It was the last day of school and Moya Donalova had still heard nothing.  The chances had been slim.  She knew that.  Nobody from her school or even from her city had ever passed the entrance exam for the Kenninghall over the border into Northumberland.

 

None of that made it any less disappointing though.  The Mothers had told Moya she had a chance.  She was a clever girl.  They always assured her of that when the glass made clear that she could not be considered pretty or strong or fast.

 

She knew, they told her often enough, that she was never going to catch herself a fine man like her house-sister, pretty Pauletta Petulengro with hair like a raven's wing and eyes like black stars, fifteen years old and already well into her second pregnancy only a year after leaving school.

 

Neither would she be a warrior like her best friend Julie.  Julie was the sweetest person, Moya had ever known but she insisted she would be a warrior and maybe she would.  She was strong enough to skull the school skiff single handed in the teeth of a Westerly and fast enough to catch squirrels before they ran into the trees or gulls before they could take flight.

 

Moya was none of those things.  She stood barely five feet tall, a couple of inches shorter,  than Pauletta and nearly a foot shorter than Julie.  Her eyes were the muddy green of the water in the canal and her hair, like Julie's had the colour and consistency of straw.  She'd tried cutting it short like Julie but she looked ridiculous with her pale skin and stalk-like shape, so she'd grown it again and begun wearing it in a plait.  At least that way she looked kind of presentable.

 

It didn't matter how presentable she looked or didn't look.  She'd never catch a good man, so the best she could hope for with her looks and her mind was the endless, loveless toil of a Mother.  And that was an ironic name if ever there was one.  

 

She'd never seen a Mother pregnant, or even with a man.  They seemed to spend all their time with the orphans, teaching them the ways of Angland in general and Azelsburn in particular, or perhaps in front of a class in school, teaching orphans and familied children alike.

 

Moya knew that her chance of going to the Kenninghall and becoming an Eye were slim, but she had hoped.  She had hoped so much and she had heard nothing.

 

Now school was over and she sat sadly in the skiff beneath the leaden sky as the boatman rowed her class through the stinking canals toward the orphanage.  Julie hugged her and whispered, “It's alright Moya.  They're blind.  I'd marry you in an instant if I were a man, and besides, maybe the bird has visited while we were at school.  Anyway, you write well enough to be a Chronicler.  Don't give up yet.”

 

“A female Chronicler?  I've got more chance of marrying a Prince.” Moya was not in the mood to be consoled.

 

“Why not?” asked Julie.  “In the olden days they didn't even have female soldiers.  Maybe you'll be the first.”

 

Moya smiled.  She knew that Julie meant well.  She was her best friend, but Moya had heard what Mother Tavishska had said in Civics class.  Chroniclers were there to record that which was important and they were all men because women “could not be expected to understand what was important and what was not”. 

 

If she wanted to be a Chronicler, Moya would have to struggle, whereas to be an Eye, all she would have needed to do was pass an exam.  She hugged Julie and they said their tearful goodbyes as the skiff pulled out at Julie's orphanage and then Moya was alone with the boatman as he rowed toward St Edward's, his last stop on the route and Moya's home at least for the remaining thirty eight days of her childhood.

 

The boatman tied the boat and offered his arm to help her up onto the dock.  “Your friend is right, Miss Moya,” said the boatman.  “Anything can happen.  Don't fret over what may never come.  I've been rowing you in that boat since you were nine and in that four, nearly five years, I've noticed.  You're sensible, you're clever, and most of the time, you're the one the others come to when they need help.  It'll be okay.  I can see you as an Eye, a Nurse, A Prelate or yes, even a Chronicler and you know what.  There's more to marriage than who is pretty.  Any boy'd be lucky to 'ave you and don't forget it.  I wish you all the best in whatever happens.”

 

With that said, Moya could hold back the tears no longer and as she felt the dam break within, she cried all the harder because she knew that with her snotty nose and red, blotchy cheeks, she's probably crossed the line from plain to positively ugly. 

 

The boatman didn't mind.  After checking to see the boat was properly secure, he slung Moya's belongings over his back and then took her up in his arms and carried her to the front door of St Edward's.

 

Mother Able rushed out of the door to meet her, face full of concern.  “Oh my goodness, Mr Lee, is she ill?”

