by John Corwin
"Kabash is played on a tract—a field a hundred and fifty yards long and seventy yards wide." Max played the video forward. Two round towers sprang up from the ground, one on either side of a thick red line at the center of the field, and hovered about twenty feet in the air. Behind each opposing tower, a square keep rumbled skyward, followed at the ends of the field by a small castle.
"Each team has a tower, a keep, and a fortress to defend. The first team to destroy the enemy fortress wins the game."
Ambria peered at the paused image. "Destroy them how?"
"I'm getting to that," Max said. He resumed the video and we watched as two teams, one wearing yellow, the other in red, emerged from doors at either end of the stadium. They flew on brooms around the field, pumping their fists in the air while the crowd cheered them on.
Max zoomed in on one team. "Each team has three carries, two freezers, and three defenders." He sat back and cast a curious look at Evadora who danced in place while licking her ice cream. Shaking his head, he returned to the rules. "At the start of the game, a disc called the striker flies into the arena and circles around the middle. Each team races to get it first. Whoever gets it passes it off to a carry."
"Why are they called carries?" Ambria asked. "Because they carry the striker?"
He snorted. "No, it's because they're supposed to carry the team to victory. Make sense?"
Ambria nodded. "Yes, I suppose so."
Max took a sip of his milkshake. "Anyway, the carries throw the striker at the buildings. Four hits destroy a tower, six hits for a keep, and eight for a fortress."
"Both teams use the same striker?" I asked.
He nodded. "The defenders guard the carries and help with rebounds. The freezers carry freeze wands—or freeze rays if they're from Science Academy—and can disable anyone for ten seconds once every minute."
"Can the defenders and freezers attack the towers?" Ambria asked.
"Yeah, but their attacks only count for half damage." Max rotated the screen to the side so we could see the field in profile. "A team can shield their tower for five seconds once every five minutes, so if there aren't any defenders protecting the tower, they have a few seconds to get into position."
"Sounds simple enough," I said. "Are you allowed to make contact with the opposing team members?"
"Yes, you can push them by bumping them with your body, but you can't use your hands." Max made a grabbing motion. "If someone does, they're penalized and taken out of the game for three minutes."
I pictured using my body to divert another flier to the side. "Meaning, your team plays a person down."
"Exactly." He forwarded the video through some gameplay and froze it as the yellow team pressed an attack on the red tower. "Here's a classic tower attack."
Like the others on his team, the yellow pusher's uniform had small shoulder pads, elbow pads, and leather gloves, but no helmet, which seemed dangerous with a disc whizzing back and forth at high speeds. The only difference between his uniform and the others on his team was the hammer symbol on front of his shirt. One of the disablers, identified by the freeze stick in her hand, had a wand symbol on her uniform. I spotted a defender in the back with the image of a shield on his.
Ambria winced as the striker whizzed past a player's face, narrowly missing it. "Why aren't they wearing helmets? That disc looks like it could cut off your head."
Max stopped the video again. "The uniforms are charmed like armor to protect players from impacts to their bodies." Max pointed to a thick collar on a carry's uniform. "If the disc comes too close to your face, it activates a shield."
"What happens if you get knocked off your broom?" I asked.
"Players wear tethers, so even if they fall, they stay attached to their brooms." Max shrugged. "You can still get injured, but at least you won't lose your head."
Ambria shuddered. "I would scream if I saw that disc flying toward my face."
Max chuckled. "Maybe you shouldn't try out for the team."
"Wouldn't dream of it," she replied.
Max continued the video. A yellow carry flung the glowing disc at the tower. Two red defenders flew to intercept, but a yellow freezer froze one. A freeze attack missed the second defender who snagged the disc from the air. The dull glow of the striker brightened to an electric blue.
The defender relayed the disc to a carry who zipped between two yellow defenders while his fellow teammates cleared a hole by blocking opposing players.
Holding the edge of the disc between thumb and forefinger, the red pusher side-armed it toward the enemy tower. The striker smashed against the enemy building and two large cracks formed in the stone.
