I’d never lived what you’d call a sheltered life.  My father was the Chief Undersecretary to the Minister of Defense, so I knew more about wars and rebellions than any middle school kid should.  I could tell you how many people died in the Syrian uprisings, the Egyptian crises, and you shouldn’t get me started on the US Iraqi/Iranian wars.  Sometimes my mind felt like a filing cabinet of well-stocked information, organized into crisp little boxes of destruction.  In reality, Death had not touched me, until the summer between my middle and high school years.  That July, my mother was hit by a drunk driver, and that August, Dad decided it would be better if I attended a private, residential academy for the next five years.

I naturally assumed the two events were correlated.

I remember standing at my mother’s funeral, watching hundreds of people jostling around in their black or navy-blue suits.  Why couldn’t they stay still for one minute?  My mother was always telling me to keep calm, not to pick my nails or tap my shoes on the marble floors.   These people made so much noise, I could barely keep from screaming.

At last it was over, and she was in the ground, in that gorgeous little box.  And suddenly, all the filing cabinets in the world couldn’t hold back my anger.  That night I tore clean through every file I’d accumulated over the last three years. I deleted my hard drive and shredded the physical papers, not with a machine but my bare hands. The statistics were turning into real people, and I hated them for it.  These numbers couldn’t be real people; the pain would be too much.

My father never mentioned this episode of rage, but the next morning he told me about Icaerys Academy.  I looked up from my eggs and toast and saw that he had put down his newspaper.  My father read the Tribune day in and day out, cover to cover, even the advertisements.  It was, I imagined, a part of his job.

             “Erin, I’m considering the options for your schooling next year,” he said succinctly.  This was a bit of a surprise.

             “I thought Oakwood was –”

             “Oakwood is a very good school, that’s true,” he admitted.  “But I thought you’d want to hear about an alternative that has just opened up.”  I leaned forward, and for once, no one told me to take my elbows off the table.

             “The place is named Icaerys Academy.  It’s a secure, state-run institution with an excellent reputation for the arts and sciences.  Some of its graduates go on to be published scientists, best-selling writers, and lead operatives.” 

             “Is it a military academy?”

             “Do you think I’d send you to one of those?”  He sucked in air through his teeth.  “No, I thought you needed a few years to determine what you’d want to study.  Icaerys have got some of the most highly skilled professors of any high school I’ve ever seen, and the headmistress has a list of credentials longer than mine.”  

             “If it’s so great, why would they want me?”  I hadn’t worked particularly hard in school. My teachers said I lacked motivation; I said they lacked imagination.

             “Because you’re my son,” my father said flatly. “And that’s all you need to know about it.”

I took him at his word.  

Somebody at the school must have committed fraud, or lied in their paperwork, and my dad had made it vanish.  Was he making me vanish? 

             “Okay,” I said, because I could think of nothing else.  “When will I start?”

That is approximately as much involvement as I had in my placement at Icaerys Academy.  That next week, my father’s intern came to help me pack for the semester.  Jessica, as she was called, helped to separate everything in my room into what was staying and what was going.  In the end, it all felt very bare; no Spiderman posters left on the wall or Legos under the bed. 

Jessica drove my father and me to the train station while my father’s driver took his sick-leave.  I boarded my first solo train-ride with some anxiety, but I’d departed this station with my mother plenty of times.  I kept hold of my luggage tags and ate my sandwich at twelve-thirty, and before the old lady across from me could finish describing her many cats, I had arrived at my destination. 

The car that was to meet me was not late, as I had feared, and so I immediately found the sign with my alias.  “Tyler Rose” it was this time, and I didn’t ask why.  In the weeks following Mum’s passing, my father had gotten a little more paranoid than usual.  We used to use the same alias – plain, boring “Smith” – every time, but now he gave me two names and never wrote them down.

             “Mr. Rose, good afternoon,” said the driver with an obnoxious little smile.  I’d grown out of pretend-play years ago.  Nevertheless, I couldn’t afford to lose my temper with the man who was to give me a ride to the next stage in my life.

             “Good afternoon, sir.  My luggage should be around shortly.”  That it was, thank God.  We were soon off, driving clean through the city and past many miles of farmland.  

