Читать книгу Epoca: The Tree of Ecrof - Ivy Claire - Страница 9

The sky was tinted with the first pink rays of dawn when Pretia opened her eyes. She hadn’t been able to sleep all night, torn between excitement about going to Ecrof and anxiety about her cursed grana.

She heard someone enter her bedroom and pulled back the curtains that surrounded her bed to see Anara’s kindly face peeking in at her.

“Trouble sleeping?” her nurse asked.

She knew. As always, she knew.

Anara sat on the edge of the bed by Pretia’s pillow. “What’s wrong?” she asked, stroking Pretia’s cheek.

Was it so obvious that something was wrong? Pretia opened her mouth to reply. The whole story was on the tip of her tongue—the flame, her cursed grana, Davos and the cliff. But she couldn’t. Not now. Not yet. If they knew her grana came from Hurell, would she even be allowed at Ecrof?

“Are you worried about leaving?” Anara asked.

Pretia nodded. It was an easier answer. “Nine months away without hearing from my family,” she said. “That seems like forever.”

“It will fly by,” Anara said. “And before you know it, you’ll be back here, sitting on your bed, bursting with stories about the island.”

“And the school,” Pretia added.

“Yes, the school, too.” Anara closed her eyes. “But Cora Island is a magical place where magical things will happen. Ecrof Academy is only one aspect of it. The rest of the island is deserted. I imagine many wonders lie there.”

Pretia rolled onto her side and looked up at her nurse. She knew what was coming—one of Anara’s many stories about the gods and the time before grana.

“There are people who say that Cora Island is the most sacred place in Epoca.” Anara twisted a lock of Pretia’s hair around her fingers. “And not because of a sports academy. It was the last earthly home of the gods—the last place they wandered before they departed for their eternal home on Mount Aoin. As a Flamekeeper, I wish to visit that place most. But unfortunately, that’s not possible. Our modern age has determined that only recruited athletes whose names appear in the Scrolls of Ecrof can visit Cora’s sacred shores and see the temples built by the gods’ own grana.” There was a sad, wistful quality to Anara’s voice that was unfamiliar to Pretia, a true longing. “You see, Pretia, the Age of Grana brought about many important, positive changes for the people of Epoca, but too many of our old sacred traditions were left behind. Both good and evil.”

“Evil?” Pretia asked, sitting up.

“It is always good to remember that there was once evil in this world, so that our past mistakes can never be repeated. When the seven blessed gods sought refuge in their holy temples on Cora Island during the time of Hurell, they had nowhere else to go. They had built these impressive buildings for themselves with their own grana, a grace they had yet to give to the people.” Anara closed her eyes. Pretia imagined that she was trying to summon the vision of these masterful buildings that she would never see. “The gods were being forgotten by the people of Epoca, and because of this, their strength was diminished and they were weakened.” Anara paused and stared at Pretia with her calm gray eyes. “It was there they came together and used all of their different strengths to forge a new spirit of grana, one that they could give to the people of Epoca in exchange for turning away from Hurell once and for all. You see,” Anara continued, “grana is the godlike quality in all of us.”

Pretia tried to hide the shudder that tore through her body when her nurse uttered the Fallen God’s name. If there was any so-called godlike quality in her, that god was most certainly Hurell. The thought made her sick.

“And as we all know,” Anara continued, “the people of Epoca, who had lived in a dark age dominated by the God of Suffering, accepted this gift from the seven gods. Hurell was furious. He raged across the sea to the island. Now it was he who was weak. He beseeched his brother and sister gods to forgive him. And when they didn’t, he hid in his temple. It wasn’t long before grana took hold of the land. The people no longer had use for the gods. They were making their own destinies and had discovered their own godly talents. So there was no need for the gods to remain on earth anymore. Which is why they departed for their eternal home before they could be forgotten.” Anara lowered her voice. “When a god is ignored by all people and all earthly trace of him or her is removed, that god loses all power in this world. That’s why I’m a Flamekeeper,” Anara said. “It’s my duty, and the duty of my fellow keepers, to preserve the memory of the gods.”

