Juryokine

By Adam Bolander

For three months, Gravity Storms have been tearing Yasmik apart and neither the humans nor their winged neighbors, the Sorakines, are safe from them. One hotheaded young Sorakine named Zashiel is convinced that the Storms are manmade, but she can't find evidence to back up her claims. She chooses Toke, a budding inventor studying under the most brilliant mind in Yasmik, to act as her spy— whether he wants to or not. But the task she’s set out for him can’t be completed by a mere human. Toke must inherit the gravity altering powers of a Sorakine, and become something more than human: a Juryokine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adam Bolander
• Release date: Feb 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370768202

Adam Bolander

Adam Bolander grew up struggling with several learning disorders. All his life, he'd always had one dream: to be a well known author. Though it took him until his junior year of high school to actually begin writing, he has since then published three books, with several more on the way. All of Adam's books are appropriate for ages 12 and up. They contain no sexual content, no foul language, no drug use, and only mild violence.

Book preview

Prologue

Gravity held no power over Zashiel as she flew above the grassy field, her bright yellow wings marking her like a beacon in the night sky. She stretched them out behind her as far as she could, savoring the feeling of the air passing between her feathers. Her sharp eyes scanned the field below her, taking in every detail as she soared over it, just like she had been trained to do.

Where are you? she asked in a low voice. You can’t hide from me forever.

The moment she asked, she spotted her target. A dull green light lit up the field, halfway buried underneath the tall grass, as if the plants themselves had begun to glow. With a grunt of satisfaction, she angled her wings downward and allowed gravity to take hold of her again.

Zashiel dove out of the moonlit sky as gracefully as an eagle, her wings leaving a yellow afterimage in her wake. As she fell, she reached behind her and drew her twin chakrams. The ring-shaped weapons had been forged specifically for her hands, and they fit in her grip like a glove. At the last moment, when she was only ten feet above the ground, she released herself from gravity’s pull once again and arched out of the dive. At the lowest point of her arc, directly above the glowing green light, she lashed out with both chakrams, shredding the grass and sending it flying to her left and right. The green light leaped out of the brush and sped off into the night, zigzagging erratically.

Zashiel cursed under her breath and took off after it. She had been too slow, and now the ball of light had managed to gain distance on her. It was fast, and she had to flap her wings as hard as she could just to keep it in sight. It bobbed and weaved with a mind of its own, and every time she began to close in on it, it would make an abrupt U-turn and leave her behind again.

Frustration began to cloud Zashiel’s thoughts, but she forced it to the back of her mind. She needed a clear head. Anger would only lead to rash actions, which would set her back even further. But the longer she chased the ball of light, the more obvious it became: she would never be able to catch it. She needed to think of something else.

Gripping her chakrams tightly in both hands, she hurled herself at the light, and once again began to catch up to it. Just as she’d planned, it suddenly changed direction and flew the other way. Zashiel whipped herself upright, her eyes never once losing sight of her quarry, and threw a chakram at it. It missed by a great distance, as she had known it would, but it came closer to the light than she ever had. Just as she predicted, the ball sensed the chakram and changed direction yet again, coming now back in her direction but still angled away from her. She extended her empty hand and anchored herself to the chakram that was still spinning off into the night, instantly drawing it back to her. With the other hand, she threw the second chakram. Reflecting the moonlight off its blade, it sped past the ball of light, passing less than a foot in front of it. Again, the light changed direction, just as the first chakram returned to her hand. She did this several times, throwing one weapon while pulling the other back to her, each time luring the ball of light closer to her. Finally, it came within reach, and her hands shot out to grab it.

No! she shouted when it shot straight away from her yet again. Struggling to think clearly in her anger, she flung both of her chakrams after it. They flew in a straight line, side by side, and easily overtook the ball of light. Zashiel anchored herself to both of them, but this time she reversed it. The chakram she had thrown with her left hand was drawn to her right, and right chakram flew to her left hand. The sudden change in direction cause them to collide with each other, barely a hairsbreadth in front of the ball of light. The light halted, and shot back the way it had come— straight into Zashiel’s hands.

Got you! she shouted in triumph as she clutched it to her chest to keep it from getting away. Once she had a good grip on it, she transferred it to one hand and extended the other to draw her chakrams back. After fastening the weapons onto the loops on the back of her jacket, she allowed gravity to pull her gently to the ground.

Eight minutes, a familiar voice congratulated her, and she looked up to see another Sorakine land by her side. He was a few inches taller than her, and his arms were rippled with muscle underneath his thick white jacket. She hastily pulled down her hood, letting her long golden hair spill down behind her back.

Thank you, Sir Miron, she said. She couldn’t help but notice how sweaty she had gotten in the reflective visor in front of his eyes, and grimaced.

