"This is wrong," Prefect Aaron announced, dropping the charm Peter had worked so long to create back onto the table.
"What's wrong?" Peter asked, just to make sure. Normally the prefect told him both good and bad things about his classwork. He didn't just comment like that.
At least the rest of the class had already left the Charms Room.
"Did I do something wrong with the spell? Or did I make the charm wrong?" He was pretty sure he'd followed the prefect's instructions, and the magic had seemed to seep into the charm well. Cai had looked at it carefully, and Peter had followed the raven's intuition about where he needed to lay the spell on thicker.
"It's too strong," the prefect said, frowning as he turned it over. "Plus, what is this? What material did you use there?"
"Dental floss. It held the straw together better."
"You can't use untested materials. What if this floss of yours had twisted the spell? Taken the charm away? It would have been a waste. Plus, you have no idea how long it will hold the magic. You need to use the traditional materials."
Peter nodded, but he wasn't sure. The floss had worked perfectly, held the magic well. He didn't see the harm.
Cai agreed. The floss was better than the twine.
"How did you get the spell so even?" the prefect asked, holding the charm up closer to his raven eyes.
"My raven soul helped," Peter said quietly, bracing himself.
The prefect dropped the charm onto the table in front of him. "You cheated," he accused Peter.
Peter lifted his chin stubbornly. Cai ruffled his feathers up, preparing for a fight.
"Magic is strictly a human endeavor. That's why our raven souls can see through the glamours and charms."
"I don't see how what I did was cheating," Peter said. "Aren't we supposed to work with our raven souls?"
"You don't understand all the subtleties of working with your raven soul," the prefect said.
Cai bristled more at his tone.
Peter tried to stay calm, but the prefect sounded just like his dad every time he'd asked about grown-up things, like girls or getting a job, saying that he'd understand later.
"You need to learn the old ways. You can't trust these modern materials. You have to train your human eye. Redo this, from scratch. You must learn the true way."
Peter took back the offending charm, shoving it into his pack before he left the Charms Room. He ignored everyone in the hallway as he walked slowly to his room.
He'd learn the old ways. He'd learn the magic that was so exciting to him.
But he also trusted Cai more than the prefect. He'd rather work with Cai any day.
* * *
Peter took one last deep breath and opened his eyes. The calm meditation room greeted him, the smoky blue-gray walls reminding him of mist from a fantasy painting; nothing in the real world was so fragile and serene at the same time. Sweet incense from the burner on the altar against the wall still tickled his nose. The lights were still off; only candles in the four corners shone.
The students sitting on the floor in front of Peter were also motionless, as unwilling as Peter was to move and end their time together. The guided meditations Prefect Becker led the class in fed Peter's human soul the same way flying did.
Prefect Becker, sitting cross-legged on the floor at the front of the meditation class, put his hands together in front of his chest and said the traditional phrase that he always used to end their class: "May Wynne guide you and keep you, give you sweet winds and safe havens."
"And the same for you," Peter intoned with the rest of the class, bowing his head.
Slowly, the world crept back in. Peter's worries came back: Prefect Aaron's insistence that magic could only be done the old-fashioned way, Chris' increasingly bizarre behavior, Jesse thinking about running away, how restrictive warrior training was, how there had to be a better way.
As the other boys got up slowly, folding up their mats and putting them in a pile in the corner, Peter moved even more slowly, waiting for the line to trickle down so he'd be the last one and could have a moment with the prefect.
Fortunately, no one else seemed to have the same idea that day, so Peter was able to put his mat away, then walk over to the prefect.
"Peter. What's on your mind?"
"I have a friend who's thinking about running away," Peter admitted softly.
"That's not good," the prefect said. "You know they'd declare him rogue, right?"
Peter nodded. "I told him to come and talk with you."
"That's good," the prefect said. "See if you can get him to come to meditation sometime."
"He won't," Peter said. He'd already tried.
"Do you want me to go talk with him?" the prefect asked. "If you give me his name—"
"No, no," Peter said, shaking his head. He'd never give anyone Jesse's name. Or Chris', for that matter. That would be too much of a betrayal, not just of his friends, but also of the recitations.
"Peter—" the prefect started, then stopped and placed his warm hand on Peter's shoulder. The comforting weight grounded him. "Sometimes, the only adult thing to do is to walk away. I know, I know," the prefect said, lifting his hands and holding them out and open. "That feels like a betrayal as well. You'd never leave one of your raven brothers behind. But sometimes you must. Sometimes, it's either you and your soul, or them."
Peter shook his head, and Cai bristled.
"You may have to consider it someday," Prefect Becker assured him. "Sometimes the only way to move forward is to let go of the past. You might ask Prefect Kitridge about that. How she moved past what happened to her."
Peter almost nodded at that, but no, he couldn't. Jesse was the only real friend he had here.
He had to save him, somehow.
"Thank you," Peter said as he left, "for at least trying."
"Sometimes that's all you can do," the prefect told him.
