by Kobe Bryant
Vera was doing complicated stretches as she stared at the Realist runners, an angry look on her face. “Everyone is just too in awe of my brother to actually challenge him,” she said. “They get distracted and can’t run their best. That’s what happens at Ecrof. That’s why no one can challenge the great Julius Renovo.”
“Really?” Rovi asked. From what he’d heard when he was a Star Stealer, there was no one in all of Epoca, from the capital of Helios to the distant Sandlands to the remote region of Alkebulan, who was as fast as Julius Renovo.
Vera was bouncing in place. “But I’m not in awe of him. I’m not afraid of him. He’s just my dumb, conceited older brother. And,” she added, “he’s a Realist.”
“All right,” Rovi said. “Whatever motivates you . . .”
Janos put his whistle to his lips and blew. The stands fell silent. “Today is Realist Day,” Janos bellowed. “But that doesn’t mean they are guaranteed victory. They have chosen their events. They have selected their runners. But they still have to defeat the Dreamers, who I’m sure are planning to rise to the challenge.”
Rovi felt a tap on his back. He turned and saw Satis behind him. “Your father would be proud of you,” Satis said. But before Rovi could respond, the mysterious Visualization Trainer had slipped away to join the rest of the faculty in the stands.
Cassandra gathered the Dreamer runners around her. “All right,” she said. “The Realists are expecting to win this. For every first-place finish, a team gets three points. Second place, two points, and third, one point. We don’t need to win everything. We just need to make it onto the podium as much as possible.”
“No,” Vera said, “we need to win.”
“Well, we can try,” Cassandra continued. “But what we need to focus on is chipping away at them. Let’s get on that podium.”
First up was the 100-meter dash—the marquee event. No matter what Vera had said, Rovi figured this was something the Realists had on lockdown. After all, Julius had won the 100 meters in the actual Epic Games.
Julius took the starting blocks to raucous applause. There were only six entrants in the race. For this short-distance event, the competitors would race over the track hovering above land, not over the cliff, something Rovi would not be spared.
The cheers were deafening. The starter’s pistol went off. Julius immediately took the lead. His feet flew faster than the other runners’. Rovi couldn’t believe his eyes—Julius’s feet actually flew. They never touched the track at all. Instead, his sneakers raced above it, gliding faster than Rovi would have thought possible. And it was over even before it started, with Julius flying across the finish line, upright and graceful, like it had taken no effort at all. For a moment, Rovi didn’t care about Dreamers and Realists. For a moment, he was able to enjoy sports at their finest and most pure. Because that’s what Julius was in this race—elegant perfection. Rovi had never seen anything like it. Nothing in his entire life. He barely noticed that Iskander Dracos, who had suggested he run the mile, had finished in third place.
“It’s like I said.” Vera snorted. “I’m sure everyone was just too in awe of him to actually run their best. That’s why he won so easily.”
“Probably,” Rovi said, snapping back to reality. He didn’t want to destroy whatever competitive zone Vera was in by telling her the truth.
Next up were the hurdles. All six of the runners were girls. This was Cassandra’s event, and she hopped on the track to wild cheers from the Dreamer camp. The Realists in the bleachers were keyed up after their initial victory and didn’t sit down, even when the hurdlers got into their starting blocks. Nor did they sit when the pistol went off.
But it didn’t matter. Cassandra was out at front right from the start. As she sprang over each hurdle, she remained in the air longer than the rest of the runners, flying between each jump, which took her farther and farther into the lead. She crossed the finish line a good six seconds before her closest opponent. Now the Dreamers were on their feet, cheering wildly.
In the 200, Julius was up again. How many races will he run? Rovi wondered. Vera was hopping from foot to foot, eager for her chance to race her brother. But that wouldn’t come until the 800—Cassandra hoped that the slightly longer distance might remove some of Julius’s edge. Once more, Julius glided across the finish line. But this time the Dreamers took second and third place.
Rovi knew his race was next. He was up on the track even before the race was announced, looking over the other seven runners. He could beat them all, he figured. Easy-peasy. “Just focus on yourself,” Cassandra said. “Don’t worry about the competition. Don’t look over your shoulder. Just run.”
“This is your race to win,” Iskander added. “The other runners don’t matter. Just worry about your own feet, your own speed. The other racers aren’t there.”
Rovi barely heard them. All he had to do was run around the track four times. That’s it. As fast as he could.
He lined up. The pistol went off. And Rovi dashed away. Running on the Infinity Track was exhilarating. Here he was, ten feet above the ground, racing for House Somni. His feet were doing their thing, leading him on, figuring out a path between the runners ahead of him. They didn’t falter when the track led him over the cliff, a terrifying drop to the beach below. He didn’t care about the height, or about the plunge to the rocks and water hundreds of feet down.
His feet were certain, every step perfectly timed and perfectly placed. They figured out the best way to dodge the trees that blocked the small section of the track that reached into the Decision Woods. While some of the other runners slowed as they neared this section, Rovi didn’t skip a beat. His feet led the way, doing all the work for him. He felt no strain. He was sure it showed to the spectators watching from the floating bleachers.
