by Matt Laney
“Everything you learn here is based on centuries of research in the laboratory of battle. You have already received your first lessons in the Science of War. To get into the Academy you had to rely on someone else, and to arrive at my house you had to trust your fellow cadets. Remember, you have a far better chance of survival when you depend on others and have complete trust in your captain, your quadron, your company, and every Singa who pledges to fight and die for the Kahn.”
“When will we be assigned a captain?” I ask.
“Tomorrow, at first light,” she replies curtly. “Now let’s get to the real purpose of your visit to my fortress. Like all new cadets, you are here to see why we train so hard, the reason why a strong military is so important to our way of life. You are here to behold our enemy from beyond the Great Wall: the Maguar.”
What? The Maguar? Here?
I exchange stunned glances with my companions, our fear scents filling the room as an invisible cloud.
“It is quite safe,” Alpha assures us. “Follow.”
Alpha guides us to a heavy door built into the canyon rock at the back of her fortress. She takes a key from around her neck and fits it into the lock. “Before I show you what is on the other side of this door, you must swear, upon your lives, never to speak of this to anyone beyond the Academy. Is that clear?”
More secrets. Nevertheless, we all bob our heads affirmatively. I would pluck out half my whiskers just to see a Maguar.
“Good.” Alpha turns the handle and leans on the hefty door. Instantly, a rank scent invades my nostrils. Every hair on my pelt pops up like a porcupine quill.
“Mark that scent well,” Alpha says. “There is no scent more important to remember. Keep your distance. Come no closer to the cage than I do. The creature is swift and cunning. And one other thing: Do not look him in the eye. He will take it as a challenge.”
We enter a cavelike chamber lit by three skylights in the ceiling. One half of the room is divided by thick bars. A dark shape crouches against the back wall.
Alpha bangs on the bars with a wooden stave. “Get up, Maguar! Meet some new cadets.”
The figure stirs and groans. The sound of chains dragging on the stone floor joins the sluggish movements of an awakening creature. He rises to full height, and we behold the enemy warrior: huge and fearsome, with a dark striped pelt and a splash of white across his muzzle and neck. He approaches the bars, growling and regarding us with contempt.
“Here is the enemy from beyond the Great Wall!” Alpha says triumphantly. “Behold his bloodthirsty mouth. Note his broad shoulders, large hands, and claws. Each of you killed a slaycon using weapons. This brute could rip a slaycon apart barehanded. Imagine tens, hundreds, thousands of beasts like him pouring into Singara to rob us of our liberty and loved ones and everything we hold dear. This is why we train so hard. This is why a strong military force is a necessity beyond all others. This is why you are here, to join in the great tradition of protecting our way of life!”
“How long has he been locked up in there?” 24-3 asks in a thin voice.
“He was captured on the border just after the Great War, before the Great Wall was built. He was a young warrior in those days, but he was as large and as formidable as he is today.”
So this poor Maguar has spent twenty-five years, most of his life, in captivity, behind these bars.
“Do not pity him,” Alpha says, noting our sagging whiskers and drooping tails.
“Can he talk?” I probe.
The Maguar’s eyes shift to Alpha.
“Of course. They have their own primitive language.”
“Can he speak our language?”
“Yes, but he is forbidden to do so.”
I’m drawn to the creature and take two steps forward before I know what my legs have done. Alpha gasps as the Maguar’s arm, quick as lightning, thrusts out from behind the bars, reaches behind my back, and smashes me against the cage. He crouches and presses me to his face, inhaling my scent.
“Let him go immediately or you will not eat for a week!”
“Yoda’at mi atah, infidel?” the Maguar rumbles.
He gives me a final sniff, licks my neck, and drops me like a bag of sand.
“Et yoda’at mi et?”
I scramble away. Alpha pulls me back to hasten my retreat. 24-2 and 24-3 check me for wounds and find none. The Maguar slinks back into the shadows of his cage.
“You okay?” 24-2 asks.
