by Kobe Bryant
“A voyage?”
“Yes, my boy. Your name appeared on this year’s Scrolls of Ecrof.”
Rovi’s jaw hung open. Was he hearing correctly?
Satis smiled at Rovi’s bewilderment. “You are going to Ecrof. You are going home.”
“But my father—my father was fired,” Rovi said.
“Well, Rovi. We can’t let a dispute like that get in the way of one of the finest athletes in the land being recruited to our school, can we? After all, what’s written on the scrolls is law. Whosever name appears, that person must attend. I’m afraid those are the rules. Do you have a problem with that?”
Rovi shook his head vigorously.
“Good. I must admit, I was delighted to see your name. Although it took me a few weeks to locate you. You are a hard boy to find.”
“Sorry,” Rovi said.
“It’s I who should be sorry,” Satis said. “It wasn’t until I arrived in Phoenis that I learned about your father’s death. He was a terrific man. And a smart one. A very smart one, as I’m sure you know.”
Rovi felt tears sting his eyes. He looked down at the book in his hand. Finally, something positive to remember his father by. Finally, a destiny.
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He had a Grana Book. He was going to Ecrof. Suddenly he was a Dreamer again, no longer a Star Stealer. And at the very moment he realized this, he glanced across the pool in time to see Issa slipping away into the shadows.
5
PRETIA
THE SHIP
The sky was tinted with the first pink rays of dawn when Pretia opened her eyes. She hadn’t been able to sleep all night, torn between excitement about going to Ecrof and anxiety about her cursed grana.
She heard someone enter her bedroom and pulled back the curtains that surrounded her bed to see Anara’s kindly face peeking in at her.
“Trouble sleeping?” her nurse asked.
She knew. As always, she knew.
Anara sat on the edge of the bed by Pretia’s pillow. “What’s wrong?” she asked, stroking Pretia’s cheek.
Was it so obvious that something was wrong? Pretia opened her mouth to reply. The whole story was on the tip of her tongue—the flame, her cursed grana, Davos and the cliff. But she couldn’t. Not now. Not yet. If they knew her grana came from Hurell, would she even be allowed at Ecrof?
“Are you worried about leaving?” Anara asked.
Pretia nodded. It was an easier answer. “Nine months away without hearing from my family,” she said. “That seems like forever.”
“It will fly by,” Anara said. “And before you know it, you’ll be back here, sitting on your bed, bursting with stories about the island.”
“And the school,” Pretia added.
“Yes, the school, too.” Anara closed her eyes. “But Cora Island is a magical place where magical things will happen. Ecrof Academy is only one aspect of it. The rest of the island is deserted. I imagine many wonders lie there.”
Pretia rolled onto her side and looked up at her nurse. She knew what was coming—one of Anara’s many stories about the gods and the time before grana.
“There are people who say that Cora Island is the most sacred place in Epoca.” Anara twisted a lock of Pretia’s hair around her fingers. “And not because of a sports academy. It was the last earthly home of the gods—the last place they wandered before they departed for their eternal home on Mount Aoin. As a Flamekeeper, I wish to visit that place most. But unfortunately, that’s not possible. Our modern age has determined that only recruited athletes whose names appear in the Scrolls of Ecrof can visit Cora’s sacred shores and see the temples built by the gods’ own grana.” There was a sad, wistful quality to Anara’s voice that was unfamiliar to Pretia, a true longing. “You see, Pretia, the Age of Grana brought about many important, positive changes for the people of Epoca, but too many of our old sacred traditions were left behind. Both good and evil.”
“Evil?” Pretia asked, sitting up.
“It is always good to remember that there was once evil in this world, so that our past mistakes can never be repeated. When the seven blessed gods sought refuge in their holy temples on Cora Island during the time of Hurell, they had nowhere else to go. They had built these impressive buildings for themselves with their own grana, a grace they had yet to give to the people.” Anara closed her eyes. Pretia imagined that she was trying to summon the vision of these masterful buildings that she would never see. “The gods were being forgotten by the people of Epoca, and because of this, their strength was diminished and they were weakened.” Anara paused and stared at Pretia with her calm gray eyes. “It was there they came together and used all of their different strengths to forge a new spirit of grana, one that they could give to the people of Epoca in exchange for turning away from Hurell once and for all. You see,” Anara continued, “grana is the godlike quality in all of us.”
