Dispocalypse Page 8

  She pulled back from the scene, moving higher and higher, until she could take in the entirety of the dead planet. What could have caused this?

  And then she felt a presence. The space around her was empty, but she sensed something impossibly powerful churning in the darkness.

  The Forgotten One.

  An ancient power from another age. Banished from the universe of matter. And its anger… it was beyond comprehension.

  It wanted to find a way back.

  It wanted… her.

  Willow could feel the being searching for her in the void. Could sense its incorporeal hand reaching for her.

  A dead god’s mind breathed in, and Willow felt herself being pulled toward it.

  Her icy home grew smaller as her mind was dragged inexorably away toward the open maw of…

  Willow lurched into a sitting position in bed and let out a throat-shredding scream.

  “Willow? What’s going on? Are you okay?” Mel sat up straight in her own bed.

  Willow’s heart hammered in her chest, and her skin was impossible cold.

  Could that have been real?

  Real or not, she felt she would never able to explain it, not even to Mel. She didn’t even understand it herself.

  “It was nothing, Mel. Just a nightmare. I’m sorry I woke you.”

  Mel punched her pillow and lay back down. “Too much exercise will do that to you.”

  Willow had a feeling Mel would be back asleep in seconds. As for herself… she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to fall asleep again.

  Willow caught Aaron’s foot, but she managed to twist it only a bit before the rest of him came crashing into her.

  Aaron was devilishly quick, and before Willow could fully recover, he launched a shoulder into her midsection, taking them both to the grass with a heavy thud. He jabbed an elbow into her stomach, trying to knock the wind out of her so that Willow would tap out.

  But she had no intention of giving in that easily. She raised her knee, aiming for a debilitating groin shot.

  Aaron just managed to block it with his thigh.

  Willow was mentally keeping track of the elapsed time. If this lasted much longer without a winner, Mr. K was going to call it a draw.

  She didn’t want to settle for a draw, either.

  Aaron punched at her ribs, and she twisted out of the way, trapping his wrist just under her armpit. When he tried to pull away, she grabbed the inner part of his extended elbow joint and squeezed with all of her strength.

  Aaron’s eyes widened like saucers as she focused on the pressure point. “Stop! Stop! Stop! I give!”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” said Mr. K. “The win goes to Miss Park. Good job, both of you.”

  Willow let go, and Aaron rolled off of her, rubbing his arm with a grimace. The class clapped politely for the two fighters.

  Willow scrambled to her place in the circle, still feeling the battering she’d taken. That was the closest she’d come yet to losing a sparring match.

  “Can anyone tell me what mistakes were made in that fight?” Mr. K said.

  Steve raised his hand. “Willow let Aaron get too close. She’s better off using her speed and strange punching and kicking techniques than grappling with a much bigger person.”

  “I agree.” Mr. K looked to Aaron. “That was a sound strategy, Mr. Fenwick, despite your loss. We all know our Miss Park is a dangerous individual when she’s on her feet—you did well taking the fight to the ground.”

  Willow knew they were both right. She needed to avoid getting herself into that kind of situation again. Stay on her feet, don’t let them get too close. Leverage her strengths and neutralize theirs.

  Mr. K turned to Willow. “Miss Park, you did well, but you must realize that your natural skills will only get you so far.” He tapped the side of his head. “You need to use your head in these matches. When Mr. Fenwick got you on the ground, the advantage was his. He probably should have won.” Mr. K gave her a sly smile and shook his head. “I’m still not exactly sure how you got him to submit.”

  Despite her best efforts to suppress it, a smile crossed Willow’s face. She was secretly thanking her hidden memories of Grandpa Lin and his lessons on pressure points. Places on the body where even a weaker person can cause someone excruciating pain.

  “Can I join in the fun?”

  It was Tristan who had spoken. He’d come up behind Willow while she was looking at Mr. K. Willow worried about the harsh reception he was going to get for intruding on the class.

  But to her utter shock, Mr. K simply motioned for a space to be made in the circle. Tristan settled into the empty spot.

