Crown of Bones

by A. K. Wilder

  “First up, Belair and Cyres.”

  “You better be listening, De’ral.”

  Ash and the other recorder settle at a distance as Zarah drops her arm, signaling them to begin. The orange-robe upends the sandglass and steps back.

  Belair sends his phantom straight in. It circles the agahpa, stalking, while Belair clangs his spear on his shield to harry Cyres. She darts and dashes about, keeping Belair preoccupied. Neither phantom lands a blow.

  “Thirty seconds,” shouts Zarah. “You can do better than this!”

  The crowd presses closer, cheering them both on. There can be multiple winners in these final competitions, but only one High Initiate.

  A second later, the sun leopard jumps onto the agahpa and sinks fangs into its back. The treelike phantom responds by reaching over its head and throttling the big cat. It tightens its branchy fingers until the sun leopard lets go and is lifted high into the air. Belair sends his spear sailing over Cyres’s head. Out of reflex, she ducks, giving Belair time to run in and grab her arm. He flips her over his back and slams her into the ground. At the same time, Belair’s phantom twists around, latches onto the agahpa’s throat, and shakes it till it cracks. The agahpa goes to ground, leaving the sun leopard rolling woodchips off its tongue.

  “Time!” Zarah calls and Belair releases Cyres.

  Hollers roar up from all around, including the students at the obstacle course who have turned to watch. Ash stands, banging her hands together before writing in the records, a huge smile on her face.

  “Good show.” I slap Belair on the back as he leaves the circle.

  “Baiseen, you’re up with Destan,” Zarah calls from the sideline.

  When I step into the fight circle, my heart beats double-time. Destan gives me a respectful nod, but I catch a look behind his eyes and something in me runs cold. Or is that De’ral’s reaction?

  We fight! my phantom says.

  The pale winter sun flares as it reflects off Destan’s twin blades. He holds one in each hand as is the way of the Northern Aturnian warriors. He doesn’t seem to be trying to hide his origins today, which is worrisome. I glance to Ash, to see if she notices, but her eyes are on De’ral.

  When in position, Zarah shouts, “Fight!” and my head snaps back to my opponent.

  Destan charges straight at me while his phantom flips in the air and takes one of the blades for himself. I raise my shield and spear but Destan darts out of the way, harassing again and again with his double-edged blade. It’s all I can do to evade the strikes, which are dangerously close. But inside I hold onto a secret smile. Destan is flamboyant, making a fatal mistake. He hasn’t taken our improvements seriously—particularly that of my control.

  De’ral towers over Destan’s phantom, but still the other warrior runs fearlessly toward us. Without breaking stride, it leaps, trying to sink its blade straight into De’ral’s neck. Far from clumsy, De’ral blocks with his left hand, spins the other phantom up in the air, and sends it flying with a front kick. It sails over the field and lands smack in the middle of the obstacle course, knocking a student off the balance beam. My chest expands as I take a deep breath, and a wave of cheers wash over the field. Our win!

  “He’s up,” Belair shouts just as I’m about to claim the victory. How could it not have gone to ground?

  “Ten seconds,” Zarah calls.

  Destan’s phantom runs back to the circle and fakes left, then leaps right, the movements so fleeting he ends up impaling De’ral in the forehead. It’s a direct blow and puts my phantom to ground instantly. I square my shoulders and give a quick bow to Destan, who isn’t looking, and then to Zarah, who is.

  “Well done, all of you,” she says, and announces the winners. “Destan of Southern Aturnia and Belair of Tangeen. We honor your achievement today.”

  Belair and Cyres bow to each other, but when I turn to Destan, he bows imperceptibly and with a smirk on his face.

  I keep my expression bland and return the recognition, while inside my heartbeat steadies. “Now.” Zarah claps her hands, bringing me out of the daze. “You four will officiate the other matches.”

  The command rings in my head. Us four? Did I hear her right? I look to Ash, who pumps her fist in the air. Those asked to officiate are in the running for High Initiate, surely. As I think it, Yuki appears. She’s making the rounds, checking in with each group on the field. She and Zarah confer over a manuscript. A list of names? Quickly they nod agreement and Yuki moves on, across the field to the next class.

