by Dylan Steel
Patches of darkness began working their way into Sage’s field of vision as she gulped for oxygen. But her throat was being crushed under Carnabel’s grip, and just trying to inhale wasn’t working.
The briefest, most welcome flicker of relief jolted through her. It was almost over. She didn’t even have to give up—her body would do it for her. Eprah wouldn’t even fault her for the defeat. Second place was a huge accomplishment, and she’d given it her all. Hadn’t she?
Every part of her throat burned. Her body screamed in silent agony as she thrashed under Carnabel’s grasp. The urge to cough was overwhelming, but without any air in her lungs, she could only manage a pitiful grunt. It wasn’t worth fighting it anymore. She’d only be unconscious for a moment before the Coordinator pulled Carnabel off of her and declared her the champion. It was almost over.
Just a few more seconds.
Her eyes rolled to the side as if they had a mind of their own. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Sage knew that Carnabel’s form was off—that she’d rushed the move and hadn’t taken the time to adjust, leaving herself less stable than she should be.
Sage fought the urge to laugh. Carnabel was going to win with a sloppy maneuver. That was an unfortunate way to become the Bokja champion. Oh, well.
Another competing voice burst through her hazy thoughts. Get it together, Indarra. Not like this.
Grimacing through the pain, Sage argued with herself. Carnabel could win. This was perfectly fair. She was tired and sore and ready to be done, and Carnabel had fought well. She deserved to win.
That other, small, persistent part of her couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave well enough alone. Anticipation stirred deep in her belly even as the darkness tried to overtake her. Sage’s eyelids drooped. She could barely see anything anymore.
But it was Carnabel, and this was their last fight. And Sage didn’t want to quit.
Summoning one last burst of energy, Sage drew her knee back and slammed her heel forward with all the strength she had left, hoping she’d somehow managed to get the placement right.
A direct hit.
Carnabel’s leg dropped back, and she collapsed under her own weight. She lay stunned for just a moment, only long enough for Sage to roll away and gasp for breath. As oxygen flooded back into her lungs, Sage’s thoughts began to clear, and she knew she still had a chance.
But she had to move fast.
Carnabel didn’t stay down long. Both girls scrambled toward each other on all fours, desperate to gain the advantage.
Maybe desperation was all Sage had needed.
Before Carnabel could draw herself to her full height, Sage dropped back to the ground, sweeping her leg across the floor, catching Carnabel’s ankle before she realized what she was doing. As Carnabel came crashing back down to the mat face-first, Sage launched herself onto her back. She squeezed her knees around Carnabel’s midsection, hooking her elbow around her neck, locking the hold tight with her other arm.
Even if Carnabel somehow managed to get her feet back under her, she wouldn’t get free. Sage wasn’t letting go.
The irony wasn’t lost on her. She’d almost just blacked out because of a similar move. Poetic justice. She knew exactly the type of pain she was putting Carnabel through at that very moment, and she wasn’t the least bit sorry. Blood roared in her ears as she wrenched her fist back even farther. She just had to wait. Carnabel’s oxygen would run out soon enough.
Carnabel writhed under her, scratching Sage’s arms, her fingers—drawing blood. Still, Sage held on fervently, not stopping until she felt another set of arms wrap around her stomach, lifting her into the air. Confused, Sage jerked her head back, knocking solidly into whoever was trying to keep her from winning. Whoever it was stumbled back, cursing and grunting, leaving her alone.
She fell back down and immediately hooked her legs back around Carnabel. She’d managed to keep her arms locked around her neck the whole time.
The uncomfortable chuckle of the headmaster boomed across the stage, pulling her focus away from Carnabel for the briefest moment.
“Apparently, our Bokja Tournament champion would rather keep fighting than be crowned this year.”
Laughter rippled through the crowd at the headmaster’s words. Sage frowned and turned her head slightly.
Their Coordinator was standing just behind her, holding his face in his hands while blood flowed down his arms. Half a dozen other Coordinators were approaching quickly, some looking nervous, some determined.
