The Lesser One: Chapter 5: Draft and Consequences

Draft and Consequences

A month passes. At first, since I started in the middle of a semester, I am piled to the top of my head with makeup work. Somehow, I manage to get through it, and eventually I start to understand what is happening in class. I am not close with anyone. Occasionally, I see Esla in the halls of the Association building, but I don’t talk to her much since she isn’t in any of my classes.

I mostly keep to myself during breaks, and whenever I have free time, I am working with Dr. Barrimore on his projects. His latest project is a study utilizing spectral analysis to prove that non-combat spirits can become useful after absorbing spirit rings. I, of course, double as his only lab assistant and subject number one. I split my time between measuring and being measured. Dr. Barrimore’s research is difficult, complex, resource-intensive, and very, very poorly funded. We haven’t yet had any breakthroughs that would give us the funding we need to complete the project.

Dr. Barrimore is a slave driver. I’m constantly working until midnight after school, twelve hours a day on weekends. His reputation is well-earned.

However, his work ethic means that he comes in before I do, leaves after I do, and probably spends most of his nights sleeping in his office.

The only respite I get is my daily visit to Half Moon. Though I don’t drink the alcohol, I am enough of a regular that Jim keeps a stock of soft drinks and juice just for me. The bar, I learn, isn’t just for drinking like other bars out there. It is a gathering place for the in crowd among the adventurers. Several times I have crossed paths with famous people—though one of the house rules prohibits me from initiating contact with them unless they talk to me first.

So far, that hasn’t happened. I presume this rule is to maintain the feeling of isolated calmness that this bar fosters.

The day of my draft approaches. I learn that there are seven other prospective adventurers who have been awakened and assigned in this city since the last draft. Plus me, that equals eight. There is no quota for the guilds to maintain, so it is possible that all of us get chosen or none of us do.

I spend my days uneventfully and, eventually, find myself before the door of the same penthouse temple that I was awakened in. Seven other teenagers arrive, one by one, to the waiting room. I make eye contact with some of them; most of them are nervous.

Except for one. He looks to be about nineteen, and he comes swaggering into the room wearing a leather jacket and skinny jeans. His ears are pierced and his hair is tied up in a ponytail. My anima vision swirls heavily around him, and I interpret it to mean that he is very, very powerful. Each movement he takes is clearly marked, as if he is sauntering through spacetime where other people blunder blindly.

His eyes sweep the room, and fall on me.

“You’re that anima kid,” he says, sitting backwards on a chair in front of me. His wraps his arms around the back support. “The one who works for that coot, Dr. Barrimore.”

I shake my head. “He’s not a coot. He knows more about spirits than anyone else in this city.”

The leather-jacket kid laughs. “My name is Dres,” he says. “You look like an interesting kid.” His eyes are razor sharp. I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. At the very least I don’t want to get on his bad side.

Dres taps his fingers on the edge of his chair. He doesn’t say anything. His eyes flicker up and down my body, watching me.

“Is something wrong?” I say.

“I’ve seen you at Ixtham,” he says.

“Oh,” I say. “I don’t remember seeing you.” I pause. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” says Dres. “I’m mostly in higher-level classes due to my previous training.” He starts drumming on the chair. “Do you want to join the shooting club?”

“Shooting?” I say.

Dres grins broadly. “Yeah. You heard me. The shooting club.”

“I thought guns didn’t work in dungeons.”

“Who said we would be shooting with guns?” said Dres. “We use bows.”

“But then, why is it called the shooting club?” I ask.

Dres shrugs. “Dunno. The founder just called it that.”

“My spirit is an anima,” I say. “I wouldn’t be of any help.”

Dres shifts in his seat. “That’s exactly why I’m asking you to join!” he says. “Shooting doesn’t care what spirit you are!”

I think for a moment. “Okay. I’ll think about it after, if, I get drafted.”

Dres makes an excited face. “Yeah! Man, you’re not going to regret this!”

I shake my head. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“I know you will,” says Dres.

The door to the room opens. Dres winks. “Looks like it’s time. I’ll be seeing you.”

Though I know I’ll be able to make at least some time for clubs, I doubt what Dres said about shooting not requiring a powerful spirit. Without a powerful spirit to compensate for my dismal physical skills, I don’t think I’d succeed.

The man who enters the room is a judge. His regalia is in clear view. He looks at a paper on a clipboard. “Joseph Ryan?” he says.

One of the kids in the room rises.

“Follow me,” says the judge.

The kid obliges. After the door closes behind them, there is a tense period of time, where all I can hear are muffled voices. No one in the waiting room speaks.