For two laps he was in the lead group of four, two Dreamers and two Realists who’d broken away from the start. By the third lap, the second-year Dreamer girl who’d been keeping pace with him fell away. Now it was Rovi and two older Realists. And he was winning. He was winning easily.
On the fourth lap, he darted through the trees blocking the course. He sprinted over the field. And then he hit the section dangling over the cliff. He still felt no strain. How amazing was this? How amazing was this! He could just imagine the looks on the faces of the two Realists behind him when they watched Rovi Myrios, the first-year recruit and former Star Stealer, cross the finish line ahead of them. He wanted to see them see him win.
As he was closing in on the finish line, he turned. The Realists were behind him, but they weren’t looking at him. They were staring straight ahead, their eyes fixed on the goal.
And before Rovi knew what had happened, the two other runners had passed him, finishing first and second while he stumbled to third.
Rovi’s cheeks burned. His heart sank. He climbed off the track feeling furious and ashamed. Cassandra and Iskander patted him on the back and congratulated him. But their words sounded halfhearted. Rovi should have won, and he knew it. His stupidity had cost House Somni two points. He should never have looked back.
“Good work, Tree Killer,” Castor called from the Realist camp.
Rovi moved away from the other runners and sat alone. Before long, Cassandra came over. “Don’t worry about it. It’s your first race. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone.”
Rovi just shrugged.
“Rovi,” Cassandra said sternly. “You need to support your teammates.”
“Fine,” Rovi said, getting to his feet and pushing his shame away. “Fine.”
It was time for the 800—Vera’s event. Rovi watched her climb onto the track. She was in the starting blocks next to Julius. She turned and gave him a nasty scowl. “You’re going down, Realist,” she said.
The Realists were on their feet chanting. Some called Julius’s name. Others urged him to destroy the Replacement. None of it seemed to bother
Vera. Her face was cool and professional now, as if she wasn’t even listening.
She’d never make the same sort of mistake he did, Rovi thought. Never. But there was no time to dwell on his missteps. The starter’s gun went off. And the race began.
The bleachers went wild.
The runners started off, a steady jog that would turn into an all-out sprint at the end of the second lap. For the first lap, all the runners stuck together as a pack. At the start of the second, a small group pulled away: Julius and two Dreamers, including Iskander. Vera was stuck in the middle of the remaining group, all of whom seemed edgy, trying to jockey for position and jostle each other. Halfway through the second lap, Julius was still in the lead. One Dreamer girl had dropped back and a Realist girl had taken her place.
Now Julius, Iskander, and the Realist girl were out front, with Vera right on their heels. The other four runners had fallen behind. Vera could catch them, Rovi was sure of it. There was so much noise from the bleachers it was thumping in Rovi’s chest.
They were on to the last 200 meters. Vera would have to make her move soon to get onto the podium. Julius, Iskander, and the Realist girl were keeping a steady pace, but Vera was closing in. The three leaders sprinted over the track that dangled over the cliffs with Vera at their heels. They passed back over land. Now all that remained was to run through the branches one more time and sprint the final 150 meters.
“Go, Vera!” Rovi shouted. “Go!”
She made her move. A few feet before the trees, she had nearly closed the gap. It was clear she would catch them, either before the trees or emerging from them. The three lead runners were in the branches, navigating them easily. But then something changed. The leaves shifted. They began to swirl. The branches all bent forward and a wild tornado of leaves gusted from the trees, chasing the lead runners.
The students in the bleachers gasped as they watched the leaves charge down the track. In an instant, the leaf funnel had swallowed the first three runners so that all that was visible of them was a green mass moving down the track at an alarming rate. It was like the wild sandstorms that swept through Phoenis from the desert, but made out of leaves.
Vera had been a step behind when the tornado of leaves erupted, and she remained outside of it. She was chasing it. Rovi wanted to scream at her to keep back. Everyone knows you don’t run into the eye of a sandstorm! But she was determined. And Rovi was too stunned to find the words to call out to her.
Right before the finish, the tornado ceased. The swirling leaves fell to the track and the ground below. And the three front-runners emerged, choking and sputtering. The older Realist girl staggered to one side and fell off the track, landing on the hard-packed earth.
Iskander and Julius were stumbling forward, Vera between them. She crossed second, just behind her brother, who doubled over at the finish line gasping for breath. Iskander came third, just. By the time he crossed, he was unable to stand and fell on the track, a terrifying choking sound emerging from his throat.
Chaos erupted in the stands. Both teams had stopped cheering. A few older students rushed to their fallen teammates. But they were pushed aside by medic techs. Rovi rushed to Vera’s side.
Janos was blowing his whistle. “Quiet, everyone. Quiet.”
He rushed into their midst, scattering the competitors so that he could approach the fallen students.
Vera stood a few feet from Julius, who was clutching his throat, gasping and gasping as if he couldn’t breathe. “What happened?” she shouted, frantic. “What happened to my brother? Why can’t he breathe?”
No one was listening to her. She grabbed Janos’s arm. “What is going on?” she screamed. “What’s wrong with Julius?”
