by Kobe Bryant
Focus. His mind was wandering. He needed to stay within the activities recorded by the Memory Master and not worry about outside things. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to concentrate and not panic. He had to master his fears.
Once more he ran through the javelin. Then discus. Then shot put. And then again.
“Rovi?”
His eyes snapped open. Pretia stood over him. In fact, the entire stadium was filled with kids. How long had he been lost deep inside the Memory Master?
“Were you asleep?” Pretia asked.
“No,” he said, leaping to his feet. “I was training.”
“Well, it’s game time,” Pretia said. Her matter-of-fact tone made Rovi’s heart race faster.
All around him, his fellow competitors were warming up. Rovi took a few laps at a slow pace before Cleopatra Volis blew her whistle, silencing the students. “The rules for this are simple. The ten athletes with the best cumulative score go to Phoenis. All scores count. That said, if your scores today are so low we don’t believe you can make them up tomorrow, you will be dropped.”
At this Rovi’s heart sank even further. Why did all the throwing events have to come today?
“First is the shot put,” Cleopatra announced. “We will throw by class in age order. Seventh years first. Your scores will be posted on the leaderboard.” She pointed to the middle of the field where a large board bearing all the students’ names was standing in front of the magnificent Tree of Ecrof. “My suggestion is not to focus on your score or that of your competitors. Focus on your own performance. Seventh years, you have twenty minutes to warm up.”
“Why can’t it just be a mile or a steeplechase?” Rovi grumbled.
Of course, it had to be Vera who overheard him. “Because the decathlon is the most challenging test of all-around skill. It’s said that the athlete who wins the decathlon at the Epic Games is the nation’s greatest athlete. In the Junior Epic Games, Farnaka Stellus—”
“I don’t want to hear any more about Farnaka Stellus,” Rovi moaned. He stormed away to visualize in the hopes that he could summon some new throwing power he hadn’t felt before.
He flopped down again in the shade of the Tree of Ecrof and closed his eyes. But the peace he’d found earlier wouldn’t come. His mind wouldn’t settle. He couldn’t see himself throwing that shot any more than he could imagine himself flying.
In no time Pretia was at his side. “I’m fine,” he said before she even had time to ask.
“It doesn’t look like it.” She lay down next to him. “It’s amazing,” she said.
“What is?” Rovi groaned. His pulse was racing, his palms were sweating, and his stomach was doing double-flips. Nothing felt amazing.
“The tree, silly,” Pretia said. “Look.”
Rovi squinted upward.
“I mean really look. It’s so beautiful.”
Rovi exhaled. He felt his tense body loosen slightly as he peered up into the towering canopy of the majestic tree. The branches made the sunlight into spiderwebs, and the leaves were glittering with their strange silvery light. The tree was lush and thick.
“We did that, Rovi. We saved the tree.”
“I know,” he said.
“Well, that’s got to be more difficult than anything you have to do today, right? Something really deadly could have happened in the cavern with the strangler fig last year,” Pretia continued. “We risked everything to save the school and ourselves.”
“And you could have lost your grana,” Rovi said, remembering his best friend trapped inside the deadly tree.
“Or you could have fallen in the cavern,” Pretia added, reminding Rovi of the terrifying moment he lost his nerve when hanging from a tree branch over a deadly fall. “After that, today will be a walk in the park.”
“Maybe,” Rovi said. “But I’m not ready. I thought I was, but I’m not.” Rovi could hear the anxiety in his own voice. His mind was racing. What if he didn’t make the team? What if he let his father down? What if everyone thought he was a Star Stealer forever?
“You’ve got this,” Pretia said. “You’ve been working so hard.”
Rovi stopped and whirled around so they were face-to-face. “What does it feel like?”
“What?”
“When you split yourself.”
Pretia glanced around as if someone might be eavesdropping. “It’s like nothing else. When it happens, it just happens.”
“I know that. I’m asking what it feels like.”
“Well,” Pretia said slowly. “It feels like . . . like I could be anywhere watching myself compete. As if it’s not me competing.”
“I wish it wasn’t me competing,” Rovi said.
“That’s not true. You want to do this.”
“I want to go to the Junior Epics. I don’t want to go through the trials.”
“You’re thinking too much,” Pretia said. “It’s just throwing and running and jumping.”
“I guess,” Rovi grumbled.
“You’ve done all these things hundreds of times.”
“I mean, with Issa and my Star Stealer gang, yeah. We were always running away from the guards and jumping over things in the market. That’s not the same.”
“It sort of is,” Pretia insisted.
“No—” Rovi began. But then something occurred to him. He held out his hand, imagining it contained the heavy, round shot. He thought of its weight. “You know, sometimes Issa and I would steal stuff from the market and get chased by the guards. Then the safest thing to do was to throw whatever we’d stolen as far away as we could so it wouldn’t be associated with us. It’s kind of like—”
“Shot put,” Pretia finished for him. “You see, it is the same. Just imagine that you and your friend—”
“Issa.”
“That you’re throwing something to Issa.”