After about ten minutes, Joseph comes out. He appears distressed, not to the point of crying, but it is obvious he wasn’t selected for his first choice.

The judge returns. “Daniel Beth?”

Another boy gets up and follows the judge in. Ten more minutes pass. My palms are sweating. I feel a fever coming on.

Daniel comes out, clearly elated. He shares a high-five with another one of the kids in the waiting room and hugs them briefly. After whispering something in his friend’s ear, he leaves.

“Dres Antoin,” says the judge, next.

Dres rises, giving me a thumbs-up sign. He follows the judge into the draft room.

Ten minutes later, he leaves, a huge smile on his face.

This was the obvious outcome, after all. I could sense Dres’s power the moment I met him. He makes eye contact with me, nods, and leaves.

“Katie Gillmore,” says the judge, next.

The girl whom I assume is Katie gets up and follows the judge in. This time, the selection process takes only five minutes. When Katie leaves, she is bawling. She hugs a friend and I hear her whisper something about “not passing.”

This is bad news for me. As the weakest spirit in the whole room, and with my dismal scores in all aspects except intelligence, I doubt I’ll be able to top her.

“Markus Red,” says the judge.

I get up. My knees crack, and I feel a sense of vertigo coming up. I follow the judge into the room behind the door, the same room in which I had my awakening. The whole of New York spreads out behind the panel of judges.

There are twelve, to represent the twelve registered guilds of the Greater Manhattan Area. I recognize three of them; the Black Cats, the Red Birds, and the Pearlash Diggers.

If I can get in with one of them—a longer shot for me than winning the mega millions—I would be set for life.

But the best I can hope for is a mid-list guild. Most likely I won’t even be getting that.

All four judges of the Manhattan area, including Judge Erin and Judge Wesley, are sitting in the center of the tables.

“Markus Red,” says Judge Erin. “Your physical abilities are the lowest we’ve seen in a long while, but you have one in a thousand intelligence. Please make a case for why we should consider you with these base stats.”

“Erm, I suppose if I’m one in a thousand intelligence-wise, and ten percent of people awaken spirits, and only ten percent of those awaken combat-capable spirits, then I would actually be one in one hundred thousand.”

The judges look impressed. “So you say,” says Judge Wesley. “Your scores so far on the Ixtham midterm have been remarkable, despite your mid-semester entry. As well as this, Dr. Barrimore has given us a glowing recommendation letter.” Judge Wesley’s face becomes grim. “However, as you probably already know, you are the first E priority spirit to have been assigned adventurer status by our panel in three years, seven months. Do you have an argument as to why a guild should accept you despite this assessment?”

“I am willing to work as hard as I can to make up for my poor priority,” I say. “I don’t care how much I’m paid or appreciated.”

“That’s good,” says Judge Wesley. “As long as you understand.” He taps a gavel on a podium. “Therefore, we will proceed with the draft selection.”

There is silence for a long moment. Then, a voice from the right side of the panel speaks up. “The Riding Valkyries are willing to put forth three gil.”

I have absolutely no idea what gil are. I know, though, that I probably will learn that in one of my classes at Ixtham. As such, I refrain from asking.

There is a long silence. No one else offers up anything.

“Very well,” says another judge on the panel besides Wesley and Erin. “Markus Red is assigned to the Riding Valkyries as an apprentice adventurer.”

I feel warmth spread through my body. This is what I have been waiting for. This is the moment that will change everything.

Judge Wesley gets up and leads me out of the panel room and into the waiting room. He is not the same judge who led me in. I am smiling, and happy enough to be skipping—though I refrain because of the circumstances.

Judge Wesley slips me a piece of paper. I look it over—it is the room number of the leader of the Riding Valkyries. Andrew Tuffman.

Judge Wesley nods, and calls the next kid up to the panel.

I leave the building holding the temple—it is separate from the Association HQ building—and head towards the Association HQ.

After ten minutes I arrive. No one is in the hall—it is the middle of class. Obviously, I got a reprieve from classes due to the draft.

I head up to room 4012. I have never been this high in the Association building before. I approach the door to the room.

I knock. A soft voice says “Hello? Come in.”

I open the door. A lady wearing glasses and a bun looks up from a computer. “Ah, are you Markus Red?” she says.

I nod. “I was just drafted by the Riding Valkyries’ guild.”

The lady smiles at me. “Since Andrew is at the draft right now, I’ll be the one showing you around our floor.” She gets up and straightens her blouse. “Follow me. My name is Mary.” She walks past me, through the door, motioning for me to follow. “Who is your mentor?” she says.

“Dr. Barrimore,” I say.

“Mm Hm,” she says. “You’re lucky, then.”