Max paused the playback again and turned to us. "When the opposing team intercepts an attack on their buildings, they have twenty seconds to attack the enemy tower for double damage." He traced a finger down the crack. "Every crack symbolizes a hit."
"Interesting," Ambria said. "I don't think I've ever heard of such an odd game."
"It's more fun than you can imagine," Max said. "My brothers play for Tiberius Keep. Some people say they might be good enough to go to the professional league."
I stared for a moment at the still image and agreed with Max that it looked like a lot of fun. Something in the holographic image caught my eye—a familiar face. I zoomed in on the red carry in the background and felt a sudden shock of electricity in my heart. The face was younger, the eyes full of genuine excitement, but there was no mistaking Delectra.
"Whoa." Max looked at something on the phone. "I just searched for one of the old professional matches. I didn't realize your mom was in it."
For some reason, I wasn't upset. "She looks so happy." Delectra wasn't always evil.
Max shook his head sadly. "I wonder what happened to turn her so bad."
I turned off the phone. "Let's try out for the team."
"Really?"
I nodded. "Looks like fun."
Max pumped a fist in the air. "Yes!"
We showed up for tryouts early the next morning behind the keep. Ambria came to cheer us on, but had no intention of trying out.
Rory sneered the moment he saw me. "What are you doing here, Edison?"
"Tryouts," Max sneered back.
"Go back to bed." Gregory jabbed a finger toward the keep, then burst into laughter as if he'd just said the funniest thing ever.
A tall teenaged boy with ebony skin and piercing blue eyes emerged from the back door of the keep and walked onto the field. A group of girls and boys close to his age followed close behind. I recognized some of them in passing, but didn't know their names.
Ambria sucked in a breath. "Goodness, what a handsome boy."
Max grimaced. "Gross. I'm sure the last thing he wants is to hear that from a little girl."
She slapped his arm. "Maxwell Tiberius, you're awful."
"Hello, candidates," the boy said. "I'm Elliott Cobain, the team leader for the Moore Skywraiths." His gaze seemed to pause on me before moving on. "I hope you're all familiar with the rules of Kabash. Otherwise"—he made a shooing motion with his hand—"move along and save my time."
Rory and Gregory laughed, elbowing their other friends until they uneasily joined in the laughter.
Elliott hopped on a broom with a dark polished handle and shiny silver stirrups. The orange bristles formed the shape of a candle flame. "The first test will be keeping up with us on the way to the stadium." He held his arm out to the side. "Candidates, form up."
Max and I quickly got on our brooms and lined up beside the others. Rory and Gregory shoved in between us and the others, rudely pushing us further out. Elliott's hand flashed down. The line rocketed forward. We zipped away from the keep and toward the iron gates guarding the campus. The barrier rippled slightly as our charms allowed us through it, and then Elliott dove low for the trees next to the edge of the plateau.
Max got in front of me, and we threaded our way through the trees. I heard grunts and thuds and saw three candidates tumb
le to the ground. The rest of us burst from the other side of the woods and dove after Elliott down the sheer cliff toward the valley below.
Movement in my peripheral vision alerted me, and I saw Rory angling to sideswipe Max. I drifted into Max's slipstream, lowered my head, and gained enough speed to slingshot myself past him just in time to intercept Rory. The other boy shouted in alarm as I bumped him away and flicked the tail of my broom, sending him into a flat spin.
He cried out in fear, but I saw from the way his broom spun that he was in no danger of crashing into the ground.
Max looked at me with wide eyes. "Thanks, Conrad."
I gave him a thumbs-up.
We soon reached the large oval stadium in the northeast corner of Queens Gate. It was nearly as imposing as Colossus Stadium, though it didn't rise quite as high and wasn't nearly as massive. We entered through an arched gateway at one end and flew onto the grass field.
Elliott spun around. "Today we're going to fly the obstacle course. First—"
Rory drifted inside the stadium and stopped next to Gregory. Elliott rose higher on his broom and pointed at him. "Why are you here?"