Somehow, she must have missed the ending tone for the match—and she hadn’t stopped.
Horrified, Sage let her arms go limp. She scrambled off Carnabel, putting some distance between them.
Two of the Coordinators rushed to Carnabel’s side, helping her stand up. She rubbed the front of her neck and pushed them away, staggering unsteadily.
The headmaster stepped closer and gingerly grabbed Sage’s wrist with two fingers, raising her arm above her head.
He said something, probably proclaiming her the winner of the tournament and a model citizen of Eprah, but the roar from the crowd and the pounding in her ears drowned it out.
She blinked as she stared out over the crowd. It was impossible, but it had happened. She’d won.
Glancing to the side, she glimpsed the bitter runner-up who’d come so close to beating her. The look on her face made Sage’s breath catch.
Angry flames danced behind Carnabel’s glare. A flash of pure hatred surged over her steely expression, sending unwelcome prickles down Sage’s spine. The message was clear: One way or another, Sage was going to pay for this.
Sage swallowed hard, wincing at the pain that streaked down her throat in protest. So this was how it felt to be the Bokja champion.
Maybe she should’ve given up after all.
11. THE REPLACEMENT
“I’m so glad we won’t have to do this next year,” Penelope muttered under her breath. She set a tall green hat on the shelf beside the others.
Sage gave her a wry grin as she unwrapped the scarf from her neck and hung it up. “But we’ll still get to watch. Every Founders’ Day from now until…” she trailed off. Until we die. What a pleasant thought.
“Yeah, but I won’t have to be Tree Number Five ever again.” Penelope shimmied out of the brown suit she’d been wearing on stage. “I’m not even sure why trees need to be part of the story of Eprah’s founding.”
“We’re all just doing our part to remember our roots,” Pippa chimed in, grinning widely at her joke.
“Hilarious,” Marnie said, rolling her eyes. “Maybe you’ll get a job assignment that really lets your brilliance shine.”
Pippa’s smile faded slightly. She turned and straightened her costume on the rack, not saying a word.
“We’d better hurry.” Marnie shot a sideways glance at the instructor waiting in the doorway with a hand on her hip. “We’re the last ones. I think they’re ready to lock up.”
Penelope followed her gaze and quirked an eyebrow. “Good call.” She and Sage tossed the remnants of their costumes onto the shelf. “Let’s go.”
They filed out of the room, making their way to the auditorium at the same time as the last few boys. Penelope nudged Sage ahead of her, ensuring she got to sit next to Nic. Not that it was entirely selfless—Drue hung back too, and Penelope conveniently managed to squeeze between him and Sage.
The headmaster was already halfway through his speech by the time they settled into their row. In fact, Sage could probably count down the exact time remaining. He rarely varied his pacing and usually ended within a range of ten seconds. Even the more loyal citizens tended to tune out his voice by the time he’d finished greeting everyone.
Sage slumped deeper in her chair, already bored. Being backstage was definitely better than this.
Fortunately, Nic was eager to make the best of the situation. Before Sage realized what he was doing, he already had his hand wrapped around hers, gently rubbing his thumb over hers.
Penelope elbowed her and gave their intertwined hands a pointed look, winking dramatically. Sage narrowed her eyes at her in reproach, but she couldn’t manage to stop grinning, so she just shrugged. She stuck out her tongue and then turned her attention back to Nic, snuggling into his shoulder. Pairing her with Nic was one of the only good things Eprah had ever done, and she planned to enjoy it as fully as possible.
She almost didn’t notice when the headmaster stepped away, but a sudden hush fell over the crowd, drawing her attention back to the center of the stage. An old man with a wispy white comb-over and a steep hunch had taken his place in front of everyone. He leaned heavily on the cane at his side. Sage recognized him immediately as a member of the Quorum of Five.