Her mentor smiled, his neatly trimmed beard framing the underside of his face perfectly, before taking his own hood off as well. His hair was the same color as hers, but was cut so short that it didn’t even hang down to his ears. He held out his hand, and Zashiel handed the ball of light to him.

Eight minutes is not a bad time to catch a dodger, he said, passing the ball from one hand to the other. But Vintor caught it in six the other day.

The surprise must have been evident on her face, because Miron chuckled and held the dodger up tauntingly. Six minutes? How on Fissura…

I’m not kidding, he said. Six minutes. His eyes went from her, to the dodger, then back to her again. And if I know you, then you’re not going to go home tonight until you beat that time.

In answer, Zashiel replaced her hood, the dark night suddenly becoming even darker behind her visor. Miron chuckled again. After ten years of training her, he knew exactly how to goad her into trying harder.

That’s my girl. He threw the dodger into the air, letting it speed away. Go get it!

Zashiel spread her wings and took the sky once more. Before she had flown ten feet, though, the black night sky suddenly turned a bright, dazzling green. It was the same shade of green as the dodger, causing her to instantly lose sight of the glowing ball. Then, before she could register what was happening, she was jerked off course. First to her left, then back to her right, then even further upwards, she found herself flying as erratically as the dodger itself— and she wasn’t able to stop herself. She let out a scream when gravity suddenly pulled her sharply back toward the ground. The grassy field came shooting up towards her, and no matter how hard she flapped her wings, she couldn’t slow her descent.

I’ve got you! Miron’s voice suddenly shouted into her ear, and she felt his strong arms wrap around her. The powerful muscles in his wings beat against the unnaturally strong pull of gravity, but even he wasn’t able to slow them down by much. Both of them slammed hard onto the ground below, but Miron’s efforts kept the impact from being fatal. For a few seconds they both laid in the grass as gravity continued to pull at them, weighing them down so that they couldn’t move.

What’s going on? Zashiel asked in fright, Miron’s arms still wrapped protectively around her.

I don’t know, but we need to get out of here, he answered. He was trying to sound calm, but Zashiel could still hear the fear in his voice. She’d never heard of anything like this happening before, and she guessed that Miron hadn’t either.

They both struggled to open their wings, but they were completely immobilized. Then there came another green flash, and they were suddenly rolling and sliding across the field, the sticks and stones scraping at them underneath the grass.

Zashiel! Miron was shouting, though she could barely hear him over her heart pounding in her ears. You have to get away! You have to fly!

It was useless, though. She couldn’t have flown right then if she’d wanted to. Gravity, that which had always been hers to command, for any Sorakine to command, was suddenly beyond her control. She could tell Miron was doing no better, or else he would have stopped them.

And then they both shot into the air. For a second, Zashiel thought that Miron had finally managed to get his gravity under control and was flying them to safety, but then she realized that they were spinning and flipping too much for that to be the case. Higher and higher they climbed, until they came to a sudden stop. The halt was so jarring that it knocked the wind out of Zashiel’s lungs, and she hung there in midair hacking and coughing, Miron’s arms the only thing keeping them together. Any other time, their closeness would have had her blushing until she was sure her face would pop, but now she was just glad that she wasn’t alone up in the sky.

The pause only lasted a few seconds before another bright green flash lit up the night, and they were sent zigzagging through the air again.

Zashiel! Miron shouted again, and this time there was no disguising the terror in his voice. Fly! Now!

I can’t! she screamed back.

As soon as she said that, their path took a sudden curve downwards. Fissura raced up to meet them, spinning chaotically as gravity pulled them to their doom.

Hold on! Miron commanded her, and she suddenly felt herself be flipped over. All she could see then was Miron’s white jacket, stained brown with dirt, as he pressed her face into it.

They hit the ground with enough force to make a crater, sending dirt, stones, and grass flying everywhere. The landing rattled Zashiel’s bones, and she was convinced her teeth were going to come flying out of her mouth. Fortunately, Miron’s body absorbed a lot of the impact since he hit the ground first, and she landed on top of him. That still didn’t stop her from flying free of his grip and skidding a few feet away.

And then, just like that, gravity went back to normal. The strange green tint disappeared from the sky, and the moon shined its pale white light on the field once again. Zashiel lay where she was for a few minutes, her head throbbing painfully. Her stomach convulsed inside of her, and she realized that she probably had a concussion. Darkness crept in at the edges of her vision, and she was tempted to surrender herself to the tranquility of unconsciousness, but one thought brought her back to reality:

Miron!

On shaky limbs, she managed to get back to her feet. The world danced around her, as if she was still being thrown around in the sky, but she forced herself to stand steady. The crater she and Miron had made was only ten feet away, but it felt like she had walked a mile by the time she came to the edge. She collapsed, breathing heavily, barely able to keep herself from falling into the hole. When she looked inside, her throat constricted.

