Foundations: A Cultivation Academy Series (Bastion Academy Book 1) Page 7

  The outer-city boy lodge at the far back bordered the edge of a miniature forest with trees as tall as many I’d seen out in the hills near my home. They’d been growing for a long time, it seemed. The pagoda was squat and wide, only three stories tall, whereas the fifth-year pagoda was a magnificent tower of at least ten stories. But the squat first-year lodge was still nicer on the outside than most outer-city homes.

  There was a deep awning that shaded a two-meter patio from sun and rain. There were chairs and tables around the patio that extended around the sides of the lodge. The second floor had several large balconies that overlooked the grass and the glade on either side. The third-story roof had gaps with platforms that appeared to be areas where the students could come up and sit, but it was hard to see from our angle on the ground.

  We stepped up to the door and took note of the sign hanging on the front. “To unlock the door, infuse your badge with ry munje for the passcode of the week, then slide it through the slot.” Cho read it aloud, then looked at me. “What’s the passcode of the week?”

  I pulled out my schedule and scanned through it. “There,” I said and pointed to the bottom. It was a ten-digit string with no other label. “That has to be it, right?”

  Cho shrugged and held out his badge. Purple munje gathered at his fingertips, and he tapped the metal plate, then quickly inserted it into the narrow slot above the door handle. The light on the handle blinked from red to green, and the door clicked. He pulled open the door, and we stepped inside to another wave of shock and amazement.

  The inside was enormous! All three stories were visible from the front, with balconies overlooking the sitting room on the first level. Straight ahead was a hallway plaque labeled “1-25.”

  Boys our age moved between the rooms, excitement in their faces as they dashed from place to place. The jubilance in the lodge was palpable, and I couldn’t help but let myself get carried away. “I’m headed for the top.”

  Cho grinned. “Race you!” He took off without a countdown, and I laughed. While he ran for the sign labeled with stairs, I moved toward the edge of the second-floor balcony. I squatted low and sent a surge of zo into my legs before exploding from the ground in a powerful leap.

  I latched onto the second-floor railing and shimmied my way up. The third-floor balcony wasn’t as far, and I jumped it easily without zo. I rolled my leg over the second railing and watched as Cho came running up the stairs, looking behind him with a grin of victory plastered to his face.

  When his face met mine, he scowled. “How?”

  I grinned. “I used to work in an arborum. Climbing is one of my things.”

  We moved around the other kids, seeking out an unoccupied room. There were five beds to each room, and while I didn’t love the idea of sleeping around three total strangers—especially with what I had brought with me—I was sure we’d come to know one another over time. I would just have to be careful with my artifact until then.

  With luck, we found a room with two empty beds on the top floor and three students eager to welcome us in. We bowed to each other deeply as we exchanged names. There was Ki-tae, a boy with such long legs his ankles poked out from under his too-short dobok. Il-sung was my height with long black hair he kept in a high ponytail almost on top of his head. Last was Hoon, a spirited boy who couldn’t stop showing off his one-tooth-too-few smile.

  As we put away our effects, I slid my bento concealing the artifact into my drawer, then covered it in a few articles of clothing. It wasn’t an adequate spot, but it would have to do for now.

  Overhead speakers crackled to life, and we all stopped to listen. “Welcome first-year students, and welcome back everyone else. We will be hosting lunch in the dining hall in forty minutes, where we will explain the ground rules and this year’s tournament. That is all.”

  Cho and I agreed that forty minutes was more than enough time to take a walk around the grounds and explore, so when we’d finished putting everything away, we headed down to the sitting room. I felt a hint of unease at leaving the relic alone in the room with the other boys, but it was likely that the lock was past their ma comprehension—I hoped. I reminded myself that these were outer-city boys. We had respect for one another’s things and knew the consequences of breaking that trust.

