Abeke was suddenly impressed. Whether it was the man’s intention or not, he had very cleverly hidden the identity of his spirit animal.
Even though what she could see of his face seemed young, his hair was gray. Nearly white.
He didn’t seem to have noticed her silent entrance. His eyes downcast, he continued whispering to himself. Abeke couldn’t quite make out the words, but it sounded like coaxing. She suddenly felt like she’d interrupted something quite secret, almost sacred. And in that dim, mirrored room, it was also just a little eerie.
She backed out. She’d find her own way back to training.
In the foyer, Uraza waited, her tail curled tidily around her own feet.
Abeke didn’t have to tell the leopard she was upset with her. Uraza knew.
Without a word, Abeke held out her arm. And without a moment’s hesitation, Uraza became a tattoo on her skin. It only stung for a second. Abeke started on her way. Back in Nilo she had been known for her tracking skills, hadn’t she? She would find the training room. And she would make it her business to not get lost again.
The training room was the second-largest room in Greenhaven Castle. It was bright and inviting and had a dazzlingly tall peaked ceiling for the high-flying spirit animals. One end of the room was devoted to weapons’ storage — spears, maces, slingshots. Anything you might hope to find, so long as it would leave a mark. Stained-glass windows lined the walls, each one featuring a different Great Beast.
As she stepped in, Abeke was uncomfortably aware of suspicious eyes on her. Rollan, the scruffy orphan who had summoned Essix the Falcon, frowned at her. Meilin, standing near the panda Jhi, kept her striking face intentionally expressionless. Only Conor, the blond boy with pale skin who had summoned Briggan the Wolf, offered a faint smile in Abeke’s direction.
Tarik, the Greencloak who was in charge of their training and their futures, stood in front of a folded fabric screen. His weathered, lean face was only a little lighter than Abeke’s. Right now it wore a perplexed frown. “Abeke, didn’t you hear the training bell?”
There was no point blaming it on Uraza. She knew what Tarik would say: You’re going to have to learn to work with Uraza in far more difficult situations than our hallways. And she didn’t want to give the others more reasons not to trust her.
Abeke said, “I’m sorry. I got lost.” She hurriedly released Uraza from her arm.
“Lost?” Meilin rolled her eyes. She turned to Tarik. “Now can we start? Every minute we stand here doing nothing, a city in Zhong falls to the Conquerors.”
“That’s a lot of cities,” Rollan interjected. “Do you mean eleven cities have fallen while we’ve stood here? How many do you think fell during breakfast? That was nearly twenty minutes! How —”
“Rollan, that is no joking matter,” Tarik said. “And Meilin is right. Time is precious. But I think it will be more efficient if we train together. Today, you’ll engage in hand-to-hand combat with other Greencloaks.”
Meilin smirked, certain of her abilities.
“I call dibs on the mace,” Rollan said. “And the brass knuckles.”
“Not so fast,” Tarik said. As he spoke, four other Greencloaks entered the room. Though their spirit animals were in passive form, the four newcomers held their arms in such a way to display their tattoos to the four kids — like the Greencloaks were introducing the animals, even though they weren’t physically present. There was a llama, a fruit bat, a lemur, and a mountain lion.
Tarik continued, “You won’t always have access to weapons. In fact, an attack will more often come when you’re not ready — while you’re sleeping or eating. So you will not be using those weapons.”
He pulled aside the folded screen behind him. The wall behind it was hung with frying pans, broomsticks, plates, pillows, and other ordinary objects.
He said, “You’ll be using these.”
“Oh, I did that every day in my old life,” Rollan joked.
“This is ridiculous,” Meilin argued. “Maybe a street urchin is willing to fight with these crude tools, but I could do better with my bare hands.”
Abeke exchanged a look with Conor. They both moved to the wall to get weapons. Neither bothered complaining.
“Grab the first one you come to,” Tarik said. “And when I whistle, change to another object.”
Abeke took a broomstick. Conor took a fork.
“Here,” Rollan said, offering Meilin a handkerchief from the wall. “This one won’t scratch up your noble hands.”
Meilin smiled prettily. Removing the frying pan, she handed it to him. “And here’s one for you. Doesn’t require much brains to figure out how to use it.”
Rollan pretended to bow.
“Everyone to their marks,” Tarik ordered.
They took their places, the other Greencloaks opposite. Abeke faced a middle-aged man with a lemur tattoo and friendly-looking, wide eyes. The sword he held was not quite so friendly looking.
“I’m Errol,” the man said, touching his chest.
“My name is Abeke,” Abeke replied.
He smiled warmly at her. “I know.”
Tarik’s voice rose above the introductions. “Older team: Keep your spirit animals in passive form. Younger team: You may use all powers you have at your disposal. The object is to disarm your opponent. And if you manage that, to pin them to the ground.”
“For how long?” Meilin asked. “How will we know if we’ve won?”
“There is no win or lose here, Meilin,” Tarik replied. “We don’t have time for games. What I want is for you to show me that you can neutralize an opponent so I feel more comfortable putting you in a real-life dangerous situation. Now. Are we ready? Three, two?”
Putting his fingers to his lips, he let out a sharp, piercing whistle. The training battle began.
Right away, Abeke knew that her broomstick would be no match for Errol’s sword. So, drawing on her past in Nilo, she hurled her broomstick like a spear. The stick bounced harmlessly off his chest. Grinning at her, he picked it up.
“I’ll let you have one free pass,” Errol said, offering her the broomstick. In the background, iron clanged and Rollan swore joyously. “But remember that thing doesn’t have a point on it. If you tossed it at me in a real fight, you’d just end up empty-handed as I came at you with my blade.”
Abeke’s cheeks felt warm. “Of course.”
“But well-thrown,” he said. “Here’s a hint: Use that broomstick defensively, and count on your spirit animal as your weapon. And the other way around, if you find yourself with a real weapon.”