School of Swords and Serpents Boxset: Books 1 - 3 (Hollow Core, Eclipse Core, Chaos Core)

by Gage Lee

  So I walked over to make myself heard.

  Cruzal, Hirani, and Hagar stopped their conversation at my approach and fixed me with pleasant, frozen smiles. Hagar tilted a mug of coffee in my direction.

  “No,” Cruzal said. “You will not be on the School’s team.”

  “Yes, I will.” I crossed my arms and perched on the arm of Hagar’s chair. “I’m the only Disciple-level student you’ve got. You need me.”

  “She knows,” Brand said.

  “That doesn’t change anything,” I shot back. “There’s no other student here with my raw power or unique talents. We can’t let the dragons win this.”

  My friends watched me challenge the most powerful person in the School’s administration with expressions of horror and amazement. Clem looked like she wanted to say something but didn’t want to add fuel to the argument’s fire. She chewed on the inside of her lip and gave me a slow shake of her head as if willing me to just shut up.

  “If I put you on the team and your injury flares up midway through the Gauntlet, we don’t know what might happen to you,” Cruzal said softly. “You could die, Jace. I can’t endanger one of my students like that.”

  My thoughts raced. Logically, Cruzal was right. My wounded core, no matter how powerful it was, could be a terrible liability if it crashed and burned before I won the Gauntlet. And Cruzal wasn’t only motivated by her concern for me. She needed me to train the hollows. The investments, she’d called them. She was unlikely to budge on that, so I’d have to go around her and convince the other two to get me on the School’s team.

  “Where’s Elder Sanrin?” I asked Brand.

  “Busy.” The way Brand said that single word told me he wouldn’t be giving us any more information on that front. There must have been more trouble with the heretics. “Hirani and I speak on his behalf.”

  “Then tell her,” I pleaded with the elder. “I’m the best chance the School has to win this thing.”

  “You’ve got heart, kid.” Brand raked his fingers through his wavy black hair and tugged at his sideburns. “And that might be enough. If I had to pick anyone from this school, I’d have to go with you. There’s no other student who has a chance against the dragons. And I hate myself for saying that.”

  A reluctant endorsement still counted. I’d take it.

  “Hirani.” I leaned in close and put my hand on her wrist. “Please. I need to do this.”

  The elder fixed me with dark eyes so deep they swallowed the rest of the world. Her attention didn’t merely brush across my core, it held it in place and studied it like an entomologist with a butterfly pinned to a board. Hirani pored through my mind as well, her technique laying my thoughts bare.

  I’d never experienced an elder’s full power before that moment. I’d definitely underestimated them and would have to be a lot more careful how I dealt with them in the future.

  “Oh, Jace,” she sighed. “I couldn’t live with myself if you were harmed because of my decision. Your headmistress is right. If your core fails, you could die. You need rest, not competition.”

  Her words stung me like a slap across the face. I’d thought Hirani, out of all the adults in the room, would have taken my side. She’d always been so kind to me. She’d seen why I wanted this so badly, and she’d still denied me. I couldn’t believe it.

  Brand was in my corner. Hirani wasn’t. That left Cruzal.

  “If I win the Gauntlet, the Empyrean Flame will reward our team.” If they were worried about my health, this had to carry some weight. “It can heal my core.”

  “Only if you win, Jace,” Cruzal said.

  “We could bring the doctors and equipment from Bogotá.” It was a stab in the dark, but it was worth a shot. “They could treat me here, and I could still compete.”

  Brand glanced to Hirani. She shook her head.

  “Can’t do it,” Brand said. “A few months ago, we wouldn’t have had any problem transporting all the gear and personnel. But things have gotten dangerous. Portals aren’t as safe as they used to be, and we can’t risk mundane transport with so many valuables. There are just too many hostiles in the world, kid. As important as you are to the clan, we can’t risk everything for you.”

  “What will happen if the dragons win?” It was time for a change of tactics. If I couldn’t convince them it was worth the risk to put me in the Gauntlet, then I’d have to make the alternative look absolutely horrifying.

  “They’ll take control of the temples,” Clem piped in. “And leadership of the overcities. The last time they ruled, the dragons confined the Empyreals to Atlantis until the Empyrean Flame demanded our release.”

  Well, that sounded horrible.

  “There are other schools,” Cruzal said. “And we know there are others out there like Jace. Perhaps they have grown to their full potential.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I’m the only one.”

  “You can’t possibly know that,” Cruzal snapped.

  “I do, because—”

  “He’s right,” Brand interjected before I could say anything about the Locust Court or the Lost. That meant the headmistress didn’t know the truth.

  Well, that was interesting.

  Cruzal stood from her comfortable-looking chair, smoothed her robes with the palms of her hands, and walked gingerly to the nearby side table. She moved stiffly, as if she were much older than she appeared. Her hands trembled, ever so slightly, when she poured her coffee, and her spoon rattled like an alarm clock as she stirred in cream and sugar. Cruzal was nervous. I needed to capitalize on that.

  Somehow.