Pretia tried to hide the shudder that tore through her body when her nurse uttered the Fallen God’s name. If there was any so-called godlike quality in her, that god was most certainly Hurell. The thought made her sick.
“And as we all know,” Anara continued, “the people of Epoca, who had lived in a dark age dominated by the God of Suffering, accepted this gift from the seven gods. Hurell was furious. He raged across the sea to the island. Now it was he who was weak. He beseeched his brother and sister gods to forgive him. And when they didn’t, he hid in his temple. It wasn’t long before grana took hold of the land. The people no longer had use for the gods. They were making their own destinies and had discovered their own godly talents. So there was no need for the gods to remain on earth anymore. Which is why they departed for their eternal home before they could be forgotten.” Anara lowered her voice. “When a god is ignored by all people and all earthly trace of him or her is removed, that god loses all power in this world. That’s why I’m a Flamekeeper,” Anara said. “It’s my duty, and the duty of my fellow keepers, to preserve the memory of the gods.”
“So because praying to Hurell is forbidden, he lost all power in Epoca?” Pretia asked.
“Exactly,” Anara said. “You’ve seen for yourself, in the mural under the Gods’ Eye, that a swift ship with golden-trimmed sails came for the gods to take them away. Of course, Hurell was not welcome to join them on Mount Aoin. Before the ship departed, he emerged from his temple and bellowed out across the sea to the people of Epoca, demanding their loyalty. There was no answer. Once, twice, three times he cried. But he was only met by silence. Then, with all his remaining strength, he drove his Staff of Suffering into the ground, furious at his brother and sister gods, and furious at the offering of grana that had made the people turn away from him. His anger was so powerful that when he hit the ground with his staff, he split the earth, and his temple collapsed. He cried to his fellow gods for help as his temple was falling, but they didn’t listen. It was too late. And the upheaval of the earth that he’d caused tossed him off the towering cliffs of Epoca into the churning sea below.”
Pretia was wide awake now. “So there’s no temple to Hurell on Cora?”
“That’s what the stories say,” Anara said. “Someone would need an impressive reserve of grana to rebuild it—a godly reserve. But Hurell has no need for a temple. Because as long as no one prays to him, he cannot return. And since praying to him is forbidden, he will remain apart from our world.” Now Anara smiled sadly. “So few people pray to the remaining gods anymore these days. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t still with us. Remember that.”
Before Pretia could ask any more questions, she heard her father’s voice bellowing down the phonopipes, summoning her to the Grand Atrium.
Quickly Anara pulled her out of bed. “Hurry, Pretia,” she said. “We’ve spent too much time on the myths and legends. You don’t want to miss the ship to Cora.”
The sun was already ove
r the cliffs when Pretia and her parents arrived at the gates to Castle Airim. A solar van was waiting, loaded with her bags. She wore her golden Grana Gleams and carried a small backpack with her Grana Book. A castle porter swung the gates open.
She glanced into the van and saw that Janos and Castor were already inside.
“This is where we leave you,” King Airos said. “Listen to your uncle and be patient with yourself. All good things will happen in time.”
Pretia glanced at her mother, who wore an anxious expression.
“You mean like my grana?” Pretia asked.
Queen Helena kissed her on the cheek. “You are exceptional, Pretia,” she said. But the worried look hadn’t left her eyes.
Pretia hesitated. Maybe if she told her mother the truth about her grana, that anxious expression would disappear. Maybe it would be that easy. But she couldn’t. If she knew the truth about her daughter’s grana, it would make Queen Helena feel worse than she already did.
The queen cupped Pretia’s cheek in her hand. Her worried look had turned to sadness. “First my sister and now you,” she said. “One by one, they leave.”
