Page 35 of Validus Vale Academy 1
The three Elites that surround me burst out laughing. “Even her?” the one with a buzzcut asks, pointing at me.
“Even her,” Feniks replies, a grim expression on his face. “I want to believe that anyone, even the weakest students, can benefit from this—though I’ll probably be sadly disappointed.”
Why is he glaring at me when he says that?
The professor continues his rant. “Fateball is a mix of agility, stamina, strength, spellcasting…andteamwork. Something youall,” he glares at the Elites, “can improve on. There is no i in team, and all that bullshit, but there is an i in incompetent, inadequate, and imbecilic.” He frowns, like he realizes he’s lost the plot somewhere. “OK, no more chit-chat.”
Feniks blows his whistle again. “Each group starts with the warm-up of your choice, then on to drills. Whichever student has the highest ranking in the quad can lead.”
Well, this is going to be a bundle of fun. Fateball has been the number one sport on the Academy circuit for years. It’s a little like basketball, but with more players and a ball that detonates. It’s entertaining as heck to watch, but to a play? Yikes. At least you can only use the Fateball-approved list of spells against your opposition, nothing that will do permanent damage. I’ve watched matches where teams were decimated by icy blasts, fireballs, paralysis spells, and all manner of ‘gameplay’.
It’s not a game for the weak. Being short doesn’t help either.
I side-eye the Fateball practice nets that hover around the gymnasium at nearly three times my height as the three male Elites surround me, like sharks circling a thrashing swimmer. “If Feniks wants us to shape you into a Fateball player, we’d better get to it,” one of them grins.
“What warm-up shall we choose, little dud?” Manu asks. “I can do some one-on-one if you like.” His mind is awful, and I’m doing my best to keep my shields up.
His friend places a heavy arm on top of my head. “I think this dud needs dunking practice, don’t you?”
“She’s gonna need a boost to reach the basket,” Buzzcut says, not taking much interest in what’s going on. The next second, Manu lifts me off my feet and charges me to one of the hovering hoops. He’s fast and strong. My stomach lurches as suddenly I’m weightless, being thrown through the air towards the basket. Shit.
With no time to think, I reach out, smacking my hands against the rigid metal rim, then cling on for dear life. Gods.
I brave a look down. There is at least a seven-foot drop between me and the floor—nottooterrible, but I could still break an ankle if I land wrong. I swivel my head around and search for help. Some other students look in my direction and laugh. “Working on your upper body strength?” one of them calls. “Keep it up.”
Professor Feniks is on the far side of the gym with his back to me, but the rest of the gymnasium is waiting for me to go splat. My fingers and palms are cramping, and I only have seconds until I drop. Willow is busy working out with her group, and even if she wasn’t, how could she help? Manu and the other guy are high-fiving each other. The third member of the group is ignoring us to do some deep lunges.
It’s got to be better to drop than to fall, right? Shit, here goes. I release my hands and begin to plummet. This crash is going to be hard.
But the hit never comes. For the last few inches, I’m lowered slowly to the ground by an invisible force.
“What the fuck is going on?” Professor Feniks roars. Twisting in his direction, I see him lowering his hand as he stalks across the gymnasium floor towards our group. “No torturing the fucking remedials,” he snarls. “I won’t have bullies in my gym. I’m talking to you, Manu, Troy.” He points an angry finger at the two guys.
I knew Manu was to be avoided, but now I’ve added Troy to the list.
“You, OK, Wilson?” The professor asks.
“Yes,” I reply as I shake out my arms. “Thanks,” I add, but Professor Feniks has already turned his back and is walking over to another group.
Wishing he’d switch me to another quad, I resign myself to more Manu and Troy-induced torture. They are currently doing stretching with the third Elite, which is a relief—something I can do. The comparative peace of squats and burpees doesn’t last long, and I brace myself for whatever’s next. Willow’s group has moved on to ball passing drills. I watch as she and Teresa vainly try to catch a Fateball flying hard and fast over their heads.
A group of cute Ordinarii girls jog past us on the running track. “Let’s do laps,” Troy says instantly. “I can run behind Elena’s ass for miles.”
OK, going for a jog doesn’t sound too bad.
Manu and Troy take off, howling and growling at the girl group, who giggle in response.
“Ready to run, dud?” the third member of my group says. “I’ll help you keep up.”
Is one of these guys actually decent? He wasn’t involved in the hoop incident after all. He takes hold of my upper arm as we start to jog around the gymnasium. “You don’t remember me, do you?” he asks.
I cast a glance at my running partner. He’s tall, like all the Elites, has buzzed black hair, rich brown skin, and a slight sneer in his top lip. Did I see him around last year? I can’t remember. I was pretty blinkered by my twin-tunnel vision, if I’m honest.
“I’m sorry, no,” I pant in reply. It’s hard to talk and run at the same time. My endurance is at its limit.
“Yeah, I thought so. My name is Johnny DeVille—captain of the Fateball team.”
O-kay.
