by Kobe Bryant
The recruits charged down the dock. Two kids, a Dreamer and a Realist, both clearly Rhodan Islanders, were in the lead. They scrambled up the rickety gangplank and clambered onto the deck. The rest of the recruits followed. The second the last recruit got on board, two sailors raised the gangway and two others, who were on the dock, unleashed the ropes securing the ship. The boat swayed, the sails rippled and snapped, and the ship began to sail from shore. Except for Leo Apama, who was already looking a little green, the recruits cheered.
Janos stood in front of one of the masts and blew his whistle. “Your quarters are below. This will be the only time you will share quarters as a class of recruits. When you arrive in Ecrof, you will be placed according to your house affiliation. The Dreamers will go to the Temple of Dreams and the Realists to the Thinkers Palace.”
The recruits hurried below deck, jostling one another as they descended the narrow, steep stairs. The hold of the ship was one big room with round windows just above head height. Seventeen hammocks swayed from the rafters. Leo clutched his stomach.
“Choose one near a window,” Pretia said.
There was a mad rush as the kids claimed their berths. Pretia was left with a hammock wedged in a narrow corner far to the aft of the ship. She flung her duffel onto the hammock and quickly pulled on her Ecrof sweats. They fit as if they’d been cut for her and her alone. She traced the Ecrof crest with her fingers, still unable to fully comprehend that the destiny that awaited her was precisely the thing she had dreamed about for years.
Pretia was the last recruit to return to deck. While she’d been below, the deckhands had laid out a breakfast feast. There were fantastic fruits from all regions of Epoca—fluorescent oranges and luminescent red pomegranates, grapes as big as tennis balls and finger-size bananas. Jars of Megos honey sparkled next to the famous golden suncakes that were the pride of the bakers in Helios. There were bowls of sweet oats and grains, and rich pitchers of creamy nut milk.
Except for Castor and Pretia, none of the recruits had experienced all of these foods before, and they marveled at the exotic tastes. Even Pretia had to conceal her wonderment that these foods, which were already familiar to her, tasted so much better when eaten on the deck of the boat carrying her to Ecrof. Pretia took a suncake and a shiny orange and carried them to the starboard side of the ship. She sat down and dangled her feet toward the turquoise water as she watched the distant coastline of mainland Epoca.
From what Pretia could tell, they were sailing northwest, leaving southern Epoca and the Dreamer-dominated cities of Helios and Mount Oly behind, and crossing into the north of the country where the Realist seats of Megos and Hydros lay. She could just make out the white salt cliffs of Limnus, where the juiciest olives were said to grow.
West of these cliffs, a jagged cluster of rocky land disrupted the pristine water. These were the Rhodan Islands, home to Epoca’s finest fishermen who braved the seas far from the shore in narrow, swift boats that were built so they could pursue the largest and most dangerous catches. Epic Athletes who came from these islands were praised for their incredible endurance and usually dominated the long-distance sports in the Epic Games.
The farther into the Helian Sea they sailed, the bluer the water grew until it became the unblemished lapis lazuli hue that was the color of House Relia. The sun was reaching the midway point of its climb and now hung overhead like a great fiery ball. And just visible in the distance was the mainland that glittered gold and white.
The ship kicked up salt spray into Pretia’s nose. But on the open sea, the water didn’t carry the same briny, fishy scent that rose from the harbor below Castle Airim. Instead, the water smelled fresh and clean, like the sun-kissed laundry that snapped in the breeze behind the castle.
While Pretia was watching the sea and the vanishing coastline, she saw Rovi, the boy who’d snatched his bag from Janos without a word, darting back and forth between coils of rope at the prow of the ship. He moved like a cat, slipping from the prow down to the buffet table, then back to the prow. His movements were nimble, agile—and somewhat mysterious. Three times, Pretia watched as he crossed the deck to the table and returned to the coiled ropes.
And then she saw what he was doing. The boy was stealing food. If she blinked, she nearly missed it. It was like a magic trick, the way he slid an orange or a banana off the table, then hid it somewhere on his body before crossing back to the prow, where he stored his plunder in a coil of rope. Pretia couldn’t keep herself from openly staring, confused as to why the boy would be stealing food, but impressed by the masterful way he was doing it.
