Chapter 5
Chapter Five
B riony
The academy stands in front of us, my home for the next twelve months.
It sprawls across the landscape like a monster, many tall gothic towers twisting up into the gray sky like outstretched claws, and solid lower buildings, with long slitted windows and tiled roofs, crouching closer to the ground. It’s a hodgepodge of constructions – some old, some newer, some spectacular and elegant, some decrepit and crumbling away.
It makes me shiver. It looks more like a prison than a school. A place to keep people locked away.
“Cheery, isn’t it?” Fly says with a grimace. “I wonder if there will be doilies on the tables and frilly curtains by the windows.”
“More likely chains and torture devices,” I mumble.
“You’re right. That would suit the overall aesthetic much better.”
He grabs my hand and tugs me over the rough ground. “You’re slowing up. Come on, the punishment will only be worse the later we leave it.”
“Urgh,” I groan but let him pull me, happy for once to have company.
I don’t usually feel nervous. What’s the point? But the place is so damn intimidating, about one hundred times bigger than anything back in Slate Quarter including the workshops and factories.
“Do you know where we should go?” I ask him, as we draw closer to the first of the towering buildings.
“There, I’m guessing,” he says, pointing towards our left. We’ve been walking across rough moorland but this has given way to a manicured field, the grass green and even. Up against the stone building walls, a tent of pale canvas has been erected. There are a handful of people milling about, some slumped on the ground.
“Hey you, there!” a tall slender woman with a clipboard calls over to us, waving in our direction and calling to us in a clipped tone. “Stop dawdling and get over here at once.”
We look at each other and then pick up our heels, sprinting that way. As we draw closer, I realize the people slumped on the ground aren’t simply taking a rest, exhausted after the night’s excursion. They’re injured.
Blood pours from a wound on the head of one boy, an elderly woman crouching over him and attempting to bandage it up. A girl lies out cold on the floor. Another girl clutches an arm to her chest, tears rolling down her cheeks.
We halt before the woman who glares at us through jeweled spectacles, her hands on her hips, her raven hair twisted artistically onto the top of her head. Her lips are painted a deep red, her nails a matching color, and black liner rings her brown eyes.
“Fly Arison?” My new companion nods and she ticks his name off her list. “And Briony Storm?”
“Yes,” I tell her, as she examines me with an up-turned nose. I didn’t look great to begin with – especially with the black eye. But after rolling around on the earth, sleeping in a tree and trudging through the forest, I assume I look even worse. Plus I probably stink.
“Are you injured?” she asks us.
“No,” we say together.
“Then what in all the realm do you think you’ve been doing? Eighteen hours? This is a new record for the slowest trek to the academy.”
“We were trying to avoid that,” Fly says, pointing to the unconscious girl.
“She’s simply fainted from exhaustion.” The woman scoffs. “Pathetic. It’s a simple trek. No river to cross, no mountain to hike. If you hope to survive in Firestone Academy, you’re both going to need to grow some balls.”
“I don’t think trekking did that to him,” I spit out, gesturing to the boy who now, along with the girl with the broken arm, is being led inside the academy.
“He cracked his head on a branch. Total carelessness and an avoidable incident. So many of you low-lifers lack basic survival and practical skills. We see it every year. Too molly-coddled by your parents.” She raps her knuckles on her clipboard. “Not here.”
I glance towards Fly. He’s staring straight ahead and I’m not sure he’s even listening to this bullshit.
“It goes without saying neither of you earned any points in this trial.” The woman snaps two pieces of paper off her clipboard and hands them to us. “Accommodation was allocated on the basis of arrival at the academy. This is where you will be staying. Your bags have already been sent to your rooms. I suggest you head there now, and freshen up. Arrival assembly starts in …” She glances up to the tower behind her, where a large clock displays the time. “One hour. Do not be late! And you can collect your uniforms from the pile there.”
“How about breakfast?” Fly asks.
“You missed it,” she says, already striding away.
“Is that it?” I ask as we study our pieces of paper. “I was expecting something more …”
“Don’t get complacent,” Fly says. “They’ve probably placed us down in the cellars with the rats and mice.”
I shrug. If I was late back at home, the punishment was far more severe. Some less-than-desirable room seems pretty tame in comparison – especially given my room back in Slate Quarter was hardly worthy of a palace.
“And you know who that was?” Fly asks.
I shake my head.
“Madame Bardin.”
“Is she a shadow weaver?”
“Cupcake, nearly all the faculty are. Can’t have commoners teaching the elites. But Madame Bardin, she has a … reputation.”
“A reputation for baking her students cookies and handing out warm hugs?”
“Ahhh, no,” Fly says with a smile, “imagine the opposite and then make it a hell of a lot worse. Much much worse. She’s a bitch and we most definitely landed ourselves on her wrong side.”