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Libby Cresswell grew up an only child in the Green Mountain state. She grew up with a single parent in a two-bedroom little house with a swampy creek in her backyard.
One of Libby’s favorite things to do was stick her hands in the thick mud of the stream bed. It caked and hardened afterwards, and when she picked it off it would leave her hands dry and red. But it was worth it.
For the sacred moments her hands were submerged, they were quiet.
Another one of Libby’s favorite things to do was catch frogs. They were slippery, and hard to spot, but she learned how to hold one so it couldn’t escape. When she did, she could feel its heartbeat hum a soft melody of life against her hands.
That was even better than the quiet.
----
When Libby was ten, Renasci arrived on her doorstep- literally. A brochure was thrown carelessly on the concrete stairs by her front door with an address for a city in Arizona. It was an unbelievably, nigh magically, rare mistake.
One might have called it fate.
But fate is not the only power-that-be, and Libby's eventual attendance was the hard-won result of a prolonged and arduous debate with her mother.
There was no end of reasons why her mom opposed the school. She wanted to keep Libby close to home. Libby wasn’t ready to live without a parent. She wasn’t ready to live without her kid. She didn’t trust the school to teach Libby right. Or feed her right. And what about ceramics lessons?
All these were the reasons said out loud. But Libby wasn’t naive enough to miss the underlying question of money.
This was the only argument she could answer. Because while she didn’t know whether she was ready to be away from home, or how the food would be, or what would become of her ceramic lessons, she did know she wanted to go to Renasci. Desperately. And the school offered a full-ride scholarship for “first-generation gifteds” to do exactly that.
And eventually, miraculously, her mother agreed.
----
Libby met no one on the train to RAGS. (It was clearly a train. Everyone kept calling it a bus, and she knew it must be slang, but she refused to be so daunted by the Demesne that she didn’t call things what they were. It was a train. She was riding a train.)
She finished 18 four star sudokus in the two and a half hours it took to arrive.
----
Libby’s first thought upon meeting her roommates was “goshdarnit they’re all extroverts,” but her second thought was “I can work with this.”
Doxa, Cy, and the rest clearly had no intention of being mentor figures, but they seemed to be fine with the philosophy of live and let live. Maddie was overbearing but nice enough, and Galena was friendly (not to mention pretty. Libby had always wanted black hair for exactly this reason).
But all her hopes and dreams crashed and burned when Celia Fincastle walked in the room. Libby didn’t understand the context for the posturing and threats that followed, but she understood what she needed to: she was entering a war zone.
Libby had never been as happy as she was when she found out the bed curtains were soundproof.
----
Upon getting to know everyone further, Libby retracted her first impression. Galena was still friendly, and outgoing, and honestly exactly what Libby needed in a friend, but Maddie? Maddie was weird. Well. Actually, Celia was weird. But Maddie was weird about Celia being weird, which was infinitely more annoying.
Maddie was especially weird about Celia’s gifts.
Take for instance, the perfect pot Celia made in their first Arts class.
Libby could throw a pot she was satisfied with in about ten minutes. Anyone with sufficient practice could. It was a matter of mastery. Just because Maddie had never touched a lump of clay before didn’t mean the same necessarily held true for Celia.
It wasn’t weird to throw a good pot in five minutes. Challenging, yes. But not weird.
So why was Maddie acting like it was inconceivable?
Libby made eye contact with Galena, who seemed to be thinking something similar. Thank god there was someone sane around here.
----
Upon the completion of Libby’s own five-minute pot, Professor Mesbur pulled her aside.
“Have you used a wheel before?” he inquired.
She nodded. “I take lessons at a studio near my house.” Professor Mesbur placed her pot on the shelf with the other well-crafted creations. He turned around, wiping his hands on an apron.
“You should consider coming to Pottery Club. It's ostensibly run by me, but it's more a student get-together thing. I think you’d enjoy it. We don’t have a kiln on location unfortunately, but a lot of people with touch gifts find it a calming activity for their hands.”
“When does it meet?” asked Libby, her curiosity piqued.
Professor Mesbur seemed to like this answer. “Thursdays at four. Give it a try.”
