THE SORTING, PART II
We each glow in the silvery darkness. It's impossible to tell whether our auras are the same color or not, but I can imagine that they aren't — all of us Manifesters get to share the end of childhood together and, if all things go well, we meet again when we're adults and fully pledged members of the Nobility. I wouldn't say reunite because we don't know each other well enough for that, but it seems that we all have so much in common.
The process of the Sorting is never described to us in full detail — not by our families, siblings, nor friends. That fact suddenly stings at my foot and I wonder how wonderful this experience will be. All the days I have spent in the elvin world, all the days I have left, are great and full of adventure but I don't think they will be anything like this one.
This is a beginning. The beginning of something usually marked the end of something else, but the Sorting is different. We all get to choose what it is in our minds, and it is our opinions as a whole that matter.
Councillor Fitz tilts his head to the side sharply and sways his body to the movement of the wind, almost as though he's just acknowledging its prescence. His sudden movement seems to make a beam of light reflect off a potrait hanging loosely off the wall as he waves his arms out — I can't decide if he's more excited for himself, or for all of us. He's had enough time to form thorough opinions about each of us, anyway.
"Go on. Go on!" He throws his hands up excitedly, and I try to put myself in his position for once. Surely, if I can do that for Newt, I can manage for the Councillor, too. And what I see is not supreme power or control of the world but the enforcement of peace.
The thought almost calms me as he scurries away, apparently worried about something that none of us can understand, as we're left to our own account.
I spend the moment taking in everything in front of me while I take a deep breath. The others seem to be doing the same, too, though neither of us can really concentrate. Having each other around helps, though. It's the small things that matter, and it's the small things that allows us to see the big picture.
I am standing in front of a magnificent building that screams of prestige and glimmering lights and a beautiful, wonderful time. How could this not be the very image of the perfection our Council has tried so hard to create and maintain?
But there's still more ahead of you, Misty, I try to remind myself but am quickly swept away by the sudden arriving of more Manifesters. Glad to be so relatable and not an exception for once, I grin and manage a wave at the crowd of newcomers gushing at what surrounds them. Some of the younger ones look like they're in disbelief, almost horrified, while the more confident ones stand off to the side and take deep breaths.
I am saved from my attempt to continue trying to focus when a blonde-haired girl approaches me. She has green eyes — this surprises me, not because of the fact that all eye colors except for blue didn't exist before we took over some of the human territory but in spite of how this girl's very appearance is so rare. Even for the humans, having blonde hair and green eyes is an odd combination. Polar opposites can be so similar... and predictable.
"Hello," she says, unflinching. If she were to be just a little bit more shy, she would be peering from the corner and waving at me if she managed to catch my eye.
I lack some of the confidence she has, however, and I think she can see that. "Hi," I manage to choke out, swallowing some of the happy bile rising in my throat — a sacrifice I'm willing to make for the rest of this night to be perfect. "What's your name?"
The girl's jaw tightens in a way that isn't explainable. "I'm..." Looking distracted, she throws a glance behind her shoulder uncomfortably before meeting my gaze and holding out her arm. I take her outstretched hand and grip it firmly, even somewhat awkwardly, with the feeling that this gesture does not belong to me. It feels so normal for the Nobles but not for me, at least not yet.
"I'm... My name is Ashebelle. Ashy, if you'd prefer," she cocks her head to the side and grins. I see her differently now, as a fighter in red instead of a distracted girl in a bright orange too light to be considered red.
"It's nice to meet you," I say, my eyes skirting past her as I forget to let go of her hand. I'm the one who's distracted as I watch over Newt protectively, hoping that he won't decide to freeze someone's fingers off while he greets another crowd of newcomers.
"It's nice to meet you too," the girl almost snaps, forcing me to make eye contact with her and drop her arm. "You have no idea how nervous I am," she winks. Mysterious is the only thing I can conclude about her, probably because I'm so unaware of what's happening around me that I don't even ask myself how or why this girl — Ashy, she told me to call her — is so quirky.
Aren't you, too? A wry smile comes across my lips, and Ashebelle looks confused for a moment before I address her again. "I'm sorry," I say, loud and clearly, "It's... my brother needs my help. Don't want him freezing off any fingers..." my voice trails off as I practically sprint into the crowd, so desperate to blend in again that I don't realize when the girl's arm closes around my wrist.
"I can take care of him, if you'd like," she says, a little bit too brightly and perkily for my own liking. Before I can object and sputter an excuse, she looks at me and tilts her head to the side like Councillor Fitz did a few moments ago, successfully leaving me dazed and thoroughly confused. "What's his name?"
"Newt." A quick, fast response, as rapid as lightning. "And, I mean, if this bothers you—"
"It doesn't bother me at all," she responds in a tone as urgent as mine, "I would love to help. Isn't that the point of the Sorting?"
The Sorting means different things to different people. Even though that thought seems like an angry retort, it takes me moments to realize that it is true, but we still have one thing in common: one thing I am not so sure about anymore.
We exchange tentative glances, my eyes more hesitant than hers, before I lunge with one foot into the sea of people growing by the second, cup my hands around my mouth, and call out: "NEWT!"
A few people close by seem to be surprised like I've just knocked them over with a massive tidal wave but, somewhat to my surprise, no one really engages with me like Ash does.
"Newt, come on!" I'm no pickpocket, but the way I spin people around as I weave through the crowd like I've belonged there all along makes me seem like a thief whose identity has not been discovered yet. It suddenly occurs to me that though I can be an exception, I can do just as good a job blending in. I just need to find some incentive.
"Newt?" My eyes dart across the sea of people while I imagine Ashebelle's guilt flashing across her face, her flickering eyes at the thought of betrayal. I am searching for something, I am sorting all of these people, and my only friend here except for my brother might think that I've already left her alone.
I wouldn't do that, I wanted to tell her. I even try to tell her by whispering it under my breath, but even if she managed to hear, would she believe me? We barely just met, and yet I can call her a friend because I feel a connection that runs between us like we've been friends for several years. Distant, but close.
Finally, finally, I grab onto a wrist to steady myself and find that it feels familiar. Before I can scold Newt for running away and being so careless, I find that it's Ashebelle's arm I'm holding onto instead of my brother's. I break the awkward tension between us that barely even existed for a second by releasing my grip, and she immediately exhales. "I'm sorry."
"Nothing you need to apologize for. I think your brother's there," she adds hopefully, and I'm not sure what she can make of the grim expression on my face. What does she want of my brother?