Page 110 of The Song of Sunrise
It has been almost a week since my vision, and I haven’t been back to Anita’s since, despite Castor and Leaf begging me to join for beverages after particularly grueling classes. If I’m not already meeting up with Atlys, Ramona will usually step in and cover for me with an excuse. Yet more and more, I’m finding that it’s not a lie to claim my studies are taking my evenings. If I’m going to graduate as a Watcher, I need my first stone. So, midday cramming between finals it is.
I finish scribbling down the last few notes in my favorite leather journal for my History of Watchers final this evening when Ramona barges into our room.
“Done studying yet, Kem? We have our Battlefield final first, and I’m itching to get there early.”
I fold the paper to study later into the front pocket of my battle leathers and strap my deerskin pouch full of throwing stars across my waist. As we walk out, I grab the golden staff, stillmyragedto look like wood.“Ready.”
We head to the Lower Fields, taking the latest passageway Tegrat staff shared with us that leads from the cadets’ quarters down a spiral stone staircase to an unused classroom on level one.
Ramona leads us down the winding stairs, trailing her arm along the stone for balance. Daggers clank with each of her heavy steps. “I hope they match me with Cassiopeia today. She has the nerve to keep butting me in line for throwing practice.”
There is only one first year I would enjoy pricking with my throwing stars, and her name rhymes with Abra. “Whoever they pair me with is going down,” I say with a little more sneer than intended, flipping a star in my hand.
“That’s the spirit! Finally catching up to the dark side,” Ramona says with a crooked grin.
Cadets are spread throughout the Lower Fields practice areas when we arrive. Selene cuts feverishly into a wooden mark with her short sword. Artemis grunts as he pulls his bow string taut before firing. Though small in stature, Artemis is turning out to be a master at distance shooting with an accuracy that would impress even a third-stone, second only to Leaf. Sabra wraps her knuckles and glares at me as we walk past, not bothering to hide her sneer before punching a stuffed leather bag.
Suddenly, I wish we had come sooner. Ramona was right to rush us here. Everyone else seems to be preparing already. I find a discreet spot in the corner to start my stretches. Arms, shoulder swings, torso twists, neck rolls, then lunges and leg stretches.
I unsheathe my staff and bring it through a series of similar warm ups. It now sits so comfortably in my hands that it feels like another extension of myself. And in many ways, it is just that. Not trying to impress anyone in particular but myself, I spin the staff rapidly in my hands, swinging it across my shoulders, switching hands behind my back and around over myhead. I repeat this pattern over and over until my breath falls into a rhythm. I quicken my pace, only focusing on my breath.
“Akemi!” Ramona whispers harshly, snapping me out of my drill. She points aggressively toward Commander Hogsmith.
“Now that I have everyone’s attention. Ten laps, GO!” Hogsmith yells. The class jumps into action, jogging around the perimeter of the room. Since the attack on Redrock, the Commander has taken on a new level of rigor in Battlefield. Most recently, the focus has been running.
About twenty minutes later, I’m breathing heavily from the quick pace we set around the room, my ankle stinging from rolling it a few laps ago. The energy is tense, no cadets quite willing to be the last to return to the padded space in the middle where Pictor and Sabra had returned first. Ramona and I join in the middle next, then Selene and two others, with Cassiopeia trailing close behind. Pictor charges past three cadets on the final stretch. Leo, looking solemn, finishes his laps and joins in the middle, leaving Artemis as last. His thin limbs curve and buckle under the pressure before collapsing onto his knees in pain the moment he finishes his final lap.
My fingers itch to massage my throbbing ankle, but I resist, not wanting to look weak. Sabra watches me intently, like she can sense the pain underneath my mask of cool indifference.
“As I was saying,” Hogsmith continues, as if our running was an inconvenience to him, “our finals will be a duel. I will draw a name out of this bowl.” He gestures to a stone bowl I only just now noticed in the corner of the room. Its surface is carved with ornate scrawling scenes depicting a pile of people desperately climbing out of a massive crater. “If drawn, you will pick your opponent. A clear advantage.” The class murmurs in agreement. “The chosen opponent will also have an advantage.”
I lean in closer.
“They will pick the weapon.”
My stomach curdles at the sound of Sabra laughing. Only second smallest to Ramona, I’m at a major disadvantage. Ramona, on the other hand, will turn her opponents to ribbons before she is bested. If I am drawn, then I can pick my opponent, but they get to choose the weapon. My mind is still spinning when Commander Hogsmith draws a name from the bowl.
“Leo!”
Leo walks forward, his strawberry blonde hair now shaved short. His gait is powerful. Something snapped since losing his twin sister in the second task. Dark circles shadow beneath his eyes, and his cheekbones are more pronounced. Yet the most alarming change is his eyes, once quick to crinkle with laughter, now replaced by hard, depthless orbs that scan the room.
He steps into the fighting ring. “I choose Pictor as my opponent.”
Pictor rolls up his sleeves and enters the ring. Pictor came into the Academy from a smaller farming village in southern Eastland. Muscles bulk his body from hours of tending to the farm, hauling hay, and yielding crops. At the beginning of this year, I would have assumed that Pictor would win any duel partner he was matched with… but Leo has a coldness inside. This could be anyone’s fight.
“Weapon of choice?” Commander Hogsmith asks Pictor.
“Long sword.” Pictor smirks, knowing full well that his upper body strength will outlast Leo’s. Hogsmith snaps his fingers, and a cart of various long swords appears just outside the dueling circle. Pictor and Leo each take time to properly test the swing and balance of a few swords before settling on their weapons and returning to the ring.
Slowly, they begin circling like two magnets repelling one another. Leo makes the first move so quickly that only the sound of crashing steel alerts me to the duel beginning. The precision in their steps and weight thrown behind each swingis impressive. When their match is done, both of their faces are bloodied, Leo the victor.
“Up next”—the Commander unrolls another small piece of parchment—“Cassiopeia!”
“Ramona,” she says with no hesitation as she steps into the circle, tying her bright blonde hair high on her head.
“Big mistake,” Ramona mumbles as she walks forward.
“Claim the weapon of choice,” Hogsmith interjects.
