Carryl felt monumentally foolish. She had let the hatch to the roof fall closed behind her with no way to get back inside. Now she was nine, ten floors above the street’s pavement.

She tried lifting the hatch once again, but no effort could lift it. She thought about using magic, but with no idea where exactly the lever was or what the mechanism looked like, the only magic she could use would end up being destructive.

She was most definitely not supposed to be up here, so calling for help was not an option, not after she had already gotten in trouble the day before. Roy would throw her into the sea for this.

Carryl carefully crawled around the edge of the roof, looking for a way down without inspecting too closely the length of the obvious way down. There was no ladder or similar leading up or down the walls of the house. When she was crawling at the forward edge of the roof, she saw below the street leading up to the campus gate, where three guards stood, two mundane with spears and one mage with his staff, who had not spotted her, luckily; the news of the burglar breaking into campus and scholar’s quarter meant she would seem even more suspicious. She turned back to her precarious situation only to halt. As she turned her head, she saw a fourth person from the corner of her eye, walking up the street to the campus gate.

Carryl looked again and saw only three people. She thought it an odd trick of the luminous clouds bellowing above and turned back around, but stopped again; the fourth person was back! Another look to confirm, but the fourth person was gone just as before; was she making it up?

She felt like that time when she – her mind half lost in sleep already – held a candle up to an oddly shaped shadow to inspect it closer, only for it to disappear, much to her surprise, in foolish ignorance of the candle casting its light onto the shadow. Yet this time, the shadow seemed not of light and dark, but of sense and nonsense, as if it did not make sense for a fourth person to be there when she looked, but when she turned away, it made no sense for a fourth person not to be there.

Not deterred by something so trivial as invisibility, Carryl continued to watch the fourth person by not watching directly. The campus guard would surely see them, a mage was among them after all, he would surely have some detection spells. She kept her eyes fixed on the campus gate, the fourth person came closer into her focus of attention, then vanished. None of the guards acted or even flinched. Then the remainder of a limb disappeared behind the campus wall.

Carryl refused to believe that the Exalted Academy of Halonnes was unable to prevent entry onto the campus to someone with a sloppy invisibility spell. What had she just witnessed?

A cold gust pulled her back to her current situation. She had to get off this roof and best fast before she truly was seen. Who knew who else might be looking out their window at this very moment?

She only found one potential way down: the windows of the supply closets. On the outside, the windowsill was just wide enough to stand on. She could carefully lower herself down by hanging off the roof’s edge, then drop the last three or four feet. It was a daring prospect, but it was the only way down she saw that would not draw attention to her.

She sat down on the edge of the roof. The wall of the neighbouring building was not too far, but its windows and sills were offset too far to the left for her to use them either. Her feet dangling high across the paved alley, she swallowed. A few crates and barrels stood there, but they took less than five feet off the total drop to the ground.

The sky was dimming, the less light she had the worse. She lay down on her belly and let herself slide back- and downwards. At first she could hold on with her entire arms, but as she lowered herself further, it got harder and harder, until she held on, barely by her fingers. She had not imagined herself so heavy, then again, it had been a few years since she land climbed around on the trees in the castle garden.

Carryl dared a glance down, to see how far the windowsill was and she frightened at the sight. It was probably more than five feet to drop. But her fingers told her there was no turning back. The strain was too much and she slipped off.

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The moment in the air was an eternity of fright. Her feet hit the windowsill. She threatened to fall back, her arms shot forward, but there was nothing to hold on to, the window frame ended at her hips. Her hands shot down and from above, into the window frame, pressing hard against the bare rocks, giving her some semblance of grip while her toes had barely any hold on the edge of the sill, still nine floors above the pavement. It was impossible. She would not be as lucky on all of these windows. She would fall eventually. Options raced through her mind. She could try breaking the window, but the metal lattice the small glass plates were set into would itself present a barrier, not to mention her absolute dread at the prospect of getting in trouble again.

She tried to turn in her current position, hoping to find another way out, but as she did, a few of the grains in her pocket, tumbling down for a few heartbeats before playing a requiem of tic and toc on the pavement below. A cold grasp wrapped around her throat, the hair in the back of her neck stood upright. She had to think of disappointing Roy again. It would seem that she had to break the window or cry for help.

Memories of what he had done for her came up. She remembered her dinghy, his gift to her on her fourteenth name day. He had showed her how to work the rudder and sail, how to steer and even to navigate by the stars. It is ill a princess of the northern seas' rulers that does not know how to set sail herself was what he had said and at that time that she had felt the closest to her country and to a future she truly desired.

Then two things in her head fit together. She knew how to work the sail, she had even once mended a hole in hers. It did not hold long, but the Lady Mother had insisted on teaching all the girls about weaving and stitching. She understood something about the wind, how it acted on surfaces and flowed around obstacles, how it filled the sail when it bellowed it up. All this she understood and if she understood it, she could make it work.

She had all the tools she needed to work this into a magic spell.

Still holding the tense pose in the window frame, she thought of how exactly to work it. She could tell the simple weaving of her students’ robes. She could stick together the rims at the front turning it into an enclosed bell of sorts. When she dropped, the air would have to flow through her robes, turning them into a sail, slowing her fall. It would not be much, but certainly more than nothing. If she added some wind from below, she could possibly add some more to the effect.

All she had to do now was bring herself into position, assume the proper pose and drop down. On her current perch, she had little chance to prepare without falling, it all had to happen in a single moment.

Carefully, she let one hand go and reached into her pocket. A fistful of grain, not much energy within, but still. She demanded the release and imagined threads strong enough for her purpose. How strong? She flexed her fist, pressed with all might and imagined the threads wrapped around her fingers. If they could withstand this, they would be strong enough. The energy released as she demanded and flowed through her veins. A coarse and warm sensation enlivened her fingers and she pulled on the rims of her robe so that they laid atop another tautly. She pressed them together, imagining the threads weaving through, stitching them together properly. Then, she tested them with a pull or two and they held.

By that point, Carryl’s heart was racing faster than she could bear. She had the first stage. Now she had to think of the one that would prove much more crucial.

She summoned into her mind the second part of her spell, imagining the perfect angle to tack a sail against the wind to catch all of it for the desired direction. Almost to her surprise, she felt a breeze up through the alley. She reached deeper into the grain in her pockets, drawing out more and more life force, her hands getting warm, her fingers hot, her veins sore. Then, when she felt confident, she hopped backwards.

A jolt ran through her, upwards. Her robe bellowed up, her sash flew off under the pressure, the ground rushed towards her, a scream tried to escape her mouth. She clenched her teeth, pressed the formula deeper into her awareness, hoping for a stronger gust.

Then

Impact

The sensation of cracking and shattering accompanied by pressing pain travelled through her, her shinbones, her thighs, her pelvis, her spine, even her skull. Her legs gave in to the force and when her body could not be compressed any bit further, her head whipped back and smacked against the stone wall of the alley.

Carryl lied there, in the broken and shattered remains of a wooden crate and of the many empty pots therein. A few shards of pottery where poking into her rump and legs. She remained there for a moment, expecting someone to come rushing towards the source of the noise, but no such thing happened. She picked herself back up and inspected the damage. Her knees were weak, her legs felt like mush and her spine felt like stone beneath a hammer, but she found no injuries on her. Even the shards of pottery inflicted no harm on her or her robes.

With unsure steps she walked towards the dormitory door.

“That was the dumbest thing I have ever done.” She hoped she could blend in at dinner.