At dawn, the Blue Heron departs Port Morai, and the boy and I take our first breath. We cut it close, having to swim under the dock, with only an inch of air remaining. By now my body is heavy and numb, almost too cold to move.

  Dipping under the waves and out from the rotting dock, we slide along the edge, careful to not disturb the sentries, who tend to shoot first, and ask questions later.

  I peer up at the dock, my head bobbing at the surface of the waves, finding tips of gold capped, white boots, and matching gold, straight cut pants. Shields. Guards for those who are important, and apparently, Isle Parisama.

  The Shields discuss the Blue Heron sailors, with proud voices and sneering jibes.

  “Did you see the ginger? Sporting the fresh black eye.” A man, with a heavy, east Leiyettan accent, chides.

  “Yes,” another snorts, this time female, “But I was more focussed on getting a glimpse inside those crates.”

  “You know that’s classified, Evans,” the man tsks, glancing anxiously over his gold tasseled shoulder.

  Evans taps her boot in response, vibrating the withering dock.

  The boy and I shift closer to the shore, and I crouch on my knees to crawl out of the water, having already decided where I will flee. I turn back to the boy as he follows me out onto the sand, and gesture to a crop of overflowing fish barrels.

  “But seriously, what do you think they’re actually bringing to Etari?”

  “What do you mean? The crates are filled with supplies.”

  “Sure, that’s what they say, I just wonder-”

  “Evans, that is enough.” A stern voiced man commands, stomping up from the lip of the dock, “Do you wish to insinuate that our country is up to something nefarious?”

  “No!” The Shield, Evans, yelps, “I would never.”

  “Then you will do well to keep your mouth shut, and ears open. You are on watch, not here to gossip.” The commanding man spits harshly.

  The Shield Major continues his rampage, but by the time he has at last finished fuming, and glowered back into his shabby shack, the boy and I have already ducked behind the fish, shielded by the overwhelming scent of the sea.

  The boy gives me a slight smile, and I hesitantly return it. He seems nice enough, and clearly understands the art of silence. Perhaps he could be a good ally. Dax always said that was the only way to get through.

  I suck my lip between my teeth as I look up the deserted, honeycomb patterned street. The Port of Morai is in the middle of the salt flats, nary a single plant in range. It goes on for miles, until reaching a thick, oaken forest, which will lead us to Mount Evermeah.

  Port Morai is a small town, with hardly four wooden buildings, each housing the Shield’s and supplies. It seems that the Blue Heron is their only frequent visitor, only one, gnarled dock bobbing in the navy water. But that is not for long, for in just a few hours, the new students of Etari will begin to arrive. However, most will come in through the other two ports, where the sea is not nearly as dangerous, and the welcome will be far greater.

  I tug on the boy's sleeve, and we take off up the street. Sliding down alleyways, avoiding the wandering eye, we at last reach the outskirts of the town, and into the open sky.

  We walk in silence, the only sound the crunch of the salty tiles as we savor the open air. It is a relief to be off that ship, to be far from any part of society, for that matter. It is also very strange, to be away from father. He would be taking breakfast about now.

  A sayamine falcon soars above our heads, his eyes intent and curious as he ruffles black feathers, his wings licked with a sheen of deep blue. Sayamines are very rare birds, strange to find one so far from home. The boy looks up just in time, giving it a small smile before the bird takes off, soaring into the mountainous horizon.

  “Lovely, isn’t he?” I force out as I get the nerve. How long has it been since I spoke to someone outside of father and the Kyne’s?

  He takes a moment, allowing for a breath of silence, before saying,

  “Sayamines are fascinating birds.”

  I nod softly, and again fall silent, unsure of what else to say.

  “I’m Kieran,” he looks at me as we walk side by side, “Kieran Nightawk.”

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  He holds out a hand and I shake it tentatively, “Mauven Fangera.”

  We match each other's steps, though his strides are twice as long, with brief bits of conversation braided into silence. If I had not thought he to be a Lock before, this has secured it in my mind. Locks are Leiyettan spies, known for their silence and gift of observation. Very few who attend Etari will become a Lock, nor will many make it into the House of Merikna, at all.

  The House of Helrion is built for most, two out of three will be placed into White alone. Not even ten will make it into that of Merikna, many years none make it at all. Merikna and the ways of the school are unknown to outsiders. She is renowned for her secrets, and has been so since her birth, nary a soul outside her home aware of what happens behind her shadowed walls.

  ???

  The salt flats eventually lead to a forest, the beginning of the mountainous climb. We are to ascend the mountain by hand, it is the first test of our training. Those who cannot complete the climb will be left for dead, their fate perhaps worse than those who plummet from the treacherous peaks, who at least fought for their end. Dax always whispered of secret passageways up the mountain, but naturally, had no clue where one may lie.

