. I decide to say nothing further on it, for now.
“Hali, the artist I have in mind, has cartography skills. She’s well-versed in all the coastal terrain. I’ll send her to you tomorrow.”
“That sounds perfect.”
“Is there anything else?”
I don’t skip a beat. “May I trouble you with a query, Master Huewin?”