“I will, thank you.” She gave him a genuine smile. As she packed up her bag to leave, she began plotting. Operation: Pottery Club was underway.
Step one of Operation: Pottery Club was to find an accomplice. There was no way Libby was going to walk into a new group of people alone, especially not when she wanted them to like her. She needed at least the illusion of comfort. Backup was a must.
The firsties were right out. They’d never agree, and Libby wouldn’t want them to. She imagined Gretchin complaining about what clay did to her cuticles and cringed. No way. Celia was also off the table. The calming sensation of clay beneath her fingers would be completely negated by everyone fawning over Her Majesty, long lost royalty, or whatever she was. Without Celia, she'd never convince Maddie. That was five people who wouldn't work.
The boys were a possibility; She knew at least Heath also had touch gifts, but… Libby already knew who she wanted to invite.
She got along better with Galena than with anyone else in the coterie, and the other girl was already used to being Libby’s social vector. She’d dragged Libby around to meet her brother and his older friends less than a week after meeting her, and was truthfully the only reason Libby remembered some of their classmates names. She would be thrilled to be invited to Pottery Club, and she an easy choice.
Libby had mostly gone through the list for the methodical structure of the practice. She liked to have all her eggs in a row before she tried anything scary. But now her eggs were all collected and ready to be cooked.
Operation: Pottery Club was a go.
----
Pottery Club began with the mortifying ordeal of getting lost.
Libby had assumed it would be meeting in the same classroom as her Art classes were, but the room was decidedly empty.
Thus began a scavenger hunt for every Touch classroom they could find. Between Libby and Galena, they knew where three Touch rooms were, but they arrived at them to find each as dark and abandoned as the first. Eventually they fell to the only option left to them: trying every door they came across. This was more than a little nerve-wracking, as they were alone in the hallways, and their actions felt dangerous and illegal.
Even more nerve-wracking were the lack of results afforded their bold choices. Most classrooms were kept locked, some with an impressive and old-looking key-hole, and some without one at all.Of the ones that were unlocked there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to organization.
“Why are none of the doors labeled?” Libby complained as they opened the final door in that hallway and found it to contain circus equipment of all manners and types.
“I don’t know,” replied Galena, “but I wish I was better with body gifts. Look at those sick trapezes. You think I would make a good acrobat?”
“They’d call you Galena the G…um. I can’t think of any- what’s an adjective that starts with a g?”
“Gamazing?”
Libby giggled as they reached the staircase. “Galena the Gamazing. That’s perfect.” She frowned at the stairs as they twisted in two directions. “You wanna go up or down?”
“Let’s start with up.”
And so it went.
It took the pair an entire hour to finally arrive at their destination. The room had been unlabelled beyond a number, just like every other, but a welcome mat covered in gray dust set it apart.
When they opened the door, it was to the unfortunate sight of the few people in the room sponging down their stations.
A girl by the door, who sported a stunning afro looked over at them. “Oh dear,” she said. “Did Professor Mesbur forget to tell you where we meet?” At Libby and Galena’s awkward nodding, she rolled her eyes. “Happens every time.”
A tall guy drying his hands with a towel shrugged. “Call it a right of passage.”
It struck Libby how few people there were in the room. Only three students were gathered, and there was no professor in sight.
The final person in the room was short with even shorter hair. They sported overalls, and, when they straightened from where they’d been stooped over a wheel, the first thing Libby noticed was their nose ring. Noticing Libby looking, they waved. “Hey guys! My names Alecto! I’m a second year, and the head of the club here! It's not every year we get newcomers, so it's nice to see y’all.” They paused to squeeze out their sponge over a bucket filled with murky liquid. “We’re unfortunately wrapping up today’s meeting, but we can do some introductions?”
The tall guy picked up the thread of conversation easily. “Yeah, sure. I’m Adam. I’m a fourth year.” He looked to the side.
“And I’m Lyla, same grade as him,” finished the girl who had greeted them.
All three members looked expectantly at the sevvies. Thankfully, Galena didn’t seem as intimidated by the situation as Libby did. After a moment of silence, she gestured to herself.
“I’m Galena.”
“I’m Libby,” Libby followed suit. She wanted to smack herself when she accompanied the gesture with a strange little wave. God, she was so awkward.