“Okay,” Rovi said. The idea was taking shape in his head. “We got a moonfruit once, a heavy one. I had to throw it to him far over the heads of the guards.”
“Exactly. Just imagine that and you’ll be fine.” Pretia gave him a high five. And together they went to line up.
But they weren’t in the stadium; they were in the noisy Alexandrine Market in Phoenis. And the voices of Rovi’s fellow students cheering each other on—those were the peddlers calling out their wares and the Phoenicians haggling in return.
Someone was calling his name, but Rovi didn’t turn, didn’t blink. He kept the vision in his head.
He and Issa had stolen the moonfruit, a dense purple globe imported from the chilly Winterlands, when Rovi was first taken in by the Star Stealers. As Rovi had palmed the fruit, three Phoenician guards had descended on him at once. He’d dashed through the market, not wanting to lose the prize. Then he’d caught sight of Issa far across the plaza. With all his might, he’d thrown the moonfruit to his friend. It had flown—sailed—right into Issa’s waiting hands. As he caught it, Issa had raised his free hand in the Star Stealer salute, arm extended toward the sky, palm up, fingers together as if plucking a star from the heavens. Then he’d taken off, luring the guards after him.
Again, Rovi heard his name, but he still didn’t break stride. He didn’t even know who was talking.
“What’s with him?”
As if from afar, he heard Pretia answer, “He’s in the Sandlands.”
Over and over, he ran through the memory until it was time to throw.
When he took the shot, it wasn’t a heavy ball but a moonfruit. He didn’t heave it across the field but across the Alexandrine Plaza. When he was done, he raised an arm straight up to the stars as Issa had done.
He heard his classmates applaud. He didn’t look at his result. He just hurried away from his schoolmates. Next was discus. He needed to create a new memory.
For discus he conjured the image of
when he’d stolen a rich, fatty chop from the best butcher in Phoenis and thrown it to Amrav.
For javelin he imagined spearing a fish in the river Durna.
Pole vault and high jump were slightly easier for Rovi. But still he kept up his mental game, imagining he was escaping from the Phoenician guards by catapulting himself onto the second-story arched walkway around the Alexandrine Plaza.
Only when he’d finished his final event did he check the leaderboard. Of the eighty students trying out, Rovi sat in twenty-fifth place, one spot ahead of Pretia, and one behind Castor. Vera was comfortably in tenth place.
It wasn’t a total triumph, but better than he’d expected when he entered the stadium that morning. And his best events were yet to come.
Pretia and Vera babbled excitedly as they headed back to the Temple of Dreams. Rovi kept his distance. In twenty-four hours, the trials would be over and he’d be on his way to Phoenis if and only if he stayed within himself. And to do that, he couldn’t afford any distractions. He needed to keep away from his fellow Dreamers. He needed to stay in the mindset of a Star Stealer.
Star Stealers did things that were forbidden.
Star Stealers played by their own rules.
While everyone else was at dinner, Rovi snuck into the hidden pool just as he’d once snuck into the Royal Baths back in Phoenis. He cooled himself in the water, then loosened his limbs in the natural whirlpool. When he was done, he darted to the Temple of Dreams, entered the kitchen through a back door, stole leftover food, and snuck back to the empty Halls of Process. He knew he couldn’t risk his old hideout in his father’s lab because it was now Satis’s office. Instead, he stretched out in the dim interior of the Granology classroom and napped until the bedtime horn sounded.
He knew exactly where he needed to sleep—outside, under the stars. He would flop down below the Tree of Ecrof and pretend its towering canopy was the Draman Bridge over the river Durna, below which he’d slept during his years as a Star Stealer. For one more day he’d inhabit the mind of a Star Stealer. And when he was done—if all went according to plan—he’d once more resume life as a Dreamer, more confident than ever.
* * *
When he woke in the morning, all doubts about his performance had left his mind. Rovi was ready. Five events and he was going to nail each one of them. He didn’t need to win every one, but he needed to be solid.
He entered the cafeteria to find the atmosphere even tenser than the day before.
“Where have you been?” Vera asked. “Everyone’s looking for you.”
“Preparing.”
“Did you sleep outside? Because I hear that some athletes—” Vera said. But Rovi cut her off with a raised hand.
“You know when you’re so ready to do something, you don’t need to talk about it anymore? That’s where I am.”
Vera rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, Rovi.”
“I’m sure you’re ready, too,” Rovi said. “You just need to calm down.”
“That’s the worst advice ever!” Vera sounded furious.
“It isn’t,” Rovi said. “Just trust me.”
He ate a decent breakfast. He changed into a fresh set of gear, headed for the track, and didn’t listen to the chatter about the twenty students who had been dropped for the final day of trials.
Rovi had a single goal, a sole focus as he entered the stadium. He was there to do his best. And if he did, he would make the squad. He couldn’t worry about others’ performances. He could only take care of himself.
He ran the hurdles as if he were leaping over peddlers’ blankets at the Alexandrine Plaza.
He did the long jump as if he were leaping as far as he could into the river Durna.