Pretia and her father locked eyes. The queen only ever mentioned Syspara in moments of extreme despair. Her sister’s disappearance was too painful for her to discuss.
“Mama,” Pretia said brightly, “I’m just going away for a little while. It’s not permanent. It’s only school!”
“I know,” the queen replied. “I know. But I won’t hear from you for nine months.”
“I’ll be with Uncle Janos,” Pretia said. “It’s not like I’m running away with strangers.”
At the mention of her brother’s name, Queen Helena smiled. “That does give me comfort. And perhaps he will break with tradition and keep me updated on how you are doing from time to time.”
“Mama,” Pretia urged, “I don’t want to be treated differently from the other students.”
“But you’re not just any student,” Queen Helena said.
“From tomorrow on, I am,” Pretia insisted. “Please.”
“Okay,” her mother replied, kissing her on the head.
The driver honked his horn.
“And it’s only for nine months,” Pretia said. “I’ll be back before you know it.” She flung her arms around her mother one last time and let herself be hugged tightly. Then she walked through the gates and got into the van.
The van began the long, slow descent from the castle to the harbor. The road was twisty and on a particularly sharp turn, one of Pretia’s duffel bags slid forward, knocking Castor on the head. “Packed enough, Pretia?” Castor taunted. “Or did your babysitter do it for you?”
“Anara is not just a babysitter,” Pretia snapped.
“Right,” Castor said, “she’s a royal nurse. Well, when you get to Ecrof you’re not going to be a princess anymore. You’re just going to be normal, boring Pretia.”
“Fine,” Pretia said, and felt a swell of hope. That was exactly what she wanted.
The sun was a golden orb hanging in the perfect blue sky when the van reached the harbor. A group of kids was racing around the dock. When the van pulled up, the kids stopped and watched with interest as Janos, Pretia, and Castor emerged.
At the end of the dock, a ship was bobbing in the water. Instead of one of the newer hydrosolar boats that could speed around the coast of Ecrof and up to the Rhodan Islands in record time, it was an old-fashioned sailing vessel with three sails and a spinnaker flying Ecrof’s green and gold colors. Each of the sails was printed with a giant image of the famous Tree of Ecrof, the oldest tree in all of Epoca, the school’s cherished mascot.
Janos blew his whistle and the kids assembled in front of him, divided up by house affiliation: Dreamers to the left, Realists to the right. Pretia and Castor slipped into their ranks but kept their distance from one another. Castor stood with the Realists and Pretia hovered at the back of the group, standing between the camps, uncertain of which side to choose.
“Welcome, Ecrof recruits,” Janos said. “This is perhaps the most diverse group to enter Ecrof. We have a fisherman’s son, the son of a decorated gymnast, the sister of a current Epic Champion, a former Star Stealer. We have the daughter of a scientist, the son of an artist, and even two members of the royal family. But all of these differences are beside the point. Because now you are all the same. Your names were discovered on this year’s Scrolls of Ecrof. You are now Ecrof recruits. The girls and boys surrounding you are going to be your best friends and your fiercest competitors for the next seven years. They will see you through hard times and glorious ones. Together you will learn, you will compete, and you will master your grana.”
“And,” Pretia heard Castor whisper to the Realist from the Rhodan Islands next to him, “we have my famous cousin, Pretia, who is only here because of who her parents are.”
The kids all swiveled their heads, trying to get a look at their new classmates. Pretia was pretty certain when their eyes landed on her they were seeing one thing only—princess.
“Now,” Janos continued, gesturing to the ship bobbing in the turquoise sea behind him, “this is your first taste of Ecrof tradition. You have traveled to our capital city from all over Epoca, some of you for several days. You have said goodbye to your friends and families. You will not see or hear from them for nine months. Everything that goes on in Ecrof is a secret. No news in and no news out.” Janos looked at each of the recruits in turn. “Now you will get on the famous Ecrof ship. For two thousand years, since the gods graced us with grana and departed their earthly home of Cora, a ship like this one has been taking recruits to the island of Cora itself, the home of our academy. The location of the island is a secret. Only three boat captains in all of Epoca know how to get there.”
