Foundations: A Cultivation Academy Series (Bastion Academy Book 1) Page 3

  I worked through the early morning, repairing connections until sweat gathered on my brow. My core was not stressed in the least, but the work was hard, and the cycled breathing was difficult to maintain. Most of all, it was nearly impossible to ignore my roaring stomach. I’d used up all the energy from dinner and was cycling from some of my sparse fat stores. It was harder to do than utilizing what was free flowing in my body, but still much easier than cycling world energy.

  When the sun breached the horizon, I returned the artifact to its case and clicked the lock shut. I would have to reinforce it later and remind Daegon he needed to work on his own project I had found for him.

  It was a simple math machine that had been superficially damaged, which he repaired in a few weeks, but the interior connectors were more complicated to rebuild than the surface level appearance. It was delicate work that required great focus, but he would get it, if he ever settled down for more than half a second.

  Our rooster crowed loudly outside my window, and I looked at the annoying bird. If I were even a second late for his and the hens’ feeding routine, he would get on my case.

  “I’m up. Thank you,” I said to the bird with a little more sarcasm than gratitude.

  The rooster turned his head side to side, shaming me. I put the box back under my bed and made up the covers until it was smooth. I changed into working clothes—loose, dark cotton pants and long-sleeved shirt—and headed out for the morning chores.

  I sprinkled the hens’ pen with a mixture of our table scraps and feed, then released them before collecting their offerings. The rooster followed me into the coop, pecking at my shins every so often until I tossed him a handful of feed.

  Next was gathering water. Though the inner-cities and kingdom had running water, this far in outer-city, it was difficult to accomplish without experienced en munje users working round the clock. That and the infrastructure to support it didn’t exist in the outer-cities. I gathered up my buckets and yoke, then walked down to the river. Townsfolk grinned with a warm “Good morning,” as I passed, and a few people inquired about the test today, then wished me best of luck.

  While we couldn’t stay in Namnak, I was going to miss the cordial greetings and the investment in each other that we had in outer-cities. My few experiences in inner-cities were a stark contrast to the simple farming life. People in the kingdom were too busy to get to know one another, or sometimes too rushed to even acknowledge one another’s presence.

  We all had a lot to get done in Namnak, but we knew that being kind to one another was how we survived when things got tough. We could rely on our neighbors to give a helping hand and understand our troubles.

  We had received many helping hands in the past six years, and while I wanted to get my family into the inner-cities for better care, I would never forget the town that supported us when my mother couldn’t work. I would repay them, somehow, as soon as I was strong enough.

  I filled all four buckets, straining out the sediment from the water with en munje before heading back to the house. The chickens and goats got the first round, and the second and third trips were for the kitchen. The chickens didn’t necessarily need clean water, but it was good practice for me, even on an empty stomach.

  Mother was already busy in the kitchen when I brought her the water she needed for breakfast, while Eun-bi and Suyi were in the garden picking fresh vegetables. Mini went to work rinsing rice for our porridge, and I could hear Do-hwan and Daegon thundering around in our tiny barn with the troublesome goat.

  I wanted to take a break, but the test was in a few hours. I needed to meditate and store as much munje in my reservoir as possible. Especially li munje—the magic of growth and change in all things except the self. It was by far my worst magic of the five.

  Eun-bi told me I needed more practice, that it would get better, but every time I tried to harness the energy for li munje it felt as if I was pushing water backwards through a swiftly running stream; fruitless and exhausting. Her li flowed like a river after spring melt, and she delighted in using it to help our small garden flourish.

  The garden was an invaluable source of energy for the entire family, but it hadn’t always been that way. We’d spent many nights hungry for years after our father left, but Eun-bi stepped up to the challenge of taking over the garden when Mother became a munje mute, and now she maintained it when mother was too ill to tend it by hand. It took Eun-bi several years to learn the skills necessary, but now she far surpassed me in li munje.