  One good group thrashing was all it took to put most criminals in outer-city back in the right. While it seemed barbaric to inner-city folk who preferred to send their criminals off to the mines for years on end, our methods allowed most criminals to integrate into society without further incident, or they just got better at stealing. For those who stole for survival, well, we did what we could to help them—after the thrashing.

  The resident village was teeming with students making their way to their rooms, sitting out in the sun, and some even throwing around ry disks. The flat plate of energy bounced between a trio of students who caught the munje, added some of their own to it, and passed it on. I wasn’t certain what the point of the game was, I’d never seen it before, but it was a beautiful spectacle.

  We worked our way to the main pagoda at a leisurely pace that left us with thirty minutes to look around. The entrance hall of the main school building was ten times the size of our little lodge, and we stared in wonder for a good minute,

  The ceiling was at least four stories up, supported by massive beams of painted white stone. The columns were covered in murals of munje users performing great feats of magic, some of the first munje users we knew of, and ancient lore of the ones who came before us.

  The walls of the entrance were lined with shelves of books, artifacts, scrolls, art, and more. A hunger awoke deep inside me at the sight of these treasures lying about for my munje to inspect. I would investigate the secrets of every single one of them if I could before my time was up at Bastion.

  We meandered through the tall hallway toward the dining room, keeping an eye on our light maps projecting from the schedule disc as we did. We could zoom in and out of the map with a simple gesture of pinching or expanding our fingers, which made this whole excursion much easier.

  It didn’t take long for us to find all our classrooms, since first years had class almost exclusively in the main pagoda. When the scents of lunch permeated the air, we knew we were getting close to the dining hall. I salivated at the smell of cooked rice, pickled vegetables, and seared meat. It had been a few months since we’d had meat other than fish at home, but its smoky scent was unmistakable.

  The doors to the dining room were propped open when we came around the corner, and students were filing in two by two. A massive digital board displayed on the wall in the space between the doors that led inside. It was mostly blank, except at the top, which read, “Name, Rank, Score; Ry, Li, Ma, Zo, En,” and the side, which listed the numbers one through five hundred. Just below number four hundred was a thick, red line that read, “FAILING.” I was starting to worry about what it might be for.

  “Come on!” Cho said with excitement as the scents of food overpowered our wonder. We got in line eagerly, our stomachs growling with anticipation. We inched closer and closer, getting a good look at the buffet ahead.

  Four huge pots of rice let off steam as each student grabbed a spoonful. There were at least ten different bowls of kimchi, plates of crispy fish, thin slices of beef that curled up at the edges on their hotplate, pots of stew farther down, and even more that I couldn’t see from my vantage.

  Someone bumped my shoulder, and then two girls and a boy stepped in front of me and Cho. I scowled and said, “We’re in line.”

  One of the girls looked over her shoulder with a simpering smile. “Oh, he doesn’t know the rules.”

  The boy turned with an arrogant grin exposing buck-teeth. “First years eat last.”

  I glanced around to see similar cuts happening in the other three lines and grimaced as my stomach groaned again. The instructors didn’t prevent this behavior, despite being in the lines themselves, and I wondered if it was a real rule.

  Final
ly, it was our turn. I tried to pace myself by grabbing a small amount of everything, hoping that seconds would be possible. I found two open seats at the middle of the room full of low sitting tables. Instructors sat amongst the students, but I could see there were three reserved tables at the far end of the room on a raised platform that were designated for someone important.

  Everyone was already eating when Cho and I arrived at our table, something that would’ve never been permitted in an outer-city academy, but I let it roll off my back. I closed my eyes and recited the full prayer in my mind as I tried to block out the sounds of bowls scraping, people talking, and soups being slurped. The smells were another problem, and I felt myself rushing through the prayer so I could eat. At the end, I recited the prayer once more, forcing myself to slow down.

  When I opened my eyes, three people had taken to the tables at the front. The center man was ancient looking, with salt and pepper hair that was pulled back into a tight bun, and a silvery beard with streaks of black that reached his mid-chest. To his right was a man with black hair and blue robes. I’d never seen him, but he looked dignified, a kingdomite. To his left I was surprised to see Woong-ji, the instructor who had tested me. It appeared she was so important she was invited to sit at the head of the dining hall.