  “It’s worth the risk to keep the dragons from winning.” I took a deep breath and looked at all my friends. “The team in this room can beat the dragons. I know we can, and you do, too. There’s no reason to be afraid. It’s my life. If I was ever going to risk it, this is the time.”

  Cruzal froze, halfway back to the couch. She looked at me, almost as if seeing me for the first time.

  “I know you want to do the right thing.” She sipped her coffee. “But think of all the good you can do outside of the Gauntlet. There are students who depend on you, Jace. Use this time to train them. In six months, they could be on the path to becoming as powerful as you are now.”

  She was right, though I hated to admit that. If I put all my effort into training a new batch of hollow cores, they could be quite powerful in a short period of time. But that would require more Locust Court cores.

  Or other types of cores, and I really didn’t want to think about that. The emissary I’d stolen my core from had been evil. If I hadn’t killed it, the spirit would have killed me and all my friends. That would have left no one to stop the invasion from the Far Horizon, which would have left the Lost lording over the ruins of Earth. The way Cruzal talked about the hollows, though, told me she wouldn’t be as picky about where the cores for them came from.

  It was all very clear to me, now. Cruzal, or more likely someone even more powerful, wanted those hollow core students for a reason. Just like the inquisitors wanted to control me to ensure the “right” outcome from the approaching convergence. That’s why she was afraid. If I died before training the next batch of hollows, someone, or some thing, would be very, very upset.

  “I won’t train them.” The words were out of my mouth before I could second-guess them. It was the only play I had left.

  Every eye in the room shifted from me to Cruzal and back. No one spoke. I didn’t think they were even breathing. Openly defying Cruzal was far different from arguing with her about the team. This was tantamount to a threat to her authority, and no one was sure how she’d react to that.

  And I didn’t care. This was my shot to heal my core. Next to finding my mother, there was nothing as important as that. It was worth the risk of any punishment Cruzal decided to drop on my head.

  “You don’t mean that.” Her face had gone white and a dribble of coffee spilled from her shaking cup.

  “Put me on the team,
or I won’t train the hollows or any others like them.” My pulse pounded in my ears. “They can find their own way, or not. I’ll wash my hands of the whole project.”

  “That project was your idea,” Cruzal said in a tight, angry voice. “You can’t just abandon them.”

  “Put me on the team,” I said, forcing my voice to be far more even and calm than I felt. “I’ll teach them everything I can in six months, but only if I’m in the Gauntlet.”

  “You’re impossible,” she groaned.

  “I can be.” I returned her stare, unwilling to back down from the fight.

  “You don’t know what you’ve put at risk,” she sighed. “I can’t win, no matter what decision I make here. You’ve become the lesser of two evils today, Jace. I hope you can live with it. You’re on the team.”

  The Hollows

  CRUZAL WASN’T HAPPY that I’d outmaneuvered her through sheer, boneheaded stubbornness. She shooed us all out of her office after announcing that I could pick the rest of my team, since no one cared about her opinion, anyway.

  Brand and Hirani weren’t terribly amused with my stunt, either. Though Brand promised he’d help us get ready for the Gauntlet, Hirani strode off down the hall without a backward glance. I knew she was concerned about me, and I’d hurt her feelings by rejecting her advice.

  I hadn’t been able to see any other choice, though.

  My friends and I returned to our rooms in silence. They were stunned by what I’d done, and I was busy thinking of my next steps. I tossed and turned most of that night, going over strategies and puzzling out tactics until my mind gave out and I slipped into a dead sleep. I woke the next day with dozens of unanswered questions in my head and a bubbling cauldron of adrenaline in my stomach.

  I’d won.

  And I paid the price for that victory almost immediately.

  “Mr. Warin,” Headmistress Cruzal called out to me as I made my way to the dining hall for breakfast. “I apologize for the short notice, but there’s something I need you to do.”

  “Honored Headmistress,” I said as she caught up to me, “I was just headed to breakfast.”

  “I know,” she said cheerily. “And now you’re coming with me.”

  With that, she hooked her arm through mine and guided me and my grumbling, empty stomach through the School. We soon left behind the bustle and buzz of other students on their way to breakfast, and after a few turns down short hallways, we were deep in the School. The headmistress stopped in front of a door I recognized and rapped on it three times with her knuckles.

  The door opened a moment later, and a PDF officer in full battle gear greeted us.

  “Good morning, Headmistress,” he said. “The students have been assembled, just as you instructed.”

  He stepped back and allowed us to enter. The desks were still arranged in neat rows and columns, and this time all the hollows had taken seats. Their hands were flat on the desks in front of them, their eyes fixed on the chalkboard. They all looked showered and rested, which was an improvement over the last time I’d seen them.

  They were also terrified.

  “Good afternoon, students,” Headmistress Cruzal called out. “I trust you had a pleasant evening and have enjoyed our hospitality so far.”

  She waited for the hollows to nod their assent. A few of them smiled at her, though the expression never touched their eyes. Their faces held a wariness, like they were prey animals trapped amongst a pack of wolves. I could tell that these kids had been raised in the labor camps or undercity slums. They’d been powerless their entire lives, and their trip to the School was just one more way for the world to stomp on them.

