Isle of Night (27 page)

Priti laughed. “You know it's not, little Acari.” She eyed my bag. “But I see you brought your shuriken.”

I hugged it close to my side, thinking of my throwing stars tucked safely inside. I took them most everywhere now, like Emma with her hunting knife. “How can you tell?”

“I can see it in your eyes.” She chucked my chin, and her lithe five-foot-eleven frame alongside my meager five foot two must've been a comical sight. “And by the way you're clutching that bag.”

“Does that mean you'll finally let me use them?” I'd been dying to learn how to throw them, but Watcher Priti said I still needed time.

Her face bloomed into a gorgeous, pearly smile. “Do you think you're ready?”

“Ohmygosh, really? Today?” I restrained myself from jumping up and down in giddy anticipation. “Yes. Totally ready.”

“Today, then.” Lowering her chin, she sharpened her tone. “And now I think it's time you took your seat, Acari Drew.”

Class was unending. We worked through a circuit of standard sword and dagger exercises. Shoulder and arm warm-ups, weight work, footwork, basic defensive maneuvers. All interminable. My only thought was for the four perfect stars in my locker.

I was at the kendo station, practicing a standard series of lunges, arcing swings, and footwork. The long bamboo sword felt like an extension of me, and I repeated the moves by rote.

“Very nice, Acari Drew.” Priti snatched the end of my sword in midair. She eyed me speculatively. “I know you enjoy our sword work. Shuriken may have sharp edges, but they're very different, you know.”

Was this her lead-up to finally letting me throw them? “I'm sure,” I agreed quickly. I'd agree with anything; I just wanted the stars. I was so eager to try them.

She narrowed her eyes in challenge. “I'm not sure you're listening to me. You must prepare yourself to miss the mark. Many times.”

“I'm ready.”

She didn't look like she agreed with me, but nonetheless she told me, “Go get them.”

I raced to my locker and was back before Priti could have a chance to change her mind. I met her at the target station, a throwing star in my hand, the others wrapped in velvet at my feet.

I raised my arm, ready to throw. Nervous excitement jangled through me.

“Patience, Acari Drew.” She stilled my arm, giving me an amused smile. “Shuriken is an art form. The exercise mental as well as physical.”

She wrapped my fingers around the star. It was cold, sharp. Not so much larger than my palm. “Feel the weapon.
Shuriken
is Japanese for ‘dagger in hand.' Feel the edges. More than any knife, it is an extension of you. Nothing separates you from the steel. No artificial handle, no imperfection of the blades.”

Priti took my shoulders, guiding me into position. “When you throw a knife, you must worry about distance. Not so for the shuriken. Yours have six points. Six opportunities for the weapon to hit its mark.”

She squatted a bit, standing behind me, bringing herself to my eye level. “Now look at the target. You aren't just throwing
at
it. You are extending yourself, your will, your
power
, toward it.”

I'd been contemplating that bull's-eye all semester. But I opened my mind this time. I extended my energy toward it. As though the target and I were connected by the finest thread.

“Yes,” she whispered. “You see it, don't you? Watchers are taught a mantra. Listen, and hear the words.” She cradled my arm extended before me.
“I am roots in the earth. I am water that flows. I am grounded. I am Watcher.”

Slowly she pulled away. “Now breathe. Feel the ground at your feet. Feel the weapon as a part of your hand. Relax and feel the connection.”

I did. My head rose, my shoulders dropped slightly. I felt lighter.

“That's it, Acari. Stay relaxed. Always relaxed. The movement isn't merely in your arm. It's not just a flick of the wrist. You must draw energy from the ground beneath your feet. Let the energy flow up from the earth and through your body. Into your arm. Your movements should be fluid. When you throw, you cast the shuriken from you as though riding on a wave of power.”

I did. I felt it. The soles of my feet were grounded to the floor. I was connected to the earth. The sensation of power rose from below, through my feet, shooting up my body, tingling all the way to the tips of my fingers.

I felt her whispered breath in my ear. “Now.”

I threw.

The star flew from my hand on a wave of power. And then clattered to the floor.

I heard a couple of girls behind me snicker.

I felt my face turn beet red.

“Again, Acari. Without pause. You must try again and again.” Priti patted my shoulder and walked away. I heard her shout a crisp order to one of the other girls, but her words didn't register.

The only things that existed were me, my shuriken, and the target. I tried again. Again I heard the disappointing
ping
of metal hitting the ground.

I tried over and over. And each time my star bounced off the target, clattering to the ground.

I felt the other students gathering their things, heading to the locker room. I kept my back to them. I didn't care if I had to stay all night. I was determined to get this.

Again and again I tried.
Ping. Ping. Ping.

Until.

I knew the moment the shuriken left my hand that it was the one. I'd felt it. It had flowed straight from me. Riding on a perfect wave. I felt it going directly for the target, like a line being reeled back home. It hit and it stuck.

I heard a single pair of hands clapping for me. Turning, I saw Emma smiling at me. I realized I hadn't really seen her smile before. It warmed that heart-shaped face, opened it up. She was pretty.

She glanced at the clock. “You'd better git,” she told me in that
Fargo
accent.

Many of our classmates had already showered. They sat waiting for Watcher Priti's final words.

I tucked my stars carefully in their velvet wrapper and headed to the bleachers. I'd have to skip my shower and change later.

“Hey, little piggy.” Lilac made exaggerated sniffing sounds. “Disgusting. I can't sit near this.” She and her crew shifted to one of the rearmost bleachers.

