The River of Sand

by Kobe Bryant

  They placed their hands on the track, ready to take off. Rovi glanced up. Two official-looking adults, a man and a woman, were approaching them.

  “On your marks,” Pretia said.

  “Get set,” Rovi replied.

  But before Pretia got to go, the woman coming toward them held up a hand. “Wait.”

  The adults wore the uniforms of Junior Epic delegates—gray pants and short tunics with the games insignia on the breast.

  Rovi and Pretia stood and slowly backed off the track.

  “Do you think my parents . . .” Pretia sounded near tears. She reached for Rovi’s hand.

  The adults reached them and the woman said, “Rovi Myrios?”

  “Yes.” He scanned their uniforms and, to his relief, saw Dreamer purple ribbons pinned to the side opposite the games insignia.

  “We’ve been looking all over the village for you,” the woman said.

  Rovi’s heart fluttered. He had begun to sweat. “Me? Why?” What had he done?

  Now the officials broke out into broad smiles.

  “Rovi,” the woman said. “We are here to tell you that you’ve been chosen to carry the Dreamers’ flag in the opening ceremony at the Crescent Stadium.” Rovi stared at her blankly. He must have misheard. “That is, if you would like to.”

  “Rovi!” Pretia exclaimed.

  “I’m sorry,” Rovi said. “Can you say that again?”

  “Rovi Myrios, you have been chosen as flag bearer for House Somni,” the man confirmed. “It is a tradition in the Junior Epics that the youngest competitor from the host nation carries the flag. The flag bearer represents the bright future of the province.”

  “And that’s me?” Rovi said. “Really?”

  “You are the youngest Sandlander on Team Somni.”

  “But I’m not really a Sandlander,” he said. He felt Pretia pinch him hard. “Well, I am, but—”

  “You were recruited from the Sandlands,” the female delegate said, sounding a little confused by Rovi’s objection. “So you are a Sandlander, correct?”

  Rovi nodded enthusiastically, trying to hide his anxiety about his background. What was it Janos had said back at Ponsit? If Rovi came to the games, he would be a Dreamer and nothing else. As much as it pained him to admit it, he was slightly relieved his past hadn’t been mentioned to the Junior Epic officials. He needed to focus on his competition and not field questions about his old gang.

  “Two nights from now, you will lead House Somni into the Crescent Stadium, and then you will lead us all in the Grana Prayer,” the delegate continued. “Congratulations, Rovi.”

  Rovi’s heart sank. He knew the prayer well—May the gods grant us the fortune to compete with grace and the grana to excel beyond our expectations—but his Phoenician was terrible. Like all Star Stealers, he spoke only a mash-up of Phoenician and the mainland Epocan tongue.

  “I can’t do that,” Rovi said. “I don’t speak Phoenician well.”

  “Every Phoenician speaks both Phoenician and Epocan. You can lead us in the language of mainland Epoca,” the male delegate assured him.

  “For real?” Rovi said.

  “Absolutely,” the female delegate agreed. “You are a shining star for both House Somni and the Sandlands. Congratulations,” she said again.

  Rovi stared at her for a second. He wasn’t a Sandlander in the slightest. He was from Cora Island if he was from anywhere. He’d come to Phoenis when he was seven and had always been an outsider, an outcast. And now he was being asked to represent the city that had shunned him and his father. An objection fluttered on his lips, but he bit it back. The honor he was being given outweighed his reservations.

  “Do you have any more questions?” the female delegate asked.

  “No,” Rovi said. “I’m excited.”

  “Good,” the woman responded. “You certainly should be.”

  And with that, the officials departed.

  Rovi remained by the track, stunned. “What just happened?” he said.

  “Apparently you’re the shining star of the Sandlands,” Pretia answered.

  He lowered his voice. “Do you think they know that I am—or I was—a . . . you know?”

  “A Star Stealer?” Pretia said. “It didn’t seem like it. But it doesn’t matter. You’ve been chosen for an amazing honor.”

  Rovi was actually tempted to pinch himself. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it.” Pretia beamed.

