Chapter Nine - The Bridge

They might have found the City, but they hadn’t reached it yet.

By the time the sun had reached its zenith, blazing down on them from high in the sky, both Órlaith and Leolin were exhausted. Órlaith glanced behind them and groaned; it looked as though they had hardly even begun to cross the bridge.

“This can’t be right,” she muttered, shaking her head. “It can’t take this long to get there.”

“Maybe they have horses,” Leolin said. “Or they use magic.”

“Magic would make more sense,” Órlaith agreed. “But I don’t know what might happen if we tried that. They probably have defences of some kind.” She glanced down, over the edge of the bridge to the dizzying fall below. “And I don’t want to know what the defences involve, honestly.”

Leolin grimaced. “You have a point. I suppose we keep walking, then.”

And they did. They walked and walked until the sun was beginning to set - and it still seemed as though they hadn’t gotten any closer to reaching the City, or even the end of the bridge.

Eventually, Órlaith stopped and sat down, leaning against the railing of the bridge.

“We can’t keep going like this,” she said. “Something’s stopping us, it has to be. If we just keep on walking, we’re never going to get anywhere.”

“I suppose that’s the point,” Leolin said, sitting down beside her with a sigh. “To put off anyone who did make it through the cave, so that they’ll eventually turn back.”

Órlaith tipped her head back against the railing, staring up at the sky.

“There has to be something,” she said. “Something we’re missing, maybe. Or something we weren’t taught, but can figure out.”

“Or they’ve just made it impossible for anyone to access the City unless they know how,” Leolin said.

“No,” Órlaith said, frowning. “No, that can’t be it - you felt that book, same as I did. It welcomed us. Why would people who made something like that book want to turn away absolutely everyone? There has to be some kind of exception, some way for us to get in. We’re spellweavers, we’re meant to be there.”

“Maybe,” Leolin said. “But that doesn’t mean we’re meant to get there by ourselves. Maybe they only want spellweavers who have been brought here. It would keep the City safer.”

Órlaith didn’t have a response to that. It was possible; all of it was possible. Maybe they’d made a stupid mistake in coming here, seeking out the City. Maybe Gwydion had been right, magehunter’s slave or not, and the City wasn’t all it was made out to be.

But maybe it was. And maybe they would be welcome there, if they could only figure out how to get there. If they could only understand.

Órlaith trailed her fingers along the filigree of the bridge’s railings. The textures didn’t follow any predictable pattern; they seemed random.

Órlaith sat up. No. No, they weren’t.

She turned to face the railings, ignoring Leolin’s confusion, and ran both hands along them. Like this, she could feel the power humming in them, the defences that had been turning them back again and again. But that wasn’t what she was interested in right now. No, what she was interested in were the markings.

“It’s writing,” she said, and laughed. “Leolin, it’s writing, the bridge is telling us what we need to do!”

---

Of course, it wasn’t quite that simple. Leolin couldn’t understand it no matter how Órlaith tried to explain it; it was as though the bridge had chosen Órlaith, and Órlaith alone, to share its secrets with. The magic needed both of them, though. If only one of them did it, then only that one would be able to cross the bridge - and neither of them was going to abandon the other. Not now, not when they’d come this far.

So since Órlaith couldn’t find the right words to explain it so that Leolin would understand, she showed him instead.

It was like the first day they’d met, when Órlaith had shown Leolin that not all magic needed to harm. She should have shown him more since then, perhaps - she had wanted to, at first, but there just hadn’t been time on the road. Especially after Gwydion had begun following them.

Still, Leolin was a fast learner. Órlaith went through the motions several times, trying to find a way to show him what she just knew. Eventually, they decided that he was as ready as he’d ever be. It was time to take the plunge.

They stood side by side in the centre of the bridge, holding hands. Órlaith wasn’t sure if it would really help or not, but when Leolin had tentatively held out his hand, she’d taken it. It was comforting, in a way, knowing that no matter what happened next, they would be stepping into it together.

Órlaith and Leolin looked at each other.

“Ready?” she asked, and he nodded.

Órlaith reached within herself, found the well of power inside, and pulled.

---

When Órlaith next opened her eyes, she was lying on the ground, flat on her back. She could still feel Leolin’s hand in hers - wherever they were, they hadn’t been separated. Beneath her, she could feel - it wasn’t metal. It was grass.

She sat up, looking around, and whooped.

They’d made it. They were on the other side of the bridge.

“We did it,” Leolin said, and laughed - it was the first time she’d ever heard him laugh. “Órlaith, we did it!”

“You did,” said an unfamiliar voice. “Well done, both of you.”

Órlaith’s eyes widened.