“That thing’s meaner than a bag of rattlesnakes,” 24-3 adds.
“You will suffer for this, Wajid!” Alpha snarls.
“Suffer already,” he replies mournfully.
Wajid! That’s who Daviyah told me about. His former servant!
“Well, 24-4,” Alpha says when we are safely on the other side of the door. “You have not only seen one of our enemies—you have come closer to a Maguar than any Singa, save those who fought in the Great War. I trust it is an experience you will not forget.”
“What did he say to me?” I ask.
“How should I know?” Alpha snorts. “I do not speak their gibberish.”
“He called me infidel. What does that mean?”
“It means ‘unbeliever.’ We are all infidels to them.”
Alpha escorts us to the entryway of her fortress. Before letting us go she says, “One more thing. Assist me in protecting the purity of our army and keep an eye out, or better yet, keep an ear out, for Spinners. It is always our duty to do so, but at the Academy we must be especially vigilant. In my experience Spinners are the quiet ones, reluctant to open their mouths lest the disease expose them. Every Spinner is found out, eventually. Better now, better here, than after they graduate and enter the Royal Army, don’t you agree?”
I shiver, not knowing which is more chilling: my close encounter with Wajid or this.
“We will,” I declare for all of us, topping it off with a little bow.
Alpha smiles for the first time. “All the best to you, younglings. Train hard. Our realm and everything we hold dear depend on it.”
We tumble into the fresh air of the canyon, blinking in the late-afternoon sunlight. The fortress door closes behind us, and I say, “I want to go back in there. Tonight. And I’ll need you both to help me.”
Chapter 14
The shortest distance between two leos is a story.
—Sayings of the Ancients
he campus is empty. The scores of cadets who lined the central path only fifteen minutes ago have vanished.
I part my jaws and taste the air. “Where is everyone?”
24-3 is panicky. “We’re late for feeding time!”
“Feeding time?” I protest. “It’s only the sixteenth hour.”
“We eat early on gaming days,” 24-3 explains, charging down the steps of Alpha’s fortress with 24-2 in tow.
“What’s gaming?”
He runs away. “We have to hurry or there won’t be any food left!”
“Wait!” I yell, but they don’t. My quadron-mates make a beeline for a large building a hundred or so meters off, most likely the feeding hall. We sprint by pastures packed with antelope, goats, and deer that scatter at the sight of us. “You haven’t told me your real names!”
24-3 slows a bit, permitting 24-2 and me to catch up. “We’re not supposed to use names around here, remember?”
“You know my name. It’s only fair for you to tell me yours.”
He searches the area for onlookers. “Everyone back home calls me Stick.”
“Because you are skinny?”
“Because he has sticky fingers,” 24-2 explains. “He’s a thief.”
“I can’t help it if other people’s stuff clings to my hands!” Stick argues.
“Good thing I don’t have anything to steal,” I say.
“Yes,” 24-2 agrees. “It is.”
“What about you?”
“My sister is Zoya,” 24-3 reveals as we trot up to the feeding hall.
“You two are brothe
r and sister?”
“Twins,” Stick says. “Not identical, though.”
I figured that. They are about as identical as a boulder and a sapling.
Stick opens the feeding hall door and pokes his head inside. “We’re in luck. Still a bit of meat left.”
The feeding hall is similar to the castle’s. I cast my eyes around the vaulted ceiling, the stone fireplace, and the rows of tables and benches, tightly packed with feasting cadets. It all brings a tender touch of comfort and a prickly pinch of homesickness. Instead of the Kahn reclining with his four generals at the high table, Jakal is sitting with four head instructors. And somewhere, in the sea of faces, is Tamir’s daughter and my cousin, Amara.
Stick, Zoya, and I weave to a table of cadets at the far corner, which I take to be their company . . . our company. Stick snags a piece of meat from every table we pass. All it takes is a growl from Zoya to discourage anyone from lashing out at Stick for his thievery. Few in this hall are as large and fearsome as Zoya. For every two pieces that Stick devours, he tosses two over his shoulder for Zoya and me until we slide onto the benches of our table. The cadets around the table gawk at me, nudging one another.