  The ancient man at the center stood as he addressed us. “Students,” he boomed in a voice I didn’t think was possible for someone so old. “I am Grandmaster Min-hwan. Welcome to the hardest six months of your life.”

  I smirked as the group of silent students burst into hushed whispers. They might be in for the hardest six months of their lives, but Cho and I—all the outer-city kids—had a huge leg up. We’d already been suffering, scrounging, barely surviving for all our lives. School would be a breeze.

  Min-hwan went on. “First years, we welcome you with one of our finest traditions: dueling. We will leave detailed information in your lodging, but the rules are as follows. One: every duel must be presided over by two instructors. There will be no hallway fights, no skirmishes, no disobedience, or you will find yourself expelled. Two: every duel will consist of three munjes. You will pick one, your opponent will pick the other, and the third will be determined by your instructors or whatever crowd you have gathered.

  “Lastly: the duels will help determine your ranking in the school. It is no secret that Bastion is the most highly coveted school in all of Busa-nan, and thus, our expectations are higher than all other finishing schools. There are only four hundred seats for second-year students. Participating in duels will give you ranks, but losing at duels is still better than not participating at all. You should be challenging yourself and your fellow classmates. It is up to you to forge the future.

  “Every duel will pull from a pool of predetermined challenges for each munje. The more a certain munje is selected, the harder those challenges will become over time. This will allow every student to become well rounded. We do not expect you to master every munje, but to pass into the second year, you must know each well.” Min-hwan stopped and cleared his throat. “Now, allow me to introduce Woong-ji, your Core Foundations instructor.”

  Woong-ji rose as gracefully as a dancer despite her age. She scanned the crowd and opened her arms. “Welcome, bright young minds. Your core is critically important on this journey, so much that if you cannot master my lessons, you will not be able to join the second-year students at the conclusion of the semester. The core is where all munje is created, and if you cannot master it, you can never master any munje.

  “All your first-year lessons are important, but Core Foundations is fundamental to your success. Any absences from my class, or incomplete assignments, will be met with a strike on your record. After five strikes, you will be expelled from Bastion. Expulsion is not the end, as many of the second-time first-year students can tell you”—Woong-ji grinned out at the audience, and I noticed Shin-soo shift uncomfortably—“but it is a setback. You will be able to attempt your first year twice, but after that, you can never join Bastion again.

  “The point is, young minds, do not neglect your core. I will be your guide to becoming a Bastion, and”—Woong-ji’s gaze pinned on me as determined fervor boiled in my chest—“I expect your best.”

  Chapter 9

  SWEAT ROLLED DOWN MY back as I ran around the exercise yard. The instructor, Li-Zigi, blew her whistle any time a student slowed. After ten minutes of running, she was blowing the whistle near constantly.

  Students were dropping out of the physical training like flies after fifteen minutes, and after twenty, there were only a handful of us left willing to run.

  “You cannot be the best,” she blew her whistle, “if you’re not in the best shape. Now run!” She whistled again, and I pushed myself harder.

  My legs throbbed and my lungs burned, but I’d done my fair share of physical labor. I saw Hana ahead of me, her long black hair swaying side to side in the failing ponytail. Strands of sweat-covered hair were plastered to her face, and her cheeks were red with exertion. If she wasn’t giving up, I wasn’t going to either.

  “I’m,” Cho gasped beside me, “gonna die.”

  “No, you aren’t,” I said with one heavy breath. “You’re going to... get stronger.”

  “But first, I’ll die,” he panted, wiping his forehead with his dobok.

  I looked to the center of the exercise field where a good twenty students were catching their breath. “You can always take a break,” I said as I nodded toward the rest area.