Peter shook his head and walked away, denying that a deep, deep seed had just been planted inside him, that a fraction of a fraction of his human soul might find relief in letting Jesse go.
* * *
Peter sat at his desk, studying the ballad assigned for English, when a loud knock startled him. With Cai's eyes, he turned and looked at the door.
The warning tape that lined the doorframe gave a brief flare of red, then faded.
Peter wasn't sure what that meant. Was an enemy here? Someone who meant him harm? He pushed his chair back and opened the door cautiously.
Thomas stood in the beige hallway, hands on his hips. He wore his usual flannel shirt—green and black this time—with jeans and hiking boots. His beard bushed out red and long, down past his chin, almost to his chest. It held its own life, as if it, by itself, could beat up Peter.
"Yeah?" Peter asked, wishing he'd taken a moment to put on more clothes, not to be in his ragged sweats and a sleeping T.
"Can you come talk to Chris?" Thomas asked. He jerked his head to the side.
Peter slowly poked his head out. Chris leaned with his back against the wall just outside. "Sure," Peter said. He stepped out of his room and closed the door behind him.
"He's not making much sense," Thomas warned under his breath.
Peter nodded. "Hey Chris," he said softly as he approached, not wanting to startle him.
Chris swung around instantly. "Okay. Look. I got it all figured out."
Cai ruffled up, ready for battle.
"You've just got to accept me."
Peter looked at Thomas, who just shrugged. "Okay…I accept you."
"No, not like that." Chris started pacing the short width of the hall, taking quick, nervous steps. "See, you're the fastest warrior here. And the strongest."
"No, I'm not," Peter said. "Thomas here is mighty strong. And fast."
"Not like that, no. You can change the quickest. Into a raven warrior."
Peter shrugged. Of course, when he'd been younger he'd participated in the contests to find out who could transform into a raven the fastest. He'd been fast, but he'd rarely been the fastest. "You can change pretty quickly too," he told Chris.
"Fastest changing into a raven warrior, idiot. Not a raven." He gave an exasperated sigh.
"I'm not following you there, buddy," Thomas broke in.
"Look," Chris said, stopping and glaring at them. "He's the closest to a true raven warrior that we've got. It's why they're all scared of you. The prefects."
Peter snorted. "Not really." And he couldn't change into the true raven warrior form—none in his generation could.
"The old guard, they won't accept me." Chris went back to pacing. "They'll never accept me." He started rubbing the knuckles of his left hand in the palm of his right. "Not now. Not after what they did."
Peter's mouth went dry and Cai pushed at him, telling him to back up, get out, fly away.
"But you. If you accept me, then when you challenge the old guard, they'll have to accept me, too."
"I'm not challenging anybody," Peter pointed out.
"You have to. When you accept me. You must."
Peter opened his mouth, but he had no idea what to say. He turned to Thomas, who shrugged.
"You're still not making much sense, there," Thomas added.
Chris stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to face Peter. "Will you accept me and challenge the old prefect?"
"I'll accept you, but I'm not challenging anybody," Peter said with his hands up, placating.
Faster than even Cai had anticipated, Chris stepped forward and slapped Peter's hands away. "I don't want your pity," he hissed.
"Then what do you want?" Peter asked, annoyed. He took another step closer to Chris, instead of backing away. He was tired of this, tired of their bickering.
Cai gave an encouraging caw.
Sooner or later, they were going to fight. He was just going to have to accept the consequences of it, when it happened.
"Nothing from you," Chris said, turning away. "I was wrong. You can't do it. No one can."
Peter looked at Thomas, who merely shrugged.
"Whatever, dude," Peter said, turning back and going into his room, closing the door gratefully, leaving the troublemakers outside. He sat back at his desk, but he was too wound up to study. Was Chris right? Could he change into the true raven warrior form?
Eyes closed, Peter brought up the image of a warrior, tall and strong, with knife-like feathers for fingers, a beak for a nose, bird-like claws for feet and toes.
Peter stood and raised his arms like he'd seen in the old paintings, spreading them wide, like he was about to take flight. He asked Cai to help.
Cai pushed Peter along, lent his strength.
For a moment, Peter felt himself growing stronger, his fingers elongating. He was suddenly harder, and even from behind his closed eyes he knew the world had taken on sharper angles.
It was exhilarating, as well as frightening.
Then the glass armor took over, sliding up and over both of them, cutting them off from all harm.
Peter opened his eyes, sighed, then gave a quick shake, letting the armor fall as he sank back into his chair.
Maybe Chris had a point. What had been done to him was wrong, and Peter knew it, deep inside, no matter what the prefect said. It hadn't helped Chris at all, hadn’t curbed his impulses or made him fall more into line. Chris seemed to think that Peter could do something about it.
Somebody should. Peter knew someone should challenge the prefect, challenge the way they handled the boys.
But Chris was also wrong. Peter couldn't do anything, not for anyone else, maybe not even for Jesse. He just had to survive the next two and a half years.