“He doesn’t have any wounds!” one of them says.
“Maybe he had someone do his hunt for him,” another says with a sneer.
My ears burn. Most cadets at this table sport slaycon injuries, like Zoya and Stick. That means they are all somewhat new to the Academy as well. I guess companies are made of the most recent arrivals until they reach sixteen members. I am the fifteenth. Our captain will make us complete.
Jakal rises from his chair and the room quiets. “We have a new cadet among us today. I call on him to stand on his bench, introduce himself to his fellow cadets, and announce what company he trains with.”
Zoya prods me with an elbow. I climb on the bench and clear my throat as though I’m about to make a grand speech. My voice comes out in an airy whine. “My name is Leo, grandson of Raja Kahn and prince of Singara . . .”
That’s what I meant to say. In fact, I only manage “My name is Le—” when Stick erupts in a coughing fit that blocks out everything else.
Zoya leans across the table. “Use your Academy name: 24-4!” she snarls as if I’m the dumbest Singa on the planet and putting the whole company at risk.
“My name is 24-4 and I am proud to serve with . . . um . . .”
“Company F!” Stick whispers.
“Company F.”
“Welcome, 24-4. Who would like to present blades to our newest cadet?” Jakal asks the assembly.
“I will,” comes a voice, strong and clear, from the other side of the hall. She is older and larger than the last time I saw her, but there is no mistaking Amara. A hot lump of dread sizzles in my throat.
“Ah yes, 10-1,” Jakal says breezily, as though he expected her. “Both of you, come forward.”
Amara and I approach the high table. Jakal hands Amara a set of used blades in worn leather scabbards: a long blade, a short blade, a dagger, and an aero-blade. Her nostrils flare. Her eyes narrow with rage.
“The words, 10-1,” Jakal says.
“On behalf of your fellow cadets, I welcome you and wish you well in your training,” Amara says mechanically to contain her anger. “Our safety and prosperity depend on all of us serving together as one. These blades represent the Pride of Singara. Train with them, become one with them, and use them only to protect the Kahn, the Pride, your company, your quadron, and your own life. If you surrender your blades, you surrender your honor and your duty to protect the throne.”
Instead of placing the blades in my arms, she drops them in a clatter of metal and leather. I manage to catch the aero-blade and the short blade, but the dagger and long blade tumble to the floor like dead limbs. Amara squats with me to scoop up the fallen weapons. Our heads are so close, our whiskers interlace.
“I know what the Kahn did to my father!” she says, nearly spitting.
“It could have been worse,” I reply. “He could have lost more than his tail.”
“The Kahn will regret letting him live.”
I’ve got nothing to say in response to that. Grandfather wanted to kill Tamir on the spot. He’s alive because of me. I guess that part wasn’t shared with Amara. It might not matter anyway.
Amara turns to Jakal. “Permission to offer another word of greeting, Commander.”
“Granted. But keep it short, Captain.”
Amara addresses the assembled cadets, and a shiver of alarm climbs my spine. “It is no secret who 24-4 is, or that he and I are cousins,” Amara begins. “The cadets have talked about little else since he arrived. He and I share the same great-grandfather, Jamar Kahn. His grandfather and my grandfather are brothers, his grandfather being the younger brother. My father and his mother are cousins, his mother being the younger cousin.”
Without saying it directly, Amara is questioning Grandfather’s claim to the throne over his older brother and, therefore, my right to become Kahn after him. Not only does Tamir have his heart set on the throne, Amara does as well.
The head instructor seated next to Jakal leaps to his feet. “Cadet, these facts are not recorded in the Kahn’s History! Are you a diseased Spinner? I’ll have your tongue!”
Jakal glowers at the instructor, staring him back to his seat.
“I am not a Spinner,” Amara says calmly. “And it should come as no surprise that these facts are not recorded in the Kahn’s History. It is, after all, the Kahn’s History. But history can be changed, just as Kahns change.”