Miron was lying at the bottom, but one glance told her that there was no way he was still alive. His neck was bent at such an unnatural angle that it left no room for doubt. His eyes were still wide open, looking at the starry night sky without actually seeing it. His wings were splayed out behind him, their bright yellow light already dimming.

No, she whispered, her mind reeling with shock. Suddenly, all her pain seemed meaningless. Sir Miron was… no, he couldn’t be!

Again, she forced herself to her feet, but her legs gave out immediately. She tumbled down into the hole, rolling until she collided with her mentor’s body. She reached up and put her hand on it. It was still warm…

This isn’t happening, she whispered, tears stinging her eyes. You can’t be dead. What am I going to tell the others?

Her mentor for the last ten years had died protecting her— but from what? From gravity? From the very thing Sorakines were born to control? What kind of Sorakine was she that she had to be saved from gravity?

She shook her head vigorously, ridding it of those thoughts. Miron hadn’t been able to control himself either. If a fully trained and experienced warrior hadn’t been able to fly in those conditions, then surely they couldn’t expect…

No, no! she shouted at herself. How could she think of herself at a time like this? She had to focus on the situation at hand. She needed to figure out how to get word to Hashira.

Another wave of dizziness came over her, and her strength gave out. She collapsed on top of Miron’s body, her face pressed against his cheek, and darkness swam in front of her eyes. Out in the distance, she thought she saw another glimmer of green.

Adrenaline shot through her veins at the thought of gravity being thrown out of order again, and her eyes sprang open. But it wasn’t the moon or the stars that were green this time, it was a person. He was so far away that she could barely see him, but he was coming closer. After a few seconds, she was able to make out some details about him. He was tall, but he must have been strong because he walked easily despite the suit of armor he was wearing. The armor was polished onyx, but had glowing green veins crisscrossing his entire body. They were the same shade of green as the sky had been. In his right hand, he held a long spear. He lifted it up and set it down with every step, like a walking staff, and blue sparks jumped from the tip every time the butt touched the ground.

Dread filled Zashiel’s gut as he approached. She struggled to make out the man’s face, but it was covered by a helmet, and a black visor shielded his eyes. He paused at the edge of the crater, looking down at her, and for a moment she dared to hope that he had come to help. It passed, though, when she looked again at the green lines on his armor. The exact same shade of green. That couldn’t just be a coincidence.

As if to confirm her suspicions, the man suddenly raised his spear. The tip crackled with blue energy as he drew it back, pointing it directly at her. Every part of her body hurt, and her head swam, but the adrenaline from before was still giving her energy. With a cry of pain, Zashiel extended her wings and forced gravity to release her. She flapped, tears running down her cheeks, and shot out of the crater just in time to dodge the spear. It grazed her heel, and her body stiffened as a surge of the blue energy surged through her. She almost fell back to the ground, which would have doomed her for sure, but she flapped her wings again, carrying her high into the air, beyond the reach of the glowing man’s spear. She chanced a glance down, and saw him looking up at her, his body rigid with anger.

Sir Miron was still in the crater, but she made herself forget about him. There was nothing she could do. Pain racked her body, threatening to make her lose focus and come crashing down again, but she ignored it. She had to get back to Hashira. She had to tell somebody. She had to survive.

The glow of the man’s strange armor faded gradually as she left the field behind. Her wings ached, and pain lanced through her body with every flap. She wouldn’t be able to keep this up for long. Ten minutes later, when she had managed to put at least twenty miles between herself and the spearman, her strength gave out. It was all she could do just to bring herself back to the ground gently, but the moment she touched down darkness invaded her vision. She took a couple weak, ragged breaths, and then closed her eyes.

The last thing she saw before succumbing to the peaceful, painless sleep of unconsciousness was Miron— the mentor she had left behind.

Three Months Later

Chapter One

Great minds think alike.

Toke looked up from his project, his cheek stained with grease, to where Professor Navras stood at the head of the classroom. In his black decorated robe, arms folded behind his back, he cut an imposing figure.

Slowly, Navras turned his head left, and then right, looking at each of his forty students in turn. His long silver hair gleamed in the sunlight that streamed through the windows, and Toke tried to imagine what his teacher might be thinking behind his brilliant green eyes.

A moment later, Navras began to speak again. Or so would the world have you believe. In actuality, this is one of the greatest lies ever told.

With slow, measured steps, Professor Navras began to walk across the workshop. As he went, his eyes skimmed over the half-finished pieces of machinery that sat on the tables, with countless tools and materials strewn haphazardly around them. No project got any less or any more attention than the others, but neither did he make a single comment. As the professor came to look at Toke’s project, a hollow metal cylinder small enough to hold in his hand, the young man couldn’t help but sit a little straighter in pride. He brushed a strand of raven-black hair out of his face, and tried to keep himself from grinning. Though the professor gave no visible sign of what he thought of his invention, Toke knew that he was impressed.

