The River of Sand

by Kobe Bryant

  Then he felt someone grab his arm.

  “Swiftfoot!” Issa pulled Rovi into a hug.

  Issa was a few years older than Rovi. But up close Rovi suddenly realized that now he was stronger and healthier than his friend. Beneath Issa’s ragged tunic, Rovi saw that he was all skin and bones.

  “Are you all right?” Rovi asked. “After my race, I couldn’t find you.”

  “We had to hide because of what went down in the stadium. We almost always have to hide now.” Issa took a deep breath. “It’s not safe anymore. You saw what happened. The guards keep rounding us up.”

  “Why?”

  “They claim we’re plotting something. It’s not true, of course. The only reason the gangs are banding together is to find a way to survive. We’ve been trying to organize ourselves, but it’s getting harder every day. Ever since it was announced that the Junior Epics were coming to Phoenis, life has been almost impossible for the Star Stealers.”

  “Issa, I’m so sorry,” Rovi said. He hated to hear that the games he loved so much were causing his friends trouble.

  Issa gave Rovi a crooked smile. “It’s not your fault. Anyway, you’re a fancy Dreamer now. And hopefully a Junior Epic Champion.”

  Despite himself, Rovi smiled. He couldn’t help being proud of how much he had accomplished in a year. “Not in that last race,” he said. “I—I got distracted by what happened to you and the gang. But I’ll make up for it next time.”

  “You better,” Issa said, “oh great Sandlander hero!” He punched Rovi in the arm playfully. Then his voice changed. “Except you’re not really from here, are you?”

  “Um, well, I mean—” Rovi stammered. Issa knew his story. So why was he asking?

  “If anything, you’re a Star Stealer at heart, not a Sandlander, right?”

  “I guess,” Rovi said. He was lots of things. A Star Stealer, a Dreamer, an Ecrof student, a Junior Epic Athlete. But Issa would never understand that. Star Stealers disliked labels. They hated authorities and conventions like academies and houses.

  “Rovi, you saw what happened at the stadium. You saw what happened to Amrav, Sheva, and Ester. They were taken.”

  Rovi bit his lip and looked at the ground, thinking of his friends thrashing against their captors. “I saw.”

  “You know where they were taken? It’s not like the old days when they sent us to make sand bricks at one of the work sites. They go to Hafara Prison,” Issa said.

  “One of the guards told me that.”

  “Once they are taken,” Issa went on, “once we are taken, we don’t get out.”

  “Never?”

  Issa shook his head. “Not yet. Not one Star Stealer who has been taken this year has been seen again.”

  “How many are in Hafara?” Rovi asked.

  “Some entire gangs are gone. The group Tarik led and Gita’s, too,” Issa said.

  Rovi stared at Issa through the steam. All those Star Stealers deep underground, far from the light of day. “But that’s not fair,” he said.

  “Of course it isn’t. They’re making an example of us because we don’t fit into the pretty Dreamer versus Realist picture of the Junior Epic Games.” Issa stepped closer to Rovi. “We need your help, Rovi.”

  “Me? What can I do?”

  “You can be our voice. You can speak about what’s happening to us. When you’re on the medal stand, you can let people know you’re a Star Stealer and advocate for the Star Stealers. If you win a medal and are given the chance to speak, you can explain about our plight.”

  “But—but—I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “They’d never let me. I’d be disqualified.”

  Issa gritted his teeth. “How do you know that if you haven’t tried?”

  “There’s—” Rovi took a deep breath. He knew that Issa would have no interest in what he was about to say. “There’s a Junior Epic Code. The games are about the glory of sport, not personal agendas.” He could feel Issa staring at him unpleasantly as he summarized Janos’s words from their first day in Phoenis. “That’s why the gods granted us grana. It’s the Epocan Way.”

  Issa sighed. “But what if you don’t have sports? What if sports are off-limits to you because of who you are? What if you aren’t allowed to be part of the Epocan Way?”