It is a bold idea, but murmurs of support spread around the hall as Amara marches to her table. I clutch the blades to my chest and hurry back to Company F.
Blood thumps in my ears, followed by the sound of rushing wind. The affliction is back. A lump of fiction is creeping through the coils of my brain, preparing to roll onto my tongue and overtake me. I need to get out of here. Fast.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I whisper to Stick. “Where is the dirt shack?”
“Outside. Go through the kitchen.”
Jakal calls on a cadet to read a chapter from The Science of War. That gives everyone just enough distraction for me to make my exit. I dump my blades on the bench and dash through the kitchen into the twilight, the fiction thrashing about in my mouth. The air around the dirt shack is predictably foul. The next building is a barn and I slip inside. Surrounded by an audience of lumber and tools, spiders, and the smell of dingy old things, I open my aching mouth. The words flow and a bright swirling vision fills the dusty space.
Once there was a mother sheep who decided to take her lamb to the northern plains, where the grass was rich and abundant and where many sheep grazed during the summer.
I watch, fascinated and resentful, as the scene unfolds: the beautiful sheep and her little lamb, the sunlit valley, a flower-strewn meadow surrounded by sturdy trees.
As the mother sheep and her little lamb made their journey, they encountered Rukan, a huge and ferocious wolf.
“Good morning, Madame Sheep,” said Rukan the wolf. “Where are you off to?”
“Mr. Rukan!” replied the terrified sheep. “I am taking my little lamb to graze on the rich and plentiful grass of the northern plains.”
“How tragic,” said Rukan. “Because, as it happens, I am very hungry, and I’m going to eat you both.”
“Oh, please don’t, Mr. Rukan,” cried the mother sheep. “Not now. In the autumn, we will be fatter and make a much more satisfying meal. Wait a few moons and eat us then.”
Rukan liked the idea. “Certainly you are right, Madame Sheep,” he said. “I will not eat you now, as long as you promise to meet me at this very spot on your return journey in the autumn.”
So saying, Rukan pranced away while the sheep and her lamb continued their journey. Soon they forgot their frightful encounter with the wolf. All summer they feasted on the rich grasses of the northern plains. When autumn came the mother sheep was as fat as she c
ould be and her little lamb had grown into a handsome youngster.
As they returned south, the mother sheep recalled her agreement with Rukan the wolf, and she became increasingly seized with dread. When they approached the very place where they had encountered the wolf, along came a large rabbit, hopping down the road.
The rabbit noticed how sad the mother sheep appeared and said, “Sister Sheep, how can a sheep as healthy as you with such a handsome lamb be so sad?”
“Brother Rabbit,” said the mother sheep. “Ours is an unhappy story. Last spring, as we came to this very road, we met Rukan the wolf, who was about to eat us. I persuaded him to wait until we were both fatter after feasting all summer on the rich grass of the northern plains. The wolf agreed and promised to meet us on our return. I fear that we shall soon be killed and eaten!”
“This is indeed a sad story!” replied the rabbit. “But do not despair, Sister Sheep. I can handle that wolf.”
The rabbit reached into his bag and dressed himself in a fine new robe and put a royal hat on his head. He took out a large sheet of paper and tucked a pen behind his ear, climbed upon the back of the sheep, and directed them down the path.
When they came to the appointed place, Rukan was waiting, looking fiercer and hungrier than before. The rabbit called out in a tone of authority, “Who are you and what are you doing there?”
“I am Rukan the wolf, and I am going to eat these two healthy sheep according to our agreement made in early summer. Who are you?”
“I am the royal rabbit. I am on a special mission from the Kahn to collect ten wolf skins as a present to his wife. How fortunate that I should find you. Your skin will count as one!”
With that, the rabbit took his pen and sheet of paper and wrote a very large “1” in clear view of the wolf.
“If you don’t mind waiting here for a minute or two,” said the rabbit, “hunters are right behind us, and they will gladly remove your skin and fur.”