  Mr. K cleared his throat. “All right, squad, who’s up next?”

  Tristan raised his hand. “Can I go?”

  Normally, anyone who didn’t address Mr. K as “sir” was in for a tongue-lashing. But once again Tristan seemed to luck out, as Mr. K simply nodded and turned to Zeno. “Up you go, Mr. Malaleuckus. Your turn.”

  Willow suppressed a groan of dismay. She liked Tristan. She didn’t want to see him get hurt. And going up against Zeno… he was most definitely going to get hurt. Why was Mr. K even allowing this?

  Maybe Tristan hadn’t lucked out after all. Maybe this was Mr. K’s way of punishing him for intruding on the class and not addressing him with the proper respect.

  “Shake hands,” Mr. K said. “Ready… start!”

  Willow partly hid her face.

  But it wasn’t much of a fight. She could tell that Zeno wasn’t really trying. His attacks were halfhearted at best, and many of his punches seemed intentionally aimed off to the side of his opponent. And though Tristan managed to land a couple of blows on Zeno, Zeno blocked the vast majority of his attacks without even an attempt to initiate a counterattack.

  This went on for ten minutes before Mr. K shouted, “Time!”

  Zeno and Tristan had fought to a draw.

  Sort of.

  Zeno shook hands with Tristan and walked back to his place on the circle, but Tristan huffed. “Won’t one of you fight me back? How am I supposed to get any better if I’m not attacked?”

  Willow’s classmates all avoided eye contact with the newcomer. Even Mr. K looked uncomfortable. There was a weird vibe going on here, and Willow had no idea what it was all about.

  She leapt to her feet. “I’ll fight you.”

  Tristan’s eyes widened as he saw her, apparently for the first time. “Willow? You’re in this class?”

  She walked to the center of the circle and shrugged.

  “Shake hands,” said Mr. K.

  They shook hands, and Willow muttered under her breath, “I warn you, I will fight back.”

  “I’m counting on it.” Tristan flashed a brilliant smile.

  She doubted he’d still be smiling in a minute.

  “Ready… start!”

  Willow dropped low and sent her right leg shooting out to sweep him off his feet.

  Tristan nimbly hopped back. It seemed he was not only a good runner, he also had quick reflexes. When Zeno was fighting Tristan, she had seen that he wasn’t flatfooted like some of her classmates; he balanced on the balls of his feet, shifting his weight constantly.

  Now he kept a respectable distance between the two of them and used his longer reach to try to land a few jabs. Willow had little difficulty blocking them, but Tristan’s distance and reflexes made it impossible for her to effectively counterattack.

  They danced around each other, flicking, jabbing, and blocking. Willow grew frustrated. He was too quick, his reach too long. If she could just get to him…

  She remembered what Mr. K had said. She needed to fight smarter.

  The next time Tristan sent a jab at her, Willow launched herself forward with a sidekick. Tristan dodged it—barely—but Willow wasn’t done. She followed the kick with a solid punch to the chest.

  Or… it should have been his chest. Before it connected, Tristan slipped on the grass, and her fist ended up connecting with
his face.

  Tristan crumpled to the ground.

  Mr. K jumped into the circle and raced to Tristan’s side.

  Willow walked over hesitantly, horrified at what she’d done. Sparring sessions were supposed to avoid shots to the face. And she’d not only hit someone in the face, she’d hit someone who shouldn’t even have been sparring with them in the first place.

  Tristan rose to his feet and spit on the grass. Blood was dripping down his mouth to his chin.

  “Tristan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

  Mr. K gave Tristan a towel, and he pressed it to his lip. She noticed for the first time just how blue his eyes were.

  And then suddenly, he started laughing.

  Mr. K snapped his fingers. “Zeno! Come escort—”

  Tristan waved his hand dismissively. “There’s no need.”

  Zeno stood all the same. “You need to visit the infirmary.”

  “I know the way.” Tristan smiled, his white teeth stained red with streaks of blood. Willow felt a crushing guilt.

