Chapter 1Three Days OutMako brought the yim to his lips, the three crystalline pipes cool in his hands as he positioned his fingers over the holes. Four other kids sat at their own ceramic worktables, supervised by Elder Fitch, a lithe old man with poor eyesight who wore heavy robes even on warm days. Advanced Tuning was a highly selective class, one of the smallest, reserved for those students who showed real musical or vibrational aptitude.
The double-layered walls of the instructional room had sound-dampening material packed inside them. Thick crystal substituted for glass in the four modest windows, admitting light but offering warped, cloudy views of the world beyond. The high, flat ceiling was also heavily insulated, sonically isolating the room. A single reinforced door granted access.
The other students were working with their chosen instruments. Janie had a palm harp, Argus preferred a set of bowls, and the remaining two used chimes. Mako had already mastered heating iron with chimes. If he could do it with his yim, he would graduate from Advanced Tuning with high honors.
The iron disk rested on the ceramic worktable before him. He would have preferred an absence of noise pollution from the other students, but he supposed the mild chaos was part of the challenge. He needed to produce the exact tones to get the iron hot enough to set a slip of paper on fire.
Mako was vaguely aware that in some parts of the Tinvali Empire, paper was a rare and valuable commodity. But on Mount Anora, they produced their own paper, the quality unrivaled. Scraps were donated to the various schools, but even though they had a decent supply, seldom was paper burned.
Many could toot a simple melody on a yim, but few could bring the instrument to life, producing pure, nuanced notes. Playing the yim had always felt intuitive to Mako—the shape and position of his lips against the mouthpiece, the steady airflow, the light grip, the precise fingering. From the three parallel pipes composed of smoky gray crystal, he could produce tones across five octaves.
Hunching to position his yim near the disk, Mako started with a low note, soft at first, the volume gradually increasing. He focused his intention on heating the iron. The slight trembling of the disk, together with the faint tingling in his teeth, confirmed he was blowing the note correctly.
Three notes would be required to heat the disk enough to burn paper. The first would bring the iron from cool to warm, the second from warm to hot, and the third from hot to scalding. A fourth note could bring the iron close to melting, but that was considered too dangerous for students and was not required today. At home, practicing in the dirt, Mako had done it a few times to impress his brother.
Mako needed to succeed today. He was approaching the end of his regular schooling, when his education would move out of the classroom and into an apprenticeship. The future of any Anoran was determined by two main factors—the guardian he partnered with, and the apprenticeship he earned. Getting a quality guardian depended on how well he chose in the Bonding Hut. The apprenticeship would result from how he performed in his classes.
Mako progressed to the second note. This one was sweeter than the first, more pleasant to the ear. A flicker of motion caught his eye, and he glanced up from the faintly vibrating disk. Two figures peered through the blurry window across from him, both waving. By their builds, he felt sure it was Tuck and Ila.
Were they just messing with him? Trying to distract him?
Tuck leaned against the glass, hands cupped around his eyes. Through the thick crystal panes, it was easier to see out to a bright day than inward to a dim classroom. Tuck and Ila waved urgently, miming for Mako to join them.
Mako returned his attention to the disk. He needed to sustain the intention of heating it if he wanted the vibrations to be effective. If Mako switched to the third tone too early, he would miss the transition and the iron would cool. In a true emergency, Tuck and Ila would knock on the door, which meant they were here because of something they didn’t want Elder Fitch to know about.
Shifting his lips to a different mouthpiece and bringing the foot of the yim closer to the disk, Mako exhaled briskly, playing the higher, more strident note. The disk continued to quiver. The iron would already be dangerously hot to the touch.
Though Ila and Tuck kept signaling to him, Mako resisted the temptation to rush. The quickest way out of class was to do this right.
Elder Fitch had not yet noticed the two kids gesticulating at the window. The other students were intent on their exams. Janie and Argus worked with their lowest notes. The two students using chimes were at their middle tones.
Elder Fitch shuffled over to Mako. “Excellent,” he said, squinting. “I already detect radiance. You’re nearly there. That was swift.”
Mako watched the iron disk glow redder. Maintaining the piercing note, Mako slid a slip of paper against the iron. Thin tendrils of smoke wafted up from the contact point, and then the paper combusted, curling and blackening as the flame spread.
“Exemplary,” Elder Fitch enthused, dropping his palm against the ceramic tabletop.
Mako stopped blowing the yim. “Can I go? I forgot a chore I need to do.”
“Snuff the flame and I don’t see why you can’t leave early,” Elder Fitch said. “Good work, Mako. It has been more than a decade since I’ve seen anyone ignite a fire with a yim.”
“Thank you, Elder,” Mako said. The praise brought relief. While his tuning abilities wouldn’t do much to earn him the elite warrior apprenticeship he dreamed about, showing excellence in any area would generally improve his prospects. He took fine sand from a nearby bowl and dumped it over the paper, smothering the flame.
Elder Fitch toddled away, moving toward Janie. Mako scraped the sand and charred paper into a waste can and hurried to the door. He noticed jealous glances from the other students as he pushed through into the daylight.
The scent of new blossoms seasoned the air. The day was one of the warmest of the spring so far. It might have been summer, except the higher slopes of Anora remained deeply clad in white snow. The freshwater streams flowing down from the peak were gaining momentum, but a trek to the fountainhead at the craggy summit would be impossible for at least another month or two.