  I sighed and pushed away the thoughts of worse times. As Eun-bi said, it would get better as I practiced, and so I couldn’t back down from the challenge just because it was hard. It was easy to ignore the sounds of morning routine as I sat cross-legged at our short table for dining. I cycled energy into the band around my core and centered the insignificant li block over the crystal. When I pushed the energy through, the stream fought me to the core, whipping about and trying to escape. I focused, pushing harder, until a trickle of li munje flowed from my core.

  I siphoned it away into the reservoir, trying not to let a fragment of li leak out into my system. Not that it would hurt me, but it would be wasted there. Ma munje and I were well acquainted. It could exist in my system for hours, even days sometimes, without leaking out through my pores. Li munje and I were not good friends.

  “Breakfast!” Mini’s voice pierced my practiced meditation, and I was instantly alert.

  The scent of rice porridge with fried eggs, fresh persimmons, and jasmine tea had me salivating. I jumped to my feet to help them set the table. My stomach groaned loudly and Mini giggled as she carried the teapot.

  Mother leaned out the window to yell at the boys. “Breakfast! Hurry, you’ll be late for your assessments!”

  Daegon groaned loudly, protesting that the assessments were useless, but Do-hwan simply nodded, hurrying along with his bucket of goat’s milk. They stripped off their boots before entering through the garden door and poured everyone a fresh glass of milk.

  When we were all seated, my mother started our prayer. “Let us reflect on the work which brought us this food.”

  I waited a breath, then continued. “Let us be aware of our deeds and their impacts.”

  “Let our deeds bring us peace and prosperity,” Eun-bi projected with her strong presence.

  Suyi spoke barely above a whisper, but with fervor. “Let us remain mindful throughout our day.”

  Do-hwan spoke next. “Let us use this mindfulness to grow beyond our anger and greed.”

  “We appreciate this food which sustains and grows our body and munje core.” Daegon mumbled through his part. Mother shot him a disapproving glare, and he grimaced but said it again with more effort.

  Mini finished our prayer. “We accept this offering to continue our work!”

  We ate quietly, allowing the sounds outside our window to entertain us. Bees buzzed near the flowers in the window box, the chickens clucked happily as they moved about the garden, clearing it of pests, and a troublesome goat bleated occasionally as she ate her roughage.

  “Are you nervous?” Eun-bi asked me as she set her spoon down, already finished with her porridge.

  “No, why?” I asked with a scowl.

  She and Suyi exchanged a glance I couldn’t decipher, then Mini spoke up. “Your leg is bouncing the table.”

  When I looked down, my knee was tapping against the wood. I held it still as I became keenly aware of the tightness in my stomach. I was nervous. “Sorry.”

  Mother picked up her persimmon. “Don’t be sorry, Jiyong. This is an important test. There are many candidates trying to enter Bastion this year and only five hundred will be accepted.”

  That didn’t make me feel much better.

  “I believe in you, bro,” Daegon said as he patted me on the shoulder.

  “Me too,” Mini declared, thrusting her chopsticks in the air.

  Eun-bi beamed. “We all do.”

  “Don’t be nervous. It’s a waste of energy
,” Do-hwan said stoically before taking a sip of tea. He was eight going on eighty, it seemed.

  Suyi nodded. “He’s right. You’ll only let munje slip through your reservoir if you don’t have focus.”

  “And,” Eun-bi added, “that energy could’ve become munje, but it was wasted on worry.”

  Mother’s lips turned up in a forced smile. “If you don’t get in, there’s always Nam-je.”

  The words lanced through my heart. She didn’t believe in me—or didn’t want to. Was she afraid? Her husband had left her without a word for years... would his son do the same?

  Daegon’s face lit up. “Then we could keep practicing together!”

  I took a deep breath, then sipped my tea. “We can practice when I’m home for planting season.”

  Mother put her persimmon down, half eaten, and stood. Mini was up in an instant, Eun-bi and Suyi following suit with confusion. “Get ready for assessments, children.”