  The PDF guard at the front of the room probably had them completely freaked out. His uniform was way too close to the protective gear worn by labor camp overseers who kept these kids hard at work in the fields.

  “Headmistress?” I said quietly. “May I have a word?”

  “Of course,” she said and joined me at the chalkboard, facing away from the students. The instant her face was hidden from the hollows, her eyes narrowed into vicious slits. “Be quick about it.”

  “The hollows will never trust me as long as that guard is here,” I said.

  “Jace, I thought I told you to stop using that word,” Cruzal said with a frown. “The guard is here to protect our investments. That is all.”

  There was that word again. I hated to hear it used to refer to these poor kids. They weren’t property. They were people.

  “He can stand outside,” I said. “It will be just as safe, and he’ll see any threat coming before it reaches the room. I can’t teach the hol—the students—even the simplest of cycling techniques if they can’t relax. That’ll never happen with an armed guard in the room.”

  Cruzal weighed my words, her lips pursed. Finally, she gave me a sharp nod and put a hand on my shoulder.

  “Don’t make me regret this.” Cruzal tightened her hand on my shoulder until the pressure was just short of pain. “I’ve had just about enough of your camper tricks.”

  Cruzal’s words stung, and it took all the willpower I could muster to lock my face into a neutral mask. I didn’t want the headmistress to see how she’d upset me. More importantly, I didn’t want the other hollows to see how deeply her words had cut me.

  “All right, then,” I said after the headmistress had left. “My name is Jace. Believe it or not, two years ago, I was just like you.”

  “Doubt it,” said a young guy with unevenly shaved hair and the blurred outline of a labor camp tattoo on the side of his neck. It was clear he was trying to prove how tough he was. It was just as clear that he was scared and confused. “You’re an Empyreal.”

  “But I was from the labor camp in the Dallas undercity.” I shrugged. “You can believe it or not, but I’m the kid who took out the champion with a fistful of jinsei during my Five Dragons Challenge. And last year I was the undefeated champion myself. So, you can listen to me, or you can spend the rest of your life wondering what’s wrong with your cores.”

  That got their attention. Kids from the camps didn’t respect much. Most of them hadn’t been as lucky as me, and the only authority figures in their lives had probably smacked them around and put them to work. Until they learned to trust me, I’d have to work hard to get their attention.

  When no one else piped up with any smart remarks, I paced back and forth at the front of the classroom and dove headfirst into teaching them the basics.

  “The first thing you need to learn is how to breathe.”

  “We already know how to breathe,” the blonde girl who’d wanted to go home yesterday said. “You’re supposed to teach us how to use our powers.”

  “You know how to take air in and out of your lungs,” I corrected. “You don’t know how to breathe yet. What’s your name?”

  “Christina,” she muttered.

  “Christina, come up to the front of the class. You and I will demonstrate how to breathe.” I gave her my warmest smile, and she ignored it. Maybe it was my solid black eyes. Or maybe she just didn’t like anyone. She didn’t move, either. “I wasn’t asking you, by the way. Come here.”

  Christina frowned, then slid out of her desk and stomped to the front of the class. She was angry and rebellious, her aura filled with swirling aspects so dark I was surprised they didn’t make her sick. Fear, anger, despair, and horror swirled around her like hungry vultures waiting for their meal to drop dead.

  My life in the camps had been hard, and I’d suffered with a hollow core every day of my life. My mother, though, had tried to show me another way. Thanks to her, I’d learned to cycle my breathing, and the basics of the sacred arts of jinsei. My experiences had been hard, but nowhere near as hard as what this girl had suffered through. Her aura belonged to someone much older, and much more damaged, than I’d ever been. She needed my help.

  And I would give it to her, whether she wanted it or not.

  “You all have a core inside you,” I explained. “In most peo
ple, this collects and stores jinsei, the sacred energy of life. People like us, though, have a hard time hanging onto that energy.”

  It was clear from the looks on the faces in front of me that none of these kids had ever been taught even the basics of jinsei practices. I had a lot of work ahead of me.

  I thought back to the lessons my mother had given me and parroted them back to my students.

  My students. I didn’t know if I’d ever get used to that idea.

  I walked them through the simple act of cycling. Take a deep breath. Hold it in your lungs. Feel the sacred energy within you. Breathe out and let the aspects you inhaled flow into your aura.

  Take a deep breath.

  I guided them through the exercise for a solid hour. At first, their breaths were shallow and didn’t pull deeply enough from the sacred energy that surrounded us all. Christina, especially, took only superficial breaths that did nothing to cycle power through her hollow core. After a few corrections, though, many of the students did much better. They inhaled deeply, pulling the air in through their nostrils and forcing it down deep inside them until their abdomens expanded. They let it out in a long, slow stream that left their lungs empty.

  They were getting closer, but they still weren’t cycling. The jinsei flowed into their bodies, but it circled around in their lungs and then left on the exhale without ever reaching their cores.

  I thought back to my childhood memories and realized I never remembered a time when I couldn’t cycle. I remembered my mother reinforcing the technique, I just didn’t remember when she’d originally taught me. How young must I have been when I’d learned the most basic understanding of the jinsei arts?