Page 65 of The Song of Sunrise
“Aye, indeed. Good luck to all of you.” He taps his mug down on the table and dips his head in salute before heading over to the podium set up at the center of the royal table sometime during dinner.
“It is time for the champions to be selected!” Commander Hogsmith announces. “Cadets that Presented yesterday, please line up along the wall.” Ramona, Selene, Leaf, Castor and I head toward the windows overlooking the frozen gardens and join the other cadets. Staff direct guests to stand along the edges of the room. Professor Novak and Professor Gregorio mutter incantations, disappearing the tables out of thin air to clear the floor.
“That would be a nifty trick for all my laundry,” Leaf says.
I laugh. “I’m not sure disappearing laundry counts as washing.”
“Debatable. It really depen—”
“QUIET!” Hogsmith yells, and even the musicians in the corner sputter for a few notes before continuing as if there was no disturbance. The entirety of the Watch stands curved around the edges of the room like a crescent moon.
“Presenters, please stand in a straight line.” We shuffle our feet until all fifty of us are standing shoulder to shoulder.
We are made up of mostly first year cadets, but that is expected, given we are the largest class and many end up enlisting in the WatchGuard instead of continuing their training for more stones. Channeling Source magic is not for everyone.The physical toll and energy your body needs to have is enough for many to quit mid-year. Channeling enough of the Source for three stones? Only the toughest can bear that type of pressure.
My shoulders brush Castor’s. He squeezes my hands before anyone can notice.
“Right then.” Hogsmith scrolls open an old parchment and begins reading. “Each royal shall select their champion by placing a hand on their shoulder, signifying their support and selection of the human champion. This pairing is a symbol of unification between alliances. There is no option for switching or conceding. If you wish to concede and leave the championship, please do so now.”
I could step away now, just watch like many of my classmates—that is, if I’m not expelled first. All it would take is a few steps to concede.
“Akemi, you don’t have to do this,” Castor whispers urgently. “It’s not safe for you.”
“It’s not safe for anyone,” I snap, irritated that he would try to urge me to quit.
“You weren’t built for this,” he continues, reaching a hand into mine. The lights dim around the room slightly. “Please, Akemi.”
For a moment, all I see are those arctic blue eyes, filled with concern for the girl he met in a small village. A girl who knew nothing of the world outside the apple farms of Goldenpine. A girl who knew nothing of fighting beyond the stories she sang about.
But I am no longer that girl who was so easily fulfilled by doing what others wanted.
Only two cadets leave the line. There are now forty-eight cadets in the running and only fifteen champions selected to compete.
Oh good. My odds are improving.
The commander’s voice fills the room once again. “Once a pairing is made between delegate and champion, they will work together until the third and final task or until a champion fails a task, is gravely injured, or in rare cases, dies.” A shuffling echoes across the room as another cadet down the line leaves to join the semicircle around us. Bella, a Moon’cher from Intro, hangs her head forward, hiding her face under a curtain of hair as she joins the semicircle watching.
The commander continues, “A neutral party will keep score throughout the three tasks. More points are awarded for quickness, cleverness, style, and creativity of completing the task. The champion with the most points at the end wins the Helios Blessing.”
A small golden stone glitters in his large hands before being deposited back into his breast pocket.
Almost impossibly, my heart begins to pound faster at the thought of winning the stone. I cannot help but feel a calling to it. My chest is warm with excitement even though my fingers are cold and clammy.
“Cadets, please turn around.” We turn in unison to face away from the head table. “Royal delegates, I invite you to select your champion.” The commander’s voice is full of excitement, eager to see who will be deemed as the most skilled or valuable in the eyes of our allied leaders. Each of the royals move toward our line, pacing back and forth behind us as they contemplate.
Opita from the Forest Tribe strides toward Castor, arm outstretched to his shoulder, only for another, much more aged hand, to be placed there first. Opita snarls at the woman.
Elder Hightail.
My gut twists with the thought of the Elder Superior and Elder Hightail conspiring in the Lower Fields all those weeks ago. Their plan is already in motion to rig the Summit.
More Watchers are selected as champions, earning polite claps from our onlookers. I stand still, as we were instructed, eyes forward, minimal movement. Only a couple pairs of footsteps remain behind me. My ears strain, pleading that they come closer.
Another champion must have been selected by the way the crowd cheered.
The room is silent beyond the soft clicking of boots at a deathly slow pace.
The floor reverberates with each step. Is it me, or are they drawing nearer? The air ripples with power so immense I almost second guess my decision to participate after all.
