The Tree of Ecrof

by Kobe Bryant

  Rovi remembered Ecrof but tried not to think about it. It was too painful, too sad. It was where his mother had died, when he was almost too young to remember. And where his father had been labeled insane and then fired. He’d wound up a Somnium addict on the foreign streets of the Sandlands, with Rovi trying to put food in both their mouths at the age of seven.

  But sometimes the memories came. Rovi couldn’t help them. Especially around the time of his birthday. He remembered the beautiful campus on a high plateau on Cora Island—the bleached-white cliffs, the perfect blue sea below. He remembered the impressive stadium that opened to the cliffs, that looked as if it were balancing on the edge of the world. He remembered the famous Tree of Ecrof, the school’s proud emblem and one of the Four Marvels of Epoca, that grew in the center of the stadium. He remembered the happy shouts of the students as they played sports and learned to master their grana. He remembered the few times he’d been allowed into his father’s classroom and watched the famous Pallas Myrios show his class how to bring their imaginations to life, how to project images of themselves performing extraordinary things so that they might actually be able to do them one day. He remembered his last birthday before he’d left Ecrof—his seventh, when his father had promised him that he would join the ranks of the best athletes in Epoca, that he was destined for Epic greatness.

  Now all of that was a laughable impossibility. Rovi, a street kid in the distant Sandlands, was never going to be anything but a thief and a beggar.

  This year the lead-up to his birthday had been worse than usual. Because this year, Rovi turned ten. And that meant that he was supposed to receive his Grana Book. But with no adult in his life, there was no book. There had been one once, of course. Every Dreamer or Realist had one made for him or her at birth. But Rovi hadn’t been able to find his in his father’s possessions when Pallas died, so he assumed that it had been lost somewhere in his father’s exile from Ecrof. So, no book meant no destiny. Like all other Star Stealers, Rovi had no future.

  These were the thoughts that were consuming Rovi several mornings after his birthday—which had been an unexceptional day of stealing a few measly pieces of fruit and a loaf of bread, and then throwing rocks into the river Durna. Rovi woke up hot and hungry, which wasn’t unusual. A heat wave was sweeping the Sandlands, making Issa’s gang cranky and irritable. A few of the older girls had tried to steal buckets of fruit ice from a store in the Upper City the day before and had been caught by the guards and taken away to the sandlots to make bricks for a month.

  The remaining members of the gang were at each other’s throats from the moment they opened their eyes. Amrav, one of the older boys, kneed Rovi in the side. “Go steal us something good,” he said. “Make yourself useful.”

  “Do it yourself,” Rovi said. It didn’t seem fair to have to share what he stole with some of the other boys, who spent their days playing pranks on the rich kids on the way to their fancy academies.

  Amrav kicked Rovi hard. Rovi bolted up from the reed mat he used as a bed. He was already wearing his Grana Gleams—he never took them off. He couldn’t trust anyone, not even the members of his own crew. He snatched Amrav’s woven satchel and darted out of their encampment under the bridge. Amrav tried to grab Rovi, but he was too slow, and in no time Rovi was on top of the bridge, dangling the satchel down toward the muddy river Durna.

  Below him on the bank, he could hear Amrav shouting furiously. He even picked up a rock and hurled it at Rovi. But what good would that do? If he hit Rovi, Rovi might drop the bag accidentally. Rovi leaned out over the railing and dangled the bag even farther. So what if he dropped it? How much worse could his life be? He had no future. When you were a Star Stealer, you had no house, no official family, no Grana Book.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced around to see Issa standing behind him, his large black eyes filled with the only kindness Rovi saw these days. Issa had been born and raised on the streets of Phoenis. Sleeping outside and stealing was the only life he’d ever known.

  “You don’t actually want to drop that, now do you, Swiftfoot?”

  Rovi did and he didn’t.

  Issa pulled a stale honeycake from his own satchel. “Here,” he said, “it’s not much.”