A woman stood there, robed in white. She was beautiful, with high, arched cheekbones, and a cascade of pure white hair falling loose down her shoulders. She smiled at them.

“My name is Anwen,” she said, offering Órlaith a hand up, and doing the same for Leolin a moment later. “And I’m delighted to welcome such promising young spellweavers to the City. Have you travelled far?”

They talked as Anwen led them to the gates of the City - Anwen gave the guards a brief nod, and that was all they needed to let the three pass. Leolin explained, a little haltingly, what had brought him here, how he had grown up with magehunters, had never been able to escape until he met Órlaith. Anwen made sympathetic sounds and nodded in all the right places.

Then it was Órlaith’s turn - she told Anwen what had happened to the caravan, how she and Leolin had fled to Aneirin, only to be betrayed.

“It’s such a shame,” Anwen said, shaking her head. “Far too many envy our power, and so fear it. Even more value greed above loyalty, and I am sorry you have had to bear that, so young.”

Órlaith told her, then, about their flight from Aneirin. About reaching the waystation, and about their encounter with Gwydion.

As soon as she began to describe him, Anwen hissed out a sharp breath.

“Of course,” she murmured, features twisting into something cruel and angry, just for a moment. “Of course he would attempt to stop you.”

“You know him?” Leolin asked. “I’d thought that he belonged to a magehunter.”

“It would be better for us all if he did, perhaps,” Anwen said darkly. “Though of course I would not truly wish that upon any of our kind. But no, he belongs to nobody and to nowhere. Once, he was one of us, a part of the City - ah, but there is hardly time for the whole story now. Please, Órlaith, continue.”

So Órlaith did, despite wanting to stop and demand answers about Gwydion. If he had been part of the City, why had he left? And if he had been part of the City... why had he told them it wasn’t all it seemed to be? How much truth might have been in his words?

Órlaith didn’t want to be suspicious of this place, the closest thing she had found to home outside the caravan. It felt right, being here - as though she had stepped into the place she should be, a place that welcomed her. And it was Leolin who was the suspicious one - Órlaith had always tended towards trust, even when she probably shouldn’t have.

And yet... there was something. Something Órlaith chose, for now, not to think about too hard.

Instead, she just kept telling Anwen what had happened - how they had fled Gwydion, until eventually they reached [place3].

“The innkeeper there told me that there were stories of spirits in the wilderness,” she said, looking up at Anwen (the other woman was surprisingly tall, towering above both Órlaith and Leolin). “I thought it might be City spellweavers, trying to keep the City hidden. Is it?”

Anwen laughed, the sound musical and bell-like. “It is indeed. Clever of you to realise - even those few who knew the City lay somewhere within the wilderness did not pick up on that. It is good to hear that the ordinary people believe it to be spirits, rather than anything else.”

Órlaith nodded, pleased both at the praise and at knowing she’d been right. She went on, telling Anwen of Gwydion appearing at the inn, how they had bolted, taking only what they could carry, running straight out into the storm.

“I’m not sure if it was luck or not, finding the cave,” Órlaith said. Now she thought about it... what were the chances that they had found that cave, out of all of them? “But we found it, and once we had dried off and rested, we decided to look further in. And then...” She shrugged. “We followed the cave all the way to the end. And then we saw the City.”

“It wasn’t luck,” Anwen assured her. “The cave would never have appeared to you if you were not a spellweaver - it is enchanted as such. Any other would have simply passed by, but for the two of you... the cave would have called you, if it thought you suitable. You were meant to be here.”

Órlaith couldn’t help but think that Anwen was laying it on a little thick. But Leolin didn’t seem to feel the same; he was staring at Anwen, eyes wide with awe.

“I knew it,” he breathed. “I knew there was meant to be more. Somewhere that we should have been.”

“Indeed,” Anwen said, voice gentle. “If we had our way, every spellweaver in the outside world would be brought here, rather than left to suffer. But there are simply not enough of us to allow it - all we can do is welcome those like yourselves, who have made their way here.”

They stopped outside one of the great towers Órlaith had seen from the other side of the bridge. She hadn’t had much time to look around as they walked, she had been too busy talking to Anwen - but from what she had seen, all of the buildings seemed to be made of that pure white stone, and so did the streets, which were paved with great slabs of the stuff. Órlaith couldn’t help but wonder how they kept it all clean - but then again, magic.

There were guards at the door of the tower as well - they were the only other people Órlaith had seen since they entered the City, in fact. It was late, though - perhaps everyone was already in bed, or otherwise tucked away indoors.

“This is the tower of our leader, Emyr,” Anwen said, making an expansive, sweeping gesture towards the tower. “He is busy, of course, but he has been able to make time to see you both today. After all, it is not every day that we are able to greet new residents. Please, follow me - and stay close. Unfortunately, there is risk from enemies even here, so the tower is well guarded, and whilst the magic recognises me, and will let you pass at my side...” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to; the warning was clear enough.