  “I never—I never—I thought if anyone from Ecrof would carry the flag, it would be you.”

  Pretia shook her head. “No way. I’ve already had a lifetime of ceremonial processions. Now it’s your turn.”

  Rovi let out a whoop. “It is my turn,” he said, grinning. Then the smile faded. He had been restored to his former identity, which had been stolen when his father died. He was Rovi Myrios of House Somni once more. But his father wasn’t around to witness this last, important transformation. He sighed. “If only my dad could see me now,” he said.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to imagine his father’s reaction—his joy that Rovi was reinstated as a Dreamer—and relief that he had been accepted by the city that had never welcomed them.

  * * *

  For the two days leading up to the ceremony, Rovi felt as if he were floating. All his fellow Dreamers had heard about the honor he’d been given, and instead of being jealous as he feared they might, they clapped him on the back and told him to do them proud.

  “I can carry a flag better than any Realist on earth,” he assured everyone.

  On the evening of the ceremony, he dressed carefully in his Dreamer uniform—a purple silk tracksuit that bore his name as well as the Ecrof crest. He laced up his favorite shoes, the Grana Gleams he’d stolen from the Alexandrine Market, his last theft as a Star Stealer. His last theft ever. He looked in the mirror and barely recognized himself. He looked so different from the grubby, scrawny Star Stealer who’d made the journey to Ecrof just over a year ago. His skin was tan, not dirty. He’d filled out, grown stronger and taller. His hair was clean and had lightened. He could see both his parents in his reflection—his father’s angular physique and his mother’s fairer skin and hair that he remembered from the few pictures his father had of her. He was 100 percent Dreamer now.

  Along with his Ecrof schoolmates, Rovi headed to the vans waiting on the causeway to take them to the Crescent Stadium. He was excited by his first chance to really experience Phoenis since he’d arrived for the Junior Epic Games.

  The gate lifted for the van. Rovi stared, entranced by the glory of the Upper City, which he’d never truly been allowed to appreciate before. Inhabitants of the Lower City of Phoenis had limited access to the Upper City. And Star Stealers were absolutely forbidden to enter it. Rovi’s trips to the highest parts of Phoenis had all been furtive and filled with anxiety that he might be caught.

  But now he was being driven through it, a hometown hero. He could peacefully admire the turrets and tiles, the hundreds of keyhole arches and gates, the grand squares and bubbling mosaic fountains. They drove by the Imperial Hanging Gardens, which Rovi glimpsed through a golden gate, thousands of lush green plants dangling from the sky.

  Unlike the chaos of the Lower City with its rabbit warren of narrow streets, the Upper City was airy and palatial. The residents moved more slowly, unhurried by the pressures of living. They enjoyed Spirit Waters and Berberian coffees on wide terraces and fanned themselves in the shade of groves of sweet date palms.

  Rovi had always loved Phoenis, but the city had troubled him and caused him trouble. Now, for the first time, he could feel himself relaxing for once, enjoying the city instead of looking over his shoulder to check if the Phoenician guards were at his back.

  As the van passed the remarkable buildings and historical monuments to Phoenis’s glory, Rovi realized h
e was looking for something else among the splendor—his Star Stealer friends. He knew better than to expect them in the Upper City, but he couldn’t help his eyes from skipping off into the shadows, glancing under walkways, and peeking down alleys.

  The van rolled through another set of massive arched gates inlaid with hundreds of thousands of gold and silver tiles. And suddenly right in front of them was the Crescent Stadium.

  Like nearly everything else in the Upper City, Rovi had only seen the stadium from the outside and at a distance. As he drew close for the first time, it took his breath away. The Crescent Stadium was a clay-colored structure with five levels of arched arcades that framed the deep blue evening sky. It looked bigger than five soccer fields and taller than any stadium in the world. Underneath it were the tunnels left behind by the redirected River of Sand. And somewhere—he didn’t know where—was the quicksand river itself, dammed and restrained by ancient Phoenician architects.