"To try out?" Rory said, his voice rising as if the statement were actually a question.
"No. I saw you spin out at the cliff." Elliott pointed to the exit. "Leave, or go sit on the sidelines and watch. Your tryout is over."
"But Edison—"
"Blocked you fair and square."
Two larger boys flew towards Rory. The other boy threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine!" He bared his teeth at me. "Next time I see you, Edison, you'd better run."
I didn't reply, and just stared as the red-faced Rory turned to go. He tugged on Gregory's arm, but his friend shook his head and remained.
"As I was saying, we're doing the obstacle course," Elliott said. He nodded to an older girl with close-cropped brown hair. "Jenna, hit it."
She swung over to a stone table inscribed with symbols and traced her fingers along several. Within minutes, the once peaceful field was a long gauntlet. Poles sprang from the ground, forming a dense treacherous forest to navigate. Next came a series of winding tubes interspersed with flaming rings, large swinging mallets designed to knock riders from their brooms, and jets of water shooting up or sideways.
I felt my mouth drop open. Tryouts were going to be more of a challenge than I'd thought.
Chapter 30
"I don't know if I can make it through that," Max whispered in a desperate tone.
"You have three tries to make it through the course," Elliott said. "We'll get started in a few minutes."
To the side of the course, I noticed a small crowd gathering. Gideon Grace stood next to Esma Emoora, Eleanor Beetle, and other adults I didn't recognize. Galfandor entered the stadium a moment later, seated on a flying carpet. He smiled and nodded at the crowd.
Percival followed soon after, his flying carpet loaded down with potions. His face lit up when he saw Max and me. Turning his carpet, he approached. "Well, I daresay my ward will soon be brimming with new patients." His eyes followed one of the swinging mallets. "Yes, several."
"You frighten me," Max said.
Percival was too wrapped up counting those present to hear him.
A tall muscular girl flew her broom into the stadium with a large group on her heels. She motioned them to stop and flew over to Elliott. The two talked for a moment and shared a laugh.
"That's Velma Shram from Graeven Keep," Max said in a low voice. "She's already gotten offers from two pro teams."
"Ladies and gents, we have arrived," boomed a familiar voice.
Heads turned as Devon and Rhys Tiberius led their keep's team and candidates into the stadium.
"Autographs will be given after the trials," Rhys said. He and his brother flew up to Elliott whose gaze darkened. "Well, shall we get this show on the road, people?"
Velma's expression turned sour. "Yes, let's."
"How does this work?" I asked Max. "Do we take turns?"
"Candidates to the line," Elliott shouted.
Max shook his head.
A deep crippling fear shivered through my bones. "We're all going at once?" I counted at least thirty contenders.
Max stared blankly at the gauntlet for a moment. "Yes." He trembled. "I watched tryouts from the sidelines every year I could. I never realized how frightening it is to do it myself."
Velma flew up next to Elliott. "There are ten checkpoints in the course. If you are knocked from your broom or miss a hoop or tunnel, you must start over from the previous checkpoint."
Devon drifted along beside her. "If you fall or miss three times you're out!"
"If you do not average high speed, you're out!" Rhys said.
"I'm going to be sick," Max groaned.
Elliott flew higher so everyone could see him and raised his wand. "Ready, set"—he twisted his wand and fireworks exploded from it—"go!"
With the roar of battle cries, the fleet of flying brooms jetted forward. Bodies bumped and jostled Max and me until I lost sight of my friend. I couldn't see over the bobbing bodies ahead of me, so I flew higher. A forest of poles came first. I didn't see any sense in trying to beat everyone else, so I slowed down to see better.
An older boy with a mop of black hair pulled up beside me. "Got a gift for you, Edison." He slapped the side of my broomstick and grinned wickedly. I didn't recognize the face, but his voice sounded like the tall attacker from the hallway. Before I could say a word, my broom jetted forward with a mind of its own.
