The Lesser One Chapter 11: A Hero's Welcome

A Hero’s Welcome

 When I wake up, I am a hero. The morning news, showing on the TV in the common room, is displaying footage of me almost falling out of the twentieth story of a building while the balrog is beneath me. Then comes the missile strike, and when the smoke is cleared the balrog is dead and I am floating downwards on a gust of Esla’s wind. The newscaster is talking about my bravery and how I saved the city of New York.

In the common room with me are three of the other Riding Valkyries’ apprentices. Sarah, Evan, and Blake. Sarah’s attitude towards me seems to have taken a complete one-eighty. Where before she was cold, standoffish, and uncaring, now she is happy to smile at me and congratulate me with a high five.

“Thanks,” I mutter, as I finish talking to the people in the room and sit down on a couch. I watch the news continue on and on about the devastation, showing the missile strike at least five times in ten minutes. No matter how much I look, I can’t see the moment where I made the fatal shot at the monster’s vitals. It is obscured by fire and smoke.

There is a knock on the door. It opens, revealing Mr. Irr and a troop of doctors, including Dr. Barrimore. Dr. Barrimore is smiling like never before, his eyes sparkling. It seems his part in this incident has not gone silent.

He claps me on the back. “Leave it to Markus to figure out how to use my potion not two hours after taking it.”

I do my best to grin. “Yeah. My hand turned green, and then as I was sliding, I turned into a papaya …”

Dr. Barrimore makes a strange face. “Let’s not tell people about that,” he says to me, quietly.  

I nod. I like how things turned out—there’s no use speculating.

Dr. Barrimore, Dr. Irr, and at least five others surround me.

“Markus,” says Dr. Irr. “You realize what you’ve done, right?”

I shake my head.

“If the aptitude test we are going to give you turns out how Dr. Barrimore predicts, it may prove his hypothesis.”

“The one everyone rejected as nuts,” says Dr. Barrimore, seeming to want to drive it home to the rest of the professors.

Dr. Irr pulls me towards the door. “We can’t waste any time. We have to evaluate your new powers as soon as possible.”

I agree completely.

I follow the doctors through the hall, taking the elevator to the floor with the testing chamber.

I enter the gigantic testing room just as the group of doctors appear inside the glass observation box. Two black-suited attendants guide me to the room’s center. A whole host of objects, looking like a high-tech obstacle course, is arrayed around the room.

“First,” says Dr. Irr, through the loudspeaker system, “We need to reevaluate your physical characteristics. Please step into the judging device.”

I step into the same tube-like device that scanned me the first time I was here. Several long arms rotate around me, filling me with a strange kind of magical warmth. After about a minute, the machine stops. I step out.

There is a long silence. The doctors in the observation room seem to be discussing something. After a while Dr. Irr speaks again.

“Thank you. Now, would you please project your spirit manifestation towards the calibration device.”

A wall with a mounted television covered in wires lights up underneath a spotlight. I don’t know exactly what I’m supposed to do, but I imagine myself projecting something, and to my surprise, a ball of blue light extends from my hand and arcs at a glacial pace towards the wall. It strikes the wall with a heavy thud.

I am somewhat disappointed at that. I had imagined my new power to be something like Esla’s, but it appears my “projection,” whatever it is, is a very slow-moving kind of power.

The doctors in the observation room discus amongst themselves for another five minutes. Then Dr. Irr is back on.

“Will you please generate as much material as you can in sixty seconds.” A new series of spotlights lights up a platform that is about a foot off the ground. “Please stand in the center of the testing platform.”

I climb several stairs and stand in the middle of the platform.

“You may begin,” says Dr. Irr.

I hold out my hands. At first, nothing comes out. Then my hands grow those red cracks I noticed when I first gained my powers. They get bigger and bigger. A blob of bluish-green jelly leaks out of my palms, and then my arms, and then my whole body is gushing out this wet, sticky substance. It is not disgusting, but it does make me feel kind of tingly.

After sixty seconds the whole platform is covered in the jell. Rainbows that resemble the ones on oil slicks crisscross the floor.

Again, the doctors take a long while to discuss.

Then the spotlights direct me to a series of pillars arranged in a circle.

“Please attempt to knock down these pillars,” says Dr. Irr.

I step into the center.

“You may begin,” says Dr. Irr.

“What was that goo that came out of me?” I ask.

There is a silence. “We will debrief you after the testing has ended. Please continue to comply.”

I nod.

“You may begin,” says Dr. Irr.

I hold out my hands and imagine lightning shooting out of my palms. Instead of lighting, though, that same thick, viscous goo slops out of my palms and collects in a pile on the ground.

