Page 17 of The Song of Sunrise (The Prentice Teller #1)

Helios Blessing

I ’m not sure what I expected to see when I entered the hatch, but it wasn’t the sprawling training center before me.

Cadets are spread throughout the room. The floor is black and cushioned ever so slightly.

Large wooden practice targets line the walls.

Various carts are stationed with knives, wooden practice swords, staffs, and other weapons.

High above, spherical Sun’cher orbs float like stars in the dark ceiling overhead, lighting the space from above. More orbs are fashioned to the walls, their energy spinning and brightening the space enough for training.

“Wait until you see Levels Two and Three,” Castor whispers into my ear, his warm breath tickling my neck. I jolt at the sudden closeness of his body. He chuckles softly in my ear as Commander Hogsmith positions himself in front of the crowd.

Castor stiffens behind me.

Wondering what made him react this way, I rise on my toes to peer around the surrounding cadets. Castor’s father, the Elder Superior, strides toward Hogsmith with two other Elders following close behind.

The first Elder’s balding head shines with grease.

His posture is hunched over, somehow managing to balance his large belly over disproportionately skinny legs.

The other Elder is a tall, lanky woman with stringy gray hair tailing down her back.

One gust of wind could blow her away, though something about her hard-set face tells me she wouldn’t go easily.

“Cadets! We have a few special guests joining our class today.” The crowd of students falls silent once again.

“Elder Superior Markus along with Elder Burroughs”—the bald man waves—“and Elder Hightail.” The frail woman nods her head.

“We welcome them into our training halls to share the special news.”

My heart beats faster at the sight of Markus. His harsh words from his office still ring in my ears. I breathe slowly, purposefully, trying to calm my deep sense of dread.

“Cadets. Students. Warriors.” Markus steps forward addressing us, not bothering to raise his crackling, airy voice.

“This year marks the 225 th year of the Northern Continent New World Treaty between the Humans, Elves, and Underlings.

Our ancestors signed this treaty long ago to unite against outside threats from the South and settle the Great Wars once and for all.

“As you know, every 25 years, we host a Summit here at the Academy,” he continues as gasps and whispers erupt from the crowd, “where royal delegates from each territory come to compete in the games.

Each of you will have a chance to enter the Summit if selected as a champion by the delegates from any of the three representing races.

This selection process is called the Presentation.

“Three of our very own Elders will comprise one of the groups. There will be three from the Elven River Tribe and another group from the Forest Tribe. The Underworld Courts will be in attendance as well, three from Jord, and three from Terraguard—”

“But why do we only have three sponsors?” a cadet interrupts from the back.

Markus doesn’t hide his irritation. “As a part of the New World Treaty, the human leaders agreed this would atone for our past wrongdoings, thus giving the other leaders a slight advantage of the political negotiations that ensue post-Summit. The winning sponsor gets to dictate terms first for the peace treaty signing.”

What he isn’t saying is that humans were the reason for the destruction of the world and are therefore forever atoning for it.

He continues, “By putting the human champions in danger, we indeed are taking a great risk, but we are also showcasing great strength.”

Cadets burst out in small conversations.

“I’m going to enter—”

“There is no way they are picking you.”

“What do we win?”

“I’m going to be a Champion—”

“QUIET!” Commander Hogsmith bellows, and the chattering stops immediately.

For such a short man, he has a loud voice, probably using his diaphragm to project his voice so effortlessly.

The corners of my lips turn up slightly thinking how Marrow would have commented about his impeccable breath support .

Markus clears his throat, the agitation clear in his eyes.

“To be allowed into the Presentation ceremony, you must first pass this test.” He points to the other side of the training arena at the wall.

No, not a wall.

A heavy, dark curtain falls to the floor, revealing a large structure mostly made of wood. Practically every section of the wooden course looks deadly, from the ominous rope nets to the spinning barrels impaled with sharp spikes.

I forcefully swallow and wipe my sweaty palms on my leather pants, each bead of sweat a piece of my fear I brush away and replace with determination. I pull my eyes away from the daunting course and back to Markus.