  “But I do—” Rovi began before he realized what his old friend was asking. Now that he was a Dreamer and no longer a Star Stealer, Rovi had this option available to him. But Issa and his gang didn’t.

  “You don’t understand,” Rovi said. “I wouldn’t be able to compete anymore.”

  Issa held his gaze. “Is that all that matters?”

  “Yes,” Rovi said. Then he clapped his hand over his mouth. “That’s not what I meant. But I’ll lose everything if I do something that gets me kicked out of the Junior Epics. Everything. I need to honor my school and my house. They’re all I have.”

  “I see,” Issa said. A sad look passed over his face.

  From the cavernous pool room, Rovi could hear the Dreamer anthem come to a close. The medal ceremony was ending. He needed to hurry so as not to miss the van back to the village.

  “I have to go,” he said.

  “Rovi,” Issa said, reaching for his hand. “Please think about it. Think about helping us.”

  “I don’t know if I can,” Rovi said.

  “I guess the risk is too big,” Issa said. “You wouldn’t want to lose everything you’ve been given.”

  Rovi felt tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t worry,” Issa said. “I understand. And—” He paused. “I’ll be there for your next event. But this time, you better win.” He pulled Rovi back into an embrace. “I don’t want it getting out that Swiftfoot is second best to anyone. Now go.” He released Rovi.

  “But—” Rovi wanted to say more. He wanted to explain better. He wanted to tell Issa that after the games he’d do whatever he could for the Star Stealers. For now, however, the games were too important. There was too much at stake.

  He wanted to explain all of this. But he was too late. Issa had disappeared.

  15

  PRETIA

  A JUDGMENT

  Pretia examined the leaderboard in the center of the Dreamer Village. The Realists were now ahead by four medals, twenty to the Dreamers’ sixteen. Vera was tied for most individual medals with five after making the podium in both her events yesterday. Aquiis and Ecrof were tied for most academy medals.

  Pretia looked at the daily competition schedule. None of the meets she wanted to watch were until the afternoon, which gave her the morning to train. And she certainly needed to train, especially if the tribunal decided that she couldn’t split herself. Then she’d have to compete better than ever.

  Pretia was about to head to the cafeteria when she heard a commotion rippling through the Dreamer Village. From up above on the walkways, Dreamers were pointing at someone or something.

  Watch out for the opposition, she heard. Realist coming through.

  As quickly as they’d started, the comments stopped. She glanced toward the fountains, and through the spray of purple water she saw Janos and another Realist delegate making their way toward her.

  “Uncle Janos,” Pretia said. She stopped herself short of hugging him. Suddenly she was overcome by cold terror. Had someone seen her momentary split at the end of the marathon? Had Janos come to remove her from the games?

  “What’s wrong, Pretia?” Janos asked. “Afraid of the opposite team? You of all people can’t hate Realists that much.”

  “What? No.” Pretia’s mind was racing. “I just . . . Did I . . . did I do something wrong?”

  “I don’t know, did you?” her uncle asked in a serious voice.

  Pretia took a deep breath. “No,” she said. She hadn’t. She hadn’t meant
to reveal her shadow self at the end of the marathon. It had been a mistake that hadn’t harmed anyone. At least she hoped so.

  “That’s good,” her uncle said. His eyes were kind, but his voice was all business. “But I am indeed here about a question of right and wrong. There’s been a decision.”

  Now all Pretia’s nerves tingled at once. She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “What did they decide?”

  “You’ll need to come hear it yourself,” Janos said.

  “Can you just tell me?”

  “Even I don’t know what has been decided. The rules of the tribunal state that all decisions must be heard in person.”

  Pretia shuddered. The thought of all those adults staring down at her again, deciding her fate for her and coldly judging, made her heart race and her palms sweat. She felt as if her knees were going to give way.

  Janos lowered his voice and met her eye with a serious but confident gaze. “Pretia, you must face this like you will face all challenges going forward as ruler.”

