I left a small bottle, containing pieces of jasmine flower and a curl of my pitch-black hair, with him—an amulet I’d made and hoped he would hold on to it tightly.
2. Tholome’s Lock
I never thought I would make it this far.
My sudden escape was an unforeseen offer to board The Virgin Wench on its way to Yslora. A route running close to the village of Roness offered a once in a lifetime chance. My grandfather, a Northern man, wrote letters about the Dicheval academy located there. He told me about his life as a student and how he wished that I could experience a good education and learn to use my full potential. A potential my parents had suppressed ‘for my own good’. The descriptions of the academy lifestyle left me longing to live like he had. So as soon as Deg offered a way to Yslora, I took it, though I never had expected to set foot on the continent. Rather, I imagined to die of disease, to witness the crew-members rebel and change course. But everything went according to plan, despite a detour of a few days.
Wandering around the fish-market, I narrowed my eyes in disbelief.
A prestigious academy, here?
I’d expected it to be different. With its green woods it obviously differed from the desert, but still. Tiny houses barely standing on their stone foundations, vendors screaming at their customers and beggars sharing the streets with prostitutes. It all seemed familiar to me.
Further North, it appeared in my sight. Behind the dark trees high up the hill, the academy was hiding, covering itself in fog.
“Must be it,” I sighed, changing my direction.
I followed the main road, catching side-eyes across the street while the crowd held its distance. The fishy smell made my stomach growl. It was the longest period I stayed hungry; you could’ve told by my body. Concave cheeks, shoulders of skin and bones like wet cloth on a branch, lips of no colour and weary eyes surrounded by dark circles. To them, I must’ve looked horrific. I ignored the reflections in the windows as I made my way upward, hoping that this was a temporary state.
Convinced that I would never come close to Dicheval, I hadn’t bothered thinking of a plan to get myself enrolled in the academy. Now that the last steps were left, raging thoughts filled my head. I had no direct plan on how to convince the academy to let me in. Requirements, tests, if there were any, I had no idea how to pass them. Would they listen to me at all or let me set foot on the academy territory? All I knew was that it would take me at least an hour of walking uphill to reach it.
I had to calm myself down, overthinking never got me far. The occasional chances I took did. I grabbed for the chamomile essence inside my pocket. The smell upon opening the cork let me breathe in deeply, covering the salty stench of the harbour. Taking my time rubbing the oil on my temples and behind my ears, I chanted to manifest its effect. “Let go of the earthy worry, breathe, I am not in a hurry.”
At first, the village streets were muddy. You could’ve barely called them streets. More like paths everyone agreed on taking. Planks of wood inside the trampled grooves promised to keep your feet dry, even though no one accomplished that task.
As I kept walking up, the streets were of cobblestone with no beggars in sight, no marketplace had been arranged, no stray animals. This part of Roness was still sleeping at the crack of dawn. I appreciated the silence of the district. Whoever worked here could afford to have late opening times and their customers could afford to sleep till sunrise.
When I reached the rim of the wood, I had not met one single person beside patrolling guards. On sight, I clutched my bag tightly and rushed to the stone fence that separated the road from the forest.
From the rim upwards, the mountain steepened, there was no visible path that led to the academy. From this angle, you couldn’t see it and I went straight through the woods as it would be the shortest distance.
Of course, I had thought many times about giving up. Mostly, before I boarded The Virgin Wench. There was no turning back now, but the stinging pain inside my calf tried to convince me otherwise.
I dropped on the moss. Gripping it, I fought against my shaking lip until I cried out loud and raised my face to heaven, trying to catch a sunbeam. But thick pine branches refused to let one through. No one was coming to pick me up. I stuck my nose into the moss and took a deep breath before ripping it out of the earth and drying my tears with it. If I didn’t have enough willpower, I could have as well died right there on the spot. All my effort would’ve gotten to waste. Rubbing the remaining soil out of my face, I layed down for a short break. I’d spread my joints out, feeling the moisture under my body. I hoped to soak it up like a root, to take the purified energy of the forest and make it my own, make me able to walk a few more steps.
Calmed, I closed my eyes, and the mist sang me into a trance.
After a while, the moss climbed up between my fingers and trapped them as it made its way to my arms.
In my dreamy state, I wanted to let the moss take over and swallow me whole, to be one with it and come to rest. The hunger vanished, as well as the pain in my legs. Then, the desired rays warmed up my body. For the first time in weeks, I felt rested.
The mist came to a halt when a shadow sneaked around my moss-covered body. Its vibrating presence approached