“If you pass this course, you will be eligible for the Presentation. There, the delegates from our allied territories—the Elven tribes from the north and Underlings from below—will see the presenting Cadets demonstrate their prowess with a channeling demonstration and weapon of choice.

“It goes without saying”—Markus glides in front of the crowd toward where we stand, not bothering to raise his feet with each slithering step—“but I will say it anyway. Your performance is critical for maintaining the health of our Peace Treaty. After all three tasks are complete and a Champion is crowned, the treaty will be signed and renewed for another twenty-five years. We must showcase our very best talent. Prove to the other races that they are not superior to humans. And secure our reputation as a formidable force. Not to mention the overall champion will win a favor from the visiting court along with an extremely prized channeling relic the Elder Council so graciously allowed us to offer: The Helios Blessing.”

The room is electrified by the news, and I feverishly recall the different Watcher stories that included the Helios Blessing but come up short.

Leaf gasps and covers his mouth in shock. “I thought that went missing in the Elf Wars,” he whispers to our group.

“What is it?” I ask.

“A very rare channeling stone, specializing in protective barriers, large enough to protect a town from magical or physical attacks. Its invisible walls are impenetrable, save by the wielder,” he explains casually as if this wouldn’t be life changing for someone to wield.

I need this stone, the Helios Blessing.

For Goldenpine.

To protect my people indefinitely from further attacks.

Markus is standing right in front of me by the end of his speech.

His frown lines and hollow cheeks are accentuated by the glittering orb lights above.

His eyes scan the crowd, starting at Castor behind me, then to Leaf, Ramona, and finally settling on me, like he was taking inventory of us all, ensuring his son is surrounding himself with suitable company.

Our stares clash for a painfully long pause. I do not break eye contact but rise to the challenge. I am used to being looked at or watched. I’ve been the recipient of much worse looks and jeers as a female Prentice Teller.

This is no different. I will not give this man the satisfaction of looking away from his depthless eyes.

At last, Markus breaks away and addresses the Commander. “Begin at once, Commander. I want all cadets training on the course to prepare for our finals.” Markus pivots and walks toward the hatch, Elders Burroughs and Hightail following afterwards.

“You heard ‘em!” Commander Hogsmith says. “Form two lines in front of the course.”

In a flurry, we all run toward the course, past archery stations and hanging weighted bags, racing to get the best spot. Ramona, Leaf, Castor, and I end up in the middle.

Sabra pushes aside two other cadets to secure her spot as first in line. Violence radiates off of her. Artemis, the smallest cadet besides myself, is a few spots in front of us. Selene and the twins, Leo and Lacerta, are in the back.

“Ready yourselves!” The Commander raises his hand.

“Wait, you aren't going to explain it first?” the golden-skinned woman, who glared at me when I was next to Castor earlier, asks loudly.

“No Vega. Let’s see if a legacy Falling Eagle can live up to its name without any insight first,” he addresses her.

A Legacy. She must be from a long line of Watchers to be considered a legacy cadet, like Ramona.

I store that piece of information to dissect later.

Even now, her eyes find Castor’s large shadow behind me.

Maybe she and Castor have history together?

I have nothing to be jealous of, and yet my jaw clenches tightly.

Hogsmith sighs overtly and continues to explain. “Wait until the person ahead of you finishes or fails and swims out. Then you can give it a try. We have time for each of you to try to cross once.”

“Oh Goddess, did he say swim?” I whisper to Ramona frantically. She looks at me incredulously.

“Yeah, look.” She points. The series of obstacles is suspended over a large, dark pool.

Oh no. No, no no. This cannot be happening.

“GO!” Hogsmith bellows.

Sabra makes a running jump onto a small series of square planks, barely large enough for half a foot to take hold.

She hops effortlessly side to side, making it past the first section.

A long, circular barrel spins and bobs in the water.

Sabra jumps across three of them with ease, somehow managing to balance long enough to reach the ropes tied above in a geometric web.

She hooks her feet and crawls upside down across the net like a spider.

