The Archives (Sacrisvita Book 2) Page 7

  Shaking her head, Sage scrambled to her feet, trying to make sense of why the attack had stopped. She pulled her hands back up to defend against the attack she was sure was still coming, but then she looked at the ground near Carnabel’s feet and stopped. Carnabel was outside of the boundary line. Somehow, Sage had won.

  Now she understood the Coordinator’s gestures. He was beckoning her to get off the mat since the match was over. She staggered forward, still clutching her shoulder.

  “Good match, you two,” he said gruffly. He looked at Sage and jerked his head. “You won by out of bounds default, so you go over there next.” He turned to Carnabel. “And you’re over there.”

  Carnabel pursed her lips and glared at Sage. She then flipped her hair and stormed off to her new assignment.

  Sage was numb. She couldn’t believe she’d just won the match after she’d given up hope. The Coordinator nudged her slightly to move her along.

  She shakily took her place among the growing group of Level Nine winners. Her whole body ached, and her shoulder was still throbbing. Most of her new opponents wore determination on their faces, though a few seemed as bewildered as Sage that they’d actually made it past the first round.

  There was a good bit of time before her next fight. She supposed it was considered only fair that they have a chance to rest between rounds, but the time allowed stiffness to set in to her limbs. If it was possible, she soon felt even more drained than at the end of her match with Carnabel.

  Once again, she found herself shuffled to the front of the line, and her new Coordinator steered her onto the mat. This time, her opponent had no animosity behind her eyes. In fact, she looked almost sympathetic to be going against someone in a younger level.

  When the tone sounded, however, she didn’t hold back. Sage’s eyes widened as fists came flying toward her face. She’d never seen this girl fight before, so she had no idea what to expect.

  Hands up at your face, Sage. Her training finally kicked in. Maybe it was the girl’s low expectations at facing a Level Eight, or maybe it was just dumb luck, but Sage somehow managed to deflect her punches. Sage caught hold of her striking arm and pivoted, pressing it into her back and driving her to the ground. She pinned her almost instantly, her opponent’s wrist twisted in an unnatural fashion. She backed off as soon as she heard her other hand slapping the mat.

  Sage could barely believe she’d won again. She clambered off of the girl, putting her hands up again out of habit.

  The Coordinator declared Sage the winner and directed each of them to their new sections. The Level Nine loser looked sullen as she walked off.

  Remarkably, Sage managed to push through her pain just long enough to knock her third opponent out of the boundary lines—probably due to his own exhaustion and inability to continue fighting. Sheer luck, really. He had the upper hand at first as he grabbed Sage’s arm and flipped her, but she yanked back against him so hard that her momentum sent him flying. She advanced once more.

  By her fourth match, the fighting was beginning to wear on her, and she nearly collapsed from pain and exhaustion. This new Level Nine adversary had obviously trained with a greater focus on stamina, and Sage simply couldn’t compete any longer. She toppled to the ground after the first punch and woke up on the side of the mat. The Coordinator was lightly smacking the side of her face.

  “She’s ok.” The Coordinator held up a hand to signal the nurse that she wouldn’t be needed.

  Sage blinked as the world came back into focus.

  “Mrwaff.” She swallowed a couple times and tried again. “What happened?”

  “You lost,” the Coordinator said nonchalantly. “Are you ok to continue?”

  She sat up and nodded. Her head was spinning, and every inch of her body was screaming at her.

  “Alright,” the Coordinator said, “you’re over there next.” He pointed to a nearby mat.

  Sage struggled to her feet and stumbled over to the next line. She was grateful that she at least got to rest as she waited her turn.

  She didn’t even notice her next opponent take her place beside her—nor the look of disdain she wore on her face under the mask of smeared blood. The Coordinator nudged the two girls forward onto the mat, and only then did Sage realize that she was once again facing Carnabel.

  A surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins. The pounding in her ears nearly drowned out the sound of the starting tone, but she knew the match had started by the look in Carnabel’s eyes. Her fists swinging through the air were also a good indicator.