“No one else has said that to me,” I say. “They all say I’m making the wrong choice.”

“You’re Dr. Barrimore’s only student, right?” says Mary. “That’s not the case with the more popular professors. Dr. Winding has over a hundred students. Each individual student can only get maybe ten minutes a week with him.”

“Oh, wow,” I say. “Why is Dr. Barrimore so unpopular?”

“Because of his research,” says Mary. She opens a door at the end of the hall. “This is the Riding Valkyries’ common room,” she says. “We can talk about Dr. Barrimore later.” She walks through the room. Two people are standing around a billiards table, shooting pool. A third person, a rather beautiful girl of perhaps eighteen, sits in a beanbag chair next to a small bookcase. She is reading.

“How many people are in the Riding Valkyries’ guild?” I say.

“You will be the fifth apprentice, and we have a total of eight full adventuring members. Just enough for one party.”

“Wow,” I say. “So you guys are small.”

“We only take up one floor, and barely at that. The Black Cats, on the other hand, take up five floors. They have over five dozen apprentices and two hundred full-fledged guild members.”

Mary leads me out of the common room. “You can meet the rest of the apprentices later,” she says. We walk through the hall running the length of the floor. She stops at room 4021. “This will be your dorm. Since the Riding Valkyries are so small, you will have your room all to yourself.”

I knew, from chats with full-fledged students of Ixtham, that I would be living in a dorm after my draft. I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.

“What about clubs?” I say. “Am I allowed to join now that I’m a long-term student?”

Mary nods. “Sure. Of course you can. I assume you already have a club in mind?”

“The shooting club,” I say.

Mary smiles. “That’s a good choice for an anima spirit.” She doesn’t seem to hold me in any lower regard when she says it. She hands me a card key. “This is for your room. The Riding Valkyries eat all their meals in the communal cafeteria. Of course, you won’t have to pay anything.”

“Wait,” I say. “Why not? Will I be working?”

“Has no one told you?” says Mary. “Once you sign on with a guild, you will be going on dungeon crawls with them.”

“But I haven’t had any practical classes yet!” I say. “And I’m not strong, either! My spirit is an anima!”

“Don’t worry,” says Mary. “You’ll be working as a porter. All apprentices take that job until they gain their first spirit ring and finish at least three semesters of Field Prac.”

“I already have a job with Dr. Barrimore, though,” I say. “Will I have to give that up?”  

“You can still work with him,” says Mary. We are walking towards her office again. “Since there are twelve guilds and only twenty or so portals opening in a week under our jurisdiction, and most guilds have at least half a dozen teams, we Riding Valkyries only sortie out a couple of times a month.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. Now my time at the Half Moon won’t be cut short, and I can still work with Dr. Barrimore, and I’ll probably have enough time for a club.

We enter Mary’s office.

“Now, I’ll have you sign some paperwork …”

My parents have already been informed of everything that is happening—I didn’t skip that part before heading to the draft—and I hand over all the permission forms that I got them to fill out. I don’t feel particularly nervous, as my house is just a couple of stations away.

After signing several lines and filling out boxes and boxes of information, I am finally done.

“If you have any classes left today,” she says, “You can attend them. Otherwise, the time is yours. The Riding Valkyries’ meal time is at six-thirty.”

I nod. It is only three-thirty. I decide to check out the shooting clubhouse. Dres’s fired-up spirit and cordiality had really made an impression on me.

The “clubhouse” is actually a large open area on one of the sub floors, just like the one I took my physical exam in. I approach the sign that says “Ixtham Shooters.”

Dres is standing at the entrance to the club’s block, talking with a tall, spindly girl with blue-highlighted hair. As I approach, Dres notices me.

“Hey! It’s Markus!” he says. He comes over to me and claps me on the shoulder. “I knew you were coming,” he says. His smile is big, and genuine. As always, he radiates an aura of psionic power. “Let me introduce you to the club leader, my sister, Rey.”

The blue-haired girl looks at me, smugly. “So you’re an anima,” she says.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I say.

“What’s your Dex stat?” she says.

“Five,” I say.

“Sheesh,” says Rey. “What’s your strength?”

“Six,” I say.

Rey sighs. “With those kind of stats, you’re going to have to work with the lowest draw weight we have.” She hands me a piece of paper. “Your club registration form.”

I fill it out against the wall with a pen that is hanging from the notice board. I hand it to her.

Rey takes it, grinning. “Great!”

I look at the shooting range. It is as expected, several targets at the end of a long range, a staging area, walls lined with arrows and unstrung bows.

“Where are all the members?” I say.

Rey looks sheepish. She shrugs. “Everyone either left or graduated. You and my brother are the first two to join since three seniors left last semester.”

