Chapter 12 | Ravinica

Chapter 12

Ravinica

I HARDLY GOT A WINK of sleep. My room was bare, without any frivolities: cot, small table, chair, tiny restroom. At least the restroom wasn't communal here, which was nice.

I figured I was expected to spruce my place up with amenities down at Isleton, though I had no idea when I'd get a chance to go to the little town.

Just when it seemed I was starting to drift off from my tossing and turning, noises in every direction woke me. I abruptly jolted up, reaching blindly for my spear that I'd tucked under my bed. Blinking bleary thoughts away, wiping drool off the corner of my mouth, I listened.

The walls were groaning. Both the far wall my table was up against, and the near wall of my bed. Outside, more thumping, and then it hit me: Everyone was getting on the move at the same time.

Girls here were not quiet when they woke. Especially in a new place, with high expectations and nerves running amok. I heard at least fifteen voices and pairs of feet stamping down the hallway, chatting, opening and closing doors.

I got up to join them. Hesitated. I was still in the clothes I'd left Selby in. Lifting my arm, I sniffed, recoiled, and shook my head. "That's not gonna do for my first day."

I didn't want everyone to get the impression I was the stinky one. I already had enough going against me. So I hurried into the restroom and stripped down . . . before realizing there was no shower. Only a toilet and sink. "All hells," I cursed.

Sighing, I threw my clothes back on and poked my head out the door of my dorm as three girls went streaming by. "Excuse me!" I called out. "Where's—"

The lead girl pointed back the way she had come. I wondered if she could smell me, and intuitively knew what I was going to ask.

The girl behind her said, "Better hurry or you'll miss breakfast, half-breed!"

The trio giggled as they reached the stairs and disappeared down them. I rolled my eyes, finding myself alone in the hallway. The girl hadn't called me a half-breed with any malice in her voice. I hoped it didn't become my calling card, and that people would realize, at some point, how hurtful it was to be othered like that.

I debated rushing downstairs, then thought better of it. I'd rather be clean and hungry than filthy and give people validity when they call me "bog-born."

I rushed down the hall, reached the communal showers, and hopped in after stripping down. Within two minutes, I was out, feeling more awake and livelier. Certainly cleaner, too. My shirt and pants were still a bit ragged, and I made a promise to wash them later tonight in my sink. Definitely need to make a stop at Isleton soon.

I couldn't miss orientation. That wasn't an option.

Arne was right: It was easy to find Dorymir Hall by simply following the line of students heading north from Nottdeen Quarter. It was almost like everyone but me had been given a map of the academy grounds, and knew where they were going.

I tried to look like I belonged and knew my way around. I was sure it didn't work; my face betrayed my dumbstruck expressions. I'd never been a great liar.

Since I skipped breakfast, I wasn't running late. Other students were hurrying to the great hall, and I leisurely followed, watching them go. There were all shapes and sizes of men and women, though most of them were big people.

Makes sense. Viking blood and all.

Lots of guys sported beards and interesting haircuts: braids, plaits, shaved sides, buzzcuts, a few curly waves. The girls similarly had various cuts: bobs, weaves, long flowing hair down to one girl's back, and her friend with an ear-length trim. Some of the students had tattoos on their arms and legs, with runes and animals and all sorts of tribal callings.

Most everyone wore clothes much nicer than mine: gowns, tight dresses; loose tunics for the boys, and a few sports jackets. Then again, most people probably hadn't had to escape in the dead of night to get here after choking out the real initiate of their town.

Best of all, almost no one was paying me any attention as we funneled into Dorymir Hall, which was a large boxy structure that looked like an auditorium from the outside.

Inside, half-crescent seating filled the space, stadium-style benches running in tiers, all of them looking down at the stage near the base level. I walked into the hall from the top level, as the building was built over a small hillock, spiraling down the side of it.

Older men and women were at the stage, standing off to the side. One of the men wore heavy armor, suited for battle. A woman had on a red robe that struck a fierce figure with her stark white hair. I noticed Hersir Ingvus among that group, chatting with his peers.

From the top of the hall, I tried to find Arne, Eirik—anyone. Even Dagny Largul. Just someone I recognized.

My search was futile. There were at least a hundred initiates in here, crowding the place, and those three probably wouldn't be here anyway since they weren't first-years.