“Nah, don't worry Mother Able, just taken with the emotion of leaving school.  Poor thing thinks she's got no future.”

Mother Able sighed, “Here, let me take her and let me get you a florin for the inconvenience.”

“Don't worry, Mother.  No trouble.  If she'll be at the dance on Friggsday, just put in a word for my Tom.  This young lady would make a better wife than she thinks even if she doesn't get to be an Eye.”

“Will do Mr Lee.  You take care then and thank you.”

 

Moya was still in no mood to smile as Mother Able took her into the kitchen and gave her a cupcake and a cup of mint.  She did her best to dry Moya's eyes and said, “Listen Moya, you've got another five weeks of being a child.  Let's make sure you can enjoy them as much as possible shall we?  And please, dear, dear Moya, try not to worry, okay?”

 

Moya turned up the corners of her mouth in her best imitation of a smile and nodded.

 

Of course, not worrying is easier said than done.  After all.  When somebody, no matter how well-meaning tells you not to worry, the first instinct is to start going through a list of the things you have to worry about.  Moya had been worrying enough already without the added pressure of being asked not to.  

 

Over the next few days, Moya imagined dozens of possible futures for herself, each one more dreary than the last:  she could teach girls like her over the next fifty years until she was too tired to do it any more; she could lock herself away in a cloister somewhere and write textbooks;  she could sell advertising space in the Anglish Chronicle never getting anywhere near any actual chronicling; maybe she could be a typist.  After thinking too much about the future she'd bang her head on the table and imagine drowning herself in the Race at high tide then drift out to sea as food for crabs and gulls and mackerel.

 

Friggsday went and with it the dance but when the next Friggsday came, Mother Able literally shook her out of her torpor.  “Moya Donalova,” she said.  “You are going to the dance this evening if I have to drag you there myself and introduce you to young Tommy Lee.”

“But...”

“No Moya.  No buts.  It doesn't matter if you can't dance, if you get tongue-tied talking to boys or even if you think you're hideous (which you're not by the way).  You're going and you'll talk to that young man even if neither of you can dance.  It's cruel to let him sit on his own and I won't have it another Friggsday.”

 

Moya opened her mouth to speak but Mother Able placed a strawberry in it, effectively damming whatever words might be coming next.  With that settle, there was nothing left to do but to wait and to get ready.

 

Mother Able had sent a runner to bring Julie and Julie brought along a friend.  “I suppose I should call you Archer Kowalski now”, said Mother Able as she took the two girls into the commons to see Moya.

“Not at all.  It'll be Cadet Kowalski till I'm seventeen and not even that until I've done basic training.”

 

Julie introduced her friend to Moya.  “Moya, this is Sidwell Hunter, she prefers Siddie, she's in basic with me.  Siddie, this is Moya Donalova, she's been my best friend since forever.”

 

Moya had never seen anybody quite as lovely as Siddie and she could tell it was the sort of beauty that takes work.  Her hair, her skin and her eyes were all the same shade as Moya's own but where Moya believed herself 'plain' Siddie insisted on being 'lovely'.  This despite hair buzzed short and arms and legs bulging with muscles more like a horse than a girl. 

 

Moya sat with mouth open.  “But... but you're...”.

“Aww thank you Moya.  And that's even though I'm...”

“No you're not Siddie,” said Julie, “And even if you are it's only a...”

“I was going to say heavily muscled Julikins but now you raise it, it's so not a phase, oh look, now we've got poor Moya, not to mention Mother Able, all confused.  It doesn't matter, what matters is, we're going to make Moya all pretty for the dance tonight.  Stand up Moya.  Turn around.  Let's see you.”

 

Julie sighed at the still seated Moya and offered her a hand.  “C'mon Moya, up you get.”

 

When Moya slipped from the stool and stood, Siddie sighed.  “Bit of an ass on you,” she said, “but you'd be willowy if you were taller.  Your face is lovely.  Hmmm.”  She paused and supported her head on her hand as she looked at Moya closely.  “Especially your lips.  We'll paint them brighter to draw attention.  Eyes too.  If we shadow them we can bring out the green.  Yes, I can do this Julie.” She smiled to Julie and then looked back to Moya and winked. “Ashputtle, you SHALL go to the ball.”