  Rovi felt guilty taking the cake from Issa when he could have so easily stolen one himself.

  “I know you’re disappointed about your birthday,” Issa said.

  Rovi nodded. But he wasn’t sure Issa truly understood. When you’ve never had parents, when you’ve never had the promise of a Grana Book and a future dangled in front of you, you can’t actually be sure what you are missing.

  “I know you wanted a Grana Book. Unfortunately, that’s the one thing we can’t steal,” Issa said, his lips arching into a half smile. Even the underclass of petty thieves, street vagabonds, and common criminals obeyed the prohibition against touching someone else’s Grana Book.

  “It’s no big deal,” Rovi said, trying to blink away his tears.

  “Exactly,” Issa said. “Why would you want your life to be determined by a silly book? Me, I make my own destiny. I can do whatever I want without having to worry about whether or not I’m following the instructions in a book my parents made for me when I was born. Who wants to follow those sorts of rules, right?”

  Rovi didn’t correct him. He knew that Issa’s free-spirited gang looked down on anything that came from the traditional world. They didn’t follow any rules. They weren’t Dreamers or Realists. They didn’t wear the colors of either house—which made Star Stealers easily identifiable. They didn’t follow the Epic Games. And they didn’t care about things like Grana Books. He also knew Grana Books didn’t offer instruction, they offered guidance. At least that’s what his father had told him before his death—they offered guidance as to how you might unlock your most powerful grana.

  Issa helped Rovi back from the ledge and looped a long, lanky arm around Rovi’s bony shoulder. “I have an idea,” Issa said. “How about today we sneak into the Royal Baths?”

  “But there are so many guards,” Rovi said.

  “There’s also a heat wave. Which means there will be such a crush of swimmers, there’s a good chance no one will notice.” Issa held out his hand. “But first, I think you have something to return to Amrav.”

  Rovi hesitated, taking one last look at the muddy water below, before handing the bag over to Issa.

  * * *

  Rovi had hoped that it would only be him and Issa on this adventure, but of course the whole gang wanted to go. Together they emerged from below the bridge and crossed into the Upper City. They spread out as they walked, not wanting to attract attention. They took an indirect route, through back alleys and narrow walkways, until they emerged in front of a large circular building with a copper-plated onion-domed roof.

  Affluent Dreamers and Realists were coming and going through the front door. The ones exiting the building looked refreshed and glowing. Some of them carried sparkling bottles of Spirit Water, others still had wet hair from their swim.

  “The pool is in a large underground cavern,” Issa explained. “It’s fed by a secret river that runs to Phoenis from the distant mountains of Quip.”

  “And of course, only people from the Upper City can use it. Just like everything else that’s nice in Phoenis,” Amrav said.

  “Not today,” Issa said, beckoning the crew around back.

  There was a small alley between the far side of the building and one of the city walls, just wide enough for underfed street kids to squeeze through. Issa shinnied down, then got on his knees to fumble with a grate attached at the foot of the building. After a few minutes, he wrestled it free. “Rovi, you first.”

  Rovi inched past the rest of the crew and slipped down the open grate. He was in a cool, dark room. He could smell water and something else—eucalyptus, the same scent that rose from the Thera­Center at Ecrof. One by one, I
ssa and the rest of the gang alighted in the room behind him.

  “This way,” Issa said, leading them into a curved hallway where robes were hung on hooks. He pulled a robe off the wall and slipped it over his clothes, instructing his gang to do the same.

  The robe was enormous on Rovi, trailing behind him like a cloak. But the cotton was plush and soft, and, like so many other things that day, dragged him back to Ecrof and the luxurious linens and towels that had been provided to the students and teachers alike.

  Dozens of doors led off the hall and into the pool. Issa told the gang to spread out so they didn’t all enter at once. “And,” he said, “whatever you do, don’t attract attention. Enjoy the water, but don’t show off.”

