He spoke as if I haven’t endured the same pain as him. As if I haven’t experienced the same loss. As if my grief doesn’t even register to him. Fuck rolling out of the carriage, I’d wanted to jump beneath it and let it run over me a dozen times. Maybethatpain would be easier to manage.
I watch the girl, expecting her to point and call the others who are almost at the doors, to inform her friends that a Nocthare is among them. But to my relief her attention is pulled away from me as one of the girls cries out:
‘Tilly, hurry. We’re going to be late!’
As Tilly’s gaze is pulled from mine, I feel my shoulders relax.
I wait a full two minutes after Tilly has disappeared before I make my way toward the double doors.
The moment I step foot into the Grand Hall my jaw threatens to drop. The room is circular, a raised limestone dais in its centre, and three seating areas are spread out around the room. Two out of three are empty, but the other is quickly filling with students in grey robes. The seats are staggered upward like bleachers, separated by aisles that lead to the entrances of each of the four towers. Each entrance resembles an archway, sealed with coloured stone stretching from the floor to the pointed top of the arch.
Within the archway to my far left, the stone is a myriad of green swirls that move about, blending into each other as if the stone is alive. The archway to my far right is a kaleidoscope of browns, greys, oranges and reds, swirling around each other. The one beside that, closest to me and right next to the seats that are being filled, shines an iridescent white, with flecks of every colour of the rainbow shimmering inside of it.
I look to my left, expecting to see a fourth archway, leading to the fourth tower. But my eyes meet plain grey stone. No archway or entrance, as if one either didn’t exist or had been paved over a long time ago.
I glance back to the seats and notice I’m one of the only students left standing. The first four rows are full, so I keep walking up the stairs until I spot an empty seat at the end of the fifth and final row. When I reach it, I falter. Tilly – the girl from outside – is in the next seat.
I half expect her to look over at me as I sink down, but her eyes are trained upward at the sealed hole in the ceiling. The deep groan of metal sliding against metal reverberates throughout the room, hushing everyone into silence.
The noise is coming from the hole in the domed ceiling above us and, ever so slowly, a sliver of light beams down as the roof opens to expose the moon looming perfectly overhead. It takes almost a full minute for it to open entirely but when it does, silver moonlight pools downward to the middle of the dais where a man now stands.
He’s dressed in a deep blue three-piece suit with a gold brooch. A quill crossing over an arrow; I recognise it from the stamps on council letters to my parents. His salt and pepper hair is cut short, accentuating the sharp angles of his face and the deep lines of his forehead. He looks older than my father, possibly in his sixties, but his air of confidence and the strong set in his shoulders has me sitting up straight.
‘I’m glad you decided not to run.’
I stiffen at the hushed voice from beside me, and cautiously glance over at Tilly, whose hazel eyes are trained forward. For a second I think I imagined it, but then I see one of her eyebrows rise.
‘Excuse me?’
‘You came inside,’ she whispers. ‘Don’t get me wrong, if I were in your shoes I don’t think I’d have been able to do it.’
‘Dowhat?’ I demand defensively.
‘Be here and face everyone after what happened. It’s brave of you.’
My stomach flips.
When I don’t reply, her head turns. Hazel eyes meet mine and just as I think she’s about to elaborate, a commanding voice rings out through the room.
Our heads whip forward to where the man on the dais looks up at us all.
‘Good evening, and welcome.’ His presence sucks the air from the room as all eyes fall on him. ‘Tonight, you embark on an ancient tradition. This is notjusta ceremony but a rite of passage. Valmora Academy was created centuries ago to train the elite, the fierce, the most determined of our people. To be accepted means you have something unique to offer – potential to be harnessed into something great. In a moment, you will be called one by one to come forth and place your hand on a gate of your choosing.’
My insides twist as my eyes find the three arches once again. They seem to glow, burning brighter than before, like some deep-rooted magic is calling them to announce themselves.
‘Some of you already possess your element, which you will harness and feed into your chosen gate to gain access. If you are yet to uncover your element, you must use your blood. The magic within the gates will recognise the magic within your blood and place you where you need to be.’
A woman in a taupe-coloured robe ascends the steps to the dais and presents the man with a dagger. She kneels, holding it up to him like an offering with both hands, her gaze cast downward.
He takes it from her and holds it up in the air. The silver blade shines in the glow of the moonlight.
‘If the gate of your choosing does not accept your element or your blood, you will move onto the next gate until one of them accepts you.’ He turns then, using the dagger to point to the archway in the middle, the one with browns, reds and greys swirling within the stone. ‘Unit Leader of Agate, come forth and prepare to meet your new acolytes.’
The air around me is thick with anticipation. Everyone seems to hold their breath as the middle of the gate starts to darken.
I lean forward in my seat, unable to curb my curiosity, and squint as the dark shape takes the form of a silhouette. With a glow of orange light, a person steps through the archway dressed in a dark brown robe.
She looks only a few years older than me, with blonde hair coiled into a tight bun at her nape. She steps forward with her hands clasped in front of her and turns to us all.