 

By the time Siddie had finished her work, Moya could hardly recognise herself in the glass.  There was no padding, so her figure was still as boyish as ever but with her hair held up with golden wire atop her head, with her face painted so beautifully and with a long, dark green dress in a soft fabric, she looked...

 

“Good enough to eat,” said Julie.

“Now now Julikins, don't get any ideas.”

“Of course not, Siddie but she's lovely.”

“Yes she is,” beamed Siddie proudly.  “You really are, Moya.  Quite exquisite.  Have you ever worn heels before?”

“No.”

“That's a shame.  Never mind, let's try you in two-inchers.  That should be okay and we'll be here to catch you if you fall.”

 

Mother Able took a sunprint of the three girls before the gondola arrived.  “You're all lovely,” she said with a sniffle.  Siddie grinned and kicked her heels in mock bashfulness.  “Aww, too kind.”

 

The three of them made something of an entrance at the dance, Julie red-haired and Siddie and Moya both fair-haired beside her, they looked as though they could be harlequins at a mode show.  

 

Some of the boys clearly thought so too with requests for dances being sent over and over.  Julie and Siddie took turns to dance, while they kept Moya aloof from the proceedings, protecting her from her inability to dance.

 

Moya enjoyed the dance and with the last dance approaching, she was smiling.  Some of the boys who had joined their table had been quite erudite and Moya had enjoyed the cut and thrust of intellectual conversation.  Her face almost ached from so much smiling.  If she had known people were so kind, she might have been less worried.

 

Moya noticed that some of the lads were just as bashful as her, hanging back in the darkness.  She supposed it must be even worse for a boy because no matter how much his friends made him up, it would be impossible to paint his face with self-confidence. 

 

But then, toward the end of the evening, Siddie kept Moya company while Julie was dancing with one of the most handsome boys in the hall.  Siddie said that after basic training, she hoped to be a scout because scouts used similar skills to hunters and she had hunted wolves and bear since she was a little girl.  On the other hand, she had enjoyed doing Moya's make up, and indeed, she loved doing her own, but she couldn't figure out how to use that in the Service.

 

Moya hardly noticed as Julie moved into the shadows after her dance, fetching a boy who was so well hidden as to be almost invisible.  Julie almost had to drag the young man from his seat but eventually, she persuaded him to rise by whispering, “Tommy, your father made me promise to introduce you and introduce you I will.”

 

“Moya Donalova”, said Julie, “This is Tom Lee.  Tom this is Moya, you both have something in common.  Dance together and you might find out what it is.”

“But...”

“But...”

“No buts, either of you.  It's a slow one.  It's easy. Just like this.”

 

Julie took Siddie in her arms and led her onto the dance floor.  “Like this”, she said over Siddie's shoulder.  “You barely even have to move.”

 

Julie and Siddie turned around and Siddie grinned and said, “Dance! That's an order!”

 

As Tommy and Moya made their way to the edge of the dance floor, Siddie and Julie separated and snapped their fingers, summoning the boys they had chosen to step up and take their hands.  The two girls still held one another's hands, only releasing when their chosen boys arrived.

 

Tom and Moya held one another tightly, shuffling nervously around the floor as they tried to start a conversation. 

 

“What could we possibly have in common do you think?”

“We're both shy?”

“Do you think it could be quite so simple?”

“Anything else would be fairly subtle but I suppose we wouldn't need to dance to find that out.  I'm thirteen, nearly fourteen, could it be that?”

“Possibly because that applies to me as well, but could it be so simple?”

“Neither of us knows what future we want?”

“Don't you want to be a boatman like your father, maybe join the marines or the Navy?”

“No.”

“Well it could be.  I don't have any parents and I don't want to teach like the Mothers at school or care for other people's children like the ones at St Edward's.”

“Could be that, or... what DO you want to do?”

“Well I.” Moya blushed brightly enough to spoil her make up for a moment, “I'm waiting to see whether I got into Vladimir's Kenninghall.  I want to be an Eye.”

“Oh.  Well so do I.”

“Nobody from Azelsburn has ever got in, nobody from Angland even.”

“Nope.  I thought I was clever but as time goes on, the more and more nervous I get.”

“So we have got something in common Tom Lee.”

“Yes we have Moya Donalova,” said Tom with a smile.

