The River of Sand

by Kobe Bryant

  All this work for nothing. Fortunus had been wrong.

  Rovi took a step back. Once more, he considered the riches in the chamber. What a contrast they provided to the humble contents of the coffin. The mummified woman seemed to have been entombed more like a servant than a queen.

  Then it hit him. What had Pretia told him back at Ponsit when he’d stumbled across a royal coffin? Servants were often buried in the place of royals to confuse grave robbers. Royals were hidden deeper belowground, where thieves wouldn’t find them.

  This wasn’t Arsama at all.

  Rovi pumped his fist silently. Now all he had to do was find the actual queen’s chamber somewhere deeper in the temple.

  He began to search for another door. It wasn’t in any of the walls. Rovi checked several times over, but he couldn’t focus with that statue staring at him—watching him.

  Focus. He had to focus. Where else could it be? It couldn’t be in the ceiling. So that left the floor.

  Suddenly Rovi knew exactly where to look. He lined himself up with Arsama’s statue and directed his eyes to where her gaze had been when he’d entered. Straight ahead and slightly down.

  And there it was—a lighter square on the floor. A trapdoor. Rovi got on his knees and traced its outline with his fingers. To his relief, he felt a catch. He pressed down, and when the floor gave way, he lowered himself legs first. He only felt empty air. But he had no choice. He jumped.

  The fall wasn’t far—no more than ten feet. When he stood, he was in a much narrower passage than he’d been in before. He cast the hand lamp about. He couldn’t see much; the walls were so close together. He wiped his slick palms on his shirt and tried to calm his racing heart.

  He moved down the passage, which was so tight that the light didn’t penetrate far. He lost his footing, crashing into the wall on his right. In a few more steps, he lost his footing again. The passage turned sharply, then doubled back, and finally headed downhill so steeply that Rovi tumbled, skidding on the descent, tearing his shorts and scraping his hands.

  He picked himself up at the bottom. The passage forked here, he realized, holding up the lamp.

  He dashed in one direction.

  And then in another.

  He was sweating profusely. He reached into his pocket and found the Memory Master headband to wipe his brow. But the sweat kept coming. He put the headband on to keep the sweat out of his eyes.

  The passage twisted and turned, sometimes splitting, sometimes reconverging. Rovi darted this way and that, harried and unfocused. He didn’t feel like Swiftfoot. He didn’t feel like a Junior Epic Medalist. He felt like—he felt like . . .

  He’d felt this way once before, back in the Ponsit Palace’s labyrinthine halls. The labyrinth had blocked his grana. And that’s what was happening now.

  Was this what Pretia had felt like all last year at Ecrof when she had forcibly restrained her grana? No wonder she had struggled so much in competition. It was dreadful.

  Rovi’s breath came fast and ragged. He was panicking and he knew it. But there was no choice but to go on. All mazes led somewhere and if they didn’t, then you’d eventually find yourself back at the beginning.

  Okay, Rovi told himself, okay. He closed his eyes, trying to find somewhere calm and still inside himself, trying to forget how deep underground he must be and how lost he potentially was.

  He had to find the chamber. He could do this. He had to. He would walk, not run. That would keep him calm.

  But he wasn’t calm. His mind raced. He needed to focus, yet he couldn’t.

  He wiped away the sweat that had slipped below his headband and froze, his hand on the cloth.

  The Memory Master! Rovi couldn’t focus, but the Memory Master could focus for him. It could remember when he couldn’t and create a mental map of his actions and replay them. He didn’t have his grana, but he had something almost as good. He had his father’s help.

  Just thinking of Pallas Myrios at his side calmed Rovi. He adjusted the Memory Master and got to work. Take it slow, he told himself. Take it easy. There was no need to rush. He’d get there when he got there. He’d find the final chamber if he stayed calm.

  He walked down the narrow hall, not minding for once that the wall brushed his shoulders. When he came to a fork, he went left. When he came to another fork, he went right. When the passage descended, he followed. And when he was forced to climb back up and wound up where he had started, he replayed his last movements and started over.

  The only thing Rovi knew for certain was that the general direction he needed to head was down. Every time he took a wrong path and began to climb, he replayed his steps until he figured out how to go down again.

  Without grana, it felt as if some part of his brain was numb. He didn’t feel like himself. It was as if he were forced to compete without one of his senses, as if he were suddenly rendered deaf or blind. But he was making progress. He felt it.

  For a while the passages coiled tighter and tighter, so he was forced to shimmy sideways. Twice he had to begin this section again. Each time he worried he would be unable to breathe, but he made it.

  And finally, the maze ended. There was only a single way forward—a long ramp. Down he slid, into the dark, until he hit solid ground. He held the hand lamp up and cast its light into the room.

  He’d expected a final challenge. But the next step was simple. There was only one coffin. It was unadorned and made of plain wood. If Rovi was right, inside he’d find Arsama’s mummy surrounded by riches. He calmed himself once more and reached his hands out toward the wooden lid. He rattled it, and it slid to the side. He raised the hand lamp. Inside was a woman—or the preserved remains of one—wrapped in rich purple silks. Arsama had been a Dreamer! All around her were treasures, cups and jewels and finely wrought metals. But Rovi was only interested in what was between her folded hands—a big, brass key.