Navras reached the back of the workshop, and turned on his heel to regard his class again. Can anyone tell me why that it is one of the greatest lies ever told? he asked, resuming his lecture.

Out of his forty students, only fifteen of them raised their hands. Toke was one of them.

Yes, Mr. Biggtin? he asked, nodding in the direction of a student sitting near the front of the room.

Because everybody thinks differently, he answered.

Navras nodded again. "This is true, to an extent, but not quite the answer I was looking for. Great minds think differently. If all great minds thought alike, there would be no innovation or imagination. Tell me, what is the purpose of invention?"

To dream, and to make our dreams reality, the class chorused to him.

And why would anyone want to be an inventor if they knew that somebody else would have the same dream they did, and perhaps be even better equipped to make it real?

Toke nodded in silence. He had heard this speech before— most of them had. It was Navaras’ favorite pep talk to give to his inventors’ class. He recited it at least once a semester.

Weak minds are the ones that think alike, he continued, making his way back to the front of the classroom. It doesn’t take much to come up with your own ideas. Just a little imagination. To say that you think just like somebody else… He paused and shook his head. I can think of nothing more shameful.

Not that Professor Navras would ever need to worry about anything like that. Of the two decorations on his robe, the one that stood out most to Toke was the Grand Inventor’s badge. Two silver wrenches crossing over each other, one with a green gem set in its crescent, the other a blue one. It was rare that anyone was granted that badge, because it signified that they were such a gifted inventor that they had elected to never retire. Professor Dranibor Navras would continue to bring his dreams into reality until the day he died.

He paused for a few moments, giving his class a meaningful stare. I’m afraid I cannot teach you how to think differently. However, I can say that I have the utmost confidence in every one of you!

Behind him, the large clock that adorned the wall began to chime the hour. Navras dismissed them, and all of his students hastened to put away their tools and projects. It was a testament to the professor’s genius that he was able to time the speeches he made to the exact moment when he would finish. Toke, alone, remained where he was, hurriedly trying to get a little more work done on his invention. It wasn’t until there came a sharp rapping on his desk that he finally looked up, and realized that he had become so absorbed in his work that ten minutes had passed without his realizing it. Navras stood over him, but the expression on his face was not unkind.

Sorry, Professor, Toke said, standing up and grabbing the tools that were scattered across his desk.

No need to apologize, Toke, Navras chuckled, and reached down to grab the last few remaining tools. I know the feeling all too well.

Toke beamed, and couldn’t help but glance at the small cylinder that sat on the table. Navras followed his eyes, and smiled.

A genius idea, the professor said. I’ve said it a hundred times before, and I will say it a thousand times again.

He gently took the unfinished device in his hand and examined it before handing it to his student with an appreciative nod.

Sir, Toke said, taking the cylinder to his locker, would it be all right if I came in after hours to work on it some more?

All right? Navras laughed, and clapped Toke on the shoulder. I was wondering if I was going to have to order you to! When is your twentieth birthday?

Three days from today, sir.

Three days for you to finish your project and present it to Permissor Adal.

Toke paused, his locker door still halfway open, and gave an involuntary shiver. Y-yes, sir.

You’ll have your work cut out for you, Navras said. But I believe you can do it.

It shouldn’t take me that long to finish. I can probably have it done by tonight.

Navras’ eyes narrowed. I wasn’t talking about finishing your project, Toke. I was talking about convincing the Permissor.

Toke bit his lip nervously, and then nodded. It was the Permissor’s decision whether or not an invention was worthy of being introduced to the public. The final step in obtaining an inventor’s license was to convince him that it was. Permissor Adal was known for being a difficult man to impress.

I hope you’ve put together your presentation already, Professor Navras said, bringing Toke back to the present. It doesn’t matter how amazing your invention is if you don’t present it properly.

Y-yes, sir, he answered. Of course I do!

Good, the professor said, clapping him on the shoulder again. I’d like to hear it sometime tonight. Now, go on. I’ve got another class coming in.

Toke nodded, and turned to leave. The first few students were already trickling into the workshop, even though the next class wasn’t scheduled for another fifteen minutes. Out in the hallway, he joined the flow of students in the general direction of the cafeteria. He folded his arms tight against his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible as what seemed like half the population of Yasmik pressed against him, forcing themselves through the narrow corridor. As he walked, he began to catch vague bits of other people’s conversations.

— gonna go home for the weekend, you wanna come?

— almost broke. I need to find a job soon.

Did you hear there was another Gravity Storm last night?

This last comment caught Toke’s attention, despite his efforts not to eavesdrop. The one who had spoken happened to be walking right beside him, so it was easy to listen in.

