The night is calm and peaceful, the air still warm and comfortable. Most critters of the forest have long since slept, but some still skitter about the bushes. Mice will occasionally hop across my feet, and the deep call of an owl sounds just before it launches, soaring further into the dense tree canopy.

  The quiet is my favorite, at times all I dream for. Often, I dread speaking at all. But perhaps that is because of all the time I spend with father, who hardly allows me a second of speech. It will be strange to no longer care for him, to be absent from the voice which has commanded me for so long.

  A part of me is intrigued by this idea; a life without him badgering over my shoulder. But it will not last long, the silence and reprieve, for soon I will walk the halls of Etari, and enter the school of mystery.

  But before any of that, I will first have to cross the Serpents Sea. The waters of which are quite treacherous, and based on the smell of the air, I would expect a storm to soon peck at the bay. If the waters are turned furious by the brewing storm, it will only be by the grace of the gods that the ship makes it to the island.

  The boat I have chosen would not have been my first choice, but I didn’t have any other option. Father refused to pay for the voyage, and our small port town is a day's ride from the next village, so I had to make my own arrangements.

  I have watched the ship, named the Blue Heron, for many weeks now, each time under the veil of darkness. The ship claims to be merchantry, but based on the shrouded boxes that are regularly brought to Isle Parisama, I would wager it is more than supplies that they carry.

  They leave twice a week, at exactly three in the morning, only returning at dusk on the second evening of their initial departure. It is not ideal, sneaking onto a guarded ship, but this is my only chance. No other ship dares face the Serpents Sea, nor the consequences of approaching the Isle. Not unless they wish an arrow through their throats.

  I approach the edge of the forest, the grass now long and tall, and peer down the steep hillside, where the Blue Heron sits bobbing in the thrashing, black waves.

  I am right on time, with ten minutes remaining. It will not be long before the crew swap shifts, and unless this night is the exception, the young man whom they call Alkeri will be dozing on a rusted crab trap, exhausted from his typical nine hour shift, which ends at precisely 1:30 in the morning.

  Sneaking down the hillside, making sure to stay out of the moon's glow, I meet the lip of the sandy shore. I remove my shoes, tying them together to drape around my neck, and allow the sloshing water to cover my bare feet.

  I move silently through the frigid waves, careful to step on secured stones, and peer through the porthole that has become quite familiar, where I have for many weeks watched the scarlet haired man.

  As I had expected, and meticulously checked, the man is sleeping on the empty crate, his head tipped back and mouth ajar, a soft snore rumbling down the deck.

  Satisfied, and only five minutes remaining, I dip further into the water, the cold soaking up to my waist as I move quickly to the roped anchor. Shimmying up the rope, careful to keep it from shifting and making sound, I find the railing’s ledge, and slide onto the slippery ground.

  My heart seems to consume my mind as I take my first step to the shipping hall, careful to avoid the creaking boards which I have memorized in the last month. It was essential for me to learn the ship's secrets in preparation for the voyage. The Blue Heron is not known for its kindness, and if I am found before reaching the Isle, the best I can hope for is to be drowned.

  My steps feel heavy, perhaps from fear, and as I approach the dozing crewmate, my heart seems to stop when he shifts in his sleep, grumbling as he scratches his nose. He at last returns to stillness, and my heart again soothes, but only for a moment, for when I reach the doorway, my hand already on the steel knob, footsteps approach from port side.

  Just before the man breaks around the side of the ship, I duck between two large boxes, shielded by the shadows, even given a small view.

  “ALKERI! What have I told you!” Bellows the stern crewmember, whose voice so reminds me of the Captain's right hand man, Lieutenant Harn.

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  The crab crate squeals, along with the loose floorboards, “Sorry, Lieutenant Harn! It was only for a moment, I swear!”

  “Oh you swear, do you?” Lieutenant Harn sneers, his thick, black boots pummeling the ground, “Well I swear that this is the last I will be seeing of you! Oh the Captain will have to listen to me now. You come with me boy, it is about time you learnt a proper lesson.”

  By the grace of the gods, the two men, one with slouching footsteps, the other bold and determined, disappear from the deck, nary a clue of my panicked presence.