  “But I’m still eating,” Daegon protested and mother’s eyes narrowed on him, sending an icy chill through the room.

  My brothers stood and all five of the children tromped up to their rooms to dress. Mother knelt beside me. “I think you should attend Nam-je.”

  There was warmth in my stomach that wasn’t from the breakfast. It was a fire that mother had tried to extinguish over and over, every time I advanced. She was afraid my loyalty would end when I left Namnak. Her venomous words would be the poison that would drive a less resilient son away, but not me. There was nothing in this world that could prevent me from coming to my family’s aid in a time of need.

  I set my tea aside and closed my eyes. “Why?”

  Sounds of my siblings thundering through the upstairs and fighting over the wash bucket filled up the silence between us. I waited for her answer, but it never came. She stood, and I opened my eyes.

  A single tear carved its way down her cheek as she picked up the children’s bowls. “Get ready for your assessment. You have a lot farther to go than them.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was meant literally or not, but either way, she was right. I had a long way to go if I wanted to be a Bastion.

  Chapter 4

  THE TRAIN JOSTLED SIDE to side as it passed the final gate into the lower kingdom. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the towering buildings of the ancients beyond the inner wall to Busa-nan. The old ones had called them “skyscrapers,” and it wasn’t hard to see why. They towered above any other natural structure I’d ever encountered, built or grown.

  The mid-morning sun graced the tops of the skyscrapers, sending shimmering prisms of light down on the surrounding architecture. Many of the buildings were repaired with en munje years ago. Some of them still were under construction as we learned more and more about how to use munje.

  But not all the ancient ones’ structures could be repaired. Some used methods we had yet to replicate or even wrap our heads around. There was a spell out there we had yet to discover, something we had not mastered that they once had. They had so much to teach us, and I was hopeful that, one day, all their spells would be revealed.

  I hoped to discover a spell that even the ancient ones hadn’t dreamed of. Something wondrous that could help break us free of the energy cycle tied to agriculture. A spell that would make energy conversion from the world around us not just possible, but simple for anyone to accomplish. Then we could all become powerful munje users, unbound by the limitations of how much food or money we had access to.

  Overhead speakers came to life with the voice of the train operator as we slowed to a halt. “Final stop for non-residents of Busa-nan. All outer-city residents must depart at this stop. Identification checks will occur for anyone remaining on the train.”

  The train sloped up gently as we slowed, crossing over a large platform of trains running north, to the mining operations. A massive black tram pulled up to the station under us, and my mother’s words about my illegal activity rang out in my mind. A shiver raised the hairs on my arm as I imagined the backbreaking work at the mines.

  The prisoners, and willing workers, disembarked below. I pulled in a deep breath and shuffled off with everyone else from outer-city. Some were headed to the platform below—the train to the mines—despite the dangers and horrible conditions. The pay was decent for an unindentured man, but there were accidents at the mines, much more than any other profession.

  But the skyscrapers didn’t build themselves from nothing, and the minerals needed to repair them resided deep in the earth. It was for this reason the pay was good enough to risk the consequences: breathing diseases, dismemberment from faulty equipment or cave-ins, tunneling bear demon attacks, death...

  I pulled on my father’s old black dobok—the formal dress for combat—trying to blot out the nasty thoughts in my head. The dobok was too big in the shoulders and chest, even though my muscles were well developed from daily chores and working in the arborum. I felt foolish but had nothing more appropriate to wear.

  The herd of people not headed to the platform below pulled me along toward the station hub where the scents of roasted meat, floral tea, and some other not-so-savory smells lingered. A woman bumped my shoulder, and I bowed, saying, “Pardon m—”

  Another bump, this one harder, threw me out of the bow.

  Right. This was an inner-city.

  I hardened my face and strode on through the crowd, looking for the door through the hub and out to the streets. People shouted from colorful popup stalls, trying to pull us in for a purchase. Some of the crowd broke away, enticed by the smells and sights, but I kept my mind focused on my destination: Guild of Historians, precinct eighteen.