  He did not want to reach in and take that key. He did not want to touch the dead queen. But he’d come this far. Carefully he eased the key from its two-thousand-year-old home. “Sorry,” he whispered, “but I need this.”

  He palmed it and waited. Surely something would happen.

  Nothing.

  Rovi took off his Memory Master and wiped his brow. And as he did, the ramp—the only way out of the chamber—began to rise and retract. Rovi jammed the key in his pocket and grabbed on to the ramp before it was out of reach and he was stuck underground. He caught it just in time and shinnied onto the ramp as it ascended.

  His breath was harsh in the tight space. That had been close—too close! But now all he had to do was follow the Memory Master in reverse. He reached for it, only to come up empty-handed.

  It was gone.

  The Memory Master must have fallen in his mad rush to catch the closing ramp. Rovi gulped air, trying to make a plan. What would Satis tell him? What would his father tell him? What would Vera and Pretia tell him?

  He took a breath.

  They’d tell him he could do it. They’d tell him he was ready. They’d tell him he’d trained for this.

  And he had. That’s what the Memory Master was for: training. Now it was time for the event. He put his hands to his temples. The headband had trained his mind. It had trained his feet. He was ready. He didn’t need the full strength of his grana. He had his talent and his memory and that was enough.

  Rovi took off through the maze. He twisted through the passages. He didn’t stumble. He didn’t misstep. He just flew forward, unsure of where he was going but certain of the outcome. In fifteen minutes, he’d made it to the queen’s chamber. In another ten, he was in the king’s.

  Finally, he reached the Grand Gallery and rushed to the air shaft. At the base of the opening he tripped on something. The rope lay coiled at his feet. It had fallen from where he had tied it.

  He had no method of escape.

  In a
panic, Rovi surveyed the Grand Gallery. There was only one exit, Rovi realized. It would take him straight past the guards and out through the main entrance of the temple where visitors were admitted during opening hours.

  Rovi paced the gallery once more. Either he could be discovered by the guards when the temple opened and definitely get in trouble, or he could risk it by running past them now and at least have a chance at delivering the key.

  He tiptoed to the door and peeked out. A well-lit hallway led to the temple entrance. He could see two guards seated on either side looking out over the Upper City. He knew he could outrun any guard—he was a Junior Epic Gold Medalist.

  There was no door or gate to bar his progress. But there was no place to hide, either. He had to hope that his speed and agility were enough.

  On your marks.

  Get set . . .

  He tore away, as fast as he could down the hallway, past maps and diagrams on the walls for the visitors to examine, past replicas and dioramas. He ran faster than he ever had. He put everything into this effort, every millisecond he’d spent training at Ecrof, every single technical instruction he’d received. He kept his arms pinned close, his fingers tight together. He held his chest upright.

  Faster. Faster. Faster.

  He blew past the guards.

  He could sense them behind him, initially too startled to move, too stunned to realize what had just happened. Someone had run out of the Temple of Arsama.

  But their inaction was short-lived. Too soon, Rovi heard footsteps sprinting behind him.

  Down the sandy steps from the temple entrance he ran, his feet never missing a beat. In the open air, his grana was restored to full strength. He knew his feet would lead him as they always did. He flew over the cobbled avenue, the grand approach to the pyramid. He ran for the heart of the Upper City. He knew better than to glance over his shoulder. But his senses told him the guards were at his back, doing their best to keep pace with him.

  He needed to accelerate. He needed to escape.

  Now he was all Star Stealer, dodging and darting at remarkable speed, finding alleys he didn’t know existed and taking them to unknown destinations.

  The guards were good—better than the ones who patrolled the Alexandrine Market. Rovi could maintain his distance but he couldn’t shake them.

  Usually Rovi could rely on the chaos of the busy market and the crowds of the Lower City to aid his escape. But now it was nighttime and the city was empty. All he had to rely on was himself and his grana.

  His footsteps echoed loudly, as if they were summoning the guards, alerting them to exactly where he was headed.

  He sprinted through plazas and courtyards. He climbed balconies. He swung from balustrades and zigzagged through colonnades. His grana was helping—but it wasn’t enough.

  He could feel the guards at his heels. They were closing in.

  He raced out of the market and tried to form a plan. He would cross the bridge over the river and then take the steps down on the far side to get to the water level. Then he’d sprint along the narrow towpath and duck into the entrance to the River of Sand he’d used when he’d found Issa. He hoped the total darkness by the river would hide where he was going.

  He left the market and hit the Draman Bridge.

  The two guards were close behind. The quickest way down to the river was if he jumped. But he didn’t want to risk losing the key in the water.

  He took the stairs, the guards on his tail. They were too close. He ran through his old, abandoned camp. He was closing in on the tunnel entrance. But if he took it, he’d lead the guards right to the Star Stealers.

  Rovi continued past the entrance and took the next flight of stairs up to the streets. Then he doubled back, racing for the Upper City.

