She considered him, eyes heavy-lidded, then grimaced, an expression which he knew was her attempt at a smile.
“By the ten hells and every fiend that ever cursed my name, it can’t be First Clay already,” groaned Leonis, languishing against the doorframe of his room. “Tell them I’m poisoned, that I’m on the verge of death. Ask Helminth to send flowers.”
Naomi raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Are you discovering that sixteen glasses of flaywine don’t agree with you after all?”
“Have you no heart?” muttered Leonis, running his hand over his waxen face. “Can’t you muster even an ounce of sympathy for a man laid low by fate?”
“Fate?” asked Naomi.
“I carry a heavy burden.” Leonis forced himself to stand straight. “I care for the good of the people of Bastion. Should I have refrained from bringing joy to their hearts?”
Lianshi slipped into the common room, cinching her sash tight, then gathered her black hair to expertly twist it into a braid. “No, of course not, Leonis, and I’m sure the people of Bastion are busy making plans to erect a statue in your honor as we speak. Let that comfort you during our five-mile run.”
“You think they will?” Leonis fell back into a pained slouch. “I should get in touch with their planning committee. I have definite ideas about which poses are to my best advantage.”
“Ask Praximar,” said Lianshi, moving to the door where she slipped on her sandals. “Naomi, Scorio, you ready? We’ll have to run the circuit ten times if we’re late.”
“Ready,” said Naomi, standing smoothly.
“Be good to stretch my legs.” Scorio pulled on his new sandals. “Long as these break in quickly enough.”
“Don’t fall too far behind, Leonis,” said Lianshi, opening their front door. “I won’t lie for you again.” And she led them out into the Hall of Golden Reflections where other Great Souls were emerging from their own suites, voices low, more than one looking the worse for wear after their Eighthday festivities.
Scorio felt his heart pounding as he followed Lianshi down the hall. Nobody else looked excited—far from it—but to him, this moment was alive with meaning, each face a fascinating enigma he couldn’t wait to decipher. Just walking the center of that growing throng was exciting; when traffic slowed at an archway that acted as a bottleneck he found himself bouncing from foot to foot and jostling good-naturedly with Leonis as the big man pressed in from behind.
More than one of the other students glanced at him, and a few openly stared. He could hear whispers about him, and his name mentioned several times. Cheeks flushing, Scorio ducked his head, not wanting to meet their eyes, and was glad when they reached the Amber Circuit, a broad and subterranean corridor that ran uninterrupted just within the Academy’s perimeter, forming a large, smoothly curved oval lit overhead by evenly spaced lanterns.
The Great Souls fell into a light run as they stepped out into the circuit, moving to fill its breadth in a loose crowd and jogging ahead as more and more of their fellows emerged behind them.
“A hundred and seventy-six lanterns per circuit,” said Leonis. “Every forty-fourth lantern is painted red, so when you see your fourth, you know you’ve run a circuit. Twenty red lanterns and you’re done with your run.”
“Sounds good,” said Scorio, feeling light on his feet, gazing around at the other Great Souls, some of who immediately set a swifter pace, others content to just drift along in lazy groups, still waking up.
“If you’re going slow, you’re supposed to stick to the right wall,” continued Leonis. “All ten student groups are running here, so you’ll make no friends if you get in people’s way. If you’re intent on lapping others, stay left. But only hug the left wall if you want to make a public statement about being the fastest.”
“Who is the fastest?” asked Naomi.
Scorio sensed Leonis’s shrug more than saw it. “There’s a core group that usually finishes first. The usual suspects.”
“Jova Spike,” said Scorio.
“And Ravenna Accardi,” said Lianshi. “Girl runs like the wind and never breaks a sweat. She and Jova are locked in a very public rivalry. Ravenna ended up getting the premier sponsorship from House Hydra, but everyone knows that’s because Jova turned her chance down.”
“I feel like pushing myself a little,” said Scorio, fighting to keep his tone light. “Naomi? You want to go a little faster?”
“I could go a little faster,” allowed the other woman.
“See you guys later then,” said Leonis. “I’m going to shuffle along the right wall. It’s my best friend.”
“I’ll keep him company. Don’t get in any trouble,” said Lianshi. “And remember, no igniting Hearts.”
Scorio flashed a smile at her. “This is just the morning run, right? What trouble could we get into?”
And then he lengthened his stride. He fought the urge to go fast right away; he was stiff after days of heavy labor and gave himself time to warm up, occasionally rolling his shoulders and rotating his neck. But soon he found his pace; almost he could imagine the ruins scrolling past him, the cylinder that was Bastion rotating under his feet, an endless diorama of sere rock and shattered facades.
Naomi kept pace without comment, her stride efficient, her elbows close to her sides, her thick hair bound back into a rough ponytail.
Most of the Great Souls were content to just jog along to the right, but a good quarter of those doing the morning run was intent on making good time. Scorio came to know them well, each one running either in the center of the broad, curving hallway or along the left side; each inexorably drew closer as Scorio and Naomi caught up, their gait becoming familiar, their awareness of his and Naomi’s approach at their rear either causing them to swing out to the right or momentarily pick up their pace; inevitably they pulled ahead for a few hundred yards, then began to fade; drifted back, struggling to keep their speed, until they gave up and angled to the right.
One by one Scorio and Naomi passed them. He knew he should be counting the red lanterns, should at the very least mark the entrances and exits, but found himself focusing on the next runner, the next opponent.
To his surprise, he saw Asha up ahead; she was moving at a steady and rapid stride, her legs devouring the hallway, just barely in view around the curve.
Scorio pushed himself to go just a little faster, sensed Naomi’s questioning glance, but was soon rewarded by Asha coming more into view; she had her hair braided and coiled into a bun; had folded her robes back up to her elbows and knees, and wrapped white bandages in an interweaving pattern up her forearms and shins.
She was fast, she didn’t tire, but Scorio felt a flicker of joy as he gained on her, and when they drew abreast, he relished her startled glance. To her credit, she didn’t try for an artificial burst of speed; she fell behind, and Scorio felt his chest open with exhilaration.
“Second lap,” Naomi said, voice tight, brow damp with sweat. Scorio eased up the pace just a little, and then an instinct told him someone was coming up behind him. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw them.
Jova Spike was in the lead, face expressionless, her gaze spearing past him as if he weren’t even there, half her scalp shaved as before, eyes ringed in dark make-up, lips painted black, none of it running as she didn’t seem to be sweating at all.
Right beside her was Ravenna Accardi, pale and fiercely focused, jet-black hair cut raggedly at jaw length, looking slight and angular compared to Jova’s panther-like strength and athleticism.
They were coming in fast, some thirty other Great Souls at their heels. Real fast. Scorio veered out to the right, and the pack slipped by him smoothly, only a few of them glancing sidelong at him and Naomi as they powered around the curve.
“You got it in you?” asked Scorio quietly.
“To beat that lot?” Naomi’s lip curled up derisively.