  Rovi barely heard him. He had already stepped through a door to the pool. The pool was the most incredible thing he had seen since the impressive sports facilities at Ecrof. He guessed it was the size of two basketball courts. On one end was a wading pool for soaking or lounging, and on the other was a set of diving boards. In the center of the pool, hundreds of swimmers were floating on blue rafts staring up at the ceiling, which was painted with the constellations of the eastern sky.

  Rovi dropped his robe. He tore off his T-shirt. He kicked off his prized Grana Gleams. He took a running start, threading past bathers on their way in and out of the water. At the edge of the pool, he pushed off, arced into the air, and dove into the cool, clean, fresh water. Down, down, down he sank. Deeper into the perfect blue. He swam through a tangle of feet, darting between other swimmers like a minnow. And just before his lungs gave out, he came up for air. He flopped onto his back and stared up at the blue ceiling with its golden stars. And without the help of a raft, he floated.

  Rovi could feel the dirt and sweat wash off him. He did somersaults underwater, handstands in the shallows, and a few running cannonballs from the low diving board. He hadn’t been swimming since he’d left Ecrof. His father had taught him there, in the secret pool deep in a cave hidden in the mountains, where they would sneak off to when his father didn’t have to teach.

  For once he didn’t care that everyone else around him had money for Spirit Water and bright, juicy platters of fruit. He was swimming. He was moving quickly without being chased.

  Every once in a while, he passed a member of Issa’s gang. They acknowledged each other with a quick hello, but kept to themselves. No one, not even Amrav, wanted to risk being hauled out of the pool by the guards, who might notice they hadn’t paid their entry fee.

  After a while, Rovi pulled himself out of the water and sat on the edge of the pool, his legs dangling into the deep end. There was a kid about his age, a Realist, judging by the blue color of his swim trunks, up on the high diving board. Rovi watched as the boy executed an impressive double-flip into the water to the polite applause of a group of adults gathered below.

  Over and over again, the boy flipped off the diving board. Each time, the adults applauded and clapped him on the back. The boy had a self-satisfied look on his face that was starting to annoy Rovi. Six more times, the boy did his double-flip, each time growing prouder and prouder of himself.

  Rovi stood up and hurried to the diving board, cutting in front of the boy before he could climb up again. “Let someone else have a go,” Rovi said.

  Rovi scampered up the ladder and hurried to the edge of the board. He hadn’t counted on it being so high. Suddenly he couldn’t imagine jumping into the water below.

  “Scared?” he heard the voice of the boy call up from below.

  The water seemed impossibly far away.

  “You’re scaaaaaaared,” the boy taunted.

  Rovi was about to reply when his foot slipped off the board and he went plunging down to the water in a graceless belly flop. As he hauled himself out of the pool, he came face-to-face with the boy. “Have you ever even been on a diving board before?” the boy asked.

  “Of course,” Rovi lied.

  “Doesn’t look like it.”

  From across the pool, Rovi could see Issa’s eyes on him, pleading with him not to get into a fight with the young Realist.

  “What’s your name anyway?” the boy asked. “And why are your shorts ripped?”

  “None of your business,” Rovi said. His voice was a little louder than he’d intended. A few people looked up from their rafts and lounge chairs.

  The boy stared at him. It was clear to Rovi that he wasn’t used to being spoken to like that.

  “Are you a Star Stealer?”

  “I said mind your own business.”

  “Where are your house colors?” the boy demanded.

  “I said, mind your own business,” Rovi repeated. “Now excuse me, I have another dive to do, unless you plan on hogging the board some more.”

  “Dive?” The boy snickered. “That was the worst dive I’ve ever seen. If it was even supposed to be a dive. To me it looked like you just fell off the board.” Now the boy was talking animatedly and gesturing to get everyone’s attention.

  Rovi tried to hide the flush in his cheeks. “You’ll see,” he said, once more pushing past the boy to the diving board. This time it was the boy who lost his footing and slipped on the wet pool deck. He hit the ground with a cry that echoed across the pool. But Rovi was already climbing the ladder.