“We’re sevvies,” Galena finished.
Alecto smiled at the both of them. “Well, welcome.”
----
Time moved at stunning speed at Renasci, and Libby almost wondered if they were in some pocket of a time warp. She expected, however, that she’d just never had this much homework before.
It seemed ridiculous, that five classes could accumulate this much, but half her social time was just doing work in the same space as Galena. It was very peaceful, although her friend did have the habit of making snide commentary at whatever she was reading. Libby was only given context about half the time.
And of course, the peace only lasted when they could be alone.
Libby had stopped doing homework in their room after less than a month, so she and Galena had taken to finding a spot in the library that wasn’t besieged by passive aggression.
But neither her roommate troubles nor her workload slowed down time, and she barely seemed to notice as Halloween, and then midterms, and then Thanksgiving passed her by.
And suddenly, she’d been there for four months.
-----
As she reached the end of the term, Libby realized that she existed in a bubble.
At first, she hadn’t even noticed the buzz about the school, too caught up in finals in all their terrifying grandeur. But by the time it made its way to the tiny patch of comfort that was Pottery Club, it became hard to ignore.
Lyla lowered herself dramatically to the floor beside Adam’s wheel. “Adam. Would you make me the happiest woman in the world and do me the honor of taking me to the Fall Dance?”
Adam put a clay-covered hand to his heart. “The honor would be all mine.” He pretended to swoon.
Alecto hadn’t even looked up at the dramatics. “You’re going as friends I assume?” they drawled from where they worked over a piece of clay so thin and tall it could only serve as a candlestick.
Lyla glared at Alecto for the interruptions to her display. When she saw it wasn’t landing, she returned to staring at Adam with faux-adoration. “I will take you only as my husband,” she declared. Then, somehow, amazingly, she produced a ring-pop. “But you have to wash your hands before you put it on,” she said, reverting to a normal tone. “It was not easy to smuggle in.”
Adam rushed to do so.
The Fourth Years were not the only ones preparing for the dance. Of course not. The darn thing had to reach its sticky fingers into Libby’s very dorm room.
Doxa had been taken to parading about and reminding them all that sevvies couldn’t go to the dance. She’d come back from one weekend carrying three bags full of dresses, and she would postpone talking about them until as many sevvies were in the room as possible.
But about one week before the dance, her gloating turned to groaning. Apparently, she had planned to go with a guy named Winks (why anyone would name their child that was beyond Libby, but then, someone had named their child Doxa, so what did she know), but he had turned her down for reasons discussed only in whispers.There had been at least three crying fits, and Doxa could be seen adjusting her incredibly showy eyeliner regularly.
Despite the next-level histrionics, Libby didn’t see the hype. Dances, in her experience, were always loud, and crowded, and the opposite of romantic. She couldn’t think of anyone she’d be interested in going to the dance with, let alone dancing with. Everyone would be looking at her and she’d be all sweaty.
None of the boys in her grade were remotely worth that particular type of torture. And anyway, Libby had bigger things to worry about.
Namely, finals.
----
“I heard you can’t pass unless you can read a goat’s mind.”
“I heard colleges care about these scores more than the PHIROs.”
“I heard you have to fight a tiger.”
“I heard if you fail they take away your gifts.”
Libby fell into her seat in the Main Hall, making a ‘thump’ sound. “How’s this for a rumor about exams: they suck.” She let her forehead hit the table.
Heath nodded sympathetically. “Which one did you just do?”
“Speech,” Libby mumbled into her plate.
“That’s the only one I feel okay about,” remarked Galena.
“I bet your parakeet didn’t rip up the paper you were trying to write on with its stupid sharp claws,” Libby replied, raising her head so she could scoop food onto her plate dejectedly.
“At least we end with Logic,” said Heath, stuffing fries in his mouth. “At sould ge easir.”
The two girls ignored his terrible manners. “Fingers crossed,” said Galena, holding up these fingers and smiling.
Libby returned the gesture, cheering up despite herself.
“Fingers crossed.”
----
“Second to last meeting before break!” Alecto announced, barging in with a big grin.
