Over 200 boys, sporting Welton Academy's dark navy blazers, were seated in the cold stone chapel located in the remote orange hills of Vermont. Proud parents surrounded them as they waited patiently for the orientation to begin.
The silence made Lana anxious.
The bagpipes' echoes cut through the silence as a short, elderly man, draped in flowing robes, lit a candle and led a procession of students carrying banners and robed teachers down a long slate hallway, making their way into the venerable chapel.
Four boys marched solemnly to the dias, carrying banners. They were followed slowly by an elderly man, the last of whom proudly carried a lighted candle. A cool September breeze swept into the chapel and followed the people down the aisle, haunting the ankles of the still students.
Headmaster Gale Nolan stood on the podium watching expectantly as the procession concluded.
"Ladies and gentlemen ... boys ..." he said dramatically, pointing toward the man with the candle. "The light of knowledge." The audience applauded politely as the older gentleman stepped slowly forward with the candle. The bagpiper marched in place at the corner of the dais, and the four banner carriers, lowering their flags that read, "Tradition," "Honor," "Discipline," and "Excellence," quietly took seats with the audience.
The gentleman with the candle walked to the front of the audience where the youngest students sat holding unlit candles, and he slowly bent forward, passing the flame to the first student on the aisle.
Lana gulped, she should have been sitting at the front with them, but her brothers figured that it would be better if they lied back and tried to blend in. There was no doubt that people would have heard what happened. She tried to keep a still face but her hair tickling her stitches along her left cheekbone and down the side of her face to her jaw was beginning to become unbearable.
"The light of knowledge shall be passed from old to young," Headmaster Nolan intoned solemnly, as each boy lit the candle of the student beside him.
"Ladies and gentlemen... this year, 1956, marks the ninety-seventh year that Welton Academy had been in existence. In 1859, forty-one boys sat in this room and were asked the same question that now greets you at the start of each semester." Nolan paused dramatically, his gaze sweeping the room full of intense, frightened young faces.
"Gentlemen, what are the four pillars?" The sudden shuffle of feet broke the tense silence as the existing student rose to attention. Lana, one of the few students not wearing any form of formal clothing or uniform, hesitated as the boys around her rose to their feet. Now that the boys were standing, and had a clear view of who she was, she didn't want to draw any attention to herself, so she made herself smaller and sank against the bench. Her brothers nudged her up, an arm of each brother elbowing her side. Her face pale and unhappy, her eyes dark with fear, she rose to her feet but kept her head down as the boys around her shouted in unison, "Tradition! Honour! Discipline! Excellence!" Nolan nodded, and the boys sat down. Falling back into her seat as soon as the last syllable left the lips of the students, Lana ignored the squeaking of the chairs and a hush fell over the chapel.
"Accomplishment," Dean Nolan continued as Lana looked around at her new schoolmates, "is the result of reverent dedication to the principles taught here. This is why parents have been sending their sons here and this is why we are the best preparatory school in the United States." Nolan paused for the applause that followed.
"New students," he continued, directing his attention toward the newest boys to join the ranks of Welton Academy, "the key to your success rests on the four pillars. This applies to seventh graders and transfers students alike." Lana Paradis squirmed against her seat, her face revealing her self-consciousness. "The four pillars are bywords of this school, and they will become the cornerstones of your lives."
Dean Nolan continued to call on four older students in their Junior year, and each one explained a pillar. "Tradition, Mr Nolan, is the love of school, country, and family. Our tradition at Welton is to be the best!" "Honour is dignity and the fulfilment of duty!" "Discipline is respect for parents, teachers, and the headmaster. Discipline comes from within." And finally, "Excellence is the result of hard work."
"Gentlemen," Dean Nolan bellowed, "at Welton, you will work harder than you have ever worked in your lives, and your reward will be the success that all of us expect of you."
He smiled. "To conclude this ceremony, I would like to call to the podium Welton's oldest living graduate, Mr Alexander Carmichael, Jr., Class of 1886."
Respectful applause and standing ovation waved over the chapel as the octogenarian haughtily shunned offers of help from those beside him and made his way to the podium with painstaking slowness. He mumbled a few words that the audience could hardly make out, and, with that, the convocation came to an end. The students and their parents filed out of the chapel and onto the chill campus grounds.
The Paradis siblings had triangled themselves close to a running water fountain. Lana took this as her chance to admire the weathered stone buildings and a tradition of austerity that isolated Welton from the world beyond as many parents said their farewells.
Lana kept her eyes on her brothers once she caught eyes with a seventh-grader with fiery red hair and his face covered in freckles which looked like paint splatters. She began to unearth a stone with the toes of her shoe while her brothers ignored her and sat on the rim of the fountain. Something was clearly bothering them.
They rose when Mr Nolan approached them.
"Ah, the Paradis brothers. It's good to see you back." They both smiled and shook Nolan's hand one at a time. "Is this the girl?"
Her brother, Bernard, pressed his hand to her shoulder and pushed her to his side, pulling her head up to look at Mr Nolan. "Yes, sir. This is our sister, Lana." He outstretched his hand, but Lana didn't move to shake it.
"She's still a little shocked from the plane crash," Clark explained.
Nolan sighed deeply as he retracted his hand. "Yes, I heard what happened. Your father was a good man. I'm sorry for your loss."
Clark and Bernard both pursed their lips together and nodded in appreciation. They stepped away from Lana and rambled on about a few other things that Lana wasn't trying to listen to; residency arrangements, curriculum, counselling, uniform, classes, the usual things. Lana scoped everything out again, parents were fixing uniforms and hair, while the students stood stiffly, waiting.
"You'll do good here, Lana." She looked up at Mr Nolan as he stood in front of her and her brothers stood on either side of her, their hands in their pockets. "We're expecting great things from you,"
Clark pressed a hand to the back of her head while Bernard softly nudged her with his elbow. "She won't disappoint. Right, Lana?"
"I'll do my best." She smiled softly but doubted her own words.
"It was nice to meet you, Lana. I'm happy you're attending Welton Academy." He stuck out his hand again, and this time, out of politeness, Lana stuck her small hand in his. There, she smiled, a twisted smirk laced across her lips as she shook the old hand of the Dean, throwing herself into Hell.
Nolan left, and before her brothers led her over to the dorms, she noticed that many of the boys in her year had strong faces. Their fathers clearly went to Welton before them and had stiffened them up to endure the torture. Slowly, the parents filtered out and cars pulled away.
Lana had a new home at Welton Academy, isolated in the green and raw woods of Vermont.
"You ready, Lana?"
"I want to go home."
YOU ARE READING
Wretched Power | 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐎𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐓𝐘 (BOOK ONE)
Fanfic(BOOK ONE) Death can cause people to do the unpredictable. Welton Academy didn't house girls. There were no exceptions. Generation after generation after generation of grade-hypnotised men and their sons walked the halls, slept in the beds, and a...