I smiled. High school barbs and minidramas meant nothing to me. I'd learned how to throw like a ninja.

Watcher Priti came to stand before the class. She was freshfaced and glowing, looking statuesque in a white jumper. It was hard to imagine she was capable of great savagery, though I knew she surely was. A woman wasn't elevated to her rank without a flair for cold, calculated combat. I had a picture of her in my mind, beaming her pearly smile while beheading wayward Draug with her chakra.

“Wonderful news, little birds. We've determined the subject area for this semester's Directorate Award.”

Heart kicking into gear, I edged to the front of my seat. This was it. She was going to tell us what our big, end-of-semester challenge would be. Math? I wondered. Some computer-programming thing?

“It will be a single-elimination tournament format. You will face off against an Acari challenger. If you lose, you're out. If you win, you face the next Acari. You do this over and over until either you lose or you win the tournament.”

I hung on her every word, my mind racing. A tournament? But what would we compete in? Were they going to give us some sort of all-around trivia challenge?

Watcher Priti gave us her signature smile. It meant good news for me; I knew it. “This semester's chosen discipline is . . .”

I held my breath.

“. . . combat.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

I
sat on my bed, leaning against the wall, forcing myself to concentrate. Dinner had been almost impossible. I'd made myself drink—with an upcoming combat challenge, I'd be a fool not to—but that was about all I'd managed.

Master Alcántara had said participation in the competition was voluntary. I could back out. But then I'd lose my shot at traveling off this rock. At escape.

Besides, I wouldn't be surprised if one's decision to enter or not enter the challenge weren't part of the whole test. Watchers were the best of the best, and Acari were expected to be driven, to be contenders.

I'd just never thought of myself in that way before. Motivated and determined, yes. But a contender?

I slammed my Norse book shut. It was no good reading anything tonight.

Combat.
Just the thought of it made me ill. Of all the things to be forced to compete in, they chose combat? And what did that mean, anyway? We'd dress up in armor and spar? What would the rules be? What constituted winning? Would girls get hurt? Would girls
die
?

But of course they'd die. Girls were dying in training; getting offed in the heat of competition would be a given.

“You're looking shifty, Charity.” Lilac slammed the door to our room and slung her bag on her bed. “Panties in a twist over the upcoming fight? What a shame you suck at anything to do with gym class.”

She flopped on her bed, and for a moment we just stared at each other. It was such a mockery of regular dorm life, like two roomies in for the night, ready to gab. Then she pulled out her lighter, and I heard a clicking sound.
Flick, flick, flick
—over and over.

And she called
me
a freak. “Why don't you do us a favor and set yourself on fire?”

She fingered the neck of her tunic. I'd almost forgotten her scar, but her tugging revealed more of that raw, rippling skin than I'd ever seen. She already
had
caught on fire once in her life.

It chilled me to consider what might've happened. More chilling, though, was the fact that, despite having once suffered third-degree burns, she was still drawn to all things flammable.

She snapped the lid to the Zippo shut. Pinching it between two fingers, she wriggled it before me. “Rumor has it they'll let us fight with the weapon they gave us. Sort of like our specialty.”

It made my flesh crawl to consider why Lilac might want to enter a sparring ring armed only with her lighter. I let my eyes travel back to the ridge of disfigured skin on her neck. “So, how'd you get
your
specialty, Lilac?”

“My mother brought this girl home once,” she said in a musing voice. She traced the edge of her scar, and the movement was dreamy, almost sensual. “Just some foster trash, but Mummy decided she was her little ragamuffin. Decided she was my new sister. But she wasn't.”

“Umm, okay. You didn't like your foster sister—there's no surprise.” Was that why Lilac had borne me such instant and irrational hatred? “So is this a wealth thing? Is
that
why you hate me so much?”

“Oh, it's so much more than that. You're a
dead
ringer,” she said, and her choice of words gave me a shiver. She scowled at my hair. “Little Sunny, with her sweet blond hair.”

“The kid's name was
Sunny
?” I knew a flash of sympathy for this anonymous child. I had enough baggage around the whole blond thing, I couldn't imagine having to bear the name Sunny in addition.

Lilac grinned. It was the first time she'd ever smiled at me, and it made the hairs on my arms stand on end. “Sunny, Sunny. She fooled everyone. But not me. Everyone always asked why I couldn't be more like her.” Her grin turned into a sneer. “Poor girl, but so pretty and so bright.”

“So that's it? You had a foster sister who looked a lot like me, poor but smart, and it didn't vibe with your rich-and-stupid routine? Or did you just hate that your
mummy
liked this Sunny better than you?”

Repeating the name made something click. I'd heard it before in Lilac's psycho sleep chatter. Foreboding made my skin crawl. “Wait. Is this Sunny, as in
Burn, sunny, burn
?”

Lilac narrowed her eyes, but the smile didn't leave her face. “Poor Sunny. The house burned down with her in it.”

Blood turned to ice in my veins. Lilac was always calling me a freak, but as far as I was concerned, she was the only mutant in this dorm room. She must have incinerated her foster sister. And now she dreamt of incinerating me.

I doubted I'd ever sleep again.

I forced my voice to remain calm. “So, you gonna burn me while I sleep, Lilac?”

“No,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I'm going to burn you in front of everyone.” And then she leaned over to unlace her boots.

“Over my dead body,” I said.

“Oh, it will be. And, apparently, I can even win a prize for it.”

The Directorate Award. “Careful, Lilac. People might think you're overconfident.”