Page 6 of By the Orchid and the Owl
“Forget them,” said Quinn. “Look at the Institute, Ray.”
I forced my attention toward where she pointed.
There, blooming larger and larger as we angled further downward, lay a sprawl of twisting streets and buildings ranging from ramshackle, squatting ones to polished ones that gleamed and towered. Trees cluttered the gaps between buildings, remnants of the jungle spilling from the closest mountainside. And people, so many people, scurried to and fro like swarms of beetles.
But as I looked closer, the seemingly chaotic sprawl actually seemed to take shape. A circle of five wedged sections surrounded an enormous cobbled courtyard with a fountain dotting the center, headed by a golden domed structure that had to be at least three stories high.
I shifted my attention to the right of the campus, where a single estuary, like a winding silver snake, led out to the cliffs towering over the shoreline and separated the sprawl of classrooms from a neat line of houses on the other side.
The most massive houses I’d ever seen. More like castles than the cottage I’d lived in all my life.
“Oh, I am going toloveliving here for the next five years,” Quinn said, eyeing those mansions hungrily.
Free. That’s what Quinn was now that she didn’t have a mother to invade her mind and force her into doing things she didn’t want to do. I couldn’t blame her for her excitement, even though my own stomach clenched.
Our carriage nearly skimmed the various rooftops as the coachmen beelined for that courtyard, where a throng of young adults lined its circular edge to watch our landing. Their faces became more detailed as we drew near, some gaping up in awe, others watching with sculptures of boredom, and still others utterly distracted, chatting with friends as if they’d seen a dozen carriages land before this.
Which, I reminded myself, they probably had.
I wondered if we were the last to arrive, or if there would be others after us.
Just as I felt bile rise in my throat, our coachmen swung their giant wings upward and brought us to a rocky touchdown next to the fountain.
The carriage jostled, then slowed to a screeching stop. I looked Quinn and Lander in the eyes as the crowd pressed in on us, as the coachmen morphed back into their human shapes.
“We’ll stick together until Branding, okay?” I grabbed their hands, and they clutched me back. “Don’t let go, no matter what.”
Before either of them could reply, however, the carriage doors were wrenched open. Dozens of strangers swooped in to pull us out, and Quinn’s and Lander’s hands slipped from mine.
“Welcome,” a chipper voice called out instantly, though I couldn’t pinpoint the source, “to the Esholian Institute for Magical Allocation and Refinement, where worthy citizens are made!”
Face after face smiled or stared at me. Hand after hand dragged me deeper into the crowd or pushed me away. It was chaos unleashed, louder and wilder than anything I’d ever experienced back at home.
I twisted, trying to find Lander’s ebony mop of hair or Quinn’s redheaded figure, but even the carriage had gone, pulled off to who-knew-where.
“Don’t worry about your stuff,” said a boy beside me. I blinked down at his hand on my elbow as he led me to the outer rim of the courtyard. “The coachmen keep hold of it until after the Branding.”
“Are you a teacher?” I asked him, and it wasn’t until he threw back his head with laughter that I narrowed my focus to get a good look at him: lanky, lean, slicked blonde hair, and extremely boyish. Smooth cheeks and narrow shoulders. Definitely no older than me.
“Do I look like a teacher? I mean, don’t get me wrong, darling, I could probably teach you a thing or two.” He winked at me, and I recoiled. “But no, I got here only a few hours ago. You just looked a little stunned back there, and I didn’t want the next carriage to run you over.”
“Next carriage?”
The boy pointed, and I watched, letting my mouth fall open, as a vessel even bigger than ours barreled toward the courtyard—this time pulled by a flock of hundreds of toucans that barked and brayed as they landed.
“The coachmen must be Wild Whisperers?” I guessed aloud as the carriage landed… right where I’d been standing seconds before.
“Could be,” the boy said beside me. “Or, who knows? Maybe they’re Mind Manipulators, forcing the toucans to obey from within the carriage.”
There were fine lines, I realized in that moment, between the different types of magic. They could all do similar things, just through unique methods.
I also knew in that moment that I’d rather befriend a bird than control one.
When I turned to tell the boy this, though, he had already pushed back into the crowd to welcome the other newcomers. And I hadn’t even found out his name.
I sucked in the words I had been going to say, suddenly feeling even more lonely despite this flock of loud, sweaty strangers around me.
Too many. I’d seen too many people my age in the last thirty seconds alone, and when I raised myself up on my tiptoes, the sea of bobbing heads only seemed to expand.