  The forest is bountiful and calm, twittering with birds and squirrels. It is a nice change from the flats, where the sun beat ruthlessly on our backs. It was rather good timing, too, for as soon as we reached the dense tree cover, the sound of bumbling voices reached our ears.

  Based on the heavy, thumping footsteps, and loud, rambunctious laughs, they are a group of boys. Likely four or five. They are not too far, only a few trees away. But still, none seem to have noticed us, as we have dropped behind their track, sure to stay out of sight.

  Technically, there is a no kill order before reaching Etari. But everyone knows that Etari turns a blind eye to these types of things. It is best to stay safe, when one is unsure. It is why my hand is gripped tight to Dax’s beloved blade. My aim has never been great, he claimed it was my lack of confidence, but regardless of my talent, it is better to be prepared.

  Kieran seems to be on edge, himself. His hands fidgeting at his sides. A nervous tick, one I am unsure he is aware of. But he gives no other sign of his unease, his face blank neutrality.

  “I believe there are five.” I say, under my breath.

  Kieran nods in agreement, then mutters, “One has noticed us, but has not told the others.”

  I look at him in mild surprise, “How do you know?”

  Kieran’s steps falter just a moment, as if startled by what he let free. He then glances at me over his shoulder, his eyes sharp and assessing.

  “The shadows told me.”

  So, I was right. Kieran Nightawk is a bender of the night.

  “Fancy trick.” I smile slightly.

  Kieran returns it, one side of his lips tipping up. It seems that his face has colored, as if he does not speak of his gift often. I would tell him of mine, if I had anything to show for it.

  The snapping of twigs and rustling of leaves grow louder as we travel swiftly through the forest. The boys are not far ahead. And as we step through a mound of blackberry bushes, we get our first real look.

  Each are tall, some lean, others wide. One has shaggy, raven hair, two with silver, one close cropped the other like a lion's mane, another a mousy brown, and the final a strawberry blonde. The most boastful of the group, the silver, wild haired boy, is as wide as a thick tree, his hands the size of a frying pan. He appears to be the designated leader, striding smugly ahead of the others. The rest fall behind him, but as threatening as they may be, none is more than the black haired boy, his honey brown skin almost sparkling under the patched light.

  It is obvious at once that it is he who has noticed us. Made clear in the way he hangs at the very back, the only one sitting in silence. His movements are smooth, like flowing water, as he swivels his head to catch every last view.

  Kieran and I crouch close to the ground, eyes wholly focused on the boy. There is a certain aura about him, one that tells me he is much more than flesh and bone. He is likely gifted, and quite strong, his energy is almost intoxicating.

  “Not long now boys!” The lumbering leader declares, slicing through bushes with a long, curved sword.

  “We’ll be the first to the top,” the brunette smirks, shoving the strawberry blonde into a tree, “And if anyone gets in our way…”

  The brunette tears out a blade and pretends to slice the boy's throat, having him pinned to a long, slender tree. The boy fakes an elaborate death, and the group breaks out in deep laughter.

  I scrunch my nose at the display, and rock back on my heels. As I set to the ground, a branch snaps under me, and the raven haired boy whips around.

  We hold our breath as he scans the forest, every drop of his mind focused on unearthing the unseen. He marks the trees from root to branch, the rustle of a bird perking his ears. And my heart leaps into my throat as he at last observes our thorned bushes, prying for a moment before,

  “Panthera,” the leader snaps, bringing the boy's attention back, “I said let's go.”

  The raven steps towards the group, but only watches as they charge down the rolling hillside. As they disappear, the cold boy glances around once more, his face unreadable but deadly. Shrugging it off, he rolls his shoulders and straightens his spine, following after the pack, his footsteps like a silent jungle cat.

  It is clear now that we were correct in reserving ourselves. It seems that there is much danger to be found with these boys, and that presenting ourselves would be as good as asking for a theatrical death.

  The leader of the group seems especially wicked. His desire to be in control, to prove he is big and strong the most obvious aspect of his character. A man like that will do anything to get his way, even sacrifice those closest to him. Especially if they display any threat to his power. Which is probably good for me, for what threat could I possibly pose, when he stands at six two, his arms ribbed and muscled, with numerous scars carved into silver skin.

  Kieran and I leave our thicket of berries and thorns, taking an eastern route to the mountain. Soon, the forest grows rocky and bare, the soil turning to stone. There are still many trees, but they have begun to spread out, as the mountain consumes the ground.

  Kieran and I share a wince as we look up the overwhelming climb, the peak unseen behind the thick, grey clouds, leftover from the brutal storm

  We look at each other, both of his eyebrows raised, and I can’t help but smile. Perhaps Kieran and I will be more than allies, maybe even friends.

  “After you, then.” I sigh, as a sharp burst of wind attacks my side.

  It will take us long into the night to at last make it to the top, from there we can only hope to find the doorway. They will not come for us, if we do not find the way in, allowing us to rot through our skin.