On his fourth trip, as he was bending over the rope, he looked up and caught her eye. Pretia quickly looked away, but she knew he had seen her. The boy left the prow and was at her side in no time.
“What are you staring at, Princess?” he said.
“Don’t call me Princess,” Pretia replied. “My name is Pretia.”
“But that’s what you are, a princess,” the boy said. “So that’s what I’ll call you.”
“And do you want me to call you thief?” Pretia asked.
“What are you talking about?” the boy said, his fingers twitching and fluttering at lightning speed.
“It’s free, you know,” Pretia said.
The boy glanced from side to side. His eyes were lively and alert like a panther’s.
“That’s what the food is there for, for us to take. You don’t need to steal.”
“So if it’s free, I’m not stealing it then, am I?” the boy said. “And I’m not a thief.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“You wouldn’t understand.” And with that, Rovi darted across the ship and disappeared.
Pretia was about to go look for him when she heard a cry from behind. Castor and Nassos, another Realist, were standing in front of the two masts. “Race you,” Pretia heard Castor say. “First one up the rigging.”
Now all the other recruits had rushed to the action. Castor stood at the base of one mast. Nassos stood before the other. Vera stood between them. She held her arms in the air. “On your marks, get set, go!” She dropped her arms. The boys began to scramble. Castor was ahead at first, but then Nassos, a Rhodan Islander who was clearly used to seafaring and more comfortable on a ship, pulled into the lead. He reached the top first and let out a victorious whoop before expertly sliding down the ropes back to the deck. Castor followed, a stormy look on his face.
Next, Adira, the Dreamer in the headscarf, and Virgil, the willowy, golden-haired Dreamer boy, stepped forward. “We want to race,” they said almost in unison. Pretia watched as Virgil wound his golden locks into a knot. Adira’s headscarf whipped in the wind as she grabbed the rigging.
Once more, Vera started the race. Virgil was graceful and strong, but Adira was nimble like a gymnast or a dancer, and her quick footwork carried her up the rigging first.
Pretia watched from the deck. The excitement of the races was infectious. She heard herself cheering her classmates on. She didn’t really care who won. Just watching the kids climb—just the idea of climbing herself—was thrilling enough.
“I want to race the princess.”
Pretia looked away from the masts, where Leo had become tangled with the rigging midclimb as he raced Xenia, a Dreamer from Chaldis. Vera Renovo was standing in front of her. She had her hands on her hips. Her brown eyes were flashing and her dark skin shone like she’d been dipped in sacred oil.
“No,” said Pretia, fear gripping her as she thought of her cursed grana and of what might happen if she raced Vera up the mast. But she wanted to climb. She wanted to push herself. She wanted to rise up above the deck.
“Are you afraid of heights or of losing?” Vera asked.
“Neither,” Pretia said.
“So what are you waiting for?” Vera narrowed her eyes.
“Nothing,” Pretia said, giving in an
d rushing to the base of one of the masts.
This time, Adira started the race. Pretia grabbed the ropes. “Go!” Adira said.
Pretia began to climb. At first it was difficult to balance on the ropes and pull herself up. But soon she figured out how to steady herself on the swaying ladder while reaching for the next rung. And then it became easy. Suddenly Pretia was no longer aware of the unstable rope ladder, the light wind, the group of recruits standing below her on the deck. Suddenly she could no longer feel the rope burning her palms as she climbed, or her shoes slipping on the loose rope. Suddenly she could feel herself pulling away, as if she were simply climbing a set of stairs. And suddenly she could see herself racing ahead, climbing faster than she thought possible. She was watching herself beating Vera.
