Page 11 of Storm of Shadows

“I’m not stupid. I knew what was coming. I wasn’t going to hang about and let them catch me.”

“Me neither.” And for a moment we look at each other, understanding passing between us.

“Ahhh,” he says, “looks like we’ve reached the perimeter of the academy.” He points towards a fence woven from the branches of willow trees and blocking the way ahead. “Come on, Briony, we’d better go find out what punishment lies in wait for us.”

We climb over the fence and step out onto mossy moorland. Immediately a murder of crows, feeding on the land, crack their wings and take off into the sky, skimming over our heads and cawing at us angrily.

“Great,” I mutter, ducking my head. “I can’t wait.”

Chapter Five

Briony

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.