  “I don’t want to rule,” Pretia said. “I just want to compete.”

  Janos put a hand on her shoulder. “I, too, had no interest in statecraft. But I don’t think you are going to be able to make the same choice I did. I don’t see a future in which you don’t rule Epoca.”

  Pretia sighed. “Ugh. Why not?”

  “Because of who you are—the Child of Hope.”

  “I told you, I hate that name,” Pretia moaned. “It’s like everyone hopes I do something they want, but no one cares about what I hope for.”

  A thoughtful look crossed Janos’s face. “I believe that is the wisest thing I’ve ever heard from someone your age. But all of this is such a long way off. Today a different challenge awaits. And you must face it with dignity, no matter the outcome.”

  “Uncle, can I bring someone with me? Just for the ride to the tribunal. I’m happy to stand alone for the decision but—”

  “Of course,” Janos said. “Be at the Grand Concourse in ten minutes. Satis and I will accompany you.”

  Pretia sprinted to the outdoor cafeteria, searching for Rovi or Vera. Both had already finished eating.

  She checked her dorm.

  She checked the training track.

  She ducked into the grana temple, where shadows from purple flames to the seven blessed gods danced on the walls.

  Time was ticking away.

  She had three minutes to make it to the Grand Concourse.

  Pretia sprinted away from the indoor training track through the village. She passed the leaderboard. She passed the cafeteria again. She could see the van idling in the distance.

  “Pretia!” A hand grabbed her as she raced past. “Where are you going?”

  “I can’t—” Pretia started to say before realizing it was Vera who was holding her. “Vera! I’ve been looking for you. Come with me.”

  “Eshe and I are about to do some relay practice.” Pretia noticed that Eshe was standing behind Vera, a baton in her hand. “We were looking for you, since you’re on our team.”

  “Not now,” Pretia said.

  “This is important,” Vera began. “The 4x400—”

  “Vera!” Pretia cried. “There’s been a decision. I don’t have time to explain. Just come with me.”

  “We’re training,” Eshe said in her best imitation of Vera.

  “Please!” Pretia insisted.

  “Of course,” Vera said. “Let’s go.”

  “But we need to practice,” Eshe said. “We need to—”

  Vera and Pretia were already sprinting away. They raced to the van, not stopping until they were in their seats.

  “Okay,” Vera said as the van pulled out of the village, “what’s going on?”

  “I need to appear in front of the tribunal to find out their decision. I didn’t want to go alone.”

  “We’ve got this,” Vera said, taking her hand. “And, more important, you’ve got this.”

  Pretia smiled, although she didn’t feel too sure that things were about to go her way.

  As before, the ride passed in silence. This time, however, Pretia’s anxiety was different. She knew where she was going and who she would face. What she didn’t know, of course, was what was going to happen.

  She watched the city pass by—the massive stadium, the towering pyramid of the Temple of Arsama. She wondered if she would get to enjoy these as a competitor permitted to unleash her grana in its most glorious state, or if she would be hindered, forever holding back and restraining herself.

  When they arrived at the Phoenician High Court of Sports Fidelity, Pretia and Vera mounted the steps hand in hand. Janos held open the door for them. Then he pulled Vera aside. “This is where you leave her. She must go alone.”

  “Can’t I watch?” Vera asked.

  “Only officials may attend the tribunal,” he explained. “You must wait here.” He pointed at a bench.

  “But—” Vera protested.

  “It won’t take long,” Janos assured her. Then he led Pretia solemnly down the corridor.

  Pretia clenched and unclenched her hands as she approached the door to the tribunal. Before they entered, Janos placed a hand on her arm and squeezed. “No matter what happens, you are still who you are. Don’t forget that. You can do something special that no one else can do.”

  “Even if I’m doing it for the opposite team?”