The guards let Anwen in without hesitation. Who was she? Anwen had never actually introduced herself, not beyond her name. But she had to be someone important, if she was able to simply bypass the guards like this, and if the magic guarding the tower recognised her, specifically. Without knowing more about how the City worked, Órlaith couldn’t guess. They had a leader, and what else? A council of elders? An elected council? She would have to learn more about it - and she would have time, now.

Anwen took them up flight after flight of spiral stairs. By the time they reached the top, Órlaith’s legs ached and she felt a little dizzy, but she didn’t complain. Even if, privately, she wondered how anyone who wasn’t able to manage stairs could get up here. Magic, probably. That would be an easy answer to most of her questions about the City so far.

They stopped on a small landing, in front of a door twice Órlaith’s height and almost as wide. It was white, like everything else here seemed to be, and it was engraved with elaborate scenes - in the dim lighting, though, Órlaith couldn’t make out what they depicted, especially since there was no colour. Anwen knocked once on the door, and after a moment, it slid smoothly into the wall beside it, as though there had never been a door there at all.

Anwen smiled indulgently at Órlaith and Leolin’s amazement.

“You will become accustomed to this kind of thing, the longer you remain in the City,” she assured them. “Now, come.”

Emyr, the City’s leader, was a slimly built man who looked to be perhaps in his mid-forties. His white hair was pulled back behind his head in a tight bun, except for a few strands that escaped to frame his face. He sat behind an immense wooden desk, the first thing Órlaith had seen that wasn’t pure white - though it was close to it, some kind of extraordinarily pale wood Órlaith didn’t recognise. Maybe it only grew here, or in the valleys below the bridge.

“Emyr,” Anwen said, bowing. After a moment, Órlaith and Leolin followed suit, Órlaith more slowly than Leolin. It seemed like it was only a courtesy, since Anwen straightened again almost immediately, but Órlaith still didn’t like it. Then again, she was in the City now. The social rules of the caravan didn’t apply.

“Anwen,” Emyr greeted her in return, nodding. “I take it these two are our newest spellweavers from the outside?” When Anwen inclined her head, he smiled. “Come, come, tell me about yourselves, about how you came to be here. I would invite you to take a seat, but I’m afraid this room doesn’t tend to have space for seating. Rather unfortunate, but the light is excellent throughout the day, so I tend to take meetings elsewhere - unless they’re as short notice as this!”

Órlaith and Leolin repeated what they had told Anwen already, and when they were done, Emyr leaned back in his chair and sighed.

“Well, whilst it’s a shame you’ve had to go through all of that, I can’t deny we’re glad to have you here,” he said. “I can promise you, you’ll be happier here than you ever were in the world outside the City - and you won’t need to hide yourselves for the sake of that happiness, either. Now, it’s been excellent to meet you both, and I would dearly like to continue speaking with you - but I’m afraid I have a great deal to be getting on with, and never enough time to do it in.” He gestured to Anwen. “Anwen, if you would?”

With only the briefest of farewells, Anwen led them back out of the room. The door closed smoothly behind them, and they followed Anwen all the way back down the spiral stairs. If all the buildings in the City were like this, Órlaith’s legs were going to get very strong, very quickly.

“It’s unfortunate that Emyr wasn’t able to speak with you longer,” Anwen said, once they were outside again. “But I’m sure both of you understand - he is extraordinarily busy. As his second, I take on what duties I can, but there are some tasks - some magics - that only the City’s leader may undertake.”

So that was Anwen’s role, then. It still didn’t explain any more about how the City’s governance was actually structured, but at least Órlaith knew who Anwen was to the City now.

“There’s not enough time to show you anything further tonight, I’m afraid,” Anwen went on. “For now, I will take you to temporary sleeping quarters. Tomorrow, we will test your magic - it’s an entirely uninvasive procedure, there’s no need for concern. We have extensive schooling opportunities here, you see, and testing your abilities will allow us to determine what you might benefit from further training in, and what you excel at.”

“Schools?” Leolin asked, eyes practically shining. Órlaith couldn’t blame him - even though she’d had the caravan’s training, the teachings of all her elders and peers alike, that was a far cry from formal magical tuition. And tuition from other spellweavers, at that. Other people who really understood what their magic could do, what they might be capable of.

“Indeed,” Anwen said, smiling. “But that is for tomorrow - there are different schools, and different types of education here. Some benefit more from classroom teaching, and others from apprenticeships, for example. Once we have assessed you both, we will be able to determine where to place you. Now, here are your quarters for the night - Órlaith, to the left, and Leolin, to the right. There’s no need to unpack beyond what you must. Your belongings will be taken to your new homes tomorrow, once we know what those homes will be.”