There is no way I’m going to make it. I can barely pull myself up onto my bunk—I don’t remotely have the arm strength to make it across that net.

Sabra drops down to face the next section of the course, a floating beam of wood the same width as a foot.

All of the cadets watch, taking notes of her technique as she balances across, arms out on either side.

She is halfway across the beam when the swoosh of a spiked rod swings in front of her. She wobbles, but recovers.

I let out a shaky breath and shake my sweating palms.

Another rod swings, and this time its aim is true, knocking Sabra off the beam and into the water below. She curses as she splashes.

“Next!” the commander signals.

My stomach turns and flips. There has to be another way to make it into the Presentation. I want to—no, need to—become a champion. Win the protection stone for Goldenpine and other suffering Midland villages. Then there are the nomads. If the Elders don’t believe in helping them, then who will?

After a few minutes of watching more and more cadets splash into the water, I am next in line. At this point, I’m trying all I can to keep the bile in my stomach at bay and my legs from quivering, though neither effort is working as well as I’d prefer.

The Commander bellows, “Go!”

I freeze.

“At once!” he adds.

I can’t do this.

My whole body is locked up. My eyes are fixed on the first small foothold jutting out from the murky water.

All I can think about is the water lapping at my skin, pulling me down, filling my lungs just like four summers ago.

When my so-called “friends” in Ashwood forced me to jump off a cliff into the Jaragon Sea. I almost died that day.

“CADET AKEMI, NOW!”

Hearing my name snaps me out of my stupor, and I leap toward the small foothold. I connect with the square only to slip on the wet surface. I flail, trying to find my balance, but that only makes it worse. My leg scrapes against the corner of the foothold as I fall.

Then I go under. The cold water stings the cut on my leg as I sink below.

I thrash my arms and legs, trying to maneuver myself upward, but the cold water just flows around me.

I open my eyes and frantically look around for something, anything, to hold on to and pull myself to the surface.

But the water is red with the blood from my leg wound.

I cannot think straight.

My lungs begin to deflate, and my desperation turns to pure, unfiltered panic. My mind goes hazy and soft around the edges. I feel myself slipping into the abyss when a set of strong arms pulls me upward.

Finally out of the water, I turn to the side and retch, lying sideways soaking wet next to the obstacle course while my pride continues to sink in the watery depths.

“Akemi!” Castor brushes the hair off the side of my face, holding it away as I continue to spew out the contents of my stomach. His voice is full of concern, fear even.

He slowly straightens me, curling his arm around my back and supporting me slowly until I’m sitting.

I hiss at the pain in my leg, so white hot I almost lose my sight. I make the mistake of looking down at my throbbing leg only to see a gash so deep into my flesh the layers of muscles flare outward.

The room begins to spin. My head feels too heavy to control right now. I fight to keep my eyes from rolling, retreating into their sockets.

“Akemi, stay with me. I am right here with you. Listen to me, I’m going to take you to the infirmary. We are going to get you all patched up. I need you to stay awake.”

“Mosst you ever sssaid to me…” I say, battling the dark edges of my vision threatening me to faint.

Castor rips off a strip of fabric from the base of his shirt, wraps it around my leg, and picks me up. My head feels so nice on his hard, warm chest. My body wants to sleep, but my mind relents to keep me awake as he requested.

“Thanksss,” I say, looking up at him. His jaw is clenched, eyes bright with concern. The halls are a blur around us as he runs, but I do not feel any of his steps. Or the pain.

I hold my promise to stay awake as Castor leads us into what must be the infirmary, though it looks more like a greenhouse with its glass walls and ceiling and smattering of plants everywhere.

A woman with red hair rushes toward us, wiping her hands on her apron and asking Castor a question I don’t quite hear.

“Rosssie? Ssthat you?” I ask, trying to look at her, but my eyelids are so heavy.

Castor sets me down on a soft bed. When did I get into dry clothing?

The last thing I see are the twinkling stars above, scattered throughout the skies in patterns I recognize.

Watching me back.