  “Carry on,” Zarah says.

  I take charge before anyone else can, call the sparring partners, and referee disputes. Soon each of us four are beaming as we run our classmates through the trials. At the end, the entire class lines up in front of her. This is it. The moment of reckoning.

  “Every one of you has worked hard,” Zarah says. “Though some harder than others.” Her eyes go to a few students in the back then rest on me and Belair.

  My throat constricts. It’s a good thing, right?

  “We acknowledge you, and your efforts, whether you leave Aku with your yellow robes or not.”

  No one breathes.

  Zarah scans the manuscript in front of her and clears her throat. “Trin, green-robe of Gollnar, it is not yet your time. You may return next year and try again.”

  We all clap for her and salute fists to chests. She’s young and, as I recall, showed strong potential, just weak on focus.

  “Ren, green-robe of Nonnova.”

  The young man steps forward.

  “This was your third try. It’s time for you to discuss with your High Savant a new role at the Sanctuary of Nonnova.”

  We all know what that means. We clap and salute him as well, though his expression looks more like relief than disappointment.

  “Belair of Tangeen…” She pauses and my guts knot. “Yellow-robe warrior.”

  We all whoop and cheer until she calls the next name. “Cyres of Sierrak, yellow-robe warrior.”

  Thunderous applause.

  “Destan of Aturnia, yellow-robe warrior.”

  Could anyone have doubted it?

  She goes through the entire class, leaving me to dead last. By now sweat runs down my temples and I can hardly breathe.

  “Marcus Adicio of Baiseen…”

  My heart stops and won’t beat again until I hear her next words.

  “Yellow-robe warrior.”

  We all explode, students, recorders, the crowd. It’s a while before Zarah can be heard again.

  It’s also a while before I can clear my eyes of the tears.

  “Your robes will be awarded tonight in the great hall. Congratulations. You’ve all earned it.”

  We cheer again until Zarah waves us down. “Break for lunch, the lot of you. Then back here at eighth bell for the final trial for High Initiate.” She pauses to smile down on us. “If you aren’t familiar with rigg-tackle-stuggs, learn the rules.”

  My brows slam down as Ash gasps. Rigg-tackle-stuggs? Is she kidding?

  High Initiate will be decided by a bones-be-cracked ball game?

  52

  Marcus

  I still can’t believe the final trial’s a ball game. Yet another surprise of the trials, though I suppose it could be worse. I’ve won my yellow robes, bones be praised. I’ll go home and take my rightful place on the Council. “We did it, De’ral.”

  You keep mentioning.

  “And you don’t seem to realize what we would have lost if we’d failed.”

  What you’d have lost. I am De’ral, warrior of Baiseen, either way.

  This is no time to argue with my phantom or try to explain the realm politics involved in robe hierarchy. We have a game to play, and it’s no ordinary ball sport. Crazy rules, rigg-tackle-stuggs. I don’t know how the Sierraks thought it up.

 
“Baiseen, third down. Pick up the ball!” Zarah shouts then blows her whistle. It echoes through the air, piercing the afternoon fog rising up the road.

  This stuggs game has two balls in play at any given time, and only three savants on each team, which makes six a side, counting phantoms. There are four goalposts, one at every point of the compass. I’ve only just learned the rules. Make that lack of rules. You raise your phantom, score a goal, or prevent the opponents from doing so. It’s all about possession of the ball, and practically anything goes.

  The mood is tense, the game tied, twenty-four all, but I’m smiling inside. Win or lose, we’ve made it, mere green-robes no longer.

  De’ral grumbles.

  “I’m happy, all right?”

  I search the crowded sideline for Ash and then remember. She had to hurry back to the library at halftime to put the finishing touches on the records. Yuki must approve them before we leave the island. I picture myself boarding a sloop for the journey home, yellow robes flapping in the sea breeze…

  “Huddle up,” Belair shouts. We put our heads together while he relays an elaborate play I barely follow. The Tangeen knows the game and isn’t shy about being captain. The whistle blows again, Belair tosses the ball to me, and I maneuver for position in the center of the field, dead set in front of Destan, a block-and-tackler who has decked me repeatedly so far, hard. In these final minutes of the game, I intend to reverse that experience. Seems only fair.