Really? his friend asked. Where?

Over by Finntimus. They said it got really close to the town this time. Like, some of the buildings were shaking.

The Gravity Storms had begun just over three months ago. Nobody had any idea what was causing them, but the damage they left behind was fearsome. Gravity itself would be thrown out of order, pulling anything it could latch onto wherever it pleased. Rocks, trees, dirt, and whatever else happened to be nearby would be jerked into the air, slung around as if in a whirlwind, and then slammed back onto the ground before being thrown into the sky again. A few unfortunate people had been caught in them, and the results were gruesome. What’s worse, nobody could predict the coming of a Gravity Storm. The only warning was when everything would suddenly take on an eerie green hue— and by then it was usually too late.

He didn’t get to hear the rest of their conversation, though, because they veered off course to head for another classroom. Toke made his way to the cafeteria in silence, contemplating what he had just heard. The lunch line was short, one of the benefits of having an early class, and he was seated in his customary spot five minutes later.

The Gravity Storms were getting closer to civilization. If it had rattled the buildings at Finntimus, who knew how it long would be until one actually struck a city? He didn’t want to think about what would happen. Buildings collapsed, roads torn to pieces, bodies strewn all over the place. Or what was left of them…

Toke was jolted out of his thoughts when somebody forcibly slammed their tray onto the table in front of him.

Hey, Toke!

Toke looked up to see a young woman flop down into the seat facing him. Her short red hair bounced when she sat, and she gave him a mischievous grin when he took a deep breath to calm his heart.

Hey, Wayli, he replied.

So, I cut myself on a sweet potato this morning, she announced with pride before digging her fork into the thin slab of meat on her plate.

Toke arched an eyebrow. And how did you manage that?

Wayli took a few seconds to chew her food, and then answered, Have you seen those things? They’re vicious! She held up her hand to show him the bright pink bandage stuck to it, right underneath her knuckles.

Toke looked at it for a few seconds, and then laughed. He wasn’t sure if he believed that Wayli had cut herself on a sweet potato, but he wouldn’t have put it past her. She may have been the most upbeat girl in the school, but she was widely known for her ability to cut herself on absolutely anything. As she devoured her lunch, explaining how sweet potatoes would someday take over Fissura, they were joined by a large, shaggy haired man who sat down beside Toke.

You forgot to mention the alliance they have with broccoli, he said, joining the discussion without missing a beat. By themselves, the only person they’re a threat to is you.

Wayli paused, and then stuck her tongue out at him. Go sniff a book, Boam!

Boam laughed good naturedly, and then promptly began to devour his food.

So, how’s your project coming? Wayli asked, turning to Toke again.

Almost finished, he answered, spreading butter on a roll.

Boam swallowed a large mouthful of meat and bread. You still don’t have it finished? Your birthday is in three days!

I should be able to finish it tonight, Toke shot back defensively. What about you? Have you actually finished that book you’re always going on about?

Yeah, the large man replied, reaching into his pack and pulling out a thick stack of papers. He dropped it on the table, shaking the entire thing. Two months ago! I’ve been editing it every chance I get. Besides, he added dryly, my birthday isn’t for another four months.

He absently began to thumb through the pages, his food momentarily forgotten. I think I might have to rewrite chapter fifteen, though, he said. But that means I’ll have to change chapters twenty seven, thirty, and seventy five too.

Boam had been pursuing a storyteller’s license ever since he was sixteen. With his twentieth birthday quickly approaching, he said he felt confident that his 1,000 page book was nothing less than a masterpiece— until he found an error, and began obsessively combing through it, looking for more.

Anyway, Wayli said, bringing Toke’s attention back to her, do you think you’ll be able to do it?

Of course I will! Toke answered, finally taking a bite of his bread. I have to believe that. Otherwise, what’s the point?

Good! she gave him an encouraging smile. Now, are you gonna eat your dessert?

They made light conversation for the next half hour, even after their food was eaten. Wayli and Boam got into two more nonsensical arguments, which Toke elected to just listen to and laugh.

So, I guess you’ll be doing overtime in the workshop tonight? Boam asked at last, picking up his empty tray.

Toke nodded. Everything has to be ready by tomorrow night. Professor Navras wants to go over my presentation too.

Boam chuckled. Gotta get ready to meet Anal Adal, huh? He stopped talking when Wayli punched him on the arm.

Watch it, she warned him. Don’t jinx Toke before he even gets there!

Boam rolled his eyes as they made their way out of the cafeteria. Oh, please. Who’s gonna tell him?

"I dunno, maybe his son who goes to school here?"

Boam scoffed. Lampa? That lazy bum dropped out months ago. Probably living in his daddy’s house, complaining that he had to lift a finger to summon his servant.

Even still, Wayli snapped, giving him another punch on the arm. Turning back to Toke, she asked, What time is Navras expecting you back in the workshop?