“So because praying to Hurell is forbidden, he lost all power in Epoca?” Pretia asked.

“Exactly,” Anara said. “You’ve seen for yourself, in the mural under the Gods’ Eye, that a swift ship with golden-trimmed sails came for the gods to take them away. Of course, Hurell was not welcome to join them on Mount Aoin. Before the ship departed, he emerged from his temple and bellowed out across the sea to the people of Epoca, demanding their loyalty. There was no answer. Once, twice, three times he cried. But he was only met by silence. Then, with all his remaining strength, he drove his Staff of Suffering into the ground, furious at his brother and sister gods, and furious at the offering of grana that had made the people turn away from him. His anger was so powerful that when he hit the ground with his staff, he split the earth, and his temple collapsed. He cried to his fellow gods for help as his temple was falling, but they didn’t listen. It was too late. And the upheaval of the earth that he’d caused tossed him off the towering cliffs of Epoca into the churning sea below.”

Pretia was wide awake now. “So there’s no temple to Hurell on Cora?”

“That’s what the stories say,” Anara said. “Someone would need an impressive reserve of grana to rebuild it—a godly reserve. But Hurell has no need for a temple. Because as long as no one prays to him, he cannot return. And since praying to him is forbidden, he will remain apart from our world.” Now Anara smiled sadly. “So few people pray to the remaining gods anymore these days. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t still with us. Remember that.”

Before Pretia could ask any more questions, she heard her father’s voice bellowing down the phonopipes, summoning her to the Grand Atrium.

Quickly Anara pulled her out of bed. “Hurry, Pretia,” she said. “We’ve spent too much time on the myths and legends. You don’t want to miss the ship to Cora.”

The sun was already over the cliffs when Pretia and her parents arrived at the gates to Castle Airim. A solar van was waiting, loaded with her bags. She wore her golden Grana Gleams and carried a small backpack with her Grana Book. A castle porter swung the gates open.

She glanced into the van and saw that Janos and Castor were already inside.

“This is where we leave you,” King Airos said. “Listen to your uncle and be patient with yourself. All good things will happen in time.”

Pretia glanced at her mother, who wore an anxious expression.

“You mean like my grana?” Pretia asked.

Queen Helena kissed her on the cheek. “You are exceptional, Pretia,” she said. But the worried look hadn’t left her eyes.

Pretia hesitated. Maybe if she told her mother the truth about her grana, that anxious expression would disappear. Maybe it would be that easy. But she couldn’t. If she knew the truth about her daughter’s grana, it would make Queen Helena feel worse than she already did.

The queen cupped Pretia’s cheek in her hand. Her worried look had turned to sadness. “First my sister and now you,” she said. “One by one, they leave.”

Pretia and her father locked eyes. The queen only ever mentioned Syspara in moments of extreme despair. Her sister’s disappearance was too painful for her to discuss.

“Mama,” Pretia said brightly, “I’m just going away for a little while. It’s not permanent. It’s only school!”

“I know,” the queen replied. “I know. But I won’t hear from you for nine months.”

“I’ll be with Uncle Janos,” Pretia said. “It’s not like I’m running away with strangers.”

At the mention of her brother’s name, Queen Helena smiled. “That does give me comfort. And perhaps he will break with tradition and keep me updated on how you are doing from time to time.”

“Mama,” Pretia urged, “I don’t want to be treated differently from the other students.”

“But you’re not just any student,” Queen Helena said.

“From tomorrow on, I am,” Pretia insisted. “Please.”

“Okay,” her mother replied, kissing her on the head.

The driver honked his horn.

“And it’s only for nine months,” Pretia said. “I’ll be back before you know it.” She flung her arms around her mother one last time and let herself be hugged tightly. Then she walked through the gates and got into the van.