Pretia heard a low groan and turned to see the small boy standing next to her clutching his stomach. “Before we board, there is one more Ecrof tradition we must honor.” Janos blew the whistle that dangled from a cord around his neck, and two deckhands rushed off the ship wheeling a cart loaded with bags. “Your official Ecrof uniforms,” Janos said.
A cheer burst out from the recruits. One by one, Janos summoned them forward. There were seventeen in all, eight Dreamers, eight Realists, and Pretia. Some looked nervous as they approached their imposing Head Trainer, others crossed the dock like they were already Epic Champions.
Sometimes it was easy to tell what part of the Kingdom of Epoca they came from. The kids from Phoenis, across the sea in the Sandlands region, looked not all that different from Pretia, with dark olive skin and almond-shaped eyes. The recruits from the Rhodan Islands had fair hair and dark eyes. And the children from Helios, capital of Epoca, near Castle Airim, were easily spotted by their curly red locks. There was a Dreamer girl who wore the traditional headscarf of the women of Persos, and a tall, willowy Dreamer boy who had the palest skin and most golden hair Pretia had ever seen before.
When a Realist from Alkebulan, the wild desert continent across the sea, came forward to accept her bag, Janos placed a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes. “We have been waiting for you at Ecrof, Vera,” he said. “We expect great things.” She grinned and nodded in acknowledgment, her glossy black ponytail bobbing as she did.
“That’s Vera Renovo,” the short Realist boy next to Pretia whispered. “Julius Renovo’s sister.”
Pretia’s eyes widened in admiration. Julius Renovo was one of the most famous athletes in all of Epoca, and he was only seventeen. He was a three-time Epic Champion in the last games. And he was still a student at Ecrof.
“She probably thinks she’s already made the Epic Elite Squad just because of her brother,” the boy said. His next comment was cut off when Janos called his name, Leo Apama. Leo stumbled forward, landing on his hands and knees on the dock.
After Leo, Janos summoned a scrawny, olive-skinned boy, Rovi Myrios, who snatched
his bag from Pretia’s uncle before Janos had a chance to greet him. The boy’s black hair was dirty and tangled and hid his eyes so that Pretia was unable to hazard a guess at his place of origin. He tucked his duffel under his arm and darted back into the group of recruits without a word to Janos.
Next was Castor, who proudly approached his father and took his duffel and held it over his head like a trophy, which made a group of Realists, Vera Renovo included, whoop and cheer. Then came two Dreamers, Zoe and Jason, who seemed to be brother and sister.
Then it was Pretia’s turn. When her uncle called her name, Pretia felt the eyes of all her fellow recruits on her at once. She took her duffel and her cheeks burned with pride. Back in the group of recruits, she unzipped the bag, digging through a stack of Ecrof school sweats, gray practice T-shirts, shorts, sweatbands, wristbands, socks, and caps all trimmed in green and gold and printed with the famous Tree of Ecrof and their class year. None of them bore any house affiliation.
She bowed her head, trying to hide her excitement from her fellow classmates. Back home at Castle Airim, Pretia had closets filled with dresses made from the finest fabrics in all of Epoca—silks from the Sandlands, traditional wax prints from Megos, water-dyed cottons from the Rhodan Islands. There was a whole room filled with royal costumes that had been passed down from generations of Realist and Dreamer women that were waiting until she was tall enough to wear them, if indeed she ever grew tall enough to wear them. But never had clothes meant so much to her as the simple gym kit she was holding in her hands.
“It’s like she’s never seen clothes before,” Castor said. The little group of Realists gathered around him all snickered. But Pretia didn’t care. She was a recruit, just like the rest of them. Nothing was going to change that.
Janos cleared his throat, summoning the students to attention. “You will receive your official house colors and competition uniforms when you arrive in Ecrof after the Placement Ceremony. But for now, it’s time to board the ship and set sail.”