  Faster, faster. Through the market again. Up another flight of stairs. Soon he could see the back wall of the Dreamer Village. Returning the key would have to wait. He scrambled up the wall, scraping his knees and hands.

  He flung himself down into the village and lay panting against the wall. When his breath was quiet, he slunk to his residential tower. He dragged himself up the stairs to his room. He took the key out of his pocket and slid it between the pages of his Grana Book, where no one would see it. Touching another person’s Grana Book was forbidden. Then he rinsed his face and slid into bed just in case anyone checked on him.

  But he was too full of adrenaline to sleep. His mind raced. He hadn’t delivered the key. And that meant he’d have to escape from the village once again, risking discovery to bring it to Issa and Fortunus.

  Rovi had had enough of adventures. He could still feel those guards on his tail. He wanted sleep to come so he could escape the memory and the fear. But his eyes wouldn’t close. Instead, they were drawn to the window that overlooked the village, where he could suddenly see two Phoenician guards patrolling the grounds with their hand lamps, peering into every corner.

  And he knew exactly what they were searching for.

  19

  PRETIA

  AN ARRIVAL

  Vera’s babbling woke Pretia up. “I’m going out to check the scoreboard. I need to make sure Rex Taxus didn’t take a medal in the pool last night. I heard he might have been a late entry in the freestyle. Do you want to come? You should come.”

  Pretia rubbed her eyes.

  “Because if he got a medal, that means he’s closing in on me, but if he didn’t, that means—”

  “Vera,” Pretia grumbled, “slow down.”

  “I don’t want that stuck-up Realist to be the star of the games,” Vera continued. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth. “That came out wrong. What I mean is, if someone else has to set records and get attention, I don’t want it to be a guy who’s leading protests against my best friend.”

  Pretia yawned and stretched. “Vera, I want you to set that record for your sake, not because of anything to do with me.”

  Vera had moved to the window and was peering out as if she could see the leaderboard from where she stood.

  “Okay, okay,” Pretia said, taking the hint. “I’m coming.”

  It took them some time to make their way out of the residential towers. Every Dreamer they passed had a word of encouragement or support for Vera. People held doors for her, stood aside as she passed. They stared and whispered.

  “Why can’t they just treat me normally?” Vera said. “It’s making me anxious.”

  “Now you know what it’s like being Princess of Epoca,” Pretia laughed, grateful that someone else was getting all the attention for once.

  As they passed through one of the plazas in the village, they saw that a swap meet had been set up, where kids from different academies were trading their kit.

  “I bet your shirts would be a big-ticket item,” Vera said. “Who wouldn’t want a Praxis-Onera jersey?”

  “I think Renovo is going to be a collector’s item,” Pretia replied.

  “Trade you,” Vera teased.

  They picked their way through the ad hoc market until they reached the leaderboard. Pretia watched Vera’s eyes fly over the numbers and stats.

  “Phew,” Vera said. “Either Rex didn’t swim or he didn’t medal. I’m still ahead of him.”

  Pretia checked Vera’s medal count. Vera had participated in so many competitions that Pretia couldn’t keep up with them all. She sat on top of the medal leaders with eight, the record-setting number of medals that Julius had won in the last games. As she’d said, Rex Taxus was nipping at her heels.

  “Rex is only signed up for one more event,” Vera said. “So no matter what, he can’t pass me. Now all I have to do is get two more medals and I can pass Far—” She lowered her voice. “You know, that old guy’s record.”

  “If no one remembers him, why does it matter to you so much?” Pretia asked, curious. “Can’t you just aim for Julius’s rec
ord?”

  “It’s personal,” Vera said. “I set this challenge for myself and I plan to meet it.”

  Pretia turned back to the board and looked at the overall medal count. “The Realists are ahead by three medals. We can pass them.”

  “If it comes down to the final relay,” Vera said, “you’re going to have to split yourself no matter what sort of protest or distraction my brother organizes. We’ll need that podium position.”

  “I know,” Pretia said. “I’ll do whatever I need to.”

  “This is going to be close,” Vera said. “Somni can’t afford any missteps.”

  A wave of anxiety passed over Pretia. The Dreamers also couldn’t afford to have any medals taken away. That’s exactly what would happen if the officials discovered Rovi had snuck out of the village.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Have you seen Rovi?” she asked.

  “I’ve been with you all morning,” Vera reminded her. “Why? You want to look for him?”

  “No,” Pretia answered a little too abruptly. She was still annoyed at him for lying to her.

  “Whoa,” Vera said. “Everything okay?”

  Pretia breathed deeply to settle herself. “I mean, I don’t want to find him right now.” She busied herself by checking the leaderboard. She knew she had been unfair to Rovi the last time they talked. She needed to apologize but wasn’t entirely looking forward to the conversation. “Okay, so today there are swimming relays in the pool and high jump and discus at the Crescent Stadium. That’s you and Eshe in the high jump, right?”

  “Yes,” Vera said. “Are you sure everything is okay?”

  “Of course,” Pretia replied, not meeting Vera’s eyes. “I’m hungry and sore. Not splitting myself really did a number on my calves. I think I’ll hit the health center after breakfast. I want to be in perfect condition for the relay.”