The path to the ferry

"Stop, stop, this is the place, da!" Eric said.

Eric's father pulled the car over at the nondescript widening in the road that wound through the rocky hills. "Doesn't look like anything," he said.

"See?" Eric said, pointing.

There was a clump of thistles at the roadside. The blossoms were a mixture of colours, purple, gold, white, and red.

"That is peculiar," Eric's father said. "I can't recall seeing thistles like that before."

"That's the mark," Eric said.

Eric took his satchel, carefully packed with the belongings that Boarbristle Academy had recommended, and a few special things of his own. His father clasped his hand and gripped his shoulder.

"See you at the end of term, da," Eric said.

His father nodded. "You sure?" he asked.

"My first test," Eric said. "Alright now."

Eric stepped up to the clump of thistles, consulted a slip of paper, and nodded. He took a deep breath, swallowed, and incanted, "Apriere via!"

A young man in brown and gold with a sparse blond beard stepped out of nowhere. He was a bit taller than Eric, making him rather tall, a bit broader of shoulder, and much more confident in stance. "Them's the magic words," he said. "Eric Mothwing-Marshall?"

"Um, um...that's me," Eric said. An easy question to start out, and a bit of a flub. He sighed.

"Very good. Last ferry of the day," the young man said.

"Who are you talking to?" Eric's dad said.

"They're here," Eric said. "It's the right place."

"I'm Sandevin," the young man said. "Prefect from your House. Step lively and follow me, first-year."

"See you at end of t..." His father's voice faded as Eric stepped past the thistles.

You follow the prefect down the path to a boat docked upon a lake, its surface a dark, dark blue. A chilly breeze blows off the lake toward the shore. A number of young people, some already in their House colours, stand near the dock.