  But Tristan didn’t seem upset at all. As he walked by Willow, he brushed shoulders with her and whispered, “That was a good shot.” Then he jogged off the field.

  The timer rang in Mr. K’s pocket, signifying the end of the class, and the other students took off toward the main building.

  But Willow just stood still in the center of the circle, staring at the drops of blood lying on the grass.

  Mr. K patted her shoulder. “Don’t torture yourself over it. It was an accident. If needed, I’ll bear witness to that. Now get a move on.”

  With a nod, she headed back to her room with one thought running through her head.

  I need to find Tristan and apologize.

  As Willow entered her room, she found Mel preening in front of a large mirror that hadn’t been there that morning.

  “Willow! You look like you’re about to cry! What’s wrong?”

  Willow sat on her bed and told Mel all about the incident on the field. She’d even gone to the infirmary to apologize, but Tristan was already gone. Willow only felt worse when the nurse told her Tristan had needed stitches.

  “What’s Tristan’s last name?” Mel asked.

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Is he tall, like over six feet? Dreamy blue eyes? Big toothy smile and kind of thin?”

  Willow nodded. “That’s him. You know him?”

  Mel covered her mouth with her hands. “Willow, that’s not just any boy you hit. That’s Tristan Vanden-Plas.”

  Willow battled a sudden feeling of nausea. Now she understood the strange deference Mr. K had given him. “ You mean…”

  “Yes. You just beat up the Lord Governor’s youngest son.”

  “That can’t be. Why’s he dressed like the rest of us? He’s not wearing any color whatsoever.”

  Mel shrugged. “He’s allowed to wear whatever he wants. Probably wanted to fit in.” She gave Willow’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’m so sorry to do this, but I’m late for a class. I really have to go. Will you be okay?”

  “Um… yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

  Mel grabbed her things and headed out the door.

  Willow concentrated on pulling in long deep breaths. Her anxiety was like a metal band around her chest. How could she have been so oblivious?

  She unbuttoned her shirt to change out of her workout clothes when she noticed the mirror once more. She faintly remembered an announcement a couple weeks ago that the upper-class dormitories were going to have mirrors installed. It was supposed to be a big deal—mirrors were a luxury item.

  She stood before it and gazed at herself for the first time since leaving home. The girl that stared back at her bore no resemblance to the merchant girl she remembered.

  Her fat cheeks had completely disappeared, and her ample waist had melted away. Plus, there were bruises and scrapes all up and down her stomach—the marks of a former merchant girl who now spent her time in hand-to-hand combat with strong wannabe-soldiers.

  She was just turning away from the mirror when a red envelope was slipped under the door.

  Willow felt her heart stick in her throat.

  Red envelopes signified one thing, and one thing only.

  A meeting with the headmaster.

  A Surprising Outcome

  Dread hung over Willow as she walked the stone corridors toward the headmaster’s wing. She’d spent the better part of an entire day and a sleepless night worrying about this meeting. She was only barely aware of the glances from other students and the quiet whispering that followed after she passed. All she could think about was what form of punishment she was about to get. After all, it wasn’t every day that a student beat up the Governor’s son.

  Perhaps she would get kicked out of school. If that happened, she couldn’t go through the Choosing ceremony, and she couldn’t apprentice anymore. She would end up in exile—which was equivalent to a death sentence. A cruel punishment for what was ultimately an accident.

  But that wasn’t unusual for the Dominion. After all, her own mother had died after doing nothing more than violating a curfew.

  Willow arrived at the headmaster’s red-painted door. Her hands shook as she knocked lightly.

  “Come in, Miss Park,” came the headmaster’s growling voice. “You’re right on time.”

  Willow stared at her academic records, relief oozing from every pore. Today’s meeting with the headmaster had nothing to do with the incident with Tristan. Nothing at all. The headmaster was simply fulfilling his obligation to help guide each student on his or her path for the Choosing ceremony.

  She’d worried for nothing.

  “Miss Park, your grades have been exemplary,” the headmaster said. His pale skin held a web of fine wrinkles, yet his hair was pitch-black. Probably dyed, Willow thought. “However, I do find some of your recent elective choices quite interesting. Advanced hand-to-hand combat?” He cocked an eyebrow.