After his last class ends.

Good. She hooked one arm around his elbow, and Boam took the other. Let’s get some ice cream!

But we just ate! Toke protested as his friends dragged him out of the building. He squinted when the bright midday sun shone on him.

Don’t care, Wayli said. You’ve been inside too long.

Always worrying about your project, Boam added. It’s all you ever talk about.

You’re one to talk! Toke shot back.

You need to relieve some stress, Wayli concluded. And we, she motioned at herself and Boam, need some ice cream!

Toke let himself be hauled down the sidewalk for a few more seconds, and then shook his head.

Okay, okay, he said at last. I can walk on my own.

Once he had gotten his feet underneath him again, they set off down the sidewalk toward the ice cream parlor. Boam and Wayli chattered excitedly, but Toke hunched his back and stared fixedly at his shoes, trying to avoid bumping into the other people who were out on the town that day. He flinched when an autocarriage went speeding past him down the road, it’s engine roaring, and he moved so that he was in the center of the sidewalk.

Jerulkan was a big city, one of the biggest in Yasmik, and Toke soon found relief from the glaring sun walking underneath the tall buildings on either side of the road. It wasn’t until they were halfway to their destination that he finally looked up, more out of habit than to see where he was going.

The Capitol stood proudly across the street from him. It was the tallest building in Jerulkan, and it was just as wide— a white marble cube that was almost as hard to look during the day as the sun itself. In three days, he would be in that building presenting his invention to Permissor Adal.

Don’t look at it, don’t look at it, don’t look at it, Wayli and Boam chorused, both of them moving to block his view of the building and ushering him onward.

You’ll have time to worry about all that later, Boam said.

Right now, you need to focus on ice cream! Wayli agreed.

Toke nodded, and was about to keep going when a flash of light turned the daytime sky above them an even brighter shade of yellow. All three of them ducked instinctively as a Sorakine soared over their heads. She passed above them with plenty of room to spare, and touched down on the sidewalk a few feet away. She immediately lowered her hood and visor, shaking her head to untangle her long, golden hair.

Get out of my way! she commanded, pushing herself between the three friends, her natural Sorakine strength moving them aside without effort. She marched toward the Capitol without a backwards glance, her glowing yellow wings tucked in tight against her back.

Wonder what’s got her feathers ruffled? Wayli asked, sending a spiteful glare after her.

No idea, Boam answered, watching her go. You don’t see many of them around here anymore, do you?

Jerulkan was the closest city to the Sorakines’ floating home, Hashira, so it had never been a rare thing to see one of the winged warriors out on the streets. But now that Toke thought about it, he realized Boam was right. How long had it been since he’d seen a Sorakine? Months, at least.

Just forget about her, Wayli said, grabbing her friends’ arms and pulling them away. Whatever she was up to, that’s as close as we’ll ever need to be to Sorakine business.

Toke hesitated for just a moment, watching the girl disappear behind the large wooden doors. Then he shrugged, put it from his mind, and followed his friends.

Chapter Two

I call it a battery, Toke said, reciting his speech from memory. Even as he spoke, he leaned in closer to the cylinder on the table in front of him, gently working on it with a tool in each hand. I had this idea three years ago, and I believe it can change the world.

"Will change the world, Navras corrected him from his desk. That makes you sound more confident. Saying it can change the world leaves what it will do up to the Permissor. Saying it will change the world tells him it will happen whether he wants it to or not, so he had better get on board while he can."

I believe it will change the world, Toke amended, never taking his eyes off his work. Beside the empty cylinder sat a clear glass box, out of which came a bright blue glow. The concept is simple: it contains enough jidoryo to power a machine for weeks on end.

Interesting, Navras said, playing the part of the Permissor. How does it work?

Toke gestured toward the glowing box. With a jido crystal. As you know, a crystal the size of someone’s thumbnail holds enough jidoryo to charge any simple machine for an entire day. Until now, though, nobody has been able to harness their power. Jido crystals are dangerous to touch, and are liable to explode if handled roughly. My batteries are the answer to that problem.

Toke set down his tools and put on a pair of goggles and thick rubber gloves. Moving slowly and with the utmost caution, he took the lid off the glass box. With his other hand, he reached a long set of tongs into the box, and brought out the crystal. The air hummed with its power, making the hair on his head stand up, but he never once let his concentration lapse. He moved as swiftly as he dared, positioning the crystal above the cylinder, and then carefully lowered it inside. With a quiet sigh of relief, he placed the tongs on the table and set a metal disk over the opening, reducing the bright blue glow to just a shimmer around the edges.

The crystal inside my battery, he went on, is roughly the size of a human thumb. I estimate that if a fragment the size of a thumbnail can power a machine for a day, then this one can power it for almost a month.