“Ladies. Gentlemen.” The man nodded toward the crowd. “For those of you who are unaware, I am the Venerable Nicholas Pruitt, long-standing member of the Quorum of Five.”
Sage shifted in her seat, sitting up a little straighter. The Quorum members usually served as decoration at these ceremonies—they didn’t often get involved. She had no idea why he was addressing them, but she figured it was important.
“I’ve come before you today with a very special announcement. One which, I hope, will be as exciting to you as it is to me and to my fellow Quorum members.” He paused. “With all the abundance and blessings of Eprah, we haven’t managed to find the key to immortality—”
He chuckled and waited for the echo of approval from the crowd. Even across the expanse of the auditorium, Sage could hear the strain in the citizens’ forced laughter. She clenched her teeth. Nothing like the support of a forcibly captive audience.
“—which is why it is time for us to name a successor to the Quorum of Five.” He held up a hand to quell the murmurs of shock rippling through the crowd. “Not to worry. Your Quorum is in excellent health, and we are all still fully capable of performing our duties. There are no plans for any one of us to step down at the present time. However, it has been a long time since we’ve appointed a new member, and we considered it a wise decision to begin training up the first replacement. This will ensure that there is a seamless transition of leadership when a member of our Quorum decides to step down or expires from duty.”
Sage looked at Penelope and raised a questioning eyebrow.
Penelope rolled her eyes. When they die, she mouthed.
Of course, he couldn’t just come out and say it. No one ever really died in Eprah—they just stopped being more useful than not. Sage’s face scrunched up in a mixture of annoyance and disgust, her hand involuntarily tightening around Nic’s.
“We expect you will be quite pleased with our selection,” Nicholas continued. “He is a man you have come to know and appreciate over the years as someone who elevates the best interests of Eprah over his own gain or comfort. Someone who is not afraid to step into difficult situations and provide for the safety and well-being of our citizens.” He paused and turned, sweeping his free arm to the side. “Mr. Gaztok, would you please come say a few words?”
A pit formed deep in Sage’s stomach as she realized exactly the type of man who was considered qualified to lead the country. She choked back a growing sense of nausea. The current Quorum was, for the most part, a mystery to her. Did they know the true nature of the cutthroat man they were grooming to take their places? Worse—were they all just like him?
Mr. Gaztok strode on stage, relieving the Quorum member from his brief stint of speechmaking.
“Thank you, Nicholas. My fellow citizens, I want you to know what a great honor I consider this appointment. Although my time to serve you in this capacity is, Eprah willing, still a long way off, I assure you that I am taking this very seriously. The Quorum has graciously allowed me to partake in and observe many of their duties, and I am gaining an even deeper understanding of their invaluable, irreplaceable role in assuring that Eprah not only functions efficiently but thrives. What a gift these leaders are to each one of us, yes?”
He only paused long enough to take a breath as the sound of applause flooded the room.
“While the Quorum had many reasons for selecting me as their first replacement, I would like to think that one of the more impressive qualifications I bring to the table is my contribution to the destruction of the Lawless faction. Of course, there will always be stragglers who manage to escape unscathed, but these are not the activists, the vocal supporters, the outward rebels—the ones who present a real danger to our way of life. Their continued existence is regrettable but not unexpected, and they do not…”
Sage’s jaw was throbbing. She realized she’d been clenching it tightly as Mr. Gaztok continued pontificating about his wondrousness and all the ways he’d ruined the Lawless.
Like torturing and killing Mr. Walsh.
She blinked back the tears that began welling up at that thought. Mr. Gaztok might be the one boasting about his accomplishments, but how many of those deaths was she also responsible for? Bile scraped against her throat as she tried desperately to forget her role in Mr. Gaztok’s promotion.
Not daring to look at Penelope and risk giving away her secret Lawless connection, Sage’s gaze darted over the stage. It was then that she noticed Kai standing in the wings, a subtle look of satisfaction on his face. She bristled.
