Page 39 of Into the Isle

I debated rushing downstairs, then thought better of it. I’d rather be clean and hungry than filthy and give people validity when they call me “bog-born.”

I rushed down the hall, reached the communal showers, and hopped in after stripping down. Within two minutes, I was out, feeling more awake and livelier. Certainly cleaner, too. My shirt and pants were still a bit ragged, and I made a promise to wash them later tonight in my sink. Definitely need to make a stop at Isleton soon.

I couldn’t miss orientation. That wasn’t an option.

Arne was right: It was easy to find Dorymir Hall by simply following the line of students heading north from Nottdeen Quarter. It was almost like everyone but me had been given a map of the academy grounds, and knew where they were going.

I tried to look like I belonged and knew my way around. I was sure it didn’t work; my face betrayed my dumbstruck expressions. I’d never been a great liar.

Since I skipped breakfast, I wasn’t running late. Other students were hurrying to the great hall, and I leisurely followed, watching them go. There were all shapes and sizes of men and women, though most of them were big people.

Makes sense. Viking blood and all.

Lots of guys sported beards and interesting haircuts: braids, plaits, shaved sides, buzzcuts, a few curly waves. The girls similarly had various cuts: bobs, weaves, long flowing hair down to one girl’s back, and her friend with an ear-length trim. Some of the students had tattoos on their arms and legs, with runes and animals and all sorts of tribal callings.

Most everyone wore clothes much nicer than mine: gowns, tight dresses; loose tunics for the boys, and a few sports jackets. Then again, most people probably hadn’t had to escape in the dead of night to get here after choking out the real initiate of their town.

Best of all, almost no one was paying me any attention as we funneled into Dorymir Hall, which was a large boxy structure that looked like an auditorium from the outside.

Inside, half-crescent seating filled the space, stadium-style benches running in tiers, all of them looking down at the stage near the base level. I walked into the hall from the top level, as the building was built over a small hillock, spiraling down the side of it.

Older men and women were at the stage, standing off to the side. One of the men wore heavy armor, suited for battle. A woman had on a red robe that struck a fierce figure with her stark white hair. I noticed Hersir Ingvus among that group, chatting with his peers.

From the top of the hall, I tried to find Arne, Eirik—anyone. Even Dagny Largul. Just someone I recognized.

My search was futile. There were at least a hundred initiates in here, crowding the place, and those three probably wouldn’t be here anyway since they weren’t first-years.

Resigned to my fate, I made myself small and squeezed onto a bench on an aisle seat, two rows down from the top. Not too close to the front, and not too far—perfect for staying inconspicuous.

Only after I sat did I notice my brother on the other end of the room, standing next to a young woman I didn’t recognize, and two men standing behind them. Eirik was clearly the ringleader of the little gang, arms crossed, focused on the stage.

I shivered when I spotted Ulf Torfen a few rows down, and what could only be his brothers and sister.

One of the men in the pack caught me looking and tilted his head when our eyes met. He was stupidly attractive, with sharper features than Ulf’s flat face. His eyes were dark and alert, his black hair wavy, shoulder-length, and his face was clean like Arne’s. For good reason: He had an immaculate shape to his face, as if chiseled by the gods.

The bastard smirked at me, his full lips tilting just so.

The arrogance of his expression made me suppress a shudder, and my body went tight. I glanced away, down to the stage, not wanting to stare at the man’s gorgeous features.

There were three entrances into Dorymir Hall, with windows above them to let in sunlight. The open doors flooded with people entering.

Within minutes, the space filled with the talk of a hundred conversations. I became overwhelmed and tried to look around for something to take my mind off how packed it was in here.

A presence caught my attention to the right, as the eastern door now only had a trickle of initiates coming in.

My eyes widened when they landed on the last person to come in—a giant of a man, who had to bend his neck to get in through the seven-foot-tall doorframe. He was ripped, arms corded with stacked muscles, and walked at a measured pace. Shaggy brown hair came down to his temples only. He had an analytical expression on his face. Either that, or one of pure disdain. It was hard to read him, though he certainly stood out as one of the largest men in the hall.

He waited for everyone to sit before staying standing at the top of the hall, beefy arms crossing over his barrel chest. He stayed alone, and I found that odd. I wondered if he was a guard of some kind, even though he looked little older than me.

Behind him, one last student straggled in. This one was noticeable because he wore a black trench coat down his entire body, nearly sweeping the ground where he walked. He wasn’t too tall, wasn’t too big, yet still struck a cord with me because of his look.

Besides the leather coat closed up to hide his arms, legs, and torso, the collar was pulled up. The man looked like a chic vampire from classic legends, and was even pale like one, with a shock of auburn hair woven into a small bun at his nape. He passed the huge barbarian-looking guy at the top, streamed down the stairs past me, and made his way to the bottom level near the stage.

As he passed, I noticed the edges of swirling blue tattoos poking out from his shirt and collar, snaking around his neck. Hardly an inch of skin was visible beneath the tattoos, including his bare hands. I could only imagine what was under that coat.

A voice cleared its throat on the stage. I blinked away from the mesmerizing cadet before he disappeared into an aisle.

A tall man with a graying beard walked to the center of the stage. He looked like an elder statesman with his black robe—unassuming yet powerful. Ornaments adorned his long beard, tightly coiled to his chest.

---