by E E Rawls
Her breath choked in her throat. What the heck did he just say? She bristled before she could stop herself. “You’ve got a screw loose if you think I’m pretty. And just so you know, I’m weird and nerdy, and I don’t plan on changing.” She pinched her gloves.
After a pause, Aken laughed. “Who isn’t a little weird? You’re fine just the way you are, Cy.”
Heat rose to her cheeks. Cy—she had a nickname, and it wasn’t Cherry-top.
On her other side, Bakoa reached for her arm. “Do you want to see the library? I can take you.”
“Don’t even, Baka. I’m her guide,” Aken objected.
“Wuh, how come I can’t be included? I’m tired of being left out all the time!” The desert boy snifled.
Cyrus looked back and forth between them, her lungs iced over. Her...? Did Aken just say her?
Oh no. How could he tell? Nothing about her screamed girl!
She had to hide it—she couldn’t afford to stand out in this school as a rare female Ability user! The more eyes on her, the more likely her half-human secret would be found out. A half-human Ability user would be fun to experiment on, or use as a slave—providing they didn’t execute her as a spy, first. Blending in as just another boy was her best defense.
Fear made goosebumps down her arms, and she instinctively touched her throat.
“I...” Cyrus tried to say.
Both boys stopped arguing to look at her.
“I—I’m actually a boy.”
There, she said it. And silence reigned.
Aken’s eyes grew the size of dinner plates, and the desert boy’s jaw dropped to the floor.
Somewhere beyond a window, a cicada chirped, serenading the awkward moment. Chirrrrup. Chirrrrrup.
Aken turned away, gripping the sides of his head.
Bakoa leaned forward, peering closely at Cyrus’s face. “Are you sure?”
Cyrus took a step back. “I would know myself, wouldn’t I? Anyway, is Aken upset?”
“He has emotional issues. Best not to ask about it,” he whispered.
Aken returned, shoving Bakoa aside, and gave Cyrus his finest cool-guy smile. “Of course you’re a boy.” He gave a laugh that sounded too forced. “We knew that. This was just a bit of friendly teasing. Right, Baka?”
“Fibber.” Bakoa wiped his nose with a wrist and stuck out his lower lip. “There you go being mean t’ me again. The word baka means idiot in Hanasu. You’re calling me an idiot every time you say that!”
“Am I?” Aken asked with a tell-tale smirk.
“Bakoa is an island name, and it means bow to the warrior.”
Aken shrugged up his palms. “Okay. Anyway, no harm was meant, Cy. It’s obvious you’re a guy. You’ve got a real, erm...masculine figure!”
Cyrus should have been pleased they fell for her bluff, but a flicker of anger sparked at that last comment.
“Where’s the restroom?” she asked, fed up with this conversation and with this troublemaker.
Aken blinked. “Oh, that way.” He pointed to a door in the entryway: Harlow’s restroom & shower room. She was about to go inside when she saw it was for boys and that Aken and Bakoa were coming in with her.
Eek, no way was she going in there with them!
She spun back around. “Nevermind! I’m fine. I just wanted to know where it was—ahahaha.” She gave a strange laugh before dashing off in the opposite direction, leaving both boys behind.
Exiting Harlow by way of the stairwell, she sprinted like an anteleer, leaping down three steps at a time, backpack bouncing behind.
‘So embarrassing!’
There must be another restroom, somewhere. ‘Hurry, HUrry, HURRY. Agh, I really gotta go!’
The floor below had better have one—It better!
Chapter 11
The principal of Draevensett raised one bushy eyebrow across the mahogany desk at Doctor Zushil, who looked quite miffed about something—then again, he always looked miffed about something the way his mouth seemed permanently chisled in a displeased frown.
Principal Han was feeling his centuries-worth of years today, gray and white hair frizzed around his robe’s shoulders and stole. He had retired from being Grandmaster of the D.G. League to take up the task of running this school and producing quality new generations of Draevs. He relished it, though some days were more weary than others, like today.
Han patiently listened to Zushil’s grudging recommendation of a boy recently found to have Ability: Cyrus Sole, able to manipulate certain metals while touching them.