I began to wonder if Icaerys Academy really existed, or if I was being kidnapped and taken to a remote location – growing up in my family would lead you to believe in these things – when we saw the illustrious wrought-iron gates that spiraled up to an “I.A.” at their center.  They weren’t decorative; I saw that these gates stretched into an iron fence that ran as far as I could see around the property.  I didn’t take much notice of it; some high schools needed extra measures of security.  After the driver passed through some kind of radio-sensor, we were given entrance, and continued driving down the tree-lined driveway until we arrived at a tall, brick-fronted building.

             “Thank you very much,” I said politely as I could while the driver pulled my luggage from the trunk.  He gave me an enthusiastic handshake and climbed back into the car, leaving me at the front of  the house.  I didn’t have much time to look around, because the moment I took my eyes off of my bags…

They started levitating off the ground.

As my brown tweed suitcases began a slow amble around the side of the house, I followed quickly behind.  Convinced this was a dream, I pinched myself until there was a small bruise below my left bicep.  Then, a voice from the front, where we’d just come.

             “Liam! Torr! Put those down!”  A woman of maybe fifty years, with dark skin and swooping gray skirts, was rushing down the steps, brandishing a white walking-stick as if it were a bully-club.  Instantly, my luggage clattered unceremoniously to the grass.  “Don’t let me catch you again!”  She must have had better vision than mine, because I only saw the back of the kids’ heads as they darted away.  They ran so fast, it seemed as if they were flying.

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             “Now, you’ll be Erin, then?”  I nodded and stuck out my hand for her to shake.  “I’m Headmistress Ward, and I’ve got your room assignment and class schedule lined up,” she said in that voice that adults use when they want you to pay attention.  I made myself focus on her face and not my new surroundings.  “Let’s get you set up in a cabin.”

As we walked, she rolled one of my cases and I carried the other, listening as she explained about life at Icaerys Academy.

             “We have classes from nine o’clock in the morning to four in the afternoon, with lunch and a recess at midday.  You’ll have English and whatever languages you choose, I’ve not signed you up for any yet, so you can decide.”  I glanced at the list; it was some twenty choices. Surely they don’t teach Ancient Sumerian?  “Then there’s literature, history – again, you’ll decide which history – maths beginning at the algebra level, sciences start at human anatomy, and your recess, which we’ll explain about later.  It’s a sort of independent study block, but not like study halls you’ve had before, I’m sure.”

             “Where –”

             “Many of our classes meet outdoors, but some have dedicated classrooms.  I’ll show you around the grounds so that you have a general idea before you begin tomorrow.  Now, this will be your cabin.  You’re in Denari, yes?”  I checked my form before nodding.  “You’ll probably be getting a new assignment in the coming week.  It’s not often that we have new students, so I’m afraid you’ll be without a room-mate until we get you sorted out.” 

             “What does that mean?  Are there no other freshmen?”

             “Of course there are other freshmen.”  Headmistress Ward patted my arm reassuringly.  “It’s just that your placement was unforeseen, so the others have moved in and become acclimated already.”  I must have looked embarrassed by this, for she continued.

             “Oh, it’s quite all right, dear.  Everyone finds their niche at Icaerys.  We’ll just see where you belong, and you’ll be able to live with people who share your abilities and your aptitude for learning.”  Using the key she gave me, I unlocked the door, and stepped gingerly into my new room.  There lay a thick blue carpet, the color of sea foam, and the walls were papered in a dull orange-cream.  It looks like a goddamn Spongebob episode. At least it’s clean. 

             “Now, then,” Headmistress Ward continued, leaving my suitcase at the foot of the four-poster bed.  “To the grounds.” 

We walked from building to building, and now I let my eyes wander freely.  The lay-out was simple enough: the groundskeeper’s cottage, the doctor’s chateau, three recreational fields, four cabins, the gardens, and the academic hall.  

Nonetheless, I was getting a strange sense of excitement about this place.  It didn’t feel like a school.

             “Where are all the kids?”  I found myself asking, in the middle of her description of the gardens.

             “Hm?” the headmistress tilted her head until her tight bun of hair leaned off to the side like the top of a melting ice-cream cone.  “Oh yes, they’ll be in the Forest Field, at the Games.  Each year we have Start-of-term Games, a sort of tournament between the different teams.  There’s a trophy that goes to the cabin of whichever team wins.”

             “Nice!”  I’d never been particularly good at sports, but I loved watching.  “What do they play?  Basketball? Cricket? Football? Rugby?”

