The Order
A Singular Chapter to a Non-Existent Book
A booming voice surrounds the entirety of the school’s courtyard, shaking the gravel slightly beneath our feet.
“It is with great pleasure that we welcome our new student Anastasia to Elsmead this year, along with our first years,” the head warlock begins. “Please make your best efforts at giving her a warm welcome and introduce yourselves whenever you get the chance.”
The head warlock was named Gregorovich and was a man of great stature. He had short, black hair and a well-kept curling mustache. His eyes were bright, as if thousands of ideas were constantly floating around behind them, waiting to make their way out into the world.
As he stood there, his fingertips grazed the locket held in his hand, touching ever-so-lightly against the light metal of his instrument.
I couldn’t help but admire him.
Gregorovich held power over all students, teachers, and any decisions made under its roof. I longed for that sense of security and power.
I had only just come a year late, and already I feel as though I am decades behind as I stare longingly at his thin, spider-like fingers.
Every head of Elsmead has held the same locket, according to the history book I have to prepare myself for this transition. I can only imagine the witches and warlocks that have held that slim construct of white gold in their hands ages before.
“As for the rest of you incoming students,” continues Gregorovich, “you must read the handbook that will be on your first period desk as soon as possible. There are plenty of guidelines that we have at this school to ensure it run as efficiently as possible. It is most necessary that one understands these inner workings sooner rather than later. Please make sure to get yourselves situated so that the Order may run smoothly at the end of this week. You are dismissed.”
The students filtered out of the courtyard and walked to their first period.
I glanced at my schedule that I had been given upon arrival and saw that my first course of the day was none other than Alchemy. I could only imagine how that could go, considering my history with potions.
Last year my mother and father decided I should get a head start before heading to school, and with that, we decided to brew potions at home. I may have used the wrong measurements and completely disintegrated my house, but that’s another story.
Now, after a year of pulling it all together, not only am I a year behind, but I am not a fan of potions one bit.
Alchemy was held in what looked like your every-day science class in middle school. The room was simple, yes, but the objects that covered the walls and shelves were far from it.
We were all accustomed to non-magic life, as it is in the global bylaws that all magic folk must attend non-magic school until the age of 13, when your magic starts to truly develop and become harder to control. After those years are complete, the children are sent to their designated magic school and begin their studies from the age 14 to 23.
According to the bylaws, this is done so that we are educated in the ways of the non-magic folk, learning their language, measurements, and sciences so that we are able to blend in when in their world. Adaptability.
The professor for Alchemy was a young woman with snowy hair, void-like eyes, and freckles on her button nose. She was tall in stature and swayed her hips when she walked. I believe she was fresh out of school, she looked so young.
When you walked into the room, her presence took you back and the chaos that stemmed from her energy reminded one of a chef preparing a four-course meal for the President of the United States and all of his special guests.
Sitting down at the seat with my initials magically engraved upon them, I saw the book that Gregorovich spoke of. I was the only one with the book, which made me feel even more out of place.
I quickly stuffed it in my bag so that it wouldn’t make me stand out like an eye sore to anyone else who walked in after me. I grabbed my pen and a small notepad from my bag after tucking the book safely out of sight.
In the center of my table was a large cauldron meant to be shared by the four students who are seated at each table. I watched as one by one students filtered in through the large door, finding their initials on their seats and talking to one another about the adventures they went on during the summer’s break.
It all seemed so natural, as if the only world that ever existed was the world of magic. Everyone knew exactly what they were doing, and I couldn’t wait to be a part of that shared energy.
Soon my three table partners showed up, placing themselves around the cauldron. To my left was Crys Coll, across from me was Brixton Flet, and next to Brixton was Petrin Lyter.
Crys was a chatty brunette. Her skin was olive toned, and she radiated that summer glow that I so easily failed to attain. Brixton was a soft looking boy with golden curls that could not be contained in the slightest, creating a mop that laid above his brow. He had square-framed glasses that seemed almost too large for his face. Petrin on the other hand, looked extremely put together, each hair perfectly in place on his little head. His hair was darker, like Crys, but carried a blue tinge in certain lighting.
I tried my best not to stare and pretended to be fidgeting in my bag for something when I heard Crys tell Petrin that the Order this year was going to be the most important one yet.
The Order was how our learning styles were essentially determined, using analytical magic that delves into the most secluded crevices of our mind.
There are those that excel in defensive magic called the Soldiers, those that are exceptional healers called the Medics, those that create new and improved versions of old magic called the Inventors, and those that are book smart, documenting all that has occurred in the present and analysing the past called the Recorders.
The Order can be a painful process as it enters the brain, but supposedly there is a feeling of euphoria and understanding once completed.
We started brewing our first potion and right away I knew that the one group I was most definitely not a part of was the Medics. There was nothing about stirring liquids in a pot that interested or even vaguely intrigued me, and I guess that lack of drive is what caused me to fail so miserably at today’s basic concoction known as Vilis.
It was a potion that smelled foul and brought out a dangerous and evil side to whoever was unlucky enough to touch their lips to it. I thought about the only time it would come in handy and my mind landed upon a dictatorship where one would need an army to wreak havoc against their will. Genius, yes, but also horribly sad.
Once Brewery was over with, we were sent to our second course of the day where we would be dismissed early for the Order. My second course was Interpretation of the Past, a fancier way of saying history class since they knew most students despised anything having to do with reading old, crusty textbooks.