  He took his time walking to the edge of the diving board. He could sense some commotion below as people rushed to comfort the boy, who was sitting on the ground looking stunned.

  Rovi bounced on the end of the board. He would dive. He would. It didn’t have to be complicated. Just a simple swan dive into the water.

  But what was going on at the edges of the pool? People were moving and pointing. They were pointing up at him. From his towering vantage point, he could see several of Issa’s gang making for the exits as the pool guards began circling.

  The boy’s comments had alerted them, of course, to the suspected Star Stealer who’d snuck into the pool. Rovi bounced once more on the board as he scanned the pool deck. The only member of the gang left was Issa. Issa was waiting for him. Issa was risking being caught to make sure Rovi was okay.

  Rovi’s inner voice was already cooking up a plan. Dive down as deep as you can, swim as far as you can underwater—the entire length of the pool, if possible—all the way to the side where you entered. Get out, grab your sneakers, sprint down the hall, up through the grate. Go fast. Don’t look back.

  The pool guards were closing in. He had no choice but to dive now. It would be difficult—but it was his only chance of escape. One. Two. Three. Rovi sprang as high as he could on the board, reached his arms over his head, then dove down. He barreled toward the water, then plunged deep, until he nearly reached the bottom. Then he began to swim. He parted the water with his arms, pulling himself toward the shallow end, hoping he was swimming so deep that the guards couldn’t track him. His lungs were bursting. He could see the far end. He was almost there. He touched the wall. He hauled himself out and, crouching on the pool deck, looked around. Now all he needed was his sneakers.

  He shook water from his eyes. He could see his robe and dirty T-shirt where he’d left them. But his Gleams were gone.

  From both sides, he could see the guards approaching. What was the penalty for sneaking into a pool? Surely it wouldn’t be that bad. But when they figured out they had the notorious Swiftfoot, Rovi would be sent to make sand bricks for sure.

  He had to run. He had to forget his Gleams. He had no choice.

  And then suddenly there they were—his Grana Gleams, right in front of his face.

  “I believe these belong to you.”

  Rovi stood. He was face-to-face with the short, bald man with the twinkling green eyes who’d let him escape from the market a few weeks ago.

  “You weren’t going to leave without them, were you?”

  Rovi shook his head and took the sneakers.

  The g
uards had closed in. Across the pool, Rovi could feel Issa’s eyes on him.

  “Excuse me,” one of the guards said to the green-eyed man with a sneer. “That boy is a Star Stealer who snuck into the pool without paying.”

  “This boy?” The man, laughing, put a hand on Rovi’s shoulder. “This is Rovi Myrios of House Somni from the island of Cora. He’s no Star Stealer.”

  The guard narrowed his eyes at the bald man.

  “You are sure?” the guard said, looking Rovi over from top to toe and clearly not liking what he saw.

  The bald man cocked his head to one side. “Are you questioning my judgment or my sanity?”

  The guard quailed. “I . . . I must be mistaken,” he said. And with a final curious glance at Rovi, he left them.

  “Who are you?” Rovi asked when the guard was out of earshot.

  “You don’t recognize me? I’m Satis Dario, a scout from Ecrof.”

  Rovi shook his head once, wondering if there was water in his ears. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Ecrof?”

  “And I believe I have something that belongs to you. Your father left it behind when he was asked to leave the school.”

  Satis reached into a bag he had looped over his shoulder and pulled out a book, which he placed in Rovi’s hands. “I found it after you left Ecrof.”

  Rovi held the book. “Is this—is this—?” he stammered.

  “Yes,” Satis said. “It’s your Grana Book.”

  Rovi pressed the small, worn book to his face. It looked like one of the battered and dog-eared books at the antique bookseller’s stall at the market. But Rovi didn’t care. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen—ever held—in his life.

  “Now put on your shoes,” Satis said. “We have a long voyage ahead of us.”