For a split second I have a flashback to the hours of training that I spent on the shooting range. The goo coming out of my hand takes shape, forming into a copy of the bow I use while shooting. For all intents and purposes, it is a perfect copy. I know this.

I form several arrows out of goo and aim them at the pillars. I release them. The arrows explode into jelly when they impact the targets, spraying the platform with bits of green ick.

I get an idea. I form the goo into a sledgehammer. It is heavy in my hand. I swing hard and smash the pillars, one after the other, with that hammer.

By the end, the hammer dissolves into goo, but I have destroyed all the pillars. I stand in the middle of a pile of icky green substance.

“Sorry about the mess,” I say, to the observation deck.

There is a long silence. “It’s fine,” says Dr. Irr. “We will clean your anima excretions up later.” The spotlights illuminate a track with a cube on one end and a wall on the other. It runs the length of the room, approximately half the length of a football field.

“Please stand where designated,” says Dr. Irr. A red spotlight places a circle on the wall end of the track.

I step onto the track.

“Face the cube,” says Dr. Irr.

I face the cube.

“You are to stop this cube using whatever method you can,” says Dr. Irr.

The cube starts towards me, at the pace of a walking human. It does not increase in speed, instead coming at me at a slow, steady pace.

I form a long metal pole out of my anima excretions and use it like a pike to stop the cube. It is surprisingly easy.

The cube pulls back to its starting position.

“We will now increase the power of the object,” says Dr. Irr. “It will approximately double each instance of this test. The test will end when the cube touches your body.”

I nod. I reform my metal rod into a thicker, more powerful one. The second test comes easy, but not as easy as the first. The third is actually quite difficult.

By the fourth instance, I am unable to stop the cube with my initial approach. I get the idea to use friction, and toss a glob of my goo onto the ground in front of the cube. I then turn the goo into a cement wall block.

The cube stops at the block, unable to break through.

The fifth instance begins. The cube is traveling at me at the same walking pace. This time, my concrete block does not stop it.

I attach a web of my goo, formed into steel wire, to two pillars on either side of the track. I extend the web across the path of the cube. The cube is stopped, though the steel is straining. This approach won’t work next time.

The cube returns to its position. At the signal from the observation platform, it starts moving.

I can’t think of any way to stop it. I simply watch it approach me, waiting for it to touch my body. It stops at the red line right in front of my feet and gently presses against me.

“The test is now concluded,” says Dr. Irr.

The doctors in the room have another long discussion.

“We have decided to give you this next test because of your performance on the standard gauges,” says Dr. Irr. “Please walk to where the spotlight points.”

The spotlight points to a bare circular platform near the corner of the room. It doesn’t look like it has been used much, though it is well-maintained. I step onto the platform. A piece of paper slips up out of a small slit on the platform. I pick it up—it is some kind of blueprint.   

“Please follow the instructions,” says Dr. Barrimore, taking the place of Dr. Irr. “I have developed this test specifically for your case. Please do your best.”

So that my theory can be recognized, I hear his tone implying.

The blueprint is more like an IKEA instruction manual than the blueprint for a house.

Step one: generate two kilograms of iron.

I pour a pile of goo onto the ground. Somehow, my mind’s eye seems to be connected to the stuff. I form the goo into two blocks and turn them into pure elemental iron.

I try picking one up. It’s heavy, but I can still hold it in one hand.

Step two: mold the iron into four wheels. The spoke diagram is pictured in high resolution, as well as all of the engineering tolerances.

I take the elemental iron and use the diagram as best I can. The wheels don’t come out looking exactly like the diagram, but I believe that they are stable enough to work for the next step.

The next step is to form a body for a vehicle out of wood. Apparently, I’m building a go-cart.

I imagine my jelly taking the form of a go cart, made of wood.

The wood turns out to look more like cheap plywood than anything else, but I test it with my leg and it doesn’t bend. I then form two axles and place the wheels on them. Instead of bolting or screwing the wheels on, I simply weld them by turning the contact points into goo and then solidifying them.

The instructions go on for several more steps. When I am done, I have a crude-looking but mostly functional go cart. While I wouldn’t ride it down a slope myself, I could imagine a kid in middle school building something similar for his town’s cart race.

“Is this good?” I say, up to the observation room.

“It’s good,” says Dr. Barrimore. “Your testing is over. Please exit the testing chamber and head to room B345.”

The two black-suited attendants walk into the room and guide me out. They lead me to B345.

The room is an empty classroom, with desks stacked up against one wall and a one-inch stage on the far side with a podium. There is a projector screen and a hanging projector. I am alone. I sit in the only desk not stacked up and face the podium.

