Page 43 of The Song of Sunrise
As I suspected, my History final went well. Ramona was not too sure on her performance, but chalked it up to getting distracted by the clicking sounds from Professor Allor’s large timekeeping device in the front corner of her classroom.
My Elementation final left me with the opposite feeling. I was able to conjure a smallsunfyrespark, but I still struggled with my protectivesolarys shieldandblayze, a flash of light that is supposed to confuse and blind opponents.
Mine would probably manage to attract enemies.
Leaf had made channeling sun magic look so easy when we were traveling. Now that I’ve learned to channel basic Sun’cher spells, I realized that Leaf had been conjuring asolarysshieldaround our camp and during the attack at the Rose & Raven. Now that I think of it, I remember multiple of the bright flashing lights Leaf used to blind the Underlings.Blayze!
Each one of those spells had been extremely useful during our travels. I can only imagine the usefulness that power would have on the battlefield.
I shiver at the thought of actually going to war. Hopefully it never comes to that.
Now, Ramona, Leaf, and I make our way to the Lower Fields. It looks different today. The obstacle course still sits near the back wall, but instead of various training equipment, there are rows of chairs.
Across the room, Castor is talking to a few other third-stones. His eyes snap to mine, a light trace of apology in his expression.
I examine the training floor. Black, with the smallest white speckles in it.I will not get distracted today. Not when I have been working so hard for this moment. The bags under my eyes and aching muscles are proof enough.
More cadets climb down the hatch. Professors, townsfolk from the nearby village, and active duty WatchGuards join afterward.
Turbulent waves of nerves flip and roll in my stomach as the seats start to fill.
“Cadets!” Commander Hogsmith’s voice booms across the room. “Line up.”
“Good luck.” Ramona squeezes my hands, then runs off to get a good spot in the line.
“Thanks,” I mumble to myself and start edging my way into the line. I end up getting a spot in the middle next to Leo and Lacerta. Castor and Leaf managed to snag the first two spots. After them, I could see Sabra and her huge red-headed brother, Ragnar, seething at their second-rate spots. Ragnar’s large form practically takes up two spots in the line. Shoulders rise and fall with impatient breaths.
Hogsmith turns to face the room, now full of spectators.
“Cadets, Watchers, Staff, and friends, the Battlefield final will consist of one task—completing the obstacle course before us,”he gestures to the deadly course behind him and continues. “As you know, this year is the 9thSummit.”
The crowd murmurs with excitement and anticipation so contagious that my stomach now flutters with butterflies. I’m sure an audience for a final test was not common. They were experiencing history right in front of them, probably wondering who would make it across, what they would be like in the Presentation, or even as a Champion in the Summit if they were lucky enough to be chosen.
“Our royal counterparts will be joining us in a few short weeks. Those who make it across today will be able to testify their magic and weaponry skills before our beloved Elders”—the room claps enthusiastically—“Elven Tribe Leaders”—respectful claps—“and Underworld Lords.”
The room goes silent. I feel my lips pull taut into a frown.
Hogsmith looks toward the line. “Ah, it seems Castor Washington is the first to attempt the course. On my mark!”
I peer over Leo’s shoulder. Castor is in a low crouch with one hand on the floor. All of the muscles in his body look clenched, like a spring being compressed before it explodes.
“Go!” the Commander yells and blows a high pitched whistle.
Castor jumps off the ledge and lands with one foot on the first small square, only instead of landing and balancing, he jumps right onto the next one, and the next one, and…
I pull back behind Leo and shut my eyes. Watching is only making me more nervous, and I really don’t want to vomit in front of all these people.
Cheers erupt after another minute. Castor must have made it to the other side.
A whistle blows, then cheers.
Another whistle. More cheers.
Many cadets make it across, but not all. I edge forward. Bile rises in my throat, giving me no choice but to hum a song. Singing always calms me—eventually, that is.
TheMad Man’s Marchseems reasonable enough to compare to this situation. I shuffle my feet forward, eyes on the floor, as a scream erupts shortly before a splash.
More applause, more screams, and more splashes occur as I inspect the laces on my boots. The black threads are intricately woven, creating an illusion of endless knots.