  Behind the stadium was the Temple of Arsama, the most holy site in all of Phoenis, its gold and bronze pyramid rising toward the heavens. Of course, Rovi had never been inside. But he’d heard enough about it to know that many famous Phoenicians were buried in its vaults and that it displayed the riches of the ancient city for visitors.

  As they exited the van, Vera chatted excitedly at Rovi’s side. “This is the largest stadium in Epoca,” she said. “It can seat fifty thousand people and it was built before the time of grana. In fact, it’s said that during the time of Hurell, the stadium was used for various blood sports. Or some secret part of it was.”

  “Blood sports?” Eshe had joined them. “That’s not true.” She looked at Rovi. “Is it true?”

  Rovi had no idea. “Yes,” he said. “And you can still hear the screams of the tortured competitors.”

  “Stop it,” Eshe howled.

  “It is true,” Vera announced. “Somewhere under the Crescent Stadium is a mirror image of the entire stadium—a track that has at its center a deadly games pit. I read it in a book about the history of the Epic Games.”

  “Of course you did,” Rovi said.

  “The book said that there are all sorts of underground passageways where gladiators and animals were held before they were forced to fight to their death.” Vera was talking so fast she was almost breathless. “Apparently the whole stadium is built over a system of tunnels.”

  “That’s because of the River of Sand,” Rovi said, pleased to be able to show off some knowledge of his own city’s history.

  “Everyone knows about the River of Sand,” Vera retorted. “It was one of the Four Marvels of Epoca, but it’s dried-up now.”

  “Not entirely,” Rovi said. “A tiny part of it still flows.” The look on Vera’s face told him he’d surprised her with new knowledge. “Everyone knows that the ancient Phoenicians dammed it because it was too powerful. But since you’re not from here, you two probably don’t know that there’s a small, redirected section still hidden away below us somewhere. And”—Rovi paused, drawing out his next surprise—“it could break free at any time.”

  “Really?” Eshe and Vera said in unison.

  Rovi tried not to laugh at the identically fearful looks on both their faces.

  “Well, not really.”

  “Where is the river?” Eshe asked.

  “I don’t know,” Rovi admitted. “Deep underground somewhere.”

  “Are you scared?” Vera asked.

  “No!” Eshe put her hands on her hips. “Of course not.”

  “That’s all ancient Phoenician history, anyway,” Vera said. “But there’s Epic Games history here, too. The Junior Epic Games have been held here relatively recently, but the last time the Epic Games were held here is when Farnaka Stellus won his only medal. And that took place in this stadium. Which is doubly amazing.”

  “Why?” Rovi asked, although he wasn’t that interested in the answer.

  “Because he won his only Epic Medal as an adult here, and I’m going to meet him here tonight. It’s perfect!”

  “Meet him?” Rovi said.

  “Yeah, at the Parade of Past Champions. Or were you too busy worrying about carrying the flag to remember there’s a parade honoring the greatest Junior Epic Champions of all time? So Julius and Farnaka . . .”

  “And Janos,” Rovi added.

  Pretia had caught up to them while Vera was talking.

  “And Janos,” Vera echoed. “They’ll all be here. Tonight’s my chance.”

  “For what?” Pretia asked.

  “To meet Farnaka and to ask him how he did it. I want to find out his strategy. In four years, you’re going to see me in that parade.”

  “You know what?” Rovi said. He grinned at Vera. “It’s a deal.”

  * * *

  Over a hundred Dreamers and a hundred Realists from the eight elite academies, as well as their Trainers and delegates, stood amassed in front of the stadium. An organizer was blowing a whistle, herding the different houses to different sides so that when it was time for them to enter the stadium, they would approach from opposite entrances.

  When the athletes had been divided, a Dreamer delegate jumped up on a small podium and called for silence. He lifted a megahorn to his mouth and explained the proceedings.

  “The stadium is filled with spectators,” he bellowed. “There’s not an empty seat in the house. So please follow instructions and honor House Somni. Currently, local Phoenician dancers and singers are entertaining the crowd. When that is over, the delegates will enter, starting with the Realists. As they are the winners of the last Junior Epic Games, they are honored with going first.”