It was her grana. Pretia glanced up at the shadow version of herself racing up the rigging and at Vera, who had momentarily lost her balance as she realized Pretia was winning. Vera hadn’t just lost her balance; she was slipping down the rope ladder. Pretia’s heart froze. She couldn’t breathe. What if she had made Vera fall? Stop, she screamed silently. Stop! Then she felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach—like her shadow self had slammed back into her. Now Pretia was higher up on the rigging, where her shadow self had been. Except that her shadow self was gone and it was just her. And she, too, was falling, falling toward the deck. Quickly, she grasped the ropes and pulled herself to safety just in time to see Vera reach the top of the rigging and raise her arms in victory.
Pretia slid back to the deck, where the recruits were cheering Vera’s win.
“What happened?” Leo asked. “You were beating her the whole way. And then it was like you let her win.”
“Nothing happened,” Pretia said. “She just pulled ahead in the end.” She took a deep breath and looked up at the mast. But that wasn’t true. Pretia had split herself—she’d revealed her evil half, if only she was aware of it. Something inside of her was bad, and she needed to hide this from everyone.
6
ROVI
THE ISLAND
Rovi stood on the deck of the ship watching the waves. The last time he’d crossed this same body of water he’d been terrified. It had been dark and he and his father were being taken away from Ecrof in the middle of the night.
Rovi had spent the voyage curled up in his bunk while Pallas Myrios raved and ranted about trees. Trees were going to kill them. He had to kill trees. Rovi shuddered at the memory of his father’s last days at Ecrof and the rumor that had chased them from the island: Pallas had tried to cut down the famed Tree of Ecrof.
Rovi slammed his eyes shut to block out the memory. When he opened them again, he saw that Janos was watching him from across the deck. The Head Trainer raised his hand. Rovi offered a halfhearted wave in return and then scuttled away.
He remembered the powerful Head Trainer of Ecrof well. Janos and his father had been friends, close friends who had spent many evenings drinking Megaran wine and discussing the limits of visualization late into the night. But everything had gone wrong.
Rovi remembered the last time he’d seen Janos, raging in his father’s small suite of rooms. The powerful Head Trainer had towered over Pallas Myrios as he bellowed that Pallas’s behavior had brought disgrace to the academy. Janos proclaimed that Pallas’s and Rovi’s presence would not be tolerated on Cora for a minute longer than necessary. Pallas hadn’t replied. From then on, he hadn’t said much of anything that made sense. He’d just taken Rovi by the hand and led him to the awaiting ship.
Now, Rovi darted to an empty corner of this ship and sat with his back against a coil of rope. He closed his eyes. He was exhausted. The last three days had been a blur. Satis had led him from the swimming pool and out through the Upper City to a van that was waiting to drive them to the Alegian Sea. A huge picnic lunch was waiting in the van—more food than Rovi had been served at any one time since he and his father had left Ecrof three years earlier. He was so busy stuffing himself with beef pastries and honeycakes that the van had already driven far outside the limits of Phoenis before he realized he hadn’t said goodbye to Issa. By then it was too late.
As Rovi felt the ship sway underneath him, he replayed the conversation he’d had with Satis in the van.
“How did you find me?” Rovi had asked.
“I’m an Ecrof scout. It’s my job to find people.”
“Who told you my father was dead?”
Satis had smiled kindly. “I suspected, and gossip in the market confirmed it.”
“How come you held on to my Grana Book?”
“I knew you’d need it one day. Like your father, I had an idea you’d be returning to Ecrof. Your father had a sense about things. That’s what made him one of the great Visualization Trainers.”
Then Rovi had asked the question he most feared. “So if he was so great, why was he fired?”
A grim look had passed over Satis’s face. “Your father made a mistake,” he had said.
“A mistake?”
Rovi had another million questions about this mistake. But Satis had fallen silent and Rovi had drifted off to sleep. The next thing Rovi remembered, the bus had arrived at a ferry dock at the Alegian Sea. Satis had handed him a pouch of money and told Rovi that the ferry would sail overnight to the capital of Helios, where he would join the rest of the Ecrof recruits for the ceremonial boat ride to the secret island of Cora.