             “Mhm,” she murmured with a small, unfathomable smile.  “You’ll get to see them play later, if you’d like.  For now, I thought you might be hungry.”

So I had an early supper with the headmistress of my new school, and that was an odd experience.  At my old school, I saw the headmaster once, maybe twice while I was there.  He showed up to sports sometimes, to cheer on the basketball team, or the orchestra at their recitals, but he’d never spoken to me.  

Headmistress Ward was nice enough, and I didn’t mind listening to her stories, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more that she wasn’t telling me.

             “May I be excused?”  I said when we’d finished.

             “I suppose so,” she said, glancing at the clock.  “It will be getting dark in an hour or so.  I don’t suppose you’ll have time to make it to the Field for the Games, after all.”  This didn’t faze me.

             “I don’t mind walking back in the dark!”

             “It’s no matter.  We can’t be losing a student so early in the term.”  She chuckled.  “Besides, there’s always next year.”

That was the absolute wrong thing to say to a fourteen-year-old who just attended his parent’s funeral.  For me, there was no ‘next year’.  There might not even be a next week, for all I knew.  

So it was that the minute I had waved goodbye to her and gone into the cabin, I turned right back around and took off sprinting for the path to the woods.

The forest path was well-marked, but the canopy of treetops screened most of the light that would have come down to shine on my way.  I squinted to see to dodge the tree roots before me, until I heard a great cheer that told me I was headed in the right direction.

This wasn’t an organized, planned cheer.  They shouted no team names, and I couldn’t make out the words they were yelling.  To me, it sounded like raw enjoyment, emotion made verbal.

I loved it.

I came upon the Forest Field just as the sun was edging its way over the horizon.  It was less of a field and more a valley, such as no one could play football on without a serious disadvantage to one team.  However, they weren’t playing football.  

They couldn’t be.

I’d never seen a game of football where three of the players flew over the heads of the others.

Furthermore, there seemed to be animals in this game.  As I moved between the bleachers filled with shouting students, I saw two wolfish dogs, a great white cat, and …

             “Is that a lion?”  Now I was absolutely sure I was dreaming.  The girl I’d asked ignored me, rapt in the action of the Games.

I stood against the railing and watched the lion stalk back and forth under one of the hovering characters.  Around her neck, she wore a hoop of bright copper.  The boy above the lion darted from side to side, and I figured he was trying to dislodge the hoop.  At one point, he dove, reaching for the animal’s mane, but she leapt away in the nick of time.

And she never came down.  Rather, I sat amazed as the lion vanished, and in her place, an eagle flapped its great wings.  The flying boy began to fall then, hurtling to the ground.  

One of his teammates, a girl with long black hair who had been fighting on the ground, stretched out her arms in his direction.  She’s too far away to catch him, I thought stupidly.  But I could soon see that her objective was never to catch him.  

Rather, the ground under him dipped inward at her gesture, as though she was punching dough to make bread.  The ground itself dipped down to catch the boy, and when his teammate drove her fist up into the air, it launched him back up again like a trampoline.  

All of this happened so quickly, I found myself believing it was real.

The eagle in the sky now had a new objective.  It held the hoop in its talons, but I was starting to see that defense was never its game.  It circled the Field once, flashing copper all around, and then dropped the ring.  The crowd around me took up another roar, and this time I heard an identifiable name.

             “Sam!” they cried.  And I saw that the eagle hadn’t dropped it, exactly, but had tossed it to a boy on the ground.  When that boy caught the copper hoop, he took off running, and as his right foot left the ground, he became a new creature, scaly with wings and talons. 

I didn’t bother asking if it was a dragon.  Instead, I tried to find the first flying boy again.  His companions, seemingly exhausted, were circling lower and lower.  They stayed around the same spot, across the field from the black-haired girl, and I craned my neck to see what they hid there.

  When they broke to chase the dragon, I could see a streak of brown rushing for the spot they had left unguarded.  Seconds later, a whistle shrieked and the action stopped. 

 The brown streak that was actually a fox was being lifted high by a group of teenagers – Were those kids just animals a second ago? – and when they threw the fox into the air, a small girl fell back into their arms.  In her hands, she clutched a hoop of bright silver. 

The cheers were chaos itself, and my heart raced to hear it.