The van began the long, slow descent from the castle to the harbor. The road was twisty and on a particularly sharp turn, one of Pretia’s duffel bags slid forward, knocking Castor on the head. “Packed enough, Pretia?” Castor taunted. “Or did your babysitter do it for you?”

“Anara is not just a babysitter,” Pretia snapped.

“Right,” Castor said, “she’s a royal nurse. Well, when you get to Ecrof you’re not going to be a princess anymore. You’re just going to be normal, boring Pretia.”

“Fine,” Pretia said, and felt a swell of hope. That was exactly what she wanted.

The sun was a golden orb hanging in the perfect blue sky when the van reached the harbor. A group of kids was racing around the dock. When the van pulled up, the kids stopped and watched with interest as Janos, Pretia, and Castor emerged.

At the end of the dock, a ship was bobbing in the water. Instead of one of the newer hydrosolar boats that could speed around the coast of Ecrof and up to the Rhodan Islands in record time, it was an old-fashioned sailing vessel with three sails and a spinnaker flying Ecrof’s green and gold colors. Each of the sails was printed with a giant image of the famous Tree of Ecrof, the oldest tree in all of Epoca, the school’s cherished mascot.

Janos blew his whistle and the kids assembled in front of him, divided up by house affiliation: Dreamers to the left, Realists to the right. Pretia and Castor slipped into their ranks but kept their distance from one another. Castor stood with the Realists and Pretia hovered at the back of the group, standing between the camps, uncertain of which side to choose.

“Welcome, Ecrof recruits,” Janos said. “This is perhaps the most diverse group to enter Ecrof. We have a fisherman’s son, the son of a decorated gymnast, the sister of a current Epic Champion, a former Star Stealer. We have the daughter of a scientist, the son of an artist, and even two members of the royal family. But all of these differences are beside the point. Because now you are all the same. Your names were discovered on this year’s Scrolls of Ecrof. You are now Ecrof recruits. The girls and boys surrounding you are going to be your best friends and your fiercest competitors for the next seven years. They will see you through hard times and glorious ones. Together you will learn, you will compete, and you will master your grana.”

“And,” Pretia heard Castor whisper to the Realist from the Rhodan Islands next to him, “we have my famous cousin, Pretia, who is only here because of who her parents are.”

The kids all swiveled their heads, trying to get a look at their new classmates. Pretia was pretty certain when their eyes landed on her they were seeing one thing only—princess.

“Now,” Janos continued, gesturing to the ship bobbing in the turquoise sea behind him, “this is your first taste of Ecrof tradition. You have traveled to our capital city from all over Epoca, some of you for several days. You have said goodbye to your friends and families. You will not see or hear from them for nine months. Everything that goes on in Ecrof is a secret. No news in and no news out.” Janos looked at each of the recruits in turn. “Now you will get on the famous Ecrof ship. For two thousand years, since the gods graced us with grana and departed their earthly home of Cora, a ship like this one has been taking recruits to the island of Cora itself, the home of our academy. The location of the island is a secret. Only three boat captains in all of Epoca know how to get there.”

Pretia heard a low groan and turned to see the small boy standing next to her clutching his stomach. “Before we board, there is one more Ecrof tradition we must honor.” Janos blew the whistle that dangled from a cord around his neck, and two deckhands rushed off the ship wheeling a cart loaded with bags. “Your official Ecrof uniforms,” Janos said.

A cheer burst out from the recruits. One by one, Janos summoned them forward. There were seventeen in all, eight Dreamers, eight Realists, and Pretia. Some looked nervous as they approached their imposing Head Trainer, others crossed the dock like they were already Epic Champions.

Sometimes it was easy to tell what part of the Kingdom of Epoca they came from. The kids from Phoenis, across the sea in the Sandlands region, looked not all that different from Pretia, with dark olive skin and almond-shaped eyes. The recruits from the Rhodan Islands had fair hair and dark eyes. And the children from Helios, capital of Epoca, near Castle Airim, were easily spotted by their curly red locks. There was a Dreamer girl who wore the traditional headscarf of the women of Persos, and a tall, willowy Dreamer boy who had the palest skin and most golden hair Pretia had ever seen before.