Rovi emerged from his resting place to eat lunch with the recruits. But he kept his distance. He didn’t want to be asked questions about why he carried no luggage and how he had obtained such a fancy pair of sneakers. After lunch, when the sun was at its hottest, the Ecrof ship dropped anchor and the deckhands set up a springboard off the stern so the students could dive into the deep blue sea. Even Leo Apama, who had a Sandlander’s traditional aversion to open water, allowed himself to be coaxed into the sea, where he paddled awkwardly and clung close to the ship.
Cyril and Nassos, the two Rhodan Islanders, raced each other around the boat. Adira wore a full-body swimsuit. Her aquatic headscarf shimmered in the sun as she performed complicated flips and twists off the board, spinning her body in a seemingly impossible number of revolutions before diving into the water with barely a splash. Virgil, who was glued to Adira’s side, tried to outdo each of her dives. He came close, but Adira outshone him.
Rovi watched from the sidelines. He’d just learned his lesson about competing with strange kids back at the pool in Phoenis and didn’t feel like inviting criticism or making mistakes.
The less he talked to his new classmates, the less they would ever learn about him—a good thing, he figured. His father had left Ecrof in disgrace and here he was returning in stolen shoes.
After the recruits were brought back onto the ship and the springboard stored away, everyone gathered on the starboard side to watch as a pod of dolphins kept pace with the boat for several miles. Their sleek gray bodies arced over the waves as they frolicked in the wake.
Then it was time for dinner—a feast of fresh fish that the cooks grilled out on the deck. After dinner, trays of honeycakes and pistachio sweets were passed around. Janos appeared and led the students in the Ecrof fight song. Their voices carried into the air and were amplified by the waves and light wind.
“Now,” Janos said when the last notes of the song had vanished into the dark night, “it’s time for bed.”
A chorus of groans rippled through the students. Rovi tried to stifle a laugh. It had been years since anyone had told him to go to bed. In fact, it had been years since an adult had bossed him around. While he didn’t much like being ordered around, he also didn’t want to attract Janos’s attention.
“You may think it is early,” the Head Trainer continued, “but tomorrow is your first official day at the academy and there is no telling what challenges might be in store for you. You wouldn’t want to stumble on the first hurdle because
of lack of sleep.”
This had the recruits’ attention. And without any further encouragement, they hurried downstairs and into their hammocks. But before Rovi could slip below deck, he felt Janos pulling him back from the crowd.
“You act like you don’t remember me, Rovi,” Janos said, smiling down at him. “But I know that’s not true. My scouts tell me you’re very smart, just like your father.”
Rovi looked up at the imposing, bearded face of his new Head Trainer. “I remember you,” he said cautiously.
“Good,” Janos said, clapping a strong hand on Rovi’s shoulder. “Tell me, did your father talk much about Ecrof after you two left? He was an impressive man, but he had some wild ideas.”
Rovi shook his head. He was tempted to point out that he and his father hadn’t exactly left Ecrof. They’d been evicted. But he didn’t want to cross Janos.
Janos’s emerald eyes bore into Rovi’s. “Are you sure? Because I wouldn’t have wanted him to poison you against our academy. You are honored to attend Ecrof, are you not?”
“Yes,” Rovi said.
“Good,” Janos replied. “Very good. Your father could have been a legend at Ecrof, you know. It’s a shame how things turned out.” Janos removed his hand from Rovi’s shoulder, and Rovi raced below deck before he had to explain exactly how much worse things had turned out after he and his father had left Ecrof—how his father, who had supposedly been one of the most impressive Visualization Trainers in Epoca, had lost his mind and wound up a Somnium addict who ranted and raved on the streets of Phoenis. He didn’t want to explain how he had watched his father drink more and more of the dark potion until Pallas became a literal shadow of his former self, a half person, an exhausted shell of a human who could barely stand. A ghost.
Below deck, Rovi climbed into his hammock and put the conversation with Janos out of his mind, focusing instead on the adventure ahead.
Despite Janos’s warning, it was a long time before anyone slept. Someone had untied the strings of Leo’s hammock so that when he climbed in, it crashed to the floor. After that there was much whispering between the recruits and the occasional explosion of laughter until one by one, they all drifted off.
