Nick James - Crimson rising

“What are you doing-” He managed to speak, then coughed as a knee rammed his diaphragm.

She didn’t smile or frown or show that she recognized him at all. Instead, she pushed down on the end of the syringe, sending sharp metal through his skin.

Immediately, he felt a surge of cool liquid into his blood stream. His legs and arms went limp, then numb. Avery stared down at him, her soft brown hair glowing in the sunlight, a hint of fading freckles on either side of her nose. Cassius could tell why Fisher had been so infatuated with her. She was beautiful, even now.

His eyelids became heavy and he found it harder and harder to stay conscious. Soon it wasn’t even worth fighting anymore. The figures released their hold on him. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Red. Water. Rocks.

Something’s wrong, I’m sure of that, but it’s too vague a feeling to act on.

My bracelet hummed for about twenty minutes yesterday afternoon, then again last night. It’s trying to tell me something, just like it did four months ago after it first fused to my wrist. Back then, it was a message from my mother about the Authority. Now it’s far less clear. Today’s the Sophomore Tour-an unnecessary distraction from the mysteries I really need to be solving. Maybe that’s why Mrs. Dembo was so keen on me participating.

It’s a bizarre shift, coming from the gray room yesterday morning to the training room now. Agent Morse escorted me to breakfast this morning, and then to the locker room to get suited up. He’s probably waiting at Lookout Park to watch me finish the Tour. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had monitors tracking my every move. That way, if I step out of line, they can charge in here and restrain me. The Sophomore Tour. They say it’s a tradition for us Year Tens. I hear public beheading used to be a tradition hundreds of years ago. It doesn’t mean that it’s okay. It’s the first Friday of the training year, a soul-draining obstacle course from the bottom of the Skyship to Lookout Park on the top level. The rules are simple: start at the entrance to the docking bay and “survive” until you reach Lookout. No elevators or stairs. That’d be too easy. The Tour’s a mass big deal here, even for the adults. Even in these trying times, there are hoards of them up at the park now, sitting on the sidelines waiting to cheer on their favorite students like it’s some sick parade.

Maybe it would be better if it was just an endurance thing, but it’s not. Hiding within the Academy’s nooks and crannies are Agents waiting to get you. They’ve got these guns-not loaded, though in my case who knows-that shoot sticker tags. Each tag’s a penalty, and the more you have on your body by the time you get to Lookout, the crappier you get to feel about yourself. We’re ranked by time and number of penalties. My back is covered with the stupid stickers, so I guess I gotta count on speed. Too bad, because I’ve already seen half my class pass by, including Eva and Skandar.

I shift my grip and wrap my blistered fingers around the width of a sweat-dampened rope until I’m stable again.

I hang in the center of one of the Academy’s gym-sized training rooms, halfway between the battlefield and the balcony. No, not even halfway.

They usually use this place for games like Bunker Ball, outfitted with projected battlefields and skills courses.

Today it’s empty, except for the ropes.

I glance above me. With every second I hesitate, the thought of pulling myself up to the balcony seems more impossible. After that, I’ve got to navigate the catacombs above the training room on my way to the secret underground exit leading to the park.

One hand in front of the other. One hand in front of the other.

I repeat the mantra in my head, willing my body to follow through. The alternative is letting go and hitting the mats below, but then I’d have to start all over. Not only that, but I bet an Agent would pop around the corner and tag me with another sticker. They’re heartless like that. I grit my teeth and pull, wrapping my feet around the swaying rope. My muscles strain and heat up like I’m about to break a Pearl. I’ll be feeling this for days. I manage to move a foot closer to the ledge. Seems like nothing, but I’d kill to do it again. Across the length of the balcony hang a dozen other ropes, each separated by a narrow gap. Most are empty. Manjeet Rajah, another Year Ten, struggles four ropes over. I can tell he’s hating this as much as I am. He’s a science guy, not a soldier. But seeing him fight with his rope strengthens my motivation. This whole thing’s meant to be a race anyway. At least I have someone to race against.

With that in mind, I yank up, ignoring my trembling, about-to-burst arms. Three more pulls and my muscles give out. I press my toes inward and weave my fingers together. I grip on for life as the rope wobbles, sending me in rapid, nauseous circles.

I close my eyes and try to recharge myself. I pretend I’m holding a Pearl, that it’s covering me in its healing green glow. As the rope becomes still again, I take a deep breath and prepare for the final assault. One more strong pull ought to do it. The ledge is only a foot above me now. I can practically reach out and grab it.

Distracted by my own little struggle, I don’t hear the footsteps above me until a dark-skinned hand reaches over the lip of the balcony.

I glance up and meet Manjeet’s eyes. An exhausted smile spreads along his sweat-dampened face.

“C’mon, man,” he wheezes.

I cautiously release my right hand and grab onto his wrist, letting him supply the extra strength to get me up over the ledge and onto the balcony. I take a look down at the empty gym before sinking to my knees, panting.

“How’d you get up here so fast?”

“Fast?” He laughs. “I think we’re the last two.”

“No.” I run my hand through my wet hair. “I swear I saw Allison and Bernice down there.”

He frowns. “The last two guys, then.”

I fall on my back and stare at the maze of dark catacombs above us.

Manjeet sits beside me, breathing hard. “Hey, wanna help each other out?”

“Isn’t that against the rules?”

“Not technically.”

I rub my biceps, hoping they’ll stop going all psycho on me. “I’ve been up there before, in the catacombs. Just once, with-” I catch myself before her name escapes my lips. Avery.

I can’t say it out loud.

“If we hug the left side there’s rungs fastened into the walls,” I continue. “We can make it halfway using those before we have to do some jumping.”

“Jumping?” Manjeet’s expression wavers. After the Rope of Hell, I understand where he’s coming from. “There’re these big panels up top. The gap’s only a couple of feet at most. They’ll hold us.”

Manjeet sighs. “This is not how I wanted to spend my afternoon. Can’t you just, y’know, fly us up there or something?”

I pull myself to my feet and take a deep breath while stretching. “What do you mean?”

“You know… some of the guys told me they saw you floating through the level three corridor a couple of nights ago. Like a ghost.”

This is the worst thing. Captain Alkine’s been vague with the student body about what’s really going on. Rumors are bouncing around everywhere. Maybe it would be better to get it all out in the open. But I don’t even know everything yet, and I’m not sure I could explain it to someone like Manjeet anyway. Part of me wouldn’t want to see his reaction when he learned how different I am.

“They’re making it up,” I say. “If I could fly, don’t you think I would’ve zipped up here instead of doing all this climbing?”

He’s about to reply when a voice rings out from the entrance to the catacombs. “Fisher!”