When a Realist from Alkebulan, the wild desert continent across the sea, came forward to accept her bag, Janos placed a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes. “We have been waiting for you at Ecrof, Vera,” he said. “We expect great things.” She grinned and nodded in acknowledgment, her glossy black ponytail bobbing as she did.

“That’s Vera Renovo,” the short Realist boy next to Pretia whispered. “Julius Renovo’s sister.”

Pretia’s eyes widened in admiration. Julius Renovo was one of the most famous athletes in all of Epoca, and he was only seventeen. He was a three-time Epic Champion in the last games. And he was still a student at Ecrof.

“She probably thinks she’s already made the Epic Elite Squad just because of her brother,” the boy said. His next comment was cut off when Janos called his name, Leo Apama. Leo stumbled forward, landing on his hands and knees on the dock.

After Leo, Janos summoned a scrawny, olive-skinned boy, Rovi Myrios, who snatched his bag from Pretia’s uncle before Janos had a chance to greet him. The boy’s black hair was dirty and tangled and hid his eyes so that Pretia was unable to hazard a guess at his place of origin. He tucked his duffel under his arm and darted back into the group of recruits without a word to Janos.

Next was Castor, who proudly approached his father and took his duffel and held it over his head like a trophy, which made a group of Realists, Vera Renovo included, whoop and cheer. Then came two Dreamers, Zoe and Jason, who seemed to be brother and sister.

Then it was Pretia’s turn. When her uncle called her name, Pretia felt the eyes of all her fellow recruits on her at once. She took her duffel and her cheeks burned with pride. Back in the group of recruits, she unzipped the bag, digging through a stack of Ecrof school sweats, gray practice T-shirts, shorts, sweatbands, wristbands, socks, and caps all trimmed in green and gold and printed with the famous Tree of Ecrof and their class year. None of them bore any house affiliation.

She bowed her head, trying to hide her excitement from her fellow classmates. Back home at Castle Airim, Pretia had closets filled with dresses made from the finest fabrics in all of Epoca—silks from the Sandlands, traditional wax prints from Megos, water-dyed cottons from the Rhodan Islands. There was a whole room filled with royal costumes that had been passed down from generations of Realist and Dreamer women that were waiting until she was tall enough to wear them, if indeed she ever grew tall enough to wear them. But never had clothes meant so much to her as the simple gym kit she was holding in her hands.

“It’s like she’s never seen clothes before,” Castor said. The little group of Realists gathered around him all snickered. But Pretia didn’t care. She was a recruit, just like the rest of them. Nothing was going to change that.

Janos cleared his throat, summoning the students to attention. “You will receive your official house colors and competition uniforms when you arrive in Ecrof after the Placement Ceremony. But for now, it’s time to board the ship and set sail.”

The recruits charged down the dock. Two kids, a Dreamer and a Realist, both clearly Rhodan Islanders, were in the lead. They scrambled up the rickety gangplank and clambered onto the deck. The rest of the recruits followed. The second the last recruit got on board, two sailors raised the gangway and two others, who were on the dock, unleashed the ropes securing the ship. The boat swayed, the sails rippled and snapped, and the ship began to sail from shore. Except for Leo Apama, who was already looking a little green, the recruits cheered.

Janos stood in front of one of the masts and blew his whistle. “Your quarters are below. This will be the only time you will share quarters as a class of recruits. When you arrive in Ecrof, you will be placed according to your house affiliation. The Dreamers will go to the Temple of Dreams and the Realists to the Thinkers Palace.”

The recruits hurried below deck, jostling one another as they descended the narrow, steep stairs. The hold of the ship was one big room with round windows just above head height. Seventeen hammocks swayed from the rafters. Leo clutched his stomach.

“Choose one near a window,” Pretia said.