The professor was a kind old soul with wrinkles that could tell stories of years passed. He had green eyes, mousy hair, and a smile that shone brightly against his dull skin.
“I understand a lot of you have grown to dislike courses involved with the past. The non-magic counterpart can be quite dreary,” He began with a grin, “But do not despair! We will travel through time and learn more about ourselves in the process than one could learn through even the most detailed Tarot card reading.”
The class sat down and all eyes were on this spritely little man. I felt as though even the worst history students could respect every word that flew out of his mouth.
My eyes widened as he placed a map in front of him and it projected into the thin air behind him. He turned to face it, winking at our astonishment and letting out a little laugh. The map changed before our eyes, lands and civilizations disappearing, expanding, shifting, and more. Once settled, he put his hands on his hips and let out a sigh.
“It’s like looking back on my own history. I feel like I am old enough to have lived through it all,” He let out a huff of laughter, “Alas, what you see here is the beginning of our timeline. As we progress with this course, the map will change to accompany the history that describes it. We will see progress occur ‘in real time’ so to speak.”
A soft gasp collectively released itself from the students and all fidgeting ceased to exist. Right as the silence surrounded us, that booming voice from the courtyard seemed to seep through the walls, announcing to us that the time has come for the Order.
Chairs scraped the floor and bags rustled as well all got to our feet waiting for instruction. Everyone was chatting up a storm discussing their current placements and who in the incoming class they thought would belong where.
In one corner I could hear three boys placing bets on Evangeline being placed into the Medics. It put me into an instant state of panic not knowing where I would belong.
I overheard one girl in passing say my family was known as the best group of Soldiers to ever attend the school. I know my parents decided not to tell me their placements in order to prevent me from feeling like a disappointment if I didn’t end up where they were, and yet here I am discovering I may be just that.
Entering the large amphitheater that held the Order ceremony was a surreal experience. I have never heard so many voices in one collective place. It was a sea of black and gold uniforms and bobbing heads that shook with laughter and excitement.
A professor grabbed my hand and told me to follow them up to the front. I anxiously snatched my hand away, for I do not like to be touched, but after realizing it was an elder, I bowed my head to apologise for what may have come off as a rude gesture.
“You will be the last one to be placed, since you are a year older. Do not fret, your time will come quickly.” The tall, spindly professor said smoothly. “Take your seat and clear your mind.”
I stared at the wall behind the chair that would detain each student. My eyes shifted down and I noticed the restraints built into the chair.
How was I going to clear my mind when I can clearly see this was not an easy process? I closed my eyes shut tight to the point I saw those little dots glimmer behind my eyelids.
Everything was going to work out the way it needed to, I just had to remind myself that.
The hustle and bustle of the room quieted as Gregorovich crossed the stage. His stature made the chair appear feeble and childish, which calmed me but also made me fear his presence.
“Students! The time for the Order has come. Settle down and put your belongings away. We will begin with the ceremonial chant,” He paused to allow the silence to collect itself and then began, the students’ voices following along seamlessly.
Here we stand
A collection of souls
Powerful alone
Unstoppable in bonds
May we seek understanding
And unite under similarities
To aide one another
And face the tales of time
Here we stand
A collection of blood
One finite and powerful being
Separated in success
Immediate silence followed and all that could be heard was the sound of the non-sorted students’ hearts beating faster each second.
My blood felt as though it was lava. It felt unnatural. I tried to calm myself, but it seemed this side-effect was out of my control.
I turned to my right and saw the row of students beside me, all of their faces glowing red with heat. The list had appeared in Gregorovich’s hand and his voice carried out across the vast expanse of students.
“Amelia Clairon, make your way to the stage,” he calls out.
A shrewd little girl stands up and walks timidly to the stage, her eyes sunken and her nose turned up to the sky. She sat in the chair and they tightened the restraints around her bony body, nearly closing the clasp on the last hole. Her body seemed to disappear as the headmaster’s long finger touched her temple.
Her teeth started chattering and her eyes rolled back. She laid there limp for a moment before trembling and soon began shaking so aggressively that her tiny structure almost broke free of the restraints. After what felt like years of her writhing in pain, she let out a soft gasp, her body released itself, and she came back to consciousness.
A small gilded badge appeared in her lap reading “Recorder”. She smiled, stood up, and walked with confidence off of the stage, as if she were a new being entirely - as if she weren’t just writhing in agony.
The list continued through about 145 students altogether, each one responding differently to the pain, all rising from their Order ceremony as if a new light had entered their body.
Variations of roles were laid out before them. I was baffled and tried to comprehend, but could not wrap my head around the complexities of analytical magic.
Then, my heart stopped. My name had finally been called.
WRITER’S NOTE-
I had originally written this piece in college during one of my Creative Writing courses!
We were working on short stories that established world-building and characterisation for potential “chapters” to expand on the story in the future.
Obviously, I took inspiration from one of the most playful genres to world-build: FANTASY!
(Full disclosure, I was living in Orlando at the time and Covid had emptied the parks, so I wrote this story whilst sitting in Diagon Alley at Universal Studios Orlando Resort - the inspo is very clear.)
Such an interesting read. Thanks for sharing!
Such an interesting fantasy.. loved it. Looking forward to more. Weldone.