He ran the 400 as if he were being chased by Phoenician guards from the Upper to the Lower City.
He did the 1,500—his best event, the Epic Mile—as if leading the guards on a chase from the Tile Palace in the center of Phoenis to the Moon Palace at the edge of the desert.
By the last event, he had moved up the leaderboard into the top twenty along with Castor, Pretia, and Vera. The other students were giving him space. He heard his name spoken in whispers. He could feel the speculation mounting.
The twenty leading runners would be split into two heats for the marquee race: the 100. There was so little separating them that each of them still had a chance to make the Junior Epic Squad.
Rovi was drawn in the second heat.
He did everything he could to stay within himself. But his excitement was building. He was so close. The first group of runners, including Vera, positioned themselves in the starting blocks.
If he ran well, he would make it. He would represent House Somni. One race, just a few seconds long, would determine his chance at Junior Epic Glory. He could almost see it. Now his mind began to spin. He could feel himself pulled back to the present. No longer was it possible for him to maintain the illusion that he was leagues away in Phoenis preparing for one last mad sprint from the guards. He was at Ecrof. He was in the Panathletic Stadium. He was about to run the most important race of his life.
The first heat was over in a flash. Vera had outsprinted her opponents. Rovi watched her cross the finish line and try to restrain her joy that she’d almost definitely made the squad.
He stepped up to the line. He was drawn on an outside lane—less than optimal. Pretia and Castor were in the middle.
Frantically Rovi tried to organize his mind. He tried to take himself out of the race. He tried to put himself in Phoenis or anywhere else that would distract him from the importance of what was about to happen. He tried to conjure the image of Issa standing near the finish line urging him on.
The starter’s horn sounded.
Rovi abandoned his imaginary pursuits and threw his faith in his grana, depending on it to lead him. He took off quickly. His gait was even, his strides smooth. But everyone else was running well, too. He knew without looking that Pretia was going to step outside of herself. This was her event, after all. And he knew better than to check in on his competitors. He’d made that mistake last year in his first race of House Somni, when he’d looked over his shoulder to see how far ahead he was and lost his lead.
Nevertheless, without looking, he could feel what was going on around him. He could sense it. And he knew he needed to push himself harder.
He had a few more strides. That’s all. One last effort.
And then he saw him—his father as he’d been before he had his grana stolen. His father racing around the Panathletic Stadium with Rovi, letting Rovi win, encouraging him. His father, the important Dreamer he’d once been, not the messy Somnium addict Rovi had known at the end.
That’s all it took. Rovi found that final reserve to take him across the finish line.
When he slowed to a stop, he doubled over, hands on his knees. Castor was next to him. They’d finished neck and neck.
Rovi was almost too afraid to check the board. He felt his heart in his throat. He was about to check his result when he was tackled by not one but two bodies. Pretia and Vera pulled him down, and together, all three rolled around on the track with excitement, a tangle of arms and legs. It took Rovi a moment to figure out what was happening.
“We made it!” Pretia and Vera chorused.
“We?” Rovi said when he could talk. “We?”
“Yes,” Vera said. “The three of us.”
Rovi turned at the sound of a voice outside their group of three. Eshe Sonos had her fists in the air. “We all made it! And Vera and I are the only athletes to be selected for track and swimming.”
Rovi and Pretia laughed. “Of course,” Rovi said. “That’s so perfect.”
Eshe and Vera glanced at each other. “What’s so funny?” Vera said.
Eshe also looked confused. “I don’t know.”
Rovi felt as if his chest might
explode with joy. “I need to see for myself,” he said, disengaging himself from his friends to go look at the leaderboard.
Vera was in third place. Pretia in sixth. And Rovi Myrios, a former Star Stealer, in tenth. He was going to the Junior Epic Games. He threw his fists in the air and let out a loud whoop.
Then he noticed Castor staring at the board, too.
Rovi dropped his fists and looked for Castor’s name. There it was, right below Rovi’s. Number eleven.
“Sorry,” Rovi said. “You almost made it.”
Castor, for once, was silent. He hung his head. Rovi could see tears at the corners of his eyes. Suddenly he didn’t feel like celebrating. Suddenly he actually felt bad for Castor. Imagine coming that close and failing. Imagine falling short in front of your father. Rovi felt a stab of pain in his heart.
Now Janos was blowing his burled-wood whistle. The students assembled in front of him. Rovi watched Castor slip off to the back.
“Congratulations, Junior Epics,” Janos bellowed. “As you can see from the leaderboard, we have an impressive team heading to Phoenis. And as you can also see, there are two students who qualified both on the track and in the pool, Eshe Sonos and Vera Renovo. You two are the pride of both Ecrof and Alkebulan.”
Eshe held up her hand for a high five that Vera was slow to return.
“Overachievers cost me my spot,” Castor grumbled. “It’s not fair they get to compete in both track and swimming.”
“It’s not a question of fair,” Eshe said. “It’s a question of talent. Right, Vera?”
Rovi tried not to laugh as Vera rolled her eyes dramatically and attempted to detach herself from Eshe.