It suddenly dawned on Han why the doctor was wearing a pair of old, discolored glasses, and he stifled a throaty laugh. “Well, I do accept your recommendation, Dr. Zushil,” Han said once the doctor had finished speaking. “It’s not as if we can be picky these days. Even those with a fraction of Ability are prized gems.”
Han turned his head to the four Draev Guardian Masters also present in the office room, opposite Zushil. “Now then, as for where to place the boy.” His hands folded and his lips parted, when suddenly the door flung open and the fifth Master walked in.
“Principal Han.” Moving with fluid grace, the vempar took a stand alongside the other Masters, even as they shot glares at his tardiness. Master Nephryte faced the principal. “I hear a new student is joining us. Please, Principal Han,” he bowed his head formally, “allow me to take him under my care.”
Han’s brow lifted.
“What?” one of the Masters exclaimed. “You don’t know anything about the boy, and already you’re trying to snatch him up?” accused Master Deidreem. Younger than Nephryte, Deidreem was a charming viper when temper didn’t get the better of him. His arms were crossed and lips sour. The bay window’s light touched the dark curls spilling from beneath his top hat, and his skin the deep gray of a stormcloud dipped in charcoal threatened to bring a heavy downpour.
Nephryte stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “I was not aware this was a competition. I am the Master with the least amount of students; therefore, the boy should fall to me. Master Deidreem, it is simple logic.”
“Logic, tch!” Master Deidreem pinched the hat’s brim, his epidote-crystal eyes glowing under its shadow. “You and all your great logic—”
“Enough,” Master Eletor cut in. His languid lids were half-asleep from pulling an all-nighter. “You’re worse than bickering chipmunks.” He lazily ran a hand through his bedhead of aqua hair.
Deidreem’s mouth twisted but kept silent.
“Haven’t you enough on your plate, though, Nephryte?” Eletor’s arms lifted with a yawn and he craned back his neck. “With that kid, I mean. Aken-Shou.” He made a face. “It took a full week to undo that last prank of his.”
Dread clouded the room at the memory: Every student’s and Master’s hair had turned a horrid bright green from hidden dye in shampoo bottles.
They recoiled at the reminder. Master Seren-Rose touched her black hair protectively, and old Master Brangor carefully stroked his red beard. Nephryte shut his eyes—no doubt remembering Aken-Shou skipping through the halls, laughing and pointing at everybody’s green hair and shouting “Broccoli head!”
Deidreem’s frown lifted into a smirk. “You’ve really got your hands full with that one. A piece of work, he is.”
Nephryte coolly ignored him. “He’s not a bad kid. Whatever else he may be, it is not that. And I can assure you his punishment cleaning the bathrooms was severe.”
Principal Han shook his head, marveling at Nephryte’s determination and patience with a boy who, from day one, had been nothing but trouble. How did he manage, especially when the boy despised him so? It was by his and Han’s mercy that the last Scourgeblood was allowed to stay and train. But a day would come when the boy’s blood power would awaken, and then...
“Perhaps this new student will be a good influence on Aken-Shou,” Nephryte continued to implore. “He looked out of place when I saw him. I can tell he’s not from the city. Does he have any family?”
> Han shook his head.
“Then I can be of help. Most of my students are orphans. What is his name?”
“Cyrus Sole. From the northern farming communities?” Han glanced over at Zushil, who confirmed with an impatient nod.
“Cyrus Sole...” Nephryte repeated.
Han drummed his fingers on the desk, thinking, as the room awaited his decision.
CYRUS PAUSED AT THE mouth of the door leading into the third-floor, and scanned every which way. This was the north wing, teacher and staff offices, if she remembered correctly. There had to be a restroom.
Hopefully that Aken wouldn’t come looking for her. Why did he have to be the first student she met?
Immersed in her search and thoughts, she rounded a set of antique lobby chairs and almost bumped into a tall, ultramarine shirt. “Ah! Excuse me!”
She tilted her head back for a quick look at the person, then stilled. It was the vempar from earlier, the one whose river eyes had followed her so intensely after she parted ways with Gandif.