Fascinating, the professor said, and Toke got the feeling he wasn’t just acting the part. But what you said about the crystals exploding concerns me. How do I know your battery won’t blow up when I try to use it?

Because the inside of the battery has been molded so the crystal will fit inside it perfectly, Toke answered as he lowered his goggles again. He glanced at Navras to see that he had already done the same, and pulled out his welding torch and began to seal the crystal inside. No matter how much you shake it, bounce it, or roll it, the crystal will never move an inch. This will allow whatever machine you put it in to syphon the energy without putting it in danger of exploding.

The task was complete. Putting the torch down, Toke eagerly took his goggles off and looked at his invention. It was nothing more than a gray metal barrel, but to the young inventor it was the most beautiful thing on Yasmik. He didn’t even look away when Professor Navras clapped his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Congratulations, Toke, he said. You’ve done it.

Toke reached out with a gloved hand and picked the battery up. It was light enough to carry without being a burden, but still had enough weight to feel sturdy.

It’s going to change the world, he said again, this time speaking to himself.

That it is, Navras agreed. Toke, my boy, I have carried the legacy of jidoryo by myself for too long. I am proud to hand it off to you.

To anyone else, those words would not have meant much. Toke, on the other hand, understood exactly what his professor was saying. Fifty years ago, Navras had discovered how to harness jidoryo, the energy that now powered all of the machines on Yasmik, by churning it out of grindstones filled with microscopic fragments of jido crystal. His discovery had been revolutionary, spurring thousands of other inventors into action. The Yasmik Toke had been born into was utterly unrecognizable from the one his grandparents had grown up in. But the larger, fully formed crystals themselves had never been used.

It really is such a simple concept, he said at last. I can’t believe nobody else thought of it before.

It’s because they had weak minds, Navras said. They all thought the same thing: that jido crystals were either useless, or too dangerous to experiment with. But not you. You thought for yourself, you dreamed, and now you have finally brought your dream into reality.

Toke set the battery back on the table. So, do you think I’m ready?

Of course you are, my boy! Navras said, giving the battery one last look before going back to his desk. I’ve been teaching this class for longer than you have been alive, and I have seen many great inventors begin their work right here in this workshop. None of them held the same level of promise as you— and I hope you understand that I do not say that lightly at all.

At that moment, the workshop door opened, and another man came in.

Professor Navras, he said before he had taken two steps inside.

Just a moment, Virkhul, Navras responded with exaggerated calmness. I’m with a student.

Virkhul bowed his head in consent. His hair, bleached to be as white as snow, fell to cover his face.

The day after tomorrow, Toke, I want you to go walk into the Permissor’s office with your head held high, and confidence in your step. When you come out, I will be there to welcome you as a man.

Toke took a moment to let the professor’s words sink in. You really think I can—

Headmaster Drull would like me to remind you of your plans to have dinner with his family tomorrow evening, Virkhul interrupted, his beady eyes giving Toke a contemptuous look.

Navras sighed, and finally turned to look at his assistant. Thank you, Virkhul. That will be all.

At your command, Professor, Virkhul said, sounding as if he were a heartbeat away from saluting him, and marched smartly out of the workshop, closing the door behind him.

What am I going to do with that man? Navras muttered to himself with a disdain. I swear, Virkhul has hated every student I’ve taught since he failed to get his inventor’s license.

Scowling, beady-eyed Virkhul had been Navras’ assistant since long before Toke began attending his class, and his loathing for the inventing students was not quite as secret as he seemed to think. While he never acted in direct defiance of the professor, small things like interrupting the students and allowing doors to close in their faces were more than enough to show how he felt about them. Even Navras, who was always able to see the best in people, could not deny that Virkhul was a bully— at best.

So, Toke said with a sinking feeling his stomach, if I don’t get my license, I might end up like him?

Of course not! Navras reprimanded the boy. "Because you are going to get your license. Never let yourself believe otherwise, even for one moment!"

Toke gulped, and then nodded. If Professor Navras believed he could do it, then he could do it!

Put that admirable piece of machinery in your locker, Navras said. You can make any necessary changes to it tomorrow.

Yes, Professor, Toke said, hastening to obey. Good night, Professor.

Good night, Toke, Navras responded with a polite nod, just as Toke’s stomach gave a loud growl. The boy blushed, and he desperately hoped Navras’ own voice had kept him from hearing. If Navras had heard, he pretended he didn’t and sat down to do some paperwork. Toke turned and left, shutting the workshop door behind him.

Make sure it’s shut all the way, Virkhul snapped, startling him. The professor’s assistant was sitting behind his own, much smaller desk that gave him the perfect view of anyone coming or going from the classroom. You idiots never shut it all the way, and the noise from the hallway gets into the workshop. Well, go on then. Pull it shut!

