by B.J. Keeton
Chapter One
“You are not ready.”
That was it. “You are not ready,” then silence. Ceril Bain looked around at the other returning students milling about quietly. They were all apparently still listening to the subsonic speakers in the lobby, which meant none of their welcome messages were so short. So why was his? And what wasn’t he ready for?
Ceril had never met Ennd’s Academy’s new headmaster, so how could he say that Ceril wasn’t ready? And more than that, Ceril wondered just what it was that he wasn’t ready for.
Maybe he would find out soon. Probably tomorrow at Presentation.
Ceril figured there wasn’t much use just sticking around the lobby, so he weaved through the crowd of still-listening students toward his new Phase II dormitory.
The P.A. system disturbed him, anyway. Ennd’s faculty had never actually explained how the announcements worked, and that bothered him. The faculty tended to skirt around conversations about the technomages or their artifacts. If he weren’t a historian’s grandson, he might not have even heard of Vennar.
Well, maybe it wasn’t that extreme. Everyone knew about Vennar. He was Vennar. Who didn’t know about him?
Ceril stepped into the elevator at the end of the curved hallway.
“Hello, student. Welcome back to Ennd’s Academy. Where are you traveling today?” The automated attendant’s voice was soft and chipper. Ceril liked talking to the elevators. It made him feel like one of the technomages.
“Phase II, please.”
After a moment’s pause, the elevator said, “Of course, student.” Ceril hadn’t even realized they had been traveling when the doors reopened onto a different view than Ceril had expected. He stepped out of the elevator, ignoring whatever it was that the automated attendant was saying.
For the past five years, Ceril had grown used to Ennd’s Academy. He had learned the hallways and the decor, and he liked to think he knew his way around pretty well. But as he stepped into the new Phase II area, he felt like a tourist.
Which, Ceril supposed, he kind of was.
He was standing in the middle of the hall when a hand touched his shoulder. He whirled around to see Swarley Dann’s smiling face. Ceril returned the smile, and the two boys embraced.
Swarley had grown over the summer—enough so that Ceril couldn’t call him his “little buddy” anymore. Swarley now stood a good head taller than Ceril, and he had bulked up quite a bit. He looked more like a man than he had before, which made Ceril feel like a child in comparison. He kept his embarrassment to himself and asked, “So you're lost too, huh?”
“Not lost,” Swarley said, smiling, “just a little misguided. I saw you just standing here, staring at the Library. I thought it was the least I could do to say hello. So hello. And since we're going to the same place…” His eyes glinted mischievously.
“You're lost, too, huh?” Ceril repeated.
“As a crow in a fishbowl.”