“That’s quite all right, student Cyrus,” he spoke, voice smooth as water, a river that was calm and sure of the course it took. Light from a row of windows played in his eyes.
Fair brown hair framed his unblemished features in waves, stray bangs tucked behind a pointed ear. There was an air of knowledge and books about him.
Wait, how did he know her name? Was the whole school talking about her already?
“It is a pleasure to meet—” he began, when she blurted out: “Where’s the restroom?”
He paused and blinked.
She didn’t mean to say it like that. How embarrassing!
He raised one long finger, pointing to a door on her right bearing the label Restroom.
Her face colored. Why didn’t she see that sooner? ‘Nice first impression, stupid-head,’ she screamed in her skull and darted for the door.
Inside the restroom, her shoes squeaked to a halt. Three boys were standing at “wall toilets” or whatever those things were called. She shielded her face with a hand and carefully avoided looking their way. If she was going to start living here as a boy, she’d have to get used to this. ‘I’ll be fine as long as I avoid those wall things.’
Trying to appear inconspicuous, she slipped into one of the stalls.
Thankfully the students soon left, and she washed her hands in silence, letting out a breath.
Her reflection in the mirror above the sink caught her eye: that fluffy short hair and small frame. She could hear the old jeers in her head: “Cherry-top! Cherry-top!”
No, here she wasn’t that pitiful, made-fun-of kid. Here, she could be someone else, someone better. Leave the past behind.
Hefting her backpack and exiting the restroom quietly, she bit back a yelp when she spotted the vempar man still standing there, waiting for her.
“May I speak with you, now?” His gaze caught her like a lasso, and she nodded timidly. “I am Master Nephryte,” he extended a hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Cyrus Sole. I am to be your Draev Master during your stay.”
She blinked up at him. This mystery man wasn’t some creeper, but her new Master? And he was the powerful one Bakoa had mentioned, which meant her Master wouldn’t be someone lame? ‘Thank you, Lord God!’
Cyrus lightly shook his hand, hoping a vempar couldn’t sense human blood through touch. His skin was warm, as warm as the smile he gave, long hand engulfing her cold fingers.
“You have nothing to be nervous about, student Cyrus. I am certain my other students will grow to like you.”
‘Like? Hopefully not as in taste,’ she thought wryly. He released her hand, and she nodded politely. “It’s nice to meet you, Master.”
Hyah!
A shout rang out of nowhere, startling the flesh off her bones, and she whirled sideways to see the top of a potted tree behind the Master move. Something leaped out, diving like a bird of prey, soaring fist-first and aiming a blow to the back of the Master’s head.
It happened so fast, she barely had time to register the assailant as Aken—a battle grin splitting his face.
The Master coolly lifted his index finger, not even bothering to look, and Aken came to a sudden halt mid-soar. He squirmed, suspended in the air by nothing.
Cyrus let her jaw dangle open.
“Not again,” whined a voice. Bakoa was peeking out of the stairwell and shaking his orange head.
“You—” Aken began. But before he could get another word out, Master Nephryte’s finger moved in a circular motion, and Aken was sent spinning across the lobby like a whirring tornado.
Wind whipped hair into Cyrus’s eyes and she tugged her hood up before Aken finally came to a crashing halt—head first—into the tiled floor. Chnk!
This Draev Master must be very powerful to use his Ability so easily, without hardly moving. She stared in awe. It was one thing to see yourself using the gift, but quite another to see someone talented like Master Nephryte use it, a genuine professional.
The Master’s face was the picture of worn patience. Apparently this was not Aken’s first attack attempt—and probably wouldn’t be the last. What the heck was he thinking? How immature was this boy?
“Yu-yu-you...” Aken stammered, trying to stand straight after falling flat on his face, nose bloody and swollen. Like a druken idiot, he ran into chairs and walls trying to steer toward them.
Master Nephryte showed no concern whatsoever, but she cringed, until Aken’s nose began changing color. The purple and red damage faded, Healed—his face soon restored to its previous charm. Spooked, Cyrus drew back.
Aken wiped leftover blood from his nose, and turned his fury up at the Master.