 

They looked around.  The dance had stopped and some people were staring, laughing at the two of them, lost in conversation.  Not Julie though, and not Siddie.  They had come with coats for Moya and Tom.

 

Siddie glared at those laughing and clenched her fist.  Julie did the same.  The laughter settled down.  “Come on,” said Julie, “Let's all four of us go together.”

 

In the gondola, conversation seemed much easier and, Moya baely noticed the journey, although she did notice the precise shade of brown of Tom's eyes, and how dark his hair was, and the feel of his hand around her own.

 

“Perhaps we'll meet in the Kenninghall.” said Tom and Moya was sure he was right.  They very well might.

 

That night, Moya's dreams, rather than of dreary futures, or of the receding chance she might make it to the Kenninghall, were of Tom Lee and the time they might send together and even the children they might have.

 

Perhaps they were.  Who knew what might happen at the Kenninghall?  Perhaps they would meet again at the Kenninghall because that morning, Mother Able gave Moya a letter  at Breakfast, saying, “A bird brought this last night.”

 

Moya opened the letter and smiled.  Then she laughed.  Then she took Mother Able's hand and danced around the room.   “I got in!” she shouted.  “I got in!  I'm going to the Kenninghall.”

Moya had imagined she might have taken a long train journey to the Kenninghall but that was not what happened.

 

From the moment she heard that she had a place in the Kenninghall, there was no time to bask in the glory of being the first student from Azelsburn to gain a place (or perhaps one of two, she never found out whether Tom too would be joining her).  Instead, the journey was a case of hurry up and wait.  

 

The morning after the ball, Moya found herself on the quay, waiting for the boat to take her down the Old Ea, through the pinched beck, and to Sutton and the Sea.  Large greasy drops dripped from a leaden sky that was doing its best to dampen Moya's mood.  Curlews cried mournfully and a voice inside whispered, “Are you sure of this?  You could stay behind.  Your future would at least be certain.”

 

Moya growled down the voice inside and set her face toward the bow of the boat, watching for the first sign of Sutton docks and the ship she would be taking to Tyneport.

 

The ship when she saw it, dwarfed the town.  It was the largest thing she had ever seen.  As the boat pushed through the weeds and brackish water of the fens, she had seen the ship before she realised what it was.  She thought it was a building of some kind, grey as the sky and tall as a clock tower.

 

The sea was something different though.  As the ship made its way out into the Scandinavian Ocean, the sea began to heave like a doe beneath a buck, the ship rocking above it as Moya gazed into the teeth of an Easterly. 

 

A sailor made his way toward her and pointed aft.  “You might want to go that way, Miss, if you want to look over the side.  Look to the land and then maybe when you puke, it won't get all over you and more to the point, over this deck which I will then have to clean.”

 

Moya heard maybe one word of three of this, the rest being swallowed by the gale but the sailor led her to the opposite rail.  “I don't under...” she began to say and then understood as she vomited and her puke was carried away by the gale.  “oh.”

 

The man nodded.  “It's called seasickness.” he said.  “Don't worry.  You'll be off the ship afore night fall.”  Then he laughed and returned to his duties while Moya hung miserably over the side, triumph forgotten in the face of nature.

 

Moya closed her eyes and clenched her fists and tried to imagine herself somewhere else, anywhere else.  The deck still insisted on heaving beneath her feet.  But then, she was sure it hadn't creaked like that before.  She opened her eyes and for a moment, the deck beneath her was of wood.  She closed her eyes for a moment and felt her feet slipping beneath her as the sea rushed up to take hold of her.

 

There was a splash and she found herself coughing and spluttering in the vomit flecked sea.  “Woman overboard”, shouted a voice, louder than the gale itself.

 

Then there was another splash and strong arms held onto her.  Moya relaxed as she was hauled back on board the ship.

 

“What happened, miss?” asked the same sailor, but all Moya could do was shake her head.  It was as if she had slipped for a moment into another world, where ships were of wood, and then she had fainted and fallen into the sea.  And yet she was still in the same world again.

 

In sickbay, with the gale faded to a mere breeze, Moya stared at the ceiling.  She had no idea what had happened to her but she wondered. Could it be that other worlds were real.  That was a horrible thought, because that might mean that all of the futures she had imagined might have happened to some version of Moya. 

 

She frowned as she tried to think about what might have happened. 