  Sage fought through the fatigue with a new burst of energy. She bobbed under Carnabel’s attack. She ducked under her arms and grabbed Carnabel’s shoulder, pulling her stomach to her knee.

  “Ooof.” Carnabel bent over, fighting for breath.

  This time, Sage didn’t hesitate. Her attack continued—first a strike to the kidneys and then a throw to the ground. She panted for breath as she climbed on top of Carnabel, lungs burning and heart pounding.

  She shoved her forearm under Carnabel’s chin and leaned her weight in on top of her, bracing herself with her other hand around her wrist. Carnabel’s eyes were wide. Sage thought she saw a flicker of fear as Carnabel pushed back desperately against the choke.

  Suddenly, Sage felt Carnabel’s legs wrap around her, squeezing her torso and sending her flying backward. She thudded to the ground, all air absent from her lungs. Gulping franticly for oxygen, she watched as Carnabel lurched to her feet and towered over her.

  Carnabel sneered and brought her foot up in the air above Sage’s face just as she managed to suck in her first breath. She rolled onto her side and felt Carnabel’s foot stomp on her hair, yanking her neck and stopping her head from turning any further. She gritted her teeth and instinctively kicked her leg forward. She slammed into Carnabel’s ankle, causing her bracing leg to buckle.

  Both girls scrambled to their feet, facing off just as they’d started. Carnabel started to throw another punch and then quickly switched striking fists. It worked. Sage dodged straight into its path. Blood spilled down her face. She wasn’t even sure where it was coming from.

  An impulsive violence overtook her. She slammed her foot down against Carnabel’s. As she folded in pain, Sage lifted her leg, kneeing her in the chin. An unsettling crack shot through the air. With each breath, Sage was choking on her own blood, but she wouldn’t stop.

  And then the ending tone sounded. Sage was so caught up in the fight, she almost missed it. The Coordinator rushed onto the mat to intervene, and she nearly struck him too. She staggered backward. Time was up, and there was no clear winner by tournament rules.

  Sage and Carnabel both stared at the Coordinator expectantly through swollen slits of eyes. His split-second decision would determine the victor, and it would be final.

  He hesitated for a moment, then gestured. “You advance over there, and you move back to there.”

  Sage was stunned. He’d just declared her the winner.

  14. DETOUR

  Sage’s bracelet glinted in the sunlight, creating a burst of patterns on the ground beneath the wooden beams of the play yard. She fingered it absentmindedly, replaying her morning. The results of the practice exams had just come back, and she’d done even worse than she’d expected. Granted, she’d been distracted lately. Now that the Bokja tournament was over, she figured she’d be able to focus a bit better on her classwork. Hopefully.

  Her body had somewhat recovered from the physical demands of the tournament, but the occasional sharp pain would shoot up her arm if she moved just right. The bruises were finally starting to fade, though, and the swelling in her lip had gone down considerably.

  She'd placed respectably for her level, not very high but not the lowest. Certainly nothing that would severely hurt her average later.

  Carnabel hadn’t said a word to her since the fight, and Sage had been only so glad to return the favor. Actually, a lot of her classmates seemed a bit hesitant to talk to her after watching
the tournament.

  Penelope, on the other hand, wasn’t deterred in the slightest from their friendship, as evidenced by her ceaseless chattering.

  “Are you even listening?” Penelope asked accusingly.

  Sage looked up sheepishly. “Sorry—what?”

  Penelope sighed loudly. “Honestly, Sage, I don’t know why I bother sometimes.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Did you do that bad?” Penelope softened a bit.

  Sage nodded miserably. “Mr. Gunnerly’s test was brutal. I did halfway decent on Mr. Walsh’s at least.”

  “Nobody does well on Mr. Gunnerly’s prelim,” Penelope waved her hand. “And besides, now that the tournament’s over, I’ll bet Kai and Rosalind let up.”

  “I hope so.” She pulled up a blade of grass. “But they’re both so intense—I’m really not sure.” She sighed. “At least we got a break before the preliminary exams. Not that it made a difference.”