Master Nephryte gazed coolly back in return. “That was quite a sad attack plan. Or were you throwing a tantrum?”
Aken raised his right hand, pointing at the Master. “One of these days, I’ll win against you. Just you wait.”
The Master did not flinch a centimeter.
Aken pointed a thumb to his chest, blazing with determination. “I’ll become the greatest Draev Guardian ever to exist! I’ll surpass you and everybody in the D.G. League, even the king. And when I do, I’ll fix this broken, messed up world. You wait and see, I’ll make this world soar through the dawn into a new age!” he stated, chest puffing out.
Aken’s name was the picture of a bird soaring into the dawn—Cyrus thought that’s what it meant in Hanasu. But he was an overconfident idiot to have such a lofty goal. Determination radiated from him like the sun, daring the odds to defy him. It was almost contagious, making her wonder if she, too, could defy the odds set before her.
The evening lamps glowed to life around them, and he looked almost regal in their golden glow.
“Then I suggest you start by getting better grades.” Master Nephryte sliced through the moment like a knife, holding up a test sheet from a folder under his arm: a big, red F- beside Aken’s name.
A look of dread crossed the boy’s features, his glorious moment spoiled, his chest a deflated balloon. But the Master wasn’t done yet.
“Is this how you plan to surpass the D.G. League? The king himself? By getting the worst grades in school? Because you’ve most certainly done that.” He confronted the withering boy, point-blank. “If you really want to accomplish something, work on yourself first. And while you’re at it, start thinking more about what Lord God wants you to do, instead of only what you want to do.” He rolled the paper up and bapped him over the head with it.
Aken’s chin hung in humiliation.
Cyrus thought she saw the hint of a grin at the edges of Nephryte’s lips before the Master turned to her, all courteous once more.
“It’s already time for dinner. Cyrus, would you care to join us?”
Join for dinner? She dreaded to think what dinner might consist of. Did they eat anything besides absorbing essence from living things? There were rumors among humans—things she didn’t want to consider right now. Then her stomach growled loudly, answerin
g the question before her mouth had a chance to.
“That was the next place we were gonna show you, Cy.” Aken’s pointed ears perked. He appeared beside her so fast that she jumped. He snatched her backpack off and left it in a chair. “Follow me!” He winked, all humiliation forgotten.
Cyrus had no choice as he swiftly caught her hand and pulled her with him into a run. “M-maybe—!” was all she managed to say before her lungs gasped for breath.
Bakoa hurried after them. “Hey! Wait for me, you guys!”
Chapter 12
Draevensett’s dining hall was grand: capped by a domed ceiling, and ringed with depictions from the League’s history. Long-plummed birds, dragons, and warriors reached out of the paintwork into sculptures—giving a three-dimensional illusion as if they were alive and stepping free of the walls and ceiling.
Cyrus’s gaze roved. The dining hall was divided into five sections. Narrow fluted columns and paper screens made barriers, one section per Floor. Aken led her to Floor Harlow’s, where four other boys were already seated at a long table.
“It’s cool you’re on the same Floor as us, Cy.” He looked over his shoulder with a smile.
Cyrus couldn’t fake a smile back, nerves freezed her every facial muscle. She barely noticed Bakoa rush in to take the chair between two empty seats—a clever plan to sit between them—and Aken shooing him off.
“Yo, Harlows!” Aken greeted the group, and presented with a grand sweep of an arm, “This is Cyrus Sole, from one of those remote farming communities, our new floormate!”
Four faces turned to stare.
Cyrus swallowed, and sweated as a silent second ticked by.
Then they each rose.
The first boy kept his chin down, as if too shy to meet her gaze, same age as her, though he was short by a few inches. He peeked from beneath a too-big bladeer hat, his eyes pale as blue ice. “Z...Zartanian,” he said, soft-spoken. Raven bangs framed his fair cheeks, and the rest of his curly mop was gathered in a low ponytail.
He quickly sat back down, readjusting the blue collared coat around his narrow shoulders and dress shirt. His dark pants were tucked into high-laced leather boots. She offered a small smile and nod, but Zartanian ducked beneath the hat away from her sight.