Epoca: The Tree of Ecrof - Ivy Claire Epoca

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      “And I believe I have something that belongs to you. Your father left it behind when he was asked to leave the school.”

      Satis reached into a bag he had looped over his shoulder and pulled out a book, which he placed in Rovi’s hands. “I found it after you left Ecrof.”

      Rovi held the book. “Is this—is this—?” he stammered.

      “Yes,” Satis said. “It’s your Grana Book.”

      Rovi pressed the small, worn book to his face. It looked like one of the battered and dog-eared books at the antique bookseller’s stall at the market. But Rovi didn’t care. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen—ever held—in his life.

      “Now put on your shoes,” Satis said. “We have a long voyage ahead of us.”

      “A voyage?”

      “Yes, my boy. Your name appeared on this year’s Scrolls of Ecrof.”

      Rovi’s jaw hung open. Was he hearing correctly?

      Satis smiled at Rovi’s bewilderment. “You are going to Ecrof. You are going home.”

      “But my father—my father was fired,” Rovi said.

      “Well, Rovi. We can’t let a dispute like that get in the way of one of the finest athletes in the land being recruited to our school, can we? After all, what’s written on the scrolls is law. Whosever name appears, that person must attend. I’m afraid those are the rules. Do you have a problem with that?”

      Rovi shook his head vigorously.

      “Good. I must admit, I was delighted to see your name. Although it took me a few weeks to locate you. You are a hard boy to find.”

      “Sorry,” Rovi said.

      “It’s I who should be sorry,” Satis said. “It wasn’t until I arrived in Phoenis that I learned about your father’s death. He was a terrific man. And a smart one. A very smart one, as I’m sure you know.”

      Rovi felt tears sting his eyes. He looked down at the book in his hand. Finally, something positive to remember his father by. Finally, a destiny.

      He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He had a Grana Book. He was going to Ecrof. Suddenly he was a Dreamer again, no longer a Star Stealer. And at the very moment he realized this, he glanced across the pool in time to see Issa slipping away into the shadows.

      5

      PRETIA

      THE SHIP

      The sky was tinted with the first pink rays of dawn when Pretia opened her eyes. She hadn’t been able to sleep all night, torn between excitement about going to Ecrof and anxiety about her cursed grana.

      She heard someone enter her bedroom and pulled back the curtains that surrounded her bed to see Anara’s kindly face peeking in at her.

      “Trouble sleeping?” her nurse asked.

      She knew. As always, she knew.

      Anara sat on the edge of the bed by Pretia’s pillow. “What’s wrong?” she asked, stroking Pretia’s cheek.

      Was it so obvious that something was wrong? Pretia opened her mouth to reply. The whole story was on the tip of her tongue—the flame, her cursed grana, Davos and the cliff. But she couldn’t. Not now. Not yet. If they knew her grana came from Hurell, would she even be allowed at Ecrof?

      “Are you worried about leaving?” Anara asked.

      Pretia nodded. It was an easier answer. “Nine months away without hearing from my family,” she said. “That seems like forever.”

      “It will fly by,” Anara said. “And before you know it, you’ll be back here, sitting on your bed, bursting with stories about the island.”

      “And the school,” Pretia added.

      “Yes, the school, too.” Anara closed her eyes. “But Cora Island is a magical place where magical things will happen. Ecrof Academy is only one aspect of it. The rest of the island is deserted. I imagine many wonders lie there.”

      Pretia rolled onto her side and looked up at her nurse. She knew what was coming—one of Anara’s many stories about the gods and the time before grana.

      “There are people who say that Cora Island is the most sacred place in Epoca.” Anara twisted a lock of Pretia’s hair around her fingers. “And not because of a sports academy. It was the last earthly home of the gods—the last place they wandered before they departed for their eternal home on Mount Aoin. As a Flamekeeper, I wish to visit that place most. But unfortunately, that’s not possible. Our modern age has determined that only recruited athletes whose names appear in the Scrolls of Ecrof can visit Cora’s sacred shores and see the temples built by the gods’ own grana.” There was a sad, wistful quality to Anara’s voice that was unfamiliar to Pretia, a true longing. “You see, Pretia, the Age of Grana brought about many important, positive changes for the people of Epoca, but too many of our old sacred traditions were left behind. Both good and evil.”

      “Evil?” Pretia asked, sitting up.

      “It is always good to remember that there was once evil in this world, so that our past mistakes can never be repeated. When the seven blessed gods sought refuge in their holy temples on Cora Island during the time of Hurell, they had nowhere else to go. They had built these impressive buildings for themselves with their own grana, a grace they had yet to give to the people.” Anara closed her eyes. Pretia imagined that she was trying to summon the vision of these masterful buildings that she would never see. “The gods were being forgotten by the people of Epoca, and because of this, their strength was diminished and they were weakened.” Anara paused and stared at Pretia with her calm gray eyes. “It was there they came together and used all of their different strengths to forge a new spirit of grana, one that they could give to the people of Epoca in exchange for turning away from Hurell once and for all. You see,” Anara continued, “grana is the godlike quality in all of us.”

      Pretia tried to hide the shudder that tore through her body when her nurse uttered the Fallen God’s name. If there was any so-called godlike quality in her, that god was most certainly Hurell. The thought made her sick.

      “And as we all know,” Anara continued, “the people of Epoca, who had lived in a dark age dominated by the God of Suffering, accepted this gift from the seven gods. Hurell was furious. He raged across the sea to the island. Now it was he who was weak. He beseeched his brother and sister gods to forgive him. And when they didn’t, he hid in his temple. It wasn’t long before grana took hold of the land. The people no longer had use for the gods. They were making their own destinies and had discovered their own godly talents. So there was no need for the gods to remain on earth anymore. Which is why they departed for their eternal home before they could be forgotten.” Anara lowered her voice. “When a god is ignored by all people and all earthly trace of him or her is removed, that god loses all power in this world. That’s why I’m a Flamekeeper,” Anara said. “It’s my duty, and the duty of my fellow keepers, to preserve the memory of the gods.”

      “So because praying to Hurell is forbidden, he lost all power in Epoca?” Pretia asked.

      “Exactly,” Anara said. “You’ve seen for yourself, in the mural under the Gods’ Eye, that a swift ship with golden-trimmed sails came for the gods to take them away. Of course, Hurell was not welcome to join them on Mount Aoin. Before the ship departed, he emerged from his temple and bellowed out across the sea to the people of Epoca, demanding their loyalty. There was no answer. Once, twice, three times he cried. But he was only met by silence. Then, with all his remaining strength, he drove his Staff of Suffering into the ground, furious at his brother and sister gods, and furious at the offering of grana that had made the people turn away from him. His anger was so powerful

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