Resigned to my fate, I made myself small and squeezed onto a bench on an aisle seat, two rows down from the top. Not too close to the front, and not too far—perfect for staying inconspicuous.

Only after I sat did I notice my brother on the other end of the room, standing next to a young woman I didn't recognize, and two men standing behind them. Eirik was clearly the ringleader of the little gang, arms crossed, focused on the stage.

I shivered when I spotted Ulf Torfen a few rows down, and what could only be his brothers and sister.

One of the men in the pack caught me looking and tilted his head when our eyes met. He was stupidly attractive, with sharper features than Ulf's flat face. His eyes were dark and alert, his black hair wavy, shoulder-length, and his face was clean like Arne's. For good reason: He had an immaculate shape to his face, as if chiseled by the gods.

The bastard smirked at me, his full lips tilting just so.

The arrogance of his expression made me suppress a shudder, and my body went tight. I glanced away, down to the stage, not wanting to stare at the man's gorgeous features.

There were three entrances into Dorymir Hall, with windows above them to let in sunlight. The open doors flooded with people entering.

Within minutes, the space filled with the talk of a hundred conversations. I became overwhelmed and tried to look around for something to take my mind off how packed it was in here.

A presence caught my attention to the right, as the eastern door now only had a trickle of initiates coming in.

My eyes widened when they landed on the last person to come in—a giant of a man, who had to bend his neck to get in through the seven-foot-tall doorframe. He was ripped, arms corded with stacked muscles, and walked at a measured pace. Shaggy brown hair came down to his temples only. He had an analytical expression on his face. Either that, or one of pure disdain. It was hard to read him, though he certainly stood out as one of the largest men in the hall.

He waited for everyone to sit before staying standing at the top of the hall, beefy arms crossing over his barrel chest. He stayed alone, and I found that odd. I wondered if he was a guard of some kind, even though he looked little older than me.

Behind him, one last student straggled in. This one was noticeable because he wore a black trench coat down his entire body, nearly sweeping the ground where he walked. He wasn't too tall, wasn't too big, yet still struck a cord with me because of his look.

Besides the leather coat closed up to hide his arms, legs, and torso, the collar was pulled up. The man looked like a chic vampire from classic legends, and was even pale like one, with a shock of auburn hair woven into a small bun at his nape. He passed the huge barbarian-looking guy at the top, streamed down the stairs past me, and made his way to the bottom level near the stage.

As he passed, I noticed the edges of swirling blue tattoos poking out from his shirt and collar, snaking around his neck. Hardly an inch of skin was visible beneath the tattoos, including his bare hands. I could only imagine what was under that coat.

A voice cleared its throat on the stage. I blinked away from the mesmerizing cadet before he disappeared into an aisle.

A tall man with a graying beard walked to the center of the stage. He looked like an elder statesman with his black robe—unassuming yet powerful. Ornaments adorned his long beard, tightly coiled to his chest.

The light from the sun behind me lit up the space around the stage, but not where he stood. I couldn't get a great look at his face or expression. Luckily, I didn't need to, because his voice reverberated. Deep, gravelly, filled with importance.

"Hail, initiates, fellow dans and deens," he began, and all at once the chatter around the hall fell to pin-drop silence. He paced the stage like he owned it, masterfully drawing everyone in with his slow-spoken words. "My name is Sigmund Calladan, Gothi of Vikingrune Academy."

My mother has told me about this man. A professor when she attended, now headmaster.

The man's hands came out from behind his back, circling slowly as he talked. "Today is the first day of your future, and I hope it will be a grand one."

I couldn't tell if he was smiling beneath his beard. He seemed stoic, straight-backed, and severe as the rest of the men I'd laid eyes on.

"You might be wondering where you are. Specifically. You've been thrust onto this large island, knowing nothing. Yes, you are still in Midgard. Barriers protect the Isle from prying eyes. You are not in a magical realm of fairies and demons. At least not yet."

At that, he wheeled to face the crowd, and I noticed a small smile this time. A smattering of nervous laughter broke out among the audience.

Gothi Sigmund continued his pacing. "Vikingrune was built thousands of years ago on this specific point because this is a Traveler Plane landing zone. Think of it as a terminal at an airport, if you've ever been to one. If an enemy wishes to invade this world, they will start at the Isle." He jabbed his finger down into an open palm. "As such, we are the last defense—or first defense, depending how you look at it—before potential invaders can move onto the wider planet."

