School of Towers

The first thing anyone ever notices about the school is the towers. One of the reasons is they’re tall, you see. Very tall. In fact, I haven’t ever seen the tops they’re so tall. Not even on the clearest day. Or the cloudiest. They must be very ugly to need to hide so well. The other reason everyone notices the towers first is because you can see then a week’s ride away, glowing in the Dark above the mountains.

Years ago, when my mother told me about the school, she told me first of the towers. I had thought she was lying, just telling me stories like those old folks always do. Exaggerating, that's the word. But when I arrived, there they were, rising tall and yellow into the air. ‘Solid sun beams’, Miss Eva called them, ‘come down from the stars to keep the darkness away.’ As I stared up and up at the tall sides, my mind went back to that last day we spent packing…

***

“I’m not eight, you know. I don’t believe in those star stories anymore.” I declared. No one I knew had ever seen a star. Not even Miss Mary who lived next door, and she was fifteen and had been to the Big City.

She gave me a strange look. “Of course, dear,” she said, like adult say things when they don’t want to argue with you. Tiredly almost. “no more silly star stories. Now finish rolling your stockings.”

We had one last dinner with Mother. I was allowed to stay after instead of being sent to wash up right away. I listened to her and Miss Eva discuss my trip, but the talk about money and hotels was dull. I really just wanted to fetch my drawing things, but they were packed away already. So I sat and stared outside, watching the glitter bugs flash messages to each other.

I was leaving for school the next day. The same school mother had gone to. She was a very accomplished lady, and I thought she must be terribly important, because no one ever bothered us, even though we had no man to keep the monsters and such away. The villagers always tugged their hats at us whenever I rode with Mother, but never when I was just with Miss Eva. I wanted to be an accomplished lady too, and then maybe I could go with Mother when she disappeared on mysterious trips.

A thought suddenly occurred to me. “You will visit, won’t you Mother?”

“It is rude to interrupt, dear.” She reprimanded me gently. Miss Eva gave me a stern look.

“But you will? Won’t you?” This suddenly seemed very important, far more important than hearing about hostels and travel rations.

“You should apologize for interrupting your mother,” was the only answer. Mother simply gazed at me for a bit.

I was not sorry. “I’m sorry.” Why wouldn’t she answer? “Please Mother, will you visit me? Please?” Something strange was going on.

“Really dear, you shouldn’t be getting so worked up about this. It isn’t like you.” Mother said. She turned to Miss Eva, “Perhaps it is time for her to rest. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

“Of course, Mistress.” Miss Eva bowed her head, and then pulled me out of the room. It had been a long time since I had been sent to bed like this, and I dragged my feet through the thick carpet, obedient as always. I looked back through the retreating doorway, and waved farewell to Mother, but she only stared into the fire. I know it’s silly, but for a moment she seemed very frail, almost see through, like a thin cloud. Then the corner blocked my view.

I woke up early after a strange dream, and went to my window. The light was just beginning in the east, and I saw Mother’s coach rolling away through the wispy morning fog.

Something very strange happened to me then. I felt as if a bit of myself was being pulled, stretched thin. The carriage seemed to pull my hand through the window like a spindle pulls thread from a skein of wool. I began to feel very squeezed and twisted.

“There now, dear,” a voice said somewhere, “Mistress just doesn’t like to say goodbye. Here now,” a soft cloth brushing my cheeks reminded me of my body, and I began to feel whole again. “Are you back with us?” Miss Eva said. I looked at her warm face, and nodded, even though I wasn’t sure what she meant, or if I really was back. Part of me still felt a bit far away. “Good. Let’s eat then. We have a long ways to go today.”

***

So there I was, finally, weeks later. I did not like the School. It was ugly up close: just five yellow towers stuck in the ground, a disappointing end to the week of riding toward shining beacons, to the years of tales and imagination.

The dull towers had been dropped in a valley, which was also rather dull. Even the people looked dull, moving blandly through their evening routines, unwilling to even be so imaginative to return a hello to a confused twelve year old. Too busy to stop and tell me where the door was. At that time, I did not see how this place could be the place of Miss Eva’s stories. I did not think it could be so magical.

Part of my bad impression might have stemmed from my tiredness, or perhaps the fact that Miss Eva had gotten me within a day of the towers and then sent me on alone. Whatever the case, my first impression of my new home was that it was an awful looking place filled with awful mannered people, and I wanted nothing more than to turn around and go home. So I did.

Or I tried, anyway. My about-face planted my nose squarely into the generous potbelly of the most priestly layman I had ever seen. He even wore robes. He looked very kind, and he was very kind. But he stopped me and kept me there. I did not like him at all.