“Oh, that reminds me,” said Libby as she stood up. “I have an announcement to make. I’m going home to my local pottery studio over break, and I can bring a couple small pieces with me to fire, if anyone wants to actually keep their work. Call it a Christmas present.”
“I would love that!” exclaimed Alecto, with assenting sounds from the others. “But FYI, none of us celebrate Christmas.” They said it kindly, but Libby still found herself heating up. Trust her to find another weird Demesne thing to run right into like a pigeon towards a glass window.
“If this ones permanent, could someone walk me through it, so it actually comes out well?” Galena interrupted her thoughts.
Alecto turned to her with a horrified expression. “Oh my hands! We never taught you how to throw!”
“It's fine! I’ve just been copying what you guys were doing!” Galena tried to reassure the frantic club leader. Alecto was having none of that.
“It's not fine! I’m worse than Professor Mesbur!” They turned around, dragging their wheel out of the circle formation they were in, so that it was next to Galena’s. “Let me give you a step-by step.”
Libby watched the impromptu lesson with no small amount of nostalgia. She remembered when she’d had this very lesson her first time at a wheel.
The tip of Galena’s tongue poked through her lips in concentration and Libby was hit by a wave of fondness.
Alecto reached over, repositioning Galena’s hands, and then holding their hands over hers, gently guiding them on the clay. Something in Libby constricted, and she looked away quickly.
Her own hands clenched on the clay she was working with, digging deep grooves into her pot. It would not be salvageable. She ignored it.
Turning to Lyla, she distracted herself by saying, “I didn’t mean to make assumptions about your holidays earlier, sorry about that.”
Lyla looked over at her, giving a shrug. “Oh, it's no trouble. You’re new to the Demesne, it was bound to happen.”
“What holiday do you celebrate?”
“The peak of winter.” That was more normal than Libby had been expecting. “Although it's a much bigger deal in Alecto’s family than mine. Their mom has a doctorate in Sight.”
Libby nodded politely, although she didn’t know what that had to do with it. Lyla noticed this.
“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
“Not really,” admitted Libby.
“Right so- each season. Wait. You guys recognize four seasons, don’t you.” Libby nodded, worried about where this was going. “Yeah. We have five. Anyway, each of the five seasons has a gift it empowers. There’s two holidays per season, making ten a year: one for the start of a season, and one its peak. The Peaks are much more important, but it depends on the family. Not everyone celebrates every gift, and some celebrate certain transitions and not certain peaks.”
“Huh.” Libby knew that she would be doing some research later. She was lost, but there was no way she was going to tell Lyla that.
“It's part of why people think the Overseer values mind gifts over others,” Lyla went on, “because school starts in Fall, just as Mind is gaining strength.”
“People think that? Wouldn’t it just be scheduled to line up with non-Demesne schools?” asked Libby. This at least was something she knew about.
“That is why, yeah. But people still talk.”
Libby wondered if it mattered that the Overseer’s chosen one was in Mensaleon. Celia, the princep, was in the Mind coterie.
She could see why people would talk.
----
Libby apparently hadn’t been paying attention, because she’d only put two and two together about the confetti and balls being connected when the Headmaster brought it up.
It scared her half to death when the head of the school showed up in their room, but she could see how the conclusion could be reached that it was Celia’s fault.
It was brave, though, for Galena to stand up for Celia like that.
Very brave.
Libby admired her for it.
----
The last Pottery Club meeting of the term, Libby returned to their room with a tray of four dried clay pots, which she very carefully tucked away in her trunk.
Thankfully, all of them made it through the trips to and from school unscathed. Libby used an environmentally unfriendly and uncalled-for amount of bubble wrap, but it was relieving nonetheless.
Libby was very proud of the final products. She had chosen a specific glaze for each person.
Alecto’s had layered earth tones with an inside of bright yellow.
Adam’s featured as many poorly drawn birds as Libby had been able to reasonably paint onto his mug.
Lyla’s bowl was red with multi-colored polka dots.
And finally, for Galena’s, she had used a bright, iridescent blue. It shone like the sky on a cloudless day, and it reminded Libby of her friend in a way she couldn’t put her finger on. Libby stared at it a lot in the week leading up to Pottery Club.
She hoped Galena would like it.