There was a mad rush as the kids claimed their berths. Pretia was left with a hammock wedged in a narrow corner far to the aft of the ship. She flung her duffel onto the hammock and quickly pulled on her Ecrof sweats. They fit as if they’d been cut for her and her alone. She traced the Ecrof crest with her fingers, still unable to fully comprehend that the destiny that awaited her was precisely the thing she had dreamed about for years.

Pretia was the last recruit to return to deck. While she’d been below, the deckhands had laid out a breakfast feast. There were fantastic fruits from all regions of Epoca—fluorescent oranges and luminescent red pomegranates, grapes as big as tennis balls and finger-size bananas. Jars of Megos honey sparkled next to the famous golden suncakes that were the pride of the bakers in Helios. There were bowls of sweet oats and grains, and rich pitchers of creamy nut milk.

Except for Castor and Pretia, none of the recruits had experienced all of these foods before, and they marveled at the exotic tastes. Even Pretia had to conceal her wonderment that these foods, which were already familiar to her, tasted so much better when eaten on the deck of the boat carrying her to Ecrof. Pretia took a suncake and a shiny orange and carried them to the starboard side of the ship. She sat down and dangled her feet toward the turquoise water as she watched the distant coastline of mainland Epoca.

From what Pretia could tell, they were sailing northwest, leaving southern Epoca and the Dreamer-dominated cities of Helios and Mount Oly behind, and crossing into the north of the country where the Realist seats of Megos and Hydros lay. She could just make out the white salt cliffs of Limnus, where the juiciest olives were said to grow.

West of these cliffs, a jagged cluster of rocky land disrupted the pristine water. These were the Rhodan Islands, home to Epoca’s finest fishermen who braved the seas far from the shore in narrow, swift boats that were built so they could pursue the largest and most dangerous catches. Epic Athletes who came from these islands were praised for their incredible endurance and usually dominated the long-distance sports in the Epic Games.

The farther into the Helian Sea they sailed, the bluer the water grew until it became the unblemished lapis lazuli hue that was the color of House Relia. The sun was reaching the midway point of its climb and now hung overhead like a great fiery ball. And just visible in the distance was the mainland that glittered gold and white.

The ship kicked up salt spray into Pretia’s nose. But on the open sea, the water didn’t carry the same briny, fishy scent that rose from the harbor below Castle Airim. Instead, the water smelled fresh and clean, like the sun-kissed laundry that snapped in the breeze behind the castle.

While Pretia was watching the sea and the vanishing coastline, she saw Rovi, the boy who’d snatched his bag from Janos without a word, darting back and forth between coils of rope at the prow of the ship. He moved like a cat, slipping from the prow down to the buffet table, then back to the prow. His movements were nimble, agile—and somewhat mysterious. Three times, Pretia watched as he crossed the deck to the table and returned to the coiled ropes.

And then she saw what he was doing. The boy was stealing food. If she blinked, she nearly missed it. It was like a magic trick, the way he slid an orange or a banana off the table, then hid it somewhere on his body before crossing back to the prow, where he stored his plunder in a coil of rope. Pretia couldn’t keep herself from openly staring, confused as to why the boy would be stealing food, but impressed by the masterful way he was doing it.

On his fourth trip, as he was bending over the rope, he looked up and caught her eye. Pretia quickly looked away, but she knew he had seen her. The boy left the prow and was at her side in no time.

“What are you staring at, Princess?” he said.

“Don’t call me Princess,” Pretia replied. “My name is Pretia.”

“But that’s what you are, a princess,” the boy said. “So that’s what I’ll call you.”

“And do you want me to call you thief?” Pretia asked.

“What are you talking about?” the boy said, his fingers twitching and fluttering at lightning speed.

“It’s free, you know,” Pretia said.

The boy glanced from side to side. His eyes were lively and alert like a panther’s.

“That’s what the food is there for, for us to take. You don’t need to steal.”