I pick up an unstrung bow from the lineup. It looks exceedingly modern, with lots of pulleys and divots and wires.

“Whoa there,” says Rey. “You aren’t ready for a compound recurve bow right out of the gate.” She picks up a simple, plain-looking wooden bow from the other side of the range. “This one is better for you. A draw weight of only twenty-five pounds.” She takes a bowstring, places the bow against her feet so that it rises up her side, and strings the bow. I have never seen it done before—it is almost magic.

She unstrings it. “You try,” she says. She hands me the bow and the string.

I put it behind my feet and try what she did. The string, though, just doesn’t seem to be long enough.

Rey approaches me and helps me push the bow just a little bit harder. The string slips into a notch, and I hold up a newly strung bow. Satisfaction fills me.

“Have you ever seen someone shoot a bow?” says Rey.

“Yeah, on TV,” I say.

Rey holds up her own bow, one of the compound recurves she was talking about. She pulls the string to her ear, and releases. The arrow flies straight and true.

For some reason, the fast-moving object seems to slow down as it passes me. Blue lines radiate outwards from its center, and I even catch the arrow wobbling a bit. Before I can understand what I’m seeing the arrow has embedded itself in the center of the target on the other side of the range.

“You try,” says Rey.

I oblige. Holding the bow, knocking an arrow, I try pulling the string to my ear.

“Hold the arrow to the string like this,” says Rey, showing me a peculiar three-fingered hold.

I hold the arrow like she says.

“Align the feather that is out of alignment with the others to your left,” she says.

I notice that one of the feathers is at a different angle than the other two. I position the arrow like she tells me to. I pull the string to my ear.

I release. The arrow zips, but in slow motion like the one before. It’s like my eyes are high-speed cameras.

I miss the target completely. The arrow embeds itself in the ground halfway down the range.

Rey places her hand on my shoulder. “You have a long way to go.”

My arm already hurts.

Rey straps a leather gauntlet-type thing to my arm. “This is for prolonged use. Sometimes the string will snap back and hit your arm. This will keep you safe.”

I nod. “Can I keep practicing for the rest of the day?”

Rey shares a glance with Dres. Both of them smile. “Sure.”

“I have to go at six for dinner, and then I’ll be working with Dr. Barrimore until midnight. Is this place open after midnight?”

Rey seems impressed. “You have some work ethic.”

I smile, even though I don’t feel that exceptional. “It’s the only thing I have going for me.”

Rey puts her fist into her palm. “If I’m still awake at midnight I’ll come here and teach you.” She pauses. “I can teach you now.”

I spend the next two or so hours working on my shooting basics. The draw weight of the bow—even though it’s light, comparatively—begins to grind on my bones and stretch my muscles. By the time six rolls around, I am bone tired. I say my goodbyes to my club mates and head towards the cafeteria.

Once I get there, I look for the Riding Valkyries’ section. It is around a corner to a portion of the room that I have never been to, sort of like the bar round back of a family restaurant.

Three people are sitting at the Valkyries’ table. There’s the girl I spotted in the common room when being showed around, and two people who I don’t recognize. All of them look to be at least a couple years older than me.

The older girl scoffs when she sees me arrive. “It’s the useless one,” she says.

One of the other apprentices elbows the girl. “Don’t be mean. I’m sure the guild master chose him for a reason.”

“Whatever that reason is, it’s probably not worth it,” says the girl.

“I’m sorry,” says the one who scolded the girl. “My name is Evan. This is Sarah.” He points to the silent third member. “This is Rick.”

Rick nods.

“He doesn’t talk much,” says Evan.

Rick nods again, returning to his food.

“You can get your food, and sit with us,” says Evan.

Sarah looks like she is about to say something. Evan shakes his head, putting his hand on Sarah’s shoulder.

Sarah sighs. She turns away from me and begins to eat.

“You guys, the Riding Valkyries, have five apprentices, right?” I ask. “Who are the other two?’

Evan smiles. “You’ll get to know us all. The two others are Blake and Tom. We’re pretty tightly knit, all things considered.”

Sarah scoffs. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get along with this one.”

Evan frowns at Sarah. “You don’t even know his name yet,” he says.

Sarah turns to me, clearly miffed. “So? What’s your name?”

“Markus,” I say.

Sarah looks, questioningly, at Evan. “There. Happy?”

Evan sighs. “You can sit with us after grabbing something to eat.”

I walk to the serving counter and grab my food. As I walk, I think about how I’m going to make a good impression.

It’s funny. My mind is blank. And I’m not sure if I’ll ever manage to get along with these people.