He stopped for a moment, letting all the students mull that over. I figured the dark mist surrounding the Gray Wraith and the borders of this island were part of the magic "barriers" he spoke of, to keep this place away from anyone seeing it.

Humans who could not do magic would not take it well if they learned a school for Viking-born descendants was training men and women to fight interplanar enemies. It was simply too much, so it seemed Sigmund operated under the pretense of pretending like we didn't exist, and that was better for everyone.

"First, the enemies I mentioned. Our adversaries are vast and endless, which is why you are here. Many of them wish for the bountiful resources of our planet. Some of them used to be allies, and were made enemies due to their greed. I speak of the elves, dwarves, kobolds, gnomes, goblins, trolls, and many more. And, of course, the jotun. The giants."

A hiss of disapproval shot through the crowd.

Everyone had heard of the jotun from fairytales and myths told to us as children. They were the chief enemies of the Aesir, the gods. They held their own realms, and some believed they were even responsible for the creation of our planet.

"All the inhabitants of the nine realms—or the other eight outside Midgard—are potential enemies. Some have outright declared us threats to their own worlds. In the current fraught state of affairs between realms, we have closed off Midgard to outsiders. We can trust no one but ourselves, my friends. Thus, Vikingrune Academy."

The headmaster seemed to be getting into a rhythm, telling this tale he had likely spoken a thousand times, to a new iteration of cadets and recruits.

If nothing else, Vikingrune was a military school.

Sigmund made that clear in his next words, as he counted off on his fingers. "That is the enemy. Second, is the plan . The faculty and I have been watching each of you closely, with scrying powers of our elders."

A few groans and surprised glances met his words, but he continued swiftly. "You are the best of your villages, towns, and cities, which is why you're here. Our shield wall must be firm and impenetrable in case of an otherworldly attack. We must be ready.

"Our academy is called Vikingrune because the two make up the whole. Our ancestors, the Vikings, were physically imposing and inspired fear. They could accomplish great feats of strength, and were preeminent soldiers in battle. Yet the runes of our forefathers and foremothers also play an important part here, because our magic is what makes us who we are . Our ability to Shape and mold the runes to our benefit enable us to fend off our foes when an attack is imminent. Without both strength and magic, you are lost— we are lost."

My pulse became erratic when he started speaking of runes, and I started sweating. I worried everyone was looking at me, as if they could sense I was a fraud here; the one woman in the crowd who couldn't do magic.

Even though runeshaping ran through my veins on my mother's side and, assumedly, my father's side, my powers were silent inside me. Typically, Shapers came into their own near their eighteenth birthday. Some younger, some older: Damon, for instance, sparked his first ember at sixteen. Eirik was seventeen. Some took until they were twenty.

And here I was, on the wrong side of twenty-two, and I still couldn't Shape. It wasn't that no one had taught me, it was that my powers were dormant . I couldn't access my "inherent magic," as it was called.

Now I had a year to force my power to life, or else I'd be a failure and expelled from the academy.

"Honing both sides of your skill set—physical and mental—is why you are here," Sigmund continued. "You've already shown promise, so you will not be treated like newcomers. You will be trained hard, and much will be expected of you. Each of you outclassed every opponent in your respective homeland, yet here, you are all equal. Vikingrune Academy is about teamwork as much as it is solidarity. It is why our emblem is a shield, because the idea of the shield wall—protecting your comrades' flanks—is what makes us prosper. It's what makes us the most formidable fighting force against our many enemies."

It was a resounding statement, and a few students cheered as he fell silent. As much as it worried me I'd never become part of his theoretical shield wall, I was still inspired to give it my all. Even if I can only do the physical stuff for now, perhaps I can impress enough to keep my head here.

Once the cheering and fist-pumping died down, Gothi Sigmund folded his hands together in front of him. "Your classes begin tomorrow. Today, you are to pick up your schedules and familiarize yourselves with the academy grounds. This will be your home for the next year. For some of you, it may be your home forever."

I inhaled sharply. A few gasps split across the room. The headmaster did not sugarcoat it as he walked to the edge of the stage, peering up at the sea of students before him, and lowered his voice.

"And for some of you . . . Vikingrune Academy will be your final resting place."