Bidding them both goodnight, Anwen left, and Órlaith and Leolin separated, going to the rooms she had indicated. It was a shame - Órlaith would have liked an opportunity to speak to Leolin, to work out if he was really as awed by the City as he seemed, or if he had the same wariness as Órlaith. But with any luck, there would be time for that tomorrow.

---

There wasn’t time for it the next morning, or the next afternoon.

At dawn, Órlaith was woken by a knock on the door - it turned out to be another spellweaver, this one a girl a few years younger than Órlaith, with brown skin and a birthmark across half of her face. Her hair had only partially turned white, on the same side as the birthmark.

She didn’t introduce herself, just took Órlaith to a hall where the testing would apparently take place. A few minutes later, the testers arrived - a group of four spellweavers, who spent the next several hours putting Órlaith through possibly the most gruelling magical training she’d ever experienced. By the end of it all, Órlaith felt like she’d learnt more about her own magic than she had ever known before, and also like she’d just run up those stairs in Emyr’s tower a dozen times.

Once they were done, the girl from before reappeared, and guided Órlaith out of the hall and to a small, low building, which turned out to be some kind of cookhouse, serving mostly light fare and a bitter, dark drink Órlaith had never seen before. The girl giggled at the look on Órlaith’s face when she tried it, and pushed a bowl of sugar towards her.

“It’s a lot better when it’s sweeter,” she said. “Don’t worry, we have lots of sugar here, it’s easy to make. My name’s Fiona, and they said you were Órlaith.”

Órlaith tried the drink with a lot more sugar, and found that Fiona was right - although she still wasn’t sure it was something she’d want regularly. Fiona kept chattering away, all of her earlier reservation seeming to have disappeared.

“Once they’ve considered the results, they’ll tell you where they want to send you,” she said. “It might be to one of the schools, or one of the masters, or maybe even someone will take you on as an apprentice - you must be strong, to have made it here from outside! I got brought here,” she added, looking shy suddenly. “I was very young, I don’t really remember what it’s like outside the City. They say it isn’t good for spellweavers, though.”

Órlaith was more than happy to talk about her life before coming to the City - Fiona was a keen listener, and kept interrupting to ask questions. She seemed surprised to hear that life outside the City wasn’t some kind of horrific existence. Órlaith didn’t sugarcoat things, she told Fiona about the risk of being a spellweaver, the magehunters, the fear. But she told her, too, about everything Órlaith had seen - the festivals, the people she’d befriended, the things she had learnt. Fiona soaked it all in, and when they were summoned by some message Órlaith didn’t hear but Fiona did, the girl was all but insisting that she wanted to show Órlaith her history books, and ask her about those, too.

There wasn’t time for that now, though. Fiona led Órlaith through the streets of the City, taking a route that seemed long-winded to Órlaith, but probably wasn’t if you knew the City well. Órlaith was looking forward to getting to know the place, learning the shortcuts and the side-streets of her new home.

They stopped outside a huge, imposing building - made of white stone, of course, just like everything else in the City. Wide, sweeping steps led up to an immense set of double doors, made of the same pale wood as Emyr’s desk had been. There was writing carved into the stone above the door, but it was too far for Órlaith to read it; the staircase was long, setting the building itself far back from the street.

“Here it is,” Fiona said. “The Peak Academy. This is where they’ve decided to send you - they must have been impressed!” She smiled at Órlaith. “Usually people are only sent here if they’re powerful.”

Órlaith nodded. She hadn’t thought she was that powerful, but the tests that morning had been done for a reason. And if this was where the City had decided to send her...

“What about Leolin?” she asked. “He came here with me. Do you know where he’s been sent?”

“Oh! I don’t know that for certain, but I heard that Anwen herself was thinking about taking him on as an apprentice, depending on what the tests show!”

Good for him. Leolin would probably benefit from more focused teaching - Órlaith hadn’t asked about how, exactly, the magehunters had trained spellweavers they captured, but she couldn’t imagine it involved much one-to-one learning. Órlaith, on the other hand, had always had a mixture of group learning and more individual teaching - presumably the Peak Academy had some kind of teaching method they’d decided would be best suited to her.

Fiona showed her to her rooms - it turned out that students here all got their own little suite, complete with bedroom, bathroom, and even a study room. They were all fairly separated off from each other, too. A timetable had been left on her desk - it seemed like it was going to be a mixture of group study and individual lessons.

Once she was settled, Fiona left, although not after extracting a promise that Órlaith would talk to her more about the outside world sometime. Then, finally, Órlaith began to prepare for tomorrow - her first real day as part of the City.