  Not wasting a moment, I disappear behind the door and lean against the worn frame. But it is now that I find another unexpected surprise, in the form of a young man, slipping in through the hidden door in the floor, entirely soaked from the churning sea, his sleek, black hair dripping silently.

  He hoists himself through the door, setting it carefully back into place as water soaks the glossy floor. Lifting his head, his mahogany eyes flash in shock, his only reaction as he finds his company. He glances me over, but has nothing to fear, the reason he is here is the same as I.

  On his chest is a silver brooch, carved with an intertwined sun and moon, the symbol of the school of Etari, which is required for one to enter the hidden castle.

  He takes notice of my own, pinned to my right breast, and nods slowly, retreating into the furthest shadows of the shipping room, where the largest of crates are stored. I follow suit, as it had been my plan, and wind to a back corner.

  I release a breath at the plan that seemed too good to be true, and observe the boy, who sits across in his own shadowed corner, completely silent and still.

  The boy is lean and tall, his skin the smoothest brown. He is garbed in shabby, black fabrics, the hem of his pants too short and small, but holds himself with composure, almost so still he could be a statue. He is observant, and is obviously taking me in the same way I am he. But I do not blame him. Not when this ship holds consequence beyond reason. My first thought is that he would make an excellent Lock, the epitome of those put into the House of Merikna. Oh what father would say if he saw…

  The ship bobs silently, and as the eve turns to three, we at last hear the anchor pulled back into place, and feel the Blue Heron drift off to sea.

  ???

  As I had predicted, the sea is furious and violent. The crates shift as the ship thrashes, and I find myself desperately praying I will not be sick. The boy seems to be doing as poorly as I, but it is hard to tell, for he has somehow grown more hidden by thick shadows, which seem to kiss his sides. He may be gifted with the night, it is always a possibility.

  Gifts are coveted by the world of Everneza, and most especially my home country of Leiyetta. They come from the heart of our world, in the lands of Savinel Erom, just as the rest of Everneza’s magic. But the heartland is fading, magic is growing more rare, and gifts have nearly disappeared. It is unlikely he would be gifted, but it is not impossible. Afterall, I, myself, possess such a gift, though for the most part it does not feel to be there.

  It is no longer strong, not like Mrs. Kyne, who can detect if someone is telling the truth. My gift has dwindled with age, not strengthened as it should have. When I was a child, I could change my short, black hair to long, blonde curls, and eyes of dazzling violet. Sometimes I would even stretch so tall that I could pick the highest cherries from our old tree. Dax loved to watch me do it, always applauding and begging for more. At least until father came out, and yelled until his face turned purple. He has never liked my gift, often calling it unnatural. Which is funny, because for the longest time it was the most natural thing I could do.

  At last, after a terrible day and night, every hour filled with ruthless crashing and the constant fear of being caught, the Blue Heron pulls into Port Morai, the hollering of crewmates heard through the thin walls as they rush about the deck in preparation for arrival.

  As soon as the boat lurches to a stop, the boy and I stand in unison. We do not have long to leave the ship unnoticed, and there is only one way out alive.

  We creep around the towering boxes, both of our shoes removed to prevent any unnecessary sound, and he again opens the trapdoor, ducking his head for me to get down.

  I lower to my knees and slide through the hole, careful to gracefully enter the calm waters. Just as I touch down, the boy meets my side, the trapdoor closed just in time, for now there is a stampede of crewmembers above, rushing about what was once our refuge.

  We tread lightly, and move closer to the black, sandy shore, making sure to stay shielded by the worn dock, which is bustling with merchants and guards. While we are allowed on the Isle, being students, afterall, it would not be wise to startle the guards, nor reveal ourselves to the Blue Heron, who would still kill us even though the damage is well past done.

  Pressing firmly into where the dock meets the sand, as far from the ship as I can manage, the boy soon settles close to my side, peering at the dock with attentiveness.

  We will wait here until the ship departs, which may be problematic, as the sea is rising and will steal our air in less than an hour's time. It would be better if the water was not so cold, my clothes now heavy and chafing. But alas, this was never going to be an easy journey. And the worst has still yet to come.