 

A bell ringing interrupted her thoughts.  A fire?  She jumped to her feet.  She felt a lot better as she made her way through a curtain.  “Hello Miss,” said the nurse.  “Are you feeling better?”

“Fine thanks, nurse.  Is there a fire?”

“A fire?  Oh no, that's the signal that we're approaching Tyneport.”

“Oh, so I've been sleeping all through the journey.”

“Looks like it.  You fell overboard.  You may have hit your head although I couldn't see any bumps.”

 

So, with the ship docking in Tyneport, Moya made sure she was properly packed and asked for the directions to the gangway.  She found a sailor who pointed her in the right direction but then there was a woman in a uniform Moya didn't recognised standing before her.  “Passport.”

“Sorry?”

“Do you have a passport miss?”

“A passport?”

“Yes a passport,” the woman sighed. “You're Anglish aren't you? Are you Moya Donalova?”

“Yes, how do you know?”

 

The woman's professional scowl faded and she smiled. “Hinny, you're famous all over, not just in Angland.  I'm Niamh Thyssen, pleased to meet you.  Here, take a seat, and I'll be ready for you in about five or ten minutes.  I live in Farnskerry and I have a boat so I can take you to the Kenninghall.  Oh and welcome to Northumbria and to Scandinavia.”

 

The boat, when she came to it was like nothing Moya had ever seen before.  It was sleek as a Mackerel, and its silvered skin reflected the brightness of the almost-setting sun.  Better yet, it seemed to skim across the waves, barely even kissing the water.  Moya enjoyed the journey, watching the edge of the ocean around her as Niamh drove her to the skerries and to the Kenninghall itself.

 

Moya had never seen so many people in one place.  Students were milling around like ants around the remains of a flooded nest.  There were signs everywhere but they were all in Scandi so every time, Moya got a little lost, she had to stop and squint her eyes and try to translate runes, one at a time, into letters. 

 

She was tired.  The more she squinted her already red eyes, the more tears blurred her vision and the more the runes ran into random lines and scratches.  She struggled to find her way around.  The conversation around her was mostly Scandi, with occasional snatches of Northumbrian.  Northumbrian is not much different from Anglish, having common ancestors less than a thousand years ago.  She looked for a friendly face.  Finally  she found one to take her to the Teller's office so she could find where she would be living and all the other things she would need to know.

 

At the desk the receptionist smiled the friendliest smile Moya had seen since she left Azelsburn.  “Hello pet, you must be Moya,” she spoke in Anglish.  “I'm Ygrain.  If you get lost again, just mention my name and we'll come and find you.  I'm sorry we don't have any signs in the Latin alphabet.  Some of the Northumbrians felt insulted by the implication that they were all backward Romans who couldn't understand plain Scandi.  No such insult was meant of course, but we took them down for the sake of peace.”

“Yes,” said Moya, letting Ygrain practice her Anglish which was really rather good.  “Thank you, I'm glad to be here.”

“Did you have a good journey?  Did anything strange happen on the way?”

“It was fine.  I did fall overboard but it was all my own fault I guess.  Daydreaming probably.”

“Oh, do you often daydream?”

“Not really, but I've not had a lot of sleep since two days ago.  I only found out I was coming after coming back from a party last night.  Funny that.  I hardly ever go to parties but sometimes there are coincidences.”

“There are?”

“Aren't there?”

“What did you dream of Moya?”

“Nothing much.  I was gazing at the shoreline, just past the Humber I think and then it felt like the deck beneath my feet was wooden and the whole ship was creaking.  Next thing I know, I'm in the water and one of the sailors was rescuing me.”

 

Ygrain looked at Moya steadily for a moment and then suggested.  “I think you should tell Professor Anderson about that.  She'll be taking you for Comparatives.  For now though, let's get you to your room so you can rest.  I'll show you the canteen on the way.  We really ought to get some supper inside you.”

 

As Ygrain led her through the Kenninghall, Moya took note of her surroundings.  Ygrain was right.  She was hungry and a smoked herring supper hit the spot deliciously.  As she ate, Ygrain pointed out the pictograms she might find easier to remember if Scandi and runes were a problem for her.  There was, for example, a stylised knife and fork for the canteen. 

 

Kenninghall was strange but Moya was sure she'd understand soon enough.