  We square off and the whistle blows three times. Belair runs wide, and I pass to him as Destan tackles me high. I hit the ground backward, head slamming the grass, but not before getting off a perfect throw. Destan turns to plow after Belair, his phantom already on him, but Belair jumps high and catches the ball. Behind us, another play is in motion and I see through De’ral’s eyes that Cyres, on Destan’s team, has the second ball and is coursing for a goal.

  On our side of the field, Belair throws a high arcing pass to his phantom just as Destan’s warrior slides in front of him, tripping him up. The ball’s already in the air, though, and the sun leopard catches it mid-leap and thunders twenty yards at unstoppable speed to score. We run back to the center and slap each other hard on the back.

  “Chew on that one, Destan,” I call out, taunting. Unlike Palrion football, this game of stuggs has no etiquette. Quite the opposite, we’re expected to harry and harass one another, and apparently, a good game isn’t complete without a few players ending up in the infirmary. I’m actually starting to enjoy the barbarism, or maybe that’s De’ral.

  “You chew on it,” Destan shouts back as the second ball in play on the other side of the field scores, his phantom making a touchdown.

  “Tied at thirty-two,” Zarah shouts.

  A new savant to our group, a girl named Jain, leans in close in the huddle. “Pass to me, Baiseen. I can score.” She has a large condor phantom that appears docile at first glance, a big bird with a comical head that turns sideways to see to the front. But it’s no clown. The lithe, dark-eyed phantom is a warrior/alter combo and can turn its wings into knife blades and its beak into a dagger. It also knows how to catch a ball and drop it behind the goal posts.

  “I will if you’re free.”

  Jain winks. “Count on it.”

  “Phantoms to ground. This is your fourth and final down. You have fifteen seconds to break the tie,” Zarah says. “Or we go into overtime.”

  We all drop a knee to the ground and bring our phantoms in before standing back up. I shuffle side to side around our lineup, as does the opposing team, finding the best position, but Destan always ends up in front of me.

  I huff. Just let him try to block De’ral.

  The whistle sounds three times in quick succession, and the game’s in play.

  We charge toward one another, then drop to our knees. In front of us, the grass erupts, rocks and earth exploding skyward. De’ral is up first and he somersaults high in the air to grab the ball as I hurl it toward him. Quickly, I lower a shoulder and slam hard into Destan before he can change course. The wind’s knocked out of him this time and he lies there gasping for it back. Yep, seems fair.

  Meanwhile, De’ral lands on his feet in time to dodge a blow from Destan’s warrior. The second ball fumbles and bounces out of bounds.

  “Only one ball in play,” Zarah shouts.

  I’m up fast and De’ral tosses back to me on the sprint. Cyres intercepts the catch and doubles back, heading the other way. De’ral slams her off her feet, the ball goes high, and Belair catches it on the bounce. Still in play. He feigns left-right-left to distract Destan, who’s charging after him. We run on opposite sidelines, the crowd going wild, and when he’s about to go down, he passes to me.

  “Baiseen!” Jain shouts. She’s wide open.

  The afternoon fog grows thicker. It’s going to make it hard to see to the goals soon, but no one is going to give up. Not with High Initiate at stake. I cock my arm, looking for Jain, who was there a second ago. I blink moisture from my eyelashes. Where is she?

  Zarah calls, “Ten seconds.”

  Destan slices toward me. The sun leopard charges and bowls the savant over, his foot clipping my ankle. I stagger, but there is Jain waving as I stumble to a halt. I turn sideways to throw the ball as Destan jumps up, coming at me with a lunge punch. I change tactics, gripping the ball to my side with one hand and blocking with the other, shouldering him full in the chest. With Destan down, his phantom hesitates, a chance for De’ral to knock it flat. I look again for Jain. She’s covered, but Belair’s free. I cock my arm, ready to let loose, but check myself again.

  “Marcus!” Belair shouts.