Kai was obviously ambitious, following in Mr. Gaztok’s footsteps. It would be pathetic if it wasn’t so terrifying. Maybe they’d be announcing him as another Quorum successor next year. He probably deserved it. He’d been standing right there while Mr. Gaztok questioned Mr. Walsh.
Sage shuddered. Kai may have tried to help her when he was still a student, but now—he wasn’t a good person. She’d seen too much to think otherwise anymore.
As she watched him, a look of confusion flickered across his face. She mirrored his expression, following his gaze to the opposite edge of the stage.
A man emerged from the wings, sprinting straight toward Mr. Gaztok. Surprised, Mr. Gaztok halted his speech and eyed the man cautiously, waiting to see what he would do.
The crowd murmured uncertainly as the unexpected interruption reached the center of the stage. Sage’s attention was divided among the three men now on stage. Kai was now running onstage too, grabbing his bracelet and staring angrily at the interloper who’d just begun shouting at the audience.
“The Lawless live! We will never be silenced by their lies! Sacrisvita! Sacris—”
The man managed to pump his fist in the air twice before Kai reached him, tackling him to the ground. Sage couldn’t tell if he struggled or not, but one swift blow from Kai ensured that he didn’t really have the opportunity to. The man flopped in Kai’s arms as he pulled him to his feet.
Pure, unadulterated hatred blazed over Mr. Gaztok’s face for the briefest moment before being replaced with a practiced, calm composure.
“As I was saying, the Lawless faction is no longer a threat. They are acting in desperation and are easily dealt with, as you can clearly see.” Mr. Gaztok shook his head in amusement. “Perhaps we owe this man a debt of gratitude for providing us with such a decisive demonstration of Eprah’s superiority in the face of adversity.”
Nervous laughter tittered over the crowd. Mr. Gaztok smiled broadly and continued smoothly working the interruption into his speech.
Sage wasn’t listening. Her jaw hung open as she watched Kai hand the man off to two guards. They quickly carried him offstage, feet dragging limply along the ground. Kai followed.
She didn’t realize how badly she was shaking until Nic wrapped an arm around her, trying to steady her. It was useless. She knew what was written in that man’s future.
But why had he done it? Running out into the middle of the stage like that was basically a suicide mission. He must have known that. If he survived somehow—if his Chances weren’t completely stripped or if he was wearing a fo
rged bracelet—he’d almost certainly face the same fate Mr. Walsh had. Prison. Torture. Death.
Sage clenched her fists at her sides. That was just like the Lawless, sacrificing one of their own even as their numbers were dwindling.
Pointless. It was all so pointless.
He never stood a chance.
12. THE MENTOR
The scent of sweat hung heavy in the air. It would’ve made Sage gag if she wasn’t so used to it, but she was. It was just the way Bokja felt, tasted. And after all these years, it had become a strange sort of comfort. Her chest ached. As disgusting as it probably sounded, she knew she’d miss it when she was gone.
Sage stood at the edge of the room and downed a second big gulp of water. She was watching the pair of nearby Eights closely as they sparred, ready to step in should the need arise.
The two fought each other with everything they had, throwing kicks and punches wildly, hardly ever remembering to block. Sage cringed as they made simple mistakes in their quest for maximum damage. It was hard to imagine she’d once fought like them, with the jerky, sluggish, exaggerated movements that would nearly get her killed now.
Alira finally managed to duck a blow, catching her opponent’s arm and twisting hard, driving the boy down until he slapped the mat, desperate for relief.
Sage suppressed a grin. An unfamiliar sensation rose in her chest. Pride, maybe? Probably. She’d spent a lot of time working with Alira one-on-one over the past few months, and she’d improved quite a bit. Sage never would’ve suspected it when she’d first met the nervous little girl in the infirmary, but the kid had some serious talent.
“Good job, you two. Craig, why don’t you grab some water really fast and then come back.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the boy wheezed, scrambling to his feet. He hurried to the other side of the room, nursing a slight limp as he went.