  A chorus of boos erupted in the Dreamer camp.

  “All right, all right,” the delegate said. “I’m certain you will all do your best to ensure it’s House Somni who proceeds first next time.”

  Cheers rose from the group of Dreamers.

  “Then it is our turn. We will be led in by Rovi Myrios, our flag bearer and youngest pride of the Sandlands.”

  Rovi felt himself blush. He felt his chest swell. And to his horror, he felt tears sting his eyes. People chanted his name. They clapped him on the back. They offered high fives.

  “Once Rovi has entered, our athletes will follow by each academy in alphabetical order. After you are all arrayed in your positions on the field, Rovi will say the Grana Prayer and light our Dreamer Flame. Then he will join you for the final part of the opening ceremony, the Parade of Past Champions. We conclude with this so that you are all encouraged to follow in those athletes’ footsteps and aspire to their greatness. Ready?”

  The Dreamers whooped.

  “Here’s to dreams that never die!” the delegate bellowed.

  “Here’s to dreams that never die!” the Dreamers shouted.

  When the commotion calmed down, Rovi felt a tug on his shoulder. Pretia was beckoning him close. She pressed her lips close to his ear so only he could hear what she was saying. “Do me a favor,” she said.

  “Sure,” Rovi replied.

  “When you enter, look out for two things for me. First of all, look at the royal box to see if my parents are there. And second . . .” She paused. “See if there are any protesters.”

  Rovi squeezed her hand. “I will. Don’t worry, Pretia.”

  The music in the stadium ended. Rovi could hear the announcer welcoming the Realist flag bearer, who entered to thunderous applause. Next he could hear the Realists parading in, cheering and chanting as they went.

  Then it was his turn.

  “Please welcome from House Somni, our Shining Star of the Sandlands, Rovi Myrios!”

  His heart seemed to skip a beat. This was real.

  A delegate handed him a large pole, at the end of which was a purple flag with the Dreamer Pegasus embroidered on it. Go time.

  Rovi walked into the stadium, his eyes fixed on the f
lag ahead of him. He didn’t want to misstep or stumble. But when he emerged on the field, he couldn’t help but stare. The sight took his breath away. He’d never seen so many people in his life. All five arcades were filled with spectators cheering on either House Somni or House Relia. The bleachers rose and rose and rose. Flags flew. Sparklers exploded. Whistles and cheers and songs and more noise than he could have imagined encircled him. And all of those fifty thousand people were watching him.

  Confidently, he marched across the field toward the raised podium. The Realist flag bearer, a small Phoenician girl, was already in place, standing next to a burning blue flame. To her left stood the athletes from House Relia.

  Rovi climbed the steps to the podium. He placed the flag in a holder waiting to receive it and took the torch one of the delegates handed to him.

  Now the Dreamer athletes began to arrive, one academy at a time. Rovi took this opportunity to look around again, checking the royal box for Pretia’s parents and scanning the stadium for signs of protest against her remarkable talent. Neither the king nor the queen sat in the box, and from what Rovi could tell, the banners in the stadium all seemed to support the athletes.

  When the team from House Somni was in position, Rovi was instructed to step up to the ceremonial flame. A megahorn was placed in front of him. He took a deep breath. For a split second he hesitated, wishing he could utter the Grana Prayer in the language of the Sandlands. But there was no time to dwell on it. “May the gods grant us the fortune to compete with grace and the grana to excel beyond our expectations,” he said slowly and carefully. Then he touched the flame to the bowl. Purple flames leaped into the air.

  The stadium exploded in cheers. All the Dreamers sitting in the stands leaped to their feet. The Dreamers on the field—the athletes, Trainers, and delegates—raised their fists and cheered. Rovi beamed.

  He rejoined his teammates on the field to watch the Parade of Past Champions. Vera had pushed to the front of the group so she’d have a front-row position to watch the former gold medalists go by. Pretia was next to her.