  Willow’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. All she could manage in response was a shrug.

  The headmaster picked up a sheet of paper and read aloud. “Miss Park possesses unusual skill with hand-to-hand combat. In fact, she employs novel techniques that I believe could serve as the basis for an advancement in the fighting arts.” He looked up at Willow. “That’s high praise from your teacher. He’s also rated you in the top quartile of his class. Altogether quite impressive, young lady.”

  “Thank you.” Willow sat with her hands in her lap.

  “Miss Park, I’m fairly certain that I’ve never told a student this before, but I think you’ll do fine in whatever discipline you choose. You have excellent math and interpersonal skills, which would suit you well in a career as a merchant. But your grasp of the sciences is also quite good, which qualifies you for engineering. Your physical conditioning is obvious, so farming is another valid option. And of course, given that feedback from Mr. Krauthammer, I can’t imagine how you wouldn’t do well even as a soldier.”

  He drummed his fingers on his desk and looked directly at Willow. “Usually the tough part for me in these meetings is when I have to counsel a student away from unrealistic goals and aspirations. In your case, I’m pleased to be able to leave the choice entirely to you. As long as you work hard at whatever choice you make, I’m confident you’ll be an asset to our society.”

  Willow flushed with pride. “Thank you, Headmaster.” She tried to appear stoic, but couldn’t help but smile.

  He raised a finger. “But although the choice is yours, I urge you to give a lot of careful thought and preparation to your Choosing ceremony. Whatever discipline you choose, you’ll still need to pass an examination, and if you don’t pass…” The headmaster paused. “If you don’t pass, then you’ve proven yourself to be an unreliable judge of your own character and skills. As such, you will be forced from the protection of the Dominion. That’s the way it’s been since our founding, and we are stronger for it.”

  Willow nodded. “I understand,
and thank you.”

  The headmaster’s mood lightened once more. “Keep up the good work, Miss Park. You may go now.”

  “Thank you for your guidance, Headmaster.”

  Willow left the man’s office, feeling relief the instant she was out of his overbearing presence.

  Willow sat in the back of her history class, waiting for it to begin. Zeno, the only member of the squad that was also taking this class, was seated directly in front of her. She could never help but smile when she saw the behemoth squeezed into one of the classroom’s too-small desk-chair combinations.

  The thing was, Zeno was a lesson in contrasts. His appearance was huge and intimidating, but he was actually quite soft-spoken and considerate. A gentle giant.

  The murmur of her classmates suddenly quieted, and Willow thought class was about to begin. But when she looked around, she saw the class had quieted for another reason.

  Tristan had just walked in.

  His lip was swollen, with a large purple bruise just beneath it.

  Willow quickly lowered her eyes, feeling both embarrassed and guilty.

  “Do you mind if I sit by you?”

  She looked up. Tristan was standing over her.

  She gave him a weak smile. “Of course not. Please do.”

  Why’d he ask to sit by me?

  Mr. Lido walked into the room. “Good morning, class.”

  Willow thanked the nameless spirits for Mr. Lido’s timing. Now she had an excuse to look away from Tristan. He made her uncomfortable now, and not just because of his lip, but because of who he was. She no longer knew how to act around him.

  Mr. Lido began. “Who can tell me who the founder of the Dominion was?”

  Nearly the entire class shot their hands into the air. Every kid in the Dominion knew this.

  Mr. Lido pointed at a boy, who popped out of his chair and said in a squeaking voice, “Bedsem Vanden-Plas. He was the savior of mankind.”

  “Correct, Mr. Mason. It was Bedsem Vanden-Plas, hallowed be his memory, who organized the remnants of humanity just after the Great War. And he is the only person to have ever traveled across the poisoned seas and survive. Now…” Mr. Lido pulled a box from his desk. “I have a treat for all of you. Since we are covering the formation of the Dominion today, the headmaster has lent us an artifact from the founding.”