Noble

Prologue.

“I hear they do experiments on the kids that go there.”

It was said in a game of dares, common among the children of the small town of Oswald. When they had nothing better to do, which was more often than not, it was typical for them to run up to the ancient gates, wrap their hands around the bars while standing on the horizontal bar along the bottom, and guess what went on inside the strange building.

From the outside, it simply looked like an old establishment, as if it had been a hospital or orphanage in a time long since forgotten. Square and brick, it went up four stories, and fifteen windows ran horizontally across the longer sides of the building, five along the shorter. Ivy crept up the sides, making it appear to be abandoned.

Except, the building wasn’t abandoned. Every August, a group of children, much like the ones clinging to the bars now, entered the gates, never to be heard or seen from until the following June. It appeared that these mysterious children went to school there.

St. Lorian’s Academy for the Gifted.

That was the name that could be made out if one stepped back from the wrought iron entrance and read the words at the top of the gate.

No one believed it was actually a school.

“Well, I heard they train kids to be assassins there,” a second boy declared.

“That’s not true,” said the first.

“Neither is the stuff about the experiments!” the second defended. The first was about to counter when they caught sight of the rickety, old caretaker running their way, already shouting and waving his arms like the maniac he was rumored to be. “Run!” the second shouted, jumping away from the bars and dashing down a side street. The caretaker had been known to throw stones at kids who refused to mind their own business.

He had good aim, too.

They took off into the streets, disappearing long before the caretaker made it to the gate, huffing and puffing and glaring at where they had been.

“Idiots!” he muttered under his breath, finally turning away. “Tell them a million times, stay away if ya know what’s good fer ya, but do they listen? Pah!” He cast a glance over his shoulder, ensuring that the kids weren’t trying to creep back when he wasn’t looking. “They’ll see, though. They’ll see…”

Once the decrepit old man disappeared back into the ivy-covered building, two things seemed to happen at once. The first: a boy, nearing seventeen and the end of his time at St. Lorian’s, appeared in the small window of sight provided by the wrought-iron gates. He was casually tossing an apple to himself, up and down and up again, and walking along one of the paths that led to Who Knows Where. This was strange, as no one was ever seen behind the gates, save for the caretaker.

What was not so strange, however, was the second happening.

At the same time as the young man’s appearance, a little girl seemed to roll out from behind a bush next to the gates of St. Lorian’s. Her clothes were scruffy at best, with holes in the knees of her jeans, stains on her white t-shirt and a lack of shoes altogether, and less could be said of her actual appearance. She was no more than seven, and her scraggly hair was mostly hidden by a red baseball cap, though some did peek out around her shoulders, boasting a dark brown, muddy color. In fact, it was much the same color as the streak of dirt across her right cheek, and several shades darker than her caramel eyes. Often times, she could be seen at these very gates, peering in at the strange, mysterious world beyond them.

Her name was Alice Freund. She wasn’t someone most of the parents in Oswald wanted their children to associate with.

“Ouff,” Alice said as she tumbled out of the bush. Her foot had caught on a root, you see, causing her graceless appearance. Groaning, she dusted off her shoulder before standing and running up to the gate. Much to her surprise, there was someone other than that nasty caretaker in sight. This was a fact that greatly excited her, and as such, she called out, rather louder than necessary, “Hey! You’re on the other side of the gate!”

This fact was not only obvious to the young man, but also very amusing. He had been planning on returning to the school, but this statement caused him to change his mind. Chuckling to himself, he walked towards the girl, continuing to toss his apple. “So I am,” he told her when he got close enough to speak at a normal volume. He didn’t want to attract the attention of those that might chase her off, after all.

By now, Alice was standing on the gate, clutching the bars to keep her balance on it. She beamed up at the young man when he confirmed her observation. “You are!” she repeated. Then, her face scrunched up in what the man took to be confusion. “How’d you get there?” she asked next. Again, the young man laughed.

“What’s your name, little girl?” he asked, instead of answering her question.

“Alice,” she told him. The young man smirked at this and stopped tossing his apple.

“That’s a nice name,” he told her with a smile. Alice beamed up at him, glad the man from the strange school approved. “Mine’s Alvie.”

“Nice to meet you, Mister Alvie,” Alice greeted, sticking her hand through the gate. Alvie shook her hand firmly, his smile growing. Then, he bent down so his face was nearly next to hers.

“Do you want to know what we do here?” he asked her, arching an eyebrow mischievously. Alice nodded eagerly, too excited that she was finally going to figure out what happened at this strange school, once and for all. Kneeling now for comfort, Alvie flashed his best smile before giving his apple a final toss and presenting it to the girl. “Take this,” he instructed.

Alice jumped down from the gate so she could use her hands. When she did, Alvie stuck the apple through the metal bars, waiting for her to take it. Cautiously, Alice reached out and took the apple, turning it over and over in her hands, wondering why he wanted to give her the apple and what it could possibly have to do with the school. There had to be something special about it… “What’s it do?” she asked eventually.

“Oh, lots of things,” Alvie said. “Give it a toss and see.” Skeptical at first, Alice shifted the apple between her hands a few times before finally giving it a toss into the air. And then, sometime between when it left her hand and when it returned, the apple became an orange. Alice gasped.

“How’d you do that?” she asked, sure that Alvie had been responsible.

But he was gone.

He seemed to have disappeared at the same time her apple became an orange. Not at all bothered by this, Alice smiled widely and gave her apple another toss. When it came back down again, it was a large, chocolate egg, like the kind you get at Easter. “Awesome,” she whispered, looking back up at the gate again.

Alvie still wasn’t there, but Alice didn’t really care. She had an apple that could become anything she wanted it to, and a secret. After all, she knew what they did inside St. Lorian’s Academy for the Gifted, now. Even if no one would ever believe her, she knew the truth.

They did magic.