  “Sounds like you need a break.” Penelope grinned.

  “No.” Her eyes narrowed. “I know that look, Penelope. How are you even an ambassador? You bend the rules more than anyone I know.”

  Penelope smirked. “Well, it’s all about leadership potential, right? And you keep following along, so maybe I’ll get a commendation or something.” She stood up, ducking under a beam as she looked back over her shoulder. “Coming?”

  Sage drummed her fingers on her knee. “Fine,” she said, pursing her lips as she rose. “But you’re helping me study tonight. And if we get in trouble, I’m blaming everything on you.”

  “Sounds good to me.” She flashed her a wide grin. “Not that anyone would believe you though,” she added, sticking out her tongue.

  The two girls slunk along the outer edge of the play yard.

  “Where are we going?” Sage whispered.

  “Shh!” Penelope put a finger to her lips and motioned for Sage to keep following.

  They reached the small patch of open yard that transitioned from the wooden play beams to the Institution’s main building. Penelope inched into the open space, appearing aimless and in full view of the monitors. Sage thought she’d lost her mind.

  “What are you doing?” She hissed.

  “Waiting.” Penelope smiled.

  Sage furrowed her brow. “For what?”

  She shrugged. “Not sure yet.”

  Penelope kept glancing over at the monitors. She linked her arm with Sage’s and began pacing in random patterns, staying close to the beams.

  “You’re nuts,” Sage said, rolling her eyes.

  She felt a sudden pinch as Penelope grabbed her arm.

  “Now!” she whispered excitedly, pulling Sage along as she ran toward the side of the building.

  When they arrived at the corner, Penelope pulled both of them down low to the ground. She peeked behind the edge of the wall and elbowed Sage in the ribs.

  “See?” she said triumphantly. “One of the Level Fives always gets hurt playing. Happens every day. Usually at least three times. And the monitors have to rush over because it’s basically the end of the world.”

  Sage peered over her shoulder. Sure enough, a little girl from Level Five was sitting on the ground bawling. A boy was standing next to her holding a fist full of hair that didn’t belong to him.

  She shook her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you just know stuff like this.”

  Penelope snorted. “It’s cuz I grew up here, remember? I was the little girl missing a chunk of hair.” She gently rubbed the back of her head and then gestured at Sage. “C’mon. That wasn’t what I was gonna show you.”

  They hurried along the side of the building, ducking under windows as they went. When they finally reached the back corner, Penelope held a hand out, signaling Sage to stop.

  “We can’t go any farther,” Penelope whispered.

  Sage rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Did you seriously bring me over here just so that we could run next to the longest building ever?”

  “Basically,” Penelope said sarcastically. “I thought you’d want to see a new part of the Institution.” She jerked her head. “Look.”

  Tiptoeing to the edge, Sage peeped around the corner through the branches of an always-green bush. She wrinkled her forehead. Dozens of faculty members were milling around a small garden. It was probably beautiful in the spring and summer, but at the moment it was mostly a boring collection of dirt.

  “I know, it’s not the best time to see it,” Penelope began apologetically, “but no one ever talks about this place since it’s just for instructors, and I thought it’d be fun to show you.”

  Sage waved a hand to silence her. She’d just noticed the headmaster wandering unsettlingly near them. He was talking to someone who Sage couldn’t see. Penelope poked just enough of her head around the corner to see what Sage was finding so interesting.

  “I’m warning you, these rumors are going to impact your career. You wouldn’t want the Quorum thinking there’s any truth to them, would you?” The headmaster clapped a hand on his companion’s shoulder.

  “Of course not, Headmaster. But they’re only rumors. We wouldn’t tell our students to listen to them any more than you should.”

  Sage recognized the voice. It was Mr. Walsh. What rumors were they talking about?

  “Miiister Walsh,” the headmaster continued deliberately, “it is unwise to be so dismissive of cautionary advice.” He stepped to the side, no longer obscuring Sage’s view. “You know what happens when someone is accused of such things.”