Tuck and Ila immediately greeted him, bumping their forearms against his. Large for his age, Tuck was considerably broader and thicker than Mako, and stood almost a head taller. Nobody in their year wanted to wrestle him. Tuck’s father was an herbalist, with many glasshouses on their property. Though Tuck had the build of a bruiser, the focus of his studies was healing.
“What are you two doing here?” Mako asked.
“Zane is in trouble,” Ila said. At an age when girls were becoming ever more mysterious, Mako seldom thought about Ila as anyone but the friend he’d played with since he could remember. Slightly taller than Mako, with a slim build, she excelled at archery.
“What do you mean?” Mako asked.
“There’s a surprise written exam in Advanced Weapons today,” Tuck said. “I already took it during my session. The test is a killer. And, well, you know Zane.”
Mako’s brother was incredible with a sword, but disliked reading and writing assignments. He had made procrastination into a religion.
“He’s not ready for the exam?” Mako asked.
“Not even close,” Tuck said.
“We have selections coming up,” Ila said.
Mako nodded. He didn’t need the reminder—he’d been thinking of little else for weeks now. In three days, all the students turning fourteen this year would get the chance to bond with a spiritual guardian. The partnership would augment their natural abilities in unforeseeable ways. A month after that, the students would have the opportunity to be selected as apprentices, in a variety of fields, from gardening to construction to painting.
Much of their future success in life would be determined by the guardians they partnered with and the training they received as they went abroad in their new apprenticeships. Mako’s most likely path would involve some aspect of tuning or music, but with the right guardian, he might surprise everyone and win an apprenticeship with a warmaster.
For as long as he could remember, Mako had dreamed of defending the empire and righting wrongs, joining a storied tradition of Anoran heroes. Every morning as the bonding day got closer, Mako woke up with more nervous energy zipping through his veins, wondering what his guardian would be like, and whether it would be someone who could help him become a warrior.
Zane wasn’t so worried. Even without a guardian, he already had the fighting skills to land a top apprenticeship with a warmaster. But performing poorly on his written exams could harm his prospects. By the age of ten, most kids had begun to specialize in disciplines that suited their aptitudes and interests. As a natural with a sword, Zane dominated the physical aspects of his advanced weapons classes, but the written parts always made him squirm.
“You want me to ring the town clockchime?” Mako asked.
“The sun is high,” Ila said. “Sounding the midday chimes half an hour early might confuse people enough to let out for luncheon and postpone the exam.”
“I rang it once last year,” Mako said. “Do you really think they’ll fall for it again?”
Tuck shrugged. “At least it gives Zane a chance.”
“Do you have your sling?” Tuck asked.
“I always have my sling,” Mako said. “But I wasn’t planning on ringing clockchimes from a distance. I need good rocks. Small, heavy, and round.”
Ila held out a hand and gave Mako five stones. One was a bit light, and one was lopsided, but three would serve fairly well. And three were all he needed. He was impressed. People who didn’t spend much time working with a sling tended to select rocks clumsily.
“Time is running out,” Tuck said. “There won’t be much point if we wait.”
The school buildings were clustered not far from the center of town. Though there were many settlements on Mount Anora, none were very large. Even on a mountain as enormous as Anora, habitable land existed in pockets. Hunkered high on the northwestern shoulder, Paradin was rather small compared to other communities. The chimetower adjoined the Council Headquarters, where the elders met. Along the same stretch were the Hearthfire Inn, the General Emporium, the smithy, the infirmary, Sanctity Lodge—where the really old people lived—and a few other small enterprises.
Mako, Tuck, and Ila ran toward the center of town. Ila was light on her feet, but Tuck chugged along like a bull imitating a racehorse. They met few others on the road. Most people were currently at work or in school.
“How did you two get out of class?” Mako asked.
“Standard excuse this time of year,” Tuck said, huffing. “We’re getting ready for our bonding ceremony.”
“Our whole futures depend on that ceremony,” Ila added. “Teachers understand it’s all we can think about. Tuck and I are both in Anoran History this hour. No exam today, just prep work. But this would be the wrong time to get in trouble.”
“No kidding,” Tuck said. “Zane is the best, but I’m not ready to burn up my future for him.”
Mako felt a flash of hesitation. Zane’s proficiency with a sword would overcome most concerns about his classroom performance. Was bailing him out of a test worth the risk of getting caught? Furrowing his brow, Mako scolded himself. The risk was minimal. He had rung the clockchime before without a problem.
“This shouldn’t be hard,” Mako said. “Zane would do the same for us.”
“We want the General Emporium?” Tuck asked.
“Yes,” Mako said. “The roof gives me an angle where I can hit the target.” Last year he had rung the clockchime on a dare from Zane to see if he could end the school day ten minutes early. Mako had known the feat would require heavy stones and direct hits to create the right sound. Nevertheless, he had perfectly mimicked the peals that signaled three hours past noon, and he’d become an anonymous hero to the many students who had received an early dismissal.
“How do we get up to the roof?” Tuck asked.
“The rain pipes in the back,” Mako said.
“Will they take my weight?” Tuck asked. “I’m not exactly a squirrel.”
“They feel really solid,” Mako said. “There was no wobble when I climbed them. But you don’t have to come up.”
“You think I would miss this?” Tuck asked.
The two sturdy downspouts behind the emporium were anchored to the wall with brackets every few feet, with the first bracket about eight feet off the ground. Once that first bracket was reached, it was a straightforward climb.
Copyright © 2026 by Brandon Mull. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