Toke kept his mouth shut, and gave the door another firm tug. When it was clear that the door was as closed as it could be, Virkhul grunted and waved his hand dismissively.

Get out of here. Students shouldn’t be in the hallways this late at night.

Yes, sir, Toke said, forcing himself to sound respectful as he hurried down the hallway.

His stomach growled again. It was too late to get anything from the cafeteria, which closed promptly at seven o’clock. He reached into his pocket, and felt the coins he had stowed in there. Just enough for a sandwich at the restaurant down the street, he thought as he made for the door.

The cool night breeze mussed his hair as he stepped outside. Apart from a few students milling around the courtyard, there was nobody in sight. The sidewalk was all but deserted as well, letting him walk right down the middle of the paved path without worrying about bumping into anyone. Occasionally an autocarriage would race past him, the grinding of its engine loud enough to wake the dead. Toke was proud that, after two years living in Jerulkan, he no longer flinched when they drove past. Or, he rarely did, at least. His hometown, Kassfar, had only four people rich enough to afford an autocarriage— and only one of them actually needed it.

He made it to the sandwich shop just as the owner was getting ready to lock the door.

One roast beef sandwich, please, Toke said, not bothering to go to the counter before he showed the old man his money. With cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes.

The shopkeeper didn’t look too pleased by the last minute intrusion, but he took Toke’s money and disappeared into the back to make the sandwich anyway.

Thank you, Toke said politely when the food was in his hand, wrapped up tight in wax paper.

Yeah, whatever, the grizzly bearded sandwich man grumbled in response, holding the door open for him.

Toke unwrapped the sandwich as he walked, trying to make it back to the school as quickly as he could. Even in the glow of the streetlights, the sidewalks were dark. There were plenty of reasons not to go out into Jerulkan at night. Had it not been for his hunger, Toke would have preferred to stay at the school.

The sound of flesh striking flesh reached his ears just as he was turning a corner, but by then it too late.

I said gimme your money, dropper! a man yelled, clearly not worried about attracting attention. With one hand, he was holding another man’s face against the brick wall of a building, and with the other he held his victim’s arm behind his back at a painful angle. Toke stopped short, horrified.

I- I don’t have any money! the man said, giving a weak struggle against his captor.

Where is it? the thug demanded again, and Toke saw the overhead lamplight reflect off the blade of a knife. The thug turned to glance at Toke, but Toke couldn’t see his face behind the scarf he had wrapped around his head. He must not have considered the scrawny nineteen year old a threat, because he immediately turned his attention back to the poor man held against the wall.

Gimme your money, dropper, he said again. Do you want me to stick you?

No, no, please! the man begged, and Toke could see frightened tears running down the man’s face. I don’t have any money, I swear!

With an angry grunt, the thug took his hand off the man’s head and threw his whole body’s weight against him to keep him in place. With his free hand, he rifled through the man’s pockets, growing more agitated every time he didn’t find anything inside them. Toke knew that he ought to run while the thief’s attention was the other man, but fear had rooted his feet to the sidewalk.

The mugger’s fist finally closed around something, and he pulled out a long gold chain with a locket at the end.

You don’t call this money, dropper? he demanded, stuffing it inside his own pocket. Are you lying to me?

Please, the man begged him, still pinned against the wall, that’s for my daughter. It isn’t worth anything. The gold isn’t even two karats!

Shut up! the thug snarled, pushing himself away from his victim. Before the man could get away, the thief swung the handle of his knife around and struck him on the side of the head with it. The Nails own this city. Don’t ever forget that!

The Nails were a street gang that had recently sprang up in Jerulkan. While small compared to gangs in other cities, they were growing rapidly. For every thug and pickpocket they brought in, another two would appear, breaking into a store or mugging people in the streets. Why anybody would be drawn to a life like that was beyond Toke, but as the faceless goon turned to him, he realized he had other things to worry about than gang recruiting.

The thug stalked across the sidewalk toward him, and Toke felt his knees go weak when he saw the knife still clutched in his hand. Part of him urged him to run, but the other part told him to stay where he was. He had never been a fast runner, and the thief was less likely to have mercy on somebody he had to chase down and tackle. He towered over the scrawny student by more than a head, his dark eyes glinting wickedly in the streetlight.

You didn’t see anything, did you? he asked.

Toke stood where he was, eyes wide with fear, a cold sweat drizzling down his forehead.

I asked you a question, dropper! the thug shouted.

Toke blinked, and shook his head.

I didn’t think you did. He grabbed the sandwich out of Toke’s hand. The Nails own this city. If we ask you a question, you better answer!

He lowered his scarf for a brief moment, too quickly for Toke to get a good look at him, and took a bite out of the sandwich.

I hate tomatoes! he growled, throwing the rest on the ground and shoving Toke aside as he