  “Indeed,” Mr. Walsh replied coolly. “But as I instruct in the realm of history, I feel it necessary to submit the facts as I see them. Rumors are not often found to be reality, and judgment is not subject to speculation. And to formally accuse someone of what you’re suggesting—well, it’s not done lightly.”

  The headmaster leaned closer. “Oh, yes. Of that, we’re both well aware.” With those words, he walked back to the center of the throng of instructors, leaving Mr. Walsh alone.

  He sighed and furrowed his brow. Deep in thought, he mumbled something indistinct to himself before turning to rejoin his peers.

  “Ow!”

  Penelope had just jabbed Sage in the ribs.

  “We need to go now!” she hissed in her ear. “Didn’t you feel the zeptobes?”

  Sage gaped at Penelope. She’d been so distracted, she almost hadn’t noticed the electrified pinch. Besides, it was nothing compared to the pain she’d so recently endured, so it was easy to dismiss.

  She glanced back at Mr. Walsh. He’d stopped in his tracks and turned back around so that he was facing the girls. Head cocked slightly to one side, he appeared to be searching the bushes for something. Sage sucked in her breath and hunched lower behind the branches. There was no way he could have seen them, but she was petrified all the same.

  “Let’s go!” Penelope tugged on her arm.

  Sage allowed herself to be dragged back along the building. They’d have to run fast to make it back before the monitors noticed they were missing.

  15. INTERRUPTED

  “I’m surprised we didn’t have to be on stage for that long,” Sage remarked.

  “Of course not.” Marnie tried on a scarf and then hung it back up. “Can you imagine if all us students had to fill up the whole time? Headmaster Alexander wouldn’t have enough time to hear himself talk,” she scoffed.

  “Or the other leaders,” Pippa added. “Founders’ Day isn’t just about the Institution.”

  “You might want to keep it down,” Nic whispered, leaning toward the group of girls. He nodded at the doorway. “Instructors aren’t exactly ok with talking during other levels’ performances.”

  Sage felt her face redden. “Sorr—”

  “—Nic, I could hear you while we were singing the anthem.” Carnabel forced her way into the conversation. “Your voice is amazing.” She smiled more sweetly than Sage had ever seen.

  “Thanks.” He flashed a half-smile.
<
br />   Sage couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed because of the compliment or because it came from Carnabel.

  “Alright, everyone. Level Eights, it’s time to go take your seats in the audience now.” Mr. Gunnerly swept his arms in front of him enthusiastically as if he were trying to shoo a wild animal out of the room.

  Penelope and Sage exchanged a sideways glance and stifled their laughter. Mr. Gunnerly might be one of the most unpleasant instructors in the Institution, but he had some redeeming qualities.

  They filed into their seats quietly—they’d been warned repeatedly about the heinous offense of interrupting any presenters.

  By the time they’d settled into their rows, the graduating class was coming onstage. As always, they did a brief dramatic reenactment of the founding of Eprah.

  Sage frowned as she watched the events unfold before her. Unlike last year, she was now familiar with the narrative. She was positive there were some inconsistencies between what she’d studied in the Archives and the scene playing out in front of her.

  A quick glance around the room told her that no one else noticed or was bothered by it. And in all fairness, they were minor things, she told herself. Probably just an artistic interpretation—more interesting to watch.

  As the Level Sixteen students hurried off the stage, Headmaster Alexander stepped in to take their place almost gleefully. Before he’d opened his mouth, Sage had already tuned him out. He repeated the same long-winded, self-serving, pro-Eprah speeches every time he was given an ounce of attention.

  Watching the audience was far more interesting. In fact, that was why she turned her attention back to the stage. She’d noticed a curious pattern of behavior rippling across the crowd. It seemed almost everyone had suddenly decided to sit up a little straighter and stare ahead a little harder.

  Another man had joined the headmaster on the stage. His yellow hair was slicked straight back in a no-nonsense fashion. The suit he wore was as rigid as his stance, and even from where she was sitting, Sage could see that he had dark, hollow eyes.