  When the crowd thinned enough for me to walk at my normal pace, I sped up and pushed out the front doors.

  “Hey kid! Here for your assessments?” a girl who looked younger than me asked from the ground outside the hub. She pushed off her knees and kept pace beside me as I walked.

  “Yes.”

  She laughed. “Let me guess, you’re gonna be a Bastion?”

  “Yes.” I quickened my steps, hoping she would stop hawking whatever it was she was attempting to sell me.

  “You’ll tucker yourself out like this! Let me give you a ride.” She gestured to a rickshaw that appeared to be powered by steam.

  I waved away the offer. “No, thank you.”

  She sucked her teeth and broke off her chase. “Sangomnyon.”

  I ignored the insult and returned my focus to the road ahead. I’d memorized the way to the testing facility over the last several days, but that was only a map. This was so much more than a piece of paper.

  The towering buildings on either side of me were at least forty meters tall, and everything was glowing with the neon technology of the ancient ones. Signs blinked at me from every doorway with inviting jingles. Simple ghost-girls made of colorful light were dressed in short skirts and tiny shirts bursting at the seams. They waved from inside shop windows or danced on street corners, beckoning those of us outside to come in for a coffee and whatever other unspoken things the shop may be selling off the record.

  I couldn’t get distracted.

  Puttering rickshaws and motorized cycles sped by in the center of the road while bicyclists pedaled through at a more leisurely pace. People on foot weaved in and out of the traffic without much of a sideways glance, but still, no one collided. I’d have to learn to navigate this mess too, but for now I’d stick to the outsides near the shops.

  It took another fifteen minutes to reach the eighteenth precinct—not so far that I’d needed to pay for a ride—and looked at the growing line outside. I glanced at the old clock carved into the face of the building. It was only just past ten, and assessments didn’t start until twelve.

  There is no value in complaining; it’s pointless, I reminded myself as I got in line. I spent the first hour in the sun, cultivating more li, ry, and zo munje. I was more than effective at creating ma and en on the fly, so I’d save my energy for when I needed them and save the res
ervoir space for what I was bad at.

  “Hey,” an unfamiliar voice broke through my meditation, but I didn’t open my eyes.

  “Yes?”

  “You... you’re from outer-city?” the guy asked, his tone nervous.

  I opened one eye and looked his direction. He was taller than me by a good five centimeters, with light brown eyes and wheat colored hair, an uncommon variation. He had a narrow face, a telltale sign he’d come from harder times than the other wealthy kids in line. His dobok—wrinkled like mine and too big in the shoulders—absolutely gave him away as an outer-city kid.

  I put my energy harnessing on hold and extended my hand. “I’m Law, Jiyong.”

  He grinned, exposing a chipped front tooth, and shook my hand. “Pak, Cho-bin. But you can call me Cho.”

  “What’s your specialty, Cho?” I asked, grateful to have a kindred soul in line for assessment.

  “Li, mostly.” He cringed. “Honestly, just a lot of li. You?”

  “Ma and en.”

  He bobbed his head. “So, were you, uh, cultivating before I interrupted?”

  I nodded.

  “Sorry. I’m so nervous. Why am I even here?” He shook his head.

  I shrugged. “Because Bastion is the best.”

  “That’s true, but am I? I don’t know.” He grimaced.

  “You must’ve thought so long enough to get here. Think about how you felt when you got on the train,” I offered, hoping it helped him find his courage.

  “I felt like I wanted to get as far away from my life as possible,” he chuckled nervously.

  I shook my head. “It must’ve been something more than that. There are many schools you could attend that have on-campus structures, not just Bastion.”

  His brow furrowed, and he stared off at the wall. “I’m really good with li munje. Sometimes I think I could make amazing spells if I just had better training. I could help the crops grow faster, with more raw energy. I could manipulate the warmth of the soil, keep the plants producing food for an extra few weeks per season. I could make things better at home.”