“No, dear—Sarah, is it? The sniffing ceremony ensures such measures won’t be necessary. Mum, please begin.”
Mum was pacing back and forth near the doors, clapping her hands excitedly. Suddenly, she lurched forward and seized the arm of the girl next to Connor. The girl shut her eyes and stood ramrod straight. Holding her arm gingerly, Mum stood on her tiptoes and sniffed greedily along its entire length before flinging it aside.
“Done!” she shrieked, shuffling over to Connor.
“Hello, Mum,” he said. “Dinner smells lovely.”
Mum cooed appreciatively and took his hand, looking him up and down.
“Oh, you’re a handsome one!” she said. “You remind me of a young lad I ate on the outskirts of Dover. He was such a nice boy.”
Connor moaned and turned his head as she dragged her nose along his arm like a pig rooting for truffles.
“Done!” she shrieked, moving over. Connor was green.
Max leaned forward and looked helplessly down the line; he’d be one of the last she’d sniff and the anticipation was unbearable.
“Ms. Richter!” cried Jesse with mounting desperation. “Do we absolutely have to do this?”
Mum sidestepped closer to him with hideous efficiency. Ms. Richter raised her voice above Mum’s periodic shrieks and mumbling commentary.
“Once Mum’s sniffed you, she knows not to bother you. She’s really as gentle as a lamb.”
When she was two students away, the escalating dread overcame Max and he shut his eyes. A minute later, he felt a soft, strong grip on his hand. He opened one eye a smidgeon and looked down.
Mum was pinching his arm thoughtfully. She lifted it up with surprising delicacy and dragged her quivering nostrils along its length. Max groaned and shut his eyes again; every instinct screamed for him to get away from those sharp, slavering teeth. When the snuffling stopped, he glanced down to see a wet trail that meandered from his wrist to elbow. Mum leaned close for a conspiratorial whisper.
“You’d be lovely with potatoes, dear. Done!”
Max wiped his arm against his shorts. He heard Cynthia whimper several “Hail Marys” as Mum seized her.
“Ah! You’re the plump lass from the doorway! Like a great trussed roast you smell! No, no, not for Mum, not for Mum. Done!”
The sniffing ceremony complete, Mum stood before the doors and faced the students. Rising up on her toes, she spread her arms like an orchestra conductor and bowed with slow majesty.
“It was lovely to meet you all, my darlings. Welcome to Rowan! Your dinner is served.”
The children sat at several of the long tables while the tables were piled high with roasted chickens, steaming bowls of vegetables, and rich, savory breads. Ms. Richter and Miss Awolowo sat at the table nearest the kitchen, their faces illuminated by candlelight.
Max could not remember such an exquisite meal. Normally a picky eater, he found himself wolfing down mounds of chicken served with a creamy sauce, crisp string beans, and golden potatoes. He further helped himself to two slices of homemade pie and a fat dollop of ice cream.
A shadow fell over Max and he looked up to see Bob leaning over him to fill a pitcher of lemonade. He gave Max a craggy smile.
“I did not get your name before, young man,” the ogre said.
“Oh, my name is Max. Max McDaniels,” he replied.
“My pleasure, Max. I hope you will visit us in the kitchens.”
Bob extended a gnarled hand the size of a serving tray. Max shook it carefully. It smelled of soap. Bob chuckled to Miss Awolowo, who sat at the next table.
“He’s a good one, eh, Miss Awolowo?”
Miss Awolowo nodded thoughtfully, her dark eyes glittering.
“We think so, Bob. Yes, indeed, we do.”
Bob plucked several empty platters off the table and ducked nimbly through the swinging doors.
After dinner, the students carried lanterns, following Ms. Richter in a single-file procession across the grounds. Max looked west to where fading bands of scarlet blended into starry blues.
They descended the steps to the beach where the dark ship bobbed on the water. A bonfire was burning brightly with many logs and tree stumps arranged around it like little stools. Ms. Richter motioned for them to take seats as she sat with her back to the sea. Her solemn voice rose above the waves and the crackling flames.
“Tonight is a night when we remember, a night when we share with the new class a bit of Rowan’s history and their own. It has been centuries since our kind fled the Old Country and arrived on these shores. We landed on this very stretch of beach, borne here by the Kestrel.”
Ms. Richter turned to look at the barnacled, hulking vessel behind her. She began to walk among them, her feet crunching softly on the sand. Max followed her gaze as she stopped and looked up at the stars.
“It may surprise you to know that our world is still a very young world and that mankind is a very new thing upon this earth. Indeed, others were here long before us.” Ms. Richter bent down and scooped sand into both her hands. “The greatest among them came to help shape this world, to watch its beauty and possibilities unfold….”
The sand within her hands began to bubble and melt. Max gaped as it formed itself into a small, beautiful ornament of glass. He stared at it hovering above the fire like a brilliant jewel while she resumed her walk and glided behind him.
“They delighted in the waters and the woods and the creatures that came to inhabit them. Eventually, they departed, leaving the care of our planet to others. These caretakers were lesser beings and we call them the Stewards. To mankind, however, they were as gods and goddesses—great spirits of the elements that watched over the world while we were still but infants. Alas, their vigilance failed.”
Max and his classmates jumped as the hovering glass fell and shattered in the fire.
“Their vigilance failed, and others came, too—other things from dying worlds with nothing left to feed them. Quietly, they seeped and crept into the deep places of this world to gnaw at its roots. Their very presence corrupted some of the Stewards….”
Ms. Richter’s eyes hardened as a log collapsed into the bonfire, shooting plumes of sparks like fireflies.
“The corrupted Stewards lost interest in mothering the world and sought mastery instead. Humans were given a simple choice: to serve or to perish. Fortunately, a few men and women refused this choice and chose instead to resist.
“The remaining Stewards let some of their power pass to those who would fight. The first to receive this spark were very great—almost Stewards themselves, as they were granted a measure of wisdom and Old Magic to stem the darkness. And you have inherited this spark, my dears. Each and every one of you sitting here with me!”
Ms. Richter stopped walking and looked from face to face around the fire, finally locking her gaze on Max as she continued.
“We do not know how this spark comes to be within you; we cannot anticipate who will be blessed with it. The only thing we do know is that it has faded over time. Our numbers and potency today are mere echoes of the past. But they have not faded entirely! At Rowan, we gather these sparks and nurture them and so continue the Great Struggle. Rowan is the last school for our kind, founded when the others were destroyed.”
She blinked as though lost in thoughts of her own. She placed her suit jacket over the shoulders of a shivering girl and sat down once again near the fire.
“Solas was the last and greatest of these schools to fall. We chose to build it in Ireland—a good choice, as the land was riddled with Old Magic and enclosed by water and mist. In Ireland, our kind made peace with the Tuatha de Danaan, the fading Stewards of that realm. They were inconstant allies but capable of powerful aid when they could be roused from their slumbers beneath the hills. It was they who laid the foundation for Solas.”