  My ears prick and I look up at the sky. I thought I heard something but there’s nothing there but gathering clouds.

  “Five seconds!” Zarah shouts as she watches the sandglass. “You won’t find help up there, Baiseen.”

  Everything turns to slow motion in the final moments of the game. I do a front roll, hitting the grass and coming up in a clear zone, arrowing the ball to Belair. A boom sounds in the distance, like waves crashing into the seawall. At the same time, Belair jumps, catching the ball as it hits him hard in the belly. He flies, running it between the goalposts a half a second before Zarah calls time.

  “Goal!” Belair cries. He holds the ball high over his head and prances back to me, leopard bounding by his side.

  I take the ball and slam it hard, sending it into the air. “We did it! We won!” De’ral and I lets loose a war cry as Belair and I slap each other on the back.

  “Baiseen! Baiseen! Tangeen! Tangeen!”

  I spin to find Zarah and her phantom cheering for us at the top of their voices. Her eyes lock onto mine, and I see it all in the depths of her regard. It’s what she’s never given me before—full, unreserved, wholehearted approval. Grinning, I turn to the opposing team to show respect. With Belair at my side, we bow to all save Destan. He’s nowhere to be seen. “Sore loser?” I say to Belair.

  “Appears that way,” he replies.

  Another boom cracks across the field, shaking the ground.

  I tense, hand going to the hilt of my sword, which isn’t there. All around me, the celebration sputters out as my teammates brace, searching for the source of the sound. Is it thunder? I look to the sky again. The phantoms are as confused as us, but they return to their savants, alert and at the ready.

  “De’ral?”

  He cocks his head, listening.

  Zarah shields her eyes, focused toward the sea, the game forgotten. She looks back at us, her expression darkening. “Everyone down!” she commands.

  Another boom echoes through the Sanctuary, and the whole Isle of Aku trembles. People gasp around us, stumbling, falling to the ground with hands over their ears.

  My muscles bunch, ready to fight, but there’s no sign of an enemy. I slip into phantom perspective. From a greater height, I s
ee rocks hurling toward us. A few fall on the slopes just short of the stables, but others find their marks in the buildings and streets. The Sanctuary erupts into chaos. Cries rise up. The tower bells clang. Savants and phantoms rush from the buildings and scatter like ants.

  Cold dread grips me as the truth slaps my face. “Aku is under attack!” I shout and leap to my feet.

  But before I can stand, a boulder sails through the air and hits the library, cracking the top half of the tower. The steeple leans over, snaps off, and crashes to the ground. Debris billows up out of the eerie fog, and papers and bits of books and wood chips rain like confetti.

  My heart plummets, and the air is punched from my lungs. “Ash!” I cry and sprint toward the toppled building, De’ral ahead of me.

  “Marcus!” Zarah shouts.

  I look over my shoulder at Zarah. A low-pitched whistle sings as a boulder flies straight toward her. De’ral responds before I can direct him, throwing a punch into the air. He hits the catapulting boulder, shattering it into a thousand pieces. They fall like hot sparks around Zarah, who barely has time to cover her face.

  When she looks up, she salutes me and De’ral. “Thanks, Marcus. Fast thinking.”

  “Orders?” I blink back tears, my heart torn from my chest. There’s no time to rummage through the ruined library, searching for Ash’s remains, not while we’re under attack.

  “You and Belair, send your phantoms to the first outlook. Cyres and Jain, to the second level. Report to me everything they see. Go.” She turns to dole out orders to the others pressed around her.

  Our four phantoms take off, sun leopard, warrior, agahpa, and the condor in the lead overhead. Zarah’s phantom races to the High Savant’s hall. “All of you. Keep your phantoms up. Stick to me. Close in.”

  We circle her, savants and phantoms alike, while more alarms rise. The shower of rocks continues.

  It doesn’t take De’ral long to reach the first lookout, overtaking the others with his giant strides as he climbs to the top of the cliff. At first, there is nothing but a thick, gray wall of fog in the harbor below, but slowly, the wind blows across the sea, pushing some of the fog away. “Ships,” I say to Zarah.