----
In the first Gym class of the second semester, Professor Spadaro had them do various exercises to get them in-tune with their bodies.
Libby was not particularly successful, but when she was told to focus on her heartbeat, she had a reversal of problems. Rather than not being able to feel it, she couldn’t stop feeling it.
It pooled in her fingers all week, pulsing softly but insistently against her skin.
It tapped a message against the wood of her pencil when she was doing homework.
It thrummed against the sky-colored varnish of Galena’s pot when she delivered it during Pottery Club.
And it beat with its inexorable glory against the contours of Galena’s hand, when, the next day, she was pulled giddily into Galena’s bed to discuss the newest Fincastle gossip.
It felt like the gurgling of a backyard stream. It felt like the ticking of a grandfather clock.
It felt like the rhythmic pumping of blood through her alive and singing heart.
----
Room three of Mensaleon got more toxic to be in by the day. Doxa had begun a cold war over some book Celia had allegedly stolen. The constant glares and hostile undercurrent of every cross-class interaction made it impossible for Libby to be in the room (her room. It was her room too, goshdarnit. She shouldn’t have to leave just to feel safe) for any significant length of time.
To her surprise, a way out was provided by the school itself. Mentors had been assigned.
Libby had heard her fair share of complaints from older students, and even she could recognize that a system where half the participants were unwilling was a stupid system. But, in this case, it worked out in her favor.
Libby was paired with Adam.
Adam who was funny. Adam who was cheerful. Adam who she already knew, thank god.
He came up to her the same day they were matched and proposed a “study session” in the library, with a cheeky grin on his face.
She agreed, but she could tell there wouldn’t be much studying happening.
She was right.
What they did do was a whole lot of chatting. And, like all conversations did in her accursed school, it eventually made its way to the subject of Celia Fincastle.
“You’re sure she’s not an alien? Wait, I forgot you’re her roommate. I’m speaking to an expert” Adam said jokingly.
“I see her twice a day,” Libby deadpanned.
“PHD-worthy stuff,” he dismissed. “How would you rate her cheating-ness score on a scale of one to ten?”
“Can I answer seriously?” Libby pushed some hair behind her ear and studied Adam. He sobered up and nodded. Watching him switch gears at her tonal change, Libby came to the sudden realization that she trusted him.
“Honestly? I think she cheated.” Before he could get a word in edgewise, she tacked on rapid-fire, “and I know that's an awful thing to say because she considers me a friend, and I know she was framed for the pranks earlier, and I’ve seen Doxa snooping on our side of the room, so its possible this is another instance of framing but I-” she paused to take a breath. “I just don’t see how she could have gotten a perfect score otherwise. Its impossible to get a perfect score, let alone five of them.”
Adam took a moment to digest that.
“You’re not a bad friend. You’re just not super close to Celia. I haven’t seen you talk to her ever. Plus you’re in Mensaleon. You’re thinking about this rationally. If logic says she cheated then that's reasonable, and doesn’t make you a bad person.”
“Really?” It came out more plaintive than she meant it to.
Adam leaned forward and ruffled her hair.
“Really, really.”
----
Libby didn’t know how it happened, but the end of her seventh year at RAGs was approaching, and with it, yet more exams.
“Does four different exam seasons a year seem a bit excessive to you?” Libby demanded of her friend at dinner. It was fish, which she hated, with olives, which she loved. After Libby had finished hers, she’d started stealing off of Galena’s plate.
“And the other ones weren’t even the big ones,” complained Galena. “Just think- we’ve still got the ALPHAs ahead of us.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me. If I pass those it’ll be from luck and luck only.”
“Well that works out, because guess what I’ve got.”
Libby looked at her in confusion. “What?”
Galena gave a lighthearted smirk. “I’ve got my fingers crossed.”
Libby grinned, and held up her own hand, fingers wound together. Galena leaned forward and tapped their hands together, as if toasting what was to come.
----
Libby’s ALPHA’s were scheduled for the day after Galena’s, but she didn’t try to demand any information. It was hopeless for most things anyway. The only gift the two of them shared was mind, and Libby wanted to earn that of her own merit.
This resolution did not prevent her from feeling immense relief when the first exam was Touch.