“So if it’s free, I’m not stealing it then, am I?” the boy said. “And I’m not a thief.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” And with that, Rovi darted across the ship and disappeared.

Pretia was about to go look for him when she heard a cry from behind. Castor and Nassos, another Realist, were standing in front of the two masts. “Race you,” Pretia heard Castor say. “First one up the rigging.”

Now all the other recruits had rushed to the action. Castor stood at the base of one mast. Nassos stood before the other. Vera stood between them. She held her arms in the air. “On your marks, get set, go!” She dropped her arms. The boys began to scramble. Castor was ahead at first, but then Nassos, a Rhodan Islander who was clearly used to seafaring and more comfortable on a ship, pulled into the lead. He reached the top first and let out a victorious whoop before expertly sliding down the ropes back to the deck. Castor followed, a stormy look on his face.

Next, Adira, the Dreamer in the headscarf, and Virgil, the willowy, golden-haired Dreamer boy, stepped forward. “We want to race,” they said almost in unison. Pretia watched as Virgil wound his golden locks into a knot. Adira’s headscarf whipped in the wind as she grabbed the rigging.

Once more, Vera started the race. Virgil was graceful and strong, but Adira was nimble like a gymnast or a dancer, and her quick footwork carried her up the rigging first.

Pretia watched from the deck. The excitement of the races was infectious. She heard herself cheering her classmates on. She didn’t really care who won. Just watching the kids climb—just the idea of climbing herself—was thrilling enough.

“I want to race the princess.”

Pretia looked away from the masts, where Leo had become tangled with the rigging midclimb as he raced Xenia, a Dreamer from Chaldis. Vera Renovo was standing in front of her. She had her hands on her hips. Her brown eyes were flashing and her dark skin shone like she’d been dipped in sacred oil.

“No,” said Pretia, fear gripping her as she thought of her cursed grana and of what might happen if she raced Vera up the mast. But she wanted to climb. She wanted to push herself. She wanted to rise up above the deck.

“Are you afraid of heights or of losing?” Vera asked.

“Neither,” Pretia said.

“So what are you waiting for?” Vera narrowed her eyes.

“Nothing,” Pretia said, giving in and rushing to the base of one of the masts.

This time, Adira started the race. Pretia grabbed the ropes. “Go!” Adira said.

Pretia began to climb. At first it was difficult to balance on the ropes and pull herself up. But soon she figured out how to steady herself on the swaying ladder while reaching for the next rung. And then it became easy. Suddenly Pretia was no longer aware of the unstable rope ladder, the light wind, the group of recruits standing below her on the deck. Suddenly she could no longer feel the rope burning her palms as she climbed, or her shoes slipping on the loose rope. Suddenly she could feel herself pulling away, as if she were simply climbing a set of stairs. And suddenly she could see herself racing ahead, climbing faster than she thought possible. She was watching herself beating Vera.

It was her grana. Pretia glanced up at the shadow version of herself racing up the rigging and at Vera, who had momentarily lost her balance as she realized Pretia was winning. Vera hadn’t just lost her balance; she was slipping down the rope ladder. Pretia’s heart froze. She couldn’t breathe. What if she had made Vera fall? Stop, she screamed silently. Stop! Then she felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach—like her shadow self had slammed back into her. Now Pretia was higher up on the rigging, where her shadow self had been. Except that her shadow self was gone and it was just her. And she, too, was falling, falling toward the deck. Quickly, she grasped the ropes and pulled herself to safety just in time to see Vera reach the top of the rigging and raise her arms in victory.

Pretia slid back to the deck, where the recruits were cheering Vera’s win.

“What happened?” Leo asked. “You were beating her the whole way. And then it was like you let her win.”

“Nothing happened,” Pretia said. “She just pulled ahead in the end.” She took a deep breath and looked up at the mast. But that wasn’t true. Pretia had split herself—she’d revealed her evil half, if only she was aware of it. Something inside of her was bad, and she needed to hide this from everyone.