“Vera, let go of me. I need to see for myself.”
“What happened—” Vera began.
“Vera, you need to step back,” Janos warned. He squatted down, a concerned look on his face. Two other Trainers joined him. “I need to examine your brother.”
“What were those leaves?” Vera asked.
“A sea gust,” Janos explained. “A wild gust of wind. It happens when the salty air rises from the cliffs.”
The three gasping students were struggling to stand. Janos and the other Trainers urged them to rest so the medics could attend to them.
Julius was coughing and sputtering like he was trying to clear something from his lungs.
“Did he inhale something?” Vera asked.
“I told you, Vera, it’s the salt air. Now, if you don’t stop asking questions, your brother won’t get the help he needs. You don’t want to cost us our star athlete.”
“What did those leaves do to him?” Vera demanded.
Janos took Vera by the arm and pulled her away from the track. “Enough,” he said.
The medics began helping the runners to their feet.
Vera went to follow, but Rovi put out an arm to stop her. “There’s nothing you can do,” he said.
Vera glowered at him.
“Vera,” Rovi said, “Julius is going to be okay.”
“How do you know?”
The truth was, Rovi didn’t. “Because they can fix anything at the TheraCenter.”
“I guess,” she said. “And Julius is basically invincible.” But she didn’t sound too certain.
Together, Rovi and Vera watched Julius being led away by the medics. He looked exhausted, like he’d worn himself out in the race. He needed both medics for support just to walk away from the Infinity Track.
Janos blew his whistle once more. “All right,” he bellowed. “That was not the ending we’d hoped for. But Cora Island is full of surprises. Tomorrow you will see our runners are as good as new.” Then he took a piece of paper that Satis had handed him. “Now,” he said, “the results.” Students from both houses fell silent as Janos consulted the paper. “Victory to the Realists. But only by a single point!”
A deafening cheer rose from the Realists’ camp.
Rovi’s stomach twisted. A single point. If he hadn’t looked over his shoulder, the Dreamers would have won.
Rovi sat off to the side, watching the Realists’ celebration. The Dreamers were filing back into the woods. He had no intention of joining them.
“Hey!”
He looked up and saw that Pretia had squatted down next to him.
“You were great,” she said.
Rovi shrugged. “I wasn’t. I lost.”
“But those leaves,” she continued. “That was intense. I’ve never seen anything like that. Why do you think that happened?”
Rovi sighed. He didn’t care about the leaves.
“It was like a tornado,” Pretia said. “They were so fast, it was like they were part of the race.”
“Huh,” Rovi said. He could barely get the word out. He had failed. It would have been better if he’d been the one swallowed by leaves instead of Julius and the others.
He stood up and walked away, leaving Pretia by the track.
15
PRETIA
THE LESSON
It was cool in the Granology classroom, as usual. Cool and dim. Pretia found this to be a welcome relief from the constant sunshine on Cora Island. Saana, the quiet Grana Trainer, claimed that the dark room allowed the students to channel their inner thoughts and bring themselves into a more organic understanding of their Grana Books. Whatever that meant. Pretia had been concerned about her book from the day she’d received it back under the Gods’ Eye at Castle Airim. She worried that it contained the same sort of uncontrollable darkness as her grana itself. But so far, she hadn’t been able to make heads or tails of any of the images. If she’d been home, she could have asked Anara about the book. The Flamekeeper seemed to understand so many of the mysteries of the world. But those questions would have to wait for the summer.
Most of the kids thought Granology was boring.
There were days that Saana didn’t even allow them to open their books at all. Instead she would give them tables of various images to guide their interpretations. She made them categorize natural elements—water, flowers, plants. Then she quizzed them on what an empty glass meant, a portrait, a still life, a metal spoon. She made them look for the negative and the positive in each image. A spoon could mean hunger or need, but it could also be nourishment. A bouquet of dried flowers could be longevity or death. An ocean could mean adventure or disaster.
There were two sides to everything. There were no right answers. There were no wrong answers. It made Pretia’s head spin. But she enjoyed it. At least in Granology, she didn’t have to worry about losing control. In Granology, she worked alone and didn’t worry about hurting anyone with her cursed grana.
The best days, as far as Pretia was concerned, were those when Saana instructed them to sit quietly with their books. As much as Pretia loved Granology, she hated sharing her intepretations with the class in case some hint of her poisoned grana came out.
On these quiet days, Saana wanted the students to develop their powers of concentration so they could be comfortable looking at an image for a long period of time, finding meaning in every corner of the picture.
But today, none of the students were focused on Saana’s lesson. Instead, they were all talking about Realist Field Day, which was all anyone had been able to talk about for the last three weeks. How close the Dreamers had come to winning. How the Realists had won. How Rovi should have clinched it for the Dreamers, but that he’d looked over his shoulder at the last second. How Vera might have overtaken her brother. But mostly what everyone was talking about was the mysterious leaf tornado that had swallowed Julius, Iskander, and the Realist runner, who Pretia had learned was named Livia. Three of Ecrof’s best brought down by leaves. And not just any leaves—a literal leaf tornado that had swept out of nowhere.