Their class hadn’t covered electricity, had barely covered temperature, but Libby picked up the lightbulb with optimism.
Touch gifts were all about feelings, so she closed her eyes, enclosing her hands around the base of the bulb. Brow furrowed, she focused on sensation.
When she paid attention, the lightbulb felt like latent electricity. It was prickly, and the potential energy curled and swum against her palms. She just didn’t know how to activate it.
Deciding the best course of action was to apply temperature theory where she could, Libby ran a bit of heat into the pooling static of the bulb. It caught like a spark, spreading to warm her hands.
Just as she was sure the lightbulb must be glowing, it seared against her skin. Crying out, she let go without thinking, and looked down at her hands. They were red and peeling with a fresh burn.
The lightbulb lay shattered on the floor.
She hadn’t seen if it’d been lit.
Professor Mesbur must have been watching, because he rushed out mere seconds later.
He glanced at her hands only briefly before making a verdict. “Second degree.” He pulled out a white plastic box, keeping up a running commentary as he rummaged through the medical supplies within.
“You tried to use heat, am I right? A smart thought process, but a dangerous one. I use fluorescent bulbs for this test.” He pulled out a tube of ointment and began smearing it delicately on her smarting hands. She tried to pull away, but he held her in place. “They give off far less heat than a regular bulb, but they’re still hazardous if you purposely overheat them.” He wrapped her hands in gauze and patted her arm. “That should be good until we can get you to a true healer. I’ll tell Antoine not to put you through the final portion of his test so you don’t hurt these further.”
Libby looked up to see Professor Perrin at the doorway. Professor Mesbur must have seen him too. “Sorry for keeping her,” he remarked.
“We’ll have a little less time, but it's no problem at all,” the dean replied.
And it wasn’t. Professor Perrin could have taken five minutes and gotten the same results. He spoke to her in a bunch of languages, starting with English. After the first, she couldn’t understand a word.
He smiled at her as she moved on, but she knew she’d flunked.
Sight wasn’t any better. She had no doubt she was supposed to be seeing things, but all she noticed were simple drawings.
It was like slipping into the relaxing chill of a pool to find that the Mind test was just puzzles and codes. This was something she was good at. This was the kind of thing she did for fun. She regretted that she’d ever have to put her pencil down.
When she did, though, she was glad for the relaxing state the test had put her in.
Because last of all was Body.
----
“Did anyone make it past Professor Spadaro?” Heath asked. Libby was seated next to Galena, but in a moment of camaraderie through suffering, all the Mensaleon sevvies had gathered in the common room.
“Forget him, did anyone make it past the first section of the plank?” Galena asked.
“Uh, yeah,” said Josh, looking at her dubiously.
“So did I,” added Celia, whose feet were swung over the side of her armchair so that she was reclined against the armrests.
“Not me!” Maddie grinned, not at all abashed by it. “I lost track of the amount of times I fell on my butt.”
“Me too,” said Libby, grateful to be able to chime in. She liked Body classes but she did not excel at practical application.
But at least she wasn’t alone.
Maddie turned to her, still beaming, “we’re failing-Body-buddies.” Libby returned the smile, and it broadened when Galena cackled at something Kitt had said.
She bumped her friend's shoulder, and Galena looked over to meet her gaze, brown eyes crinkled in happiness.
No, not alone at all.
----
“I can’t believe we’ll be leaving,” Galena paused to stare back at Renasci’s shape on the horizon. There had been people to bring their trunks this far, but now that they'd made it to the station they had to carry the luggage themselves. It was just as likely that she was pausing to catch her breath.
“I’m going to miss you so much,” Libby admitted.
“Me too,” agreed Galena. “You have to promise to write me.”
“Okay, I promise,” Libby said with a laugh.
“Good.” Galena nodded. “Now bring it in for a final hug.” She held her arms out, and Libby fell into them, squeezing her close.
Libby could feel the rushing pulse of Galena’s heartbeat against her own. It beat, beat, beat, and Libby’s with it, a soft melody of life. “See you next year,” Libby whispered into her neck.
“Yeah,” Galena said with a smile in her voice. “See you next year.”
Libby couldn’t wait.