  “Pretia, you are both a Dreamer and a Realist. I keep telling you that. For you, there are no teams. Denying this essential part of yourself hurts both houses in the long run.”

  “Pretia Praxis-Onera!” Pretia heard the familiar voice of the tribunal leader. “Please stand before us.” Janos stepped back so she could enter. Then he followed and took his own seat.

  Everything was exactly as it had been before—rows of Dreamers to her left, Realists to her right, and up ahead, on their elevated dais, the imposing members of the tribunal.

  The room reminded her of something—why hadn’t she noticed it before? The layout was strikingly similar to the image in her Grana Book. She was the path between the two houses, represented by the mountains in the picture. They would be steadfast. She would have to twist and turn if she wanted glory.

  “Step forward,” the leader commanded. His loose skin shook as he spoke.

  Pretia looked at the faces of the tribunal members above her. The woman with the severe features and white hair—how had she voted? And the youngest member, the Dreamer, surely he’d been on her side. But how could she be sure? Even some of the Dreamers had seemed wary of her at their last meeting.

  The woman with the white hair spoke first. “Do you have anything to say before we begin?”

  Pretia looked her in the eye. But as usual, she had no words. “No,” she said. “I’m ready to hear your decision.”

  Now the tribunal leader took over. “You are here not because of your rank but because of your ability,” he thundered. Pretia marveled that such an elderly person could have such a powerful voice. “And our decision has nothing to do with your parentage. Our only considerations came from what we witnessed during your testing.”

  Pretia shuddered at the memory.

  “The tribunal of the four hundred ninetieth Junior Epic Games has found that—” The leader, undone by the volume at which he was projecting his voice, was consumed by a fit of coughing. “The tribunal of the four hundred ninetieth Junior Epic Games has found that for the course of this competition and all competitions going forward, in any and all events, Pretia Praxis-Onera—”

  Pretia held her breath. She wanted to close her eyes. She wanted to look anywhere but at the man about to pronounce her fate.

  “May use her grana to its fullest.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Really?”

  “Without impediment or hindrance,” the leader concluded.
Then he stared at her with a sour look. “Consider yourself lucky. This was not an obvious judgment, and it could easily have swung the other way.”

  Relief coursed through Pretia. She didn’t realize how much tension she’d been holding inside. And now that it was gone, she felt as if she might collapse to the ground. She looked toward the Dreamer side. Satis and Cleopatra gave her subtle signals of victory. She glanced toward the Realists. Everyone, including Janos, sat stone-faced.

  The tribunal leader banged on the desk, ending the session. The doors swung open. The adults filed out first. Pretia followed slowly. Before she was out the door, Vera tackled her.

  “Congratulations,” she cried, her voice echoing too loudly in the marble hall.

  “How did you know?” Pretia asked.

  “I listened through the door,” Vera said with a conspiratorial grin, and hugged her again. “Now we have something important to do!”

  “What?”

  “We need to train, silly.”

  Pretia groaned. “First I need to eat,” she said. In the rush to the tribunal, she’d forgotten breakfast.

  “You sound like Rovi,” Vera laughed. “Speaking of which . . . let’s go find him.”

  * * *

  Before the van came to a complete stop on the Grand Concourse, Pretia and Vera bolted from their seats. Pretia was itching to get her breakfast and move on to training. She couldn’t wait to finally use her grana to its fullest in Phoenis.

  “Wait, girls!”

  They turned at the sound of Satis’s voice. “Not so fast, you two.” The Visualization Trainer was scrambling to get out of the van.

  “You won the battle, Pretia,” he said with a smile as they stepped outside. “But I’m afraid you haven’t won the war.”

  “What’s the war?” Vera asked. “The Junior Epics? Because Pretia is totally going to medal.”

  “The war is the endless resistance against what you can do. Just because a tribunal ruled in your favor doesn’t mean they changed everyone’s mind,” Satis said.

  “So there will still be protests?” Pretia asked, looking over toward the Realist Village.