I ran my fingers along the broomstick and found something stuck to the side. Frantically fumbling, I tried to pry it loose, but it wouldn't budge. I pulled the broom side-to-side. It responded to my directions, but the throttle wouldn't budge. Back and forth, I went, dodging slower fliers. I gave a moment's thought to pulling up and out of the fray, but then I'd likely disqualify myself from the tryouts.
I trembled with anger. He thinks he can stop me? "I'll show them."
Fly, boy, fly! Della shouted with glee.
I burst from the pack and entered the maze of poles. Like the forest on the cliff, I had little difficulty twisting my way through the first part of the course. I juked past two other fliers and hit a small clearing. A twisting tube lay ahead. I shot inside and nearly collided with another candidate. Della's reflexes twisted the broom to the side in a looping barrel roll, up and over the other flier. The tube narrowed and my shoulder bumped the side, pinging me back and forth, a hollow echo ringing in my ears.
Once again, I tried to slow my ride, but the throttle refused to budge. The dim tunnel ended in bright daylight. My eyes adjusted just in time for me to dive through a flaming loop. Though I passed through the flames, I felt no heat, and assumed they must be illusion. Up and down, side to side, I threaded my way through the hoops, nearly striking my head on the last one.
I followed a long twisting tunnel to its end. Three fliers appeared ahead. I caught up to them just as we entered a zone of swinging mallets and water jets. The first water jet unseated the first flier. The other two nimbly dodged it. One flier looked back and his eyes flared with anger.
I instantly recognized Harris Ashmore, and knew the red-headed flier in front of him was Baxter. Unfortunately, I would soon draw even with them. Baxter swooped right to dodge the first mallet, but the next one caught him and sent him spinning out of control and into a padded wall. Harris barely made it around the mallets and vanished behind them as they swung back to center. I counted the swings and positioned myself a little to the right. The first mallet hit its left apex while the second one hovered on the right. I punched through the hole and ducked low beneath a jet of water on the other side.
Harris increased his speed and cast a confused glance over his shoulder. The glance nearly cost him as a water jet narrowly missed him. He hit the next checkpoint, a large octagonal tunnel with a field of black poles shooting up and down from the ground. I tried to find a pattern but quickly realized the intervals were random. Even
worse, a pole might take half a second to fully extend one time, or five seconds the next.
Harris swept left then right, but a pole caught the bristles on his broom, knocking him off course. A pole shot from the right and sent him spinning. He crashed into the wall. A section opened like a door and a rod with a hook at the end jerked him outside of the course.
I sensed another presence awakening and felt Vic analyzing the situation. I drew closer and closer to the tunnel and abruptly saw the pattern. The seemingly random thrusts were actually four separate patterns repeating every few seconds. I wished I could slow down and take it in one last time, but it was too late.
Pattern two erupted from all sides the moment I hit the gaping octagonal maw. I looped counterclockwise, always flying over a pole that was a split second from spearing from the floor or walls. When I hit the midsection of the beast, pattern three emerged, spiking the tunnel from all sides, leaving only a narrow gap. I charged through the opening and narrowly avoided the final group of poles as pattern four began. An instant later, I burst into clear air.
Before me lay only open field, and for a moment, I thought I'd finished. The cheer died on my lips when a flying disc rose from the ground and began circling erratically. Behind it, a tower exploded from the ground, and a squad of fliers flew from behind it.
Thanks to Max's instructions, I knew what to do. Lowering my head, I felt a grin stretch my face. Adrenaline burned through my veins like electricity. I watched the wobbling disc change directions several times, zigging and zagging, ducking and weaving, but always staying within a five-yard radius. I couldn't calculate where it would be when I reached it several seconds from now, so I aimed for the center.
I looked at the opposing fliers and realized they were Rhys, Devon, Velma, and Elliott.
You'll reach the disc one point five seconds ahead of them, Vic informed me.
Five, four, three, two—the disc shot sideways at the last second. Unable to slow, I veered hard and barely snagged it with my fingers. Despite the sullen orange glow, the striker felt cool and metallic in my hand.