  Cho laughed one hard Ha! “You think I’m gonna... wimp out like... those rich pungbahn brats?”

  Instructor Li-Zigi blew her whistle long and hard. “Enough!”

  Cho collapsed to the grassy ground as he gasped for air. It took everything I had not to follow him to the ground. I put my hands overhead, desperate to get more of the weak, late-summer breeze through my searing black clothes.

  I closed my eyes and focused on my core seeking out any remnants of zo left to support my muscles. There were traces in my reservoir that I scrounged up and directed down my spine and into my legs. This gave mild relief from the burning, but the pulsing throb of being overworked continued.

  My heart hammered as I tried to get my breathing under control enough to siphon energy from the surrounding air, the sun, anything I could to convert a bit more zo. Before I could get through a single cycle, the whistle blew, jarring me with a start.

  “Form up! Horse stance!” Li-Zigi ordered.

  Most of the students groaned, and I could hear Cho whispering some prayer for strength. Grandmaster Min-hwan had warned us it was going to be hard. I finished what little cycling was possible and sent the zo to my lungs, instead of my legs. I could deal with the burn, but not with the lack of air. Why was my chest so tight?

  I helped Cho up, and we jogged to the rest of the students at the center, then squatted down into horse stance. Instant heat filled my thighs, and my knees trembled with weakness. I focused on my breath, in through my nose, and out hard through my mouth. The burn in my legs subsided, replaced by a cold wave of tingling.

  When I looked inward, keeping my breathing steady, I noticed zo being converted without my focus. How was this possible? Was it the breathing alone, reflex, or instinct? As I watched, more energy flowed into the band around my core, through the zo block, and into the crystal. It was a continuous stream, unlike when I forced the energy through in a burst.

  There was so much energy, it couldn’t have all been coming from my breathing.

  Li-Zigi’s voice pulled me from my core and back to the present. “You may notice your tired muscles are starting to feel better. This is good. This is your body’s natural response to overwork. You are converting your breakfast into energy for munje.

  “Having a complete breakfast is not just essential, it can be lifesaving. Any time you can eat, you should. Any opportunity to get a little fat, you should take. Fat converts into munje almost as easily as fresh food.” She paced between us as she spoke.

  “
My body doesn’t feel better,” Cho said weakly beside me. He was trembling like a leaf in the wind, and I noticed the curve of his spine was off.

  “Straighten your back,” I whispered. “Your munje is cut off from reaching your legs.”

  Cho leaned into his heels and pulled his shoulders back. Within a single breath, his legs stabilized. He grinned. “Thanks.”

  The other students around us were quaking, except Hana who was only a few rows ahead. Her shoulders were pulled back so tight I could see the pinch of her spine between the muscles through her dobok. Her squat was lower than mine and her stance stable. Her shoulders rose and fell rhythmically; she was cycling energy.

  She turned her head, pinning one bright eye on me with a sideways glance. Then suddenly, she started to shake. Her knees gave out, and she dropped to the ground. The boy next to her fumbled to catch her, and she laughed off the tumble.

  My gut clenched as she looked up at me with daggers in her stare. Her expression smoothed over to gratefulness in an instant, but the boy next to her had noticed. He was a tall, beefy kid with black hair buzzed short and dark eyes. He shot a fiery glare my way, then pointed from his eyes to me. I understood the gesture but not its implication. Why would he watch me?

  Hana returned to her pose but continued to shake, despite her stability and strength just moments before. Students were falling and getting back up all around us as Li-Zigi watched, appraising us. She moved through the rows, correcting posture and giving “words of encouragement.” She passed me and Cho with an approving grunt, then moved on to the next.

  The tingling cold in my limbs didn’t last long, and what felt like an eternity later, my knees gave out and I dropped. When every student had fallen at least once, Li-Zigi blew her whistle to stop the exercise. After far too short a rest, we launched into push-ups alternated with plank “rests,” then more horse stance, then more push-ups, until I thought my muscles would melt right off my bones.