Shaman's Crossing

“Don’t mention it, lad. I see it more often than you might think, especially in the early months of school. Were you a sleepwalker at home?”



I shook my head dumbly, and then remembered my manners. “No, sir. Not that I recall.”



The sergeant scratched his head. “Well, like as not you’ll get over it and stop doing it. If it gets too bad, just tether your wrist to your bedpost at night. I’ve only had one cadet who had to do that, but it worked just fine. Woke him up when he started dragging his bed behind him.”



“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” The dream that had captured me and taken me outside seemed to linger at the edges of my consciousness, like a fog that would recapture me if it could. I felt drawn to it, but I also felt embarrassed to be out wandering about in my nightshirt, and even more so that the sergeant had had to rescue me.



“Now don’t be troubled, Cadet,” he said as if he could read my thoughts. “This isn’t a disciplinary matter. It remains between you and me. And I doubt you’ll keep it up. It’s the pressure of the first few months that brings it out in some cadets. Likely when initiation is over, you’ll go back to sleeping all night in your own bed, and no harm done.”



By then we were walking back up the steps of Carneston House. My feet were bruised from the gravel and I was wet to the knees from the tall grass I’d waded through. I climbed the stairs and got back into my bed, grateful for its warmth, but also with a strange sense of regret for the dream that had been interrupted. I could not recall a moment of it, but a sense of wonder and pleasure from it still echoed in my sleepy mind.



We all knew that initiation “officially” ended after the first six weeks of classes, when the “survivors” were judged to have been introduced properly into Academy life. I looked forward fervently to our lives becoming simpler. Some of us hated the bullying to the point of depression and even weeping, such as Oron. Rory, Nate, and Kort seemed to take the clashes as a personal challenge, and they endeavored to gallop through it as if it bothered them not at all. Told he must eat six hard-boiled eggs, Rory swallowed down a dozen. I resented how the inane tasks given me devoured my time for study and sleep. Nonetheless, I tried to keep a game attitude about it, for I did not wish to be seen as a bad sport.



Then a single incident changed my view of the initiation. I was walking alone back to Carneston House after marching off my demerits. The light was fading rapidly from the sky and the fall day was getting chilly. I was looking forward to getting in out of the cold and settling down to my studies for the night. When I saw two third-years coming toward me, I inwardly groaned. As protocol demanded of me, I stepped off the path, came to attention, and, as they passed, snapped them a salute. I prayed they would just keep walking, but they halted and looked me up and down, smiling. I kept my eyes straight ahead and my face expressionless.



“Nice uniform,” said one. “Was it tailored especially for you, Cadet?”



“Yes, sir, it was,” I replied promptly.



“Good boots, too,” the other observed. “About-face, Cadet. Yes, all seems in order from the back, too. All in all, a well-turned-out cadet. My compliments, Cadet.”



“Thank you, sir.”



The first spoke again, and I suddenly perceived that this was a well-rehearsed routine for them. “But we cannot be sure that he is truly well turned out. A book may have a fine cover, but soiled pages within. Cadet, are you wearing regulation undergarments?”



“Sir, I do not understand.” But I did, and my heart was sinking.



“Off with your coat and trousers and boots, Cadet. We cannot have you out of uniform even when you are out of uniform.”



I had no choice but to obey. There, on the path, I took off my jacket, untied my boots and set them aside, and then stepped out of my trousers as well. I folded them neatly and set them to one side and came back to attention.



“Oh, and your shirt, too, Cadet. Didn’t I mention his shirt, too, Miles?”



“I thought certainly you had. An extra demerit for you, Cadet, for not obeying promptly. Shirt off.”



I hoped an instructor might venture by and put an end to their pleasure in tormenting me, but I had no luck there. By a series of commands, they reduced me to my underwear. I stood barefoot on the cold gravel, trying to maintain a pose of attention without shivering, and blessed my good fortune that my small clothes were new and free from holes. Rory would not have been so fortunate. They had added three more demerits to my original one, and now charitably suggested that I could immediately work them off by marching round them in a circle, singing my house song at the top of my lungs. Again, there was no help for it. Within, I seethed, but outwardly I kept a good-natured air of tolerance for this silliness as I began my circuit. The cold gravel bit into my bare feet, every inch of my skin was up in gooseflesh, and I had two quizzes I desperately needed to study for. Instead, I marched round them, singing the Carneston House loyalty song at the top of my lungs as they exhorted me to “Get your knees up,” “March faster,” and “Sing louder, Cadet. Are you ashamed of your good House?”