Dr. Barrimore and Dr. Irr walk into the room from behind me. Dr. Irr steps up to the podium while Dr. Barrimore heads to the computer counter and sets up the projector.

“We usually give power debriefings several days after testing, but your case is special,” says Dr. Irr.

The projector comes on, displaying that “clean filter” warning that always seems to be there. A hastily-made PowerPoint is displayed on the screen.

Dr. Barrimore clicks.

Dr. Irr nods. “First, I’m going to tell you the obvious. You have absorbed a spirit that, by our estimation, is at least ten thousand years old.”

This is a bomb drop. I can’t help by feel my eyes bug out.

“Ten—ten thousand?” I say. I’ve heard that less than fifty adventurers in the entire world have absorbed a ten thousand year spirit.

Dr. Irr nods. “Usually, absorbing a too-powerful spirit circle will end in the recipient’s death. One must gradually climb the spirit ladder, starting at two digits and adding a calculated number to the maximum safe age of absorption. Thus, it takes many adventurers years to gather the power acclimation required to absorb very old spirit circles.”

“So it was Dr. Barrimore’s potion?” I said.

Dr. Irr nods. “I do believe he broke ethics regulations when he gave you the potion, but considering the outcome, we have decided that he should only be given a metaphorical slap on the wrist.”

Dr. Barrimore looks at Dr. Irr, appearing sheepish. “You call a ten thousand dollar fine a slap on the wrist?”

“At least you haven’t had your license stripped,” says Dr. Irr. It appears this is a point of contention between them.

Dr. Barrimore shrugs.

Dr. Irr scoffs, and then continues. “Your power is something we have not seen before. You appear to be able to mimic what a conjuration spirit can do, but with an infinite range of possible subjects. You’ve seen this happen, no?”

“I have,” I nod.

Dr. Irr seems pleased. “We do not know exactly what limits the subject matter of a conjuration spirit holder, but we know that the rules surrounding an individual’s ability to conjure different objects are different for each person. Some people can only conjure very specific things. Others can conjure a vast array of things related to their spirit.” Dr. Irr clicks the PowerPoint. It shows a series of graphs. “What you see here,” says Dr. Irr, “Is an analysis of your anima excretions. You haven’t taken spirit theory two yet, so I’ll explain what this means. Anima excretions are created by every conjuration-class spirit. In most cases, a conjured object is in the anima phase for less than a hundred milliseconds. Thus, it is not a very well-known substance.” He points to a graph. The bar above my name is ridiculously tall compared to the others. “This is your production capability compared to others.” He points to another graph with the same theme. “This is your flexibility.” He points to yet another with the exact same form. “This is the Beller gauge readings of your conjuration phase. That is, a reading of how much latent energy is within your excretions.”

“So I can basically make anything out of my, er, anima excretions?”

“We do not know. Further testing and experience in the field will reveal a lot more.” Dr. Irr turns to Dr. Barrimore. “As your case is critical to the understanding of spirits, anima, and magic, you will be followed on all exams, expeditions, and activities relating to your spirit. Dr. Barrimore has volunteered to take this position.”

Dr. Barrimore nods at me, smiling.

Dr. Irr pulls up the next slide. “We have done an analysis on the fidelity of your conjurations. It appears that, while the objects look similar to their real counterparts, they have features that real objects do not.”

The screen pulls to a picture that looks like the inside of a bone. “This is a picture we took of the interior of the axle you created in your final test.”

“It looks like a bird bone,” I say.

Dr. Irr seems to smile a bit. “Yes. That is exactly what we have concluded. There must be some aspect to your power that is capable of maximizing structural stability while minimizing the use of anima and its excretion.” Dr. Irr clicks the slide again. “We have seen things like this, but never have we seen it so pronounced. You are the first case where the entirety of your conjuration is webbed to this degree.”

Dr. Irr clicks. The next slide shows stats. “Your physical stats have almost doubled,” says Dr. Irr. “This “Spiderman” transformation happens whenever any adventurer absorbs a spirit circle, but it is usually a small increment. I think the mind-boggling change in your latent spirit power when you absorbed the balrog’s ring has done its work on your body as well.”

I hold up my hand. “I don’t feel stronger,” I say.

Dr. Irr shakes his head. “Trust me. The judging chamber does not lie.” He clicks the PowerPoint. It is over.

“You will be given an honorary status as a full-fledged adventurer,” says Dr. Irr. “This has precedent; any student with a requisite amount of physical and magical power can become one, as long as they perform some sort of exceptional service to the adventuring community.” Dr. Irr presses a button and the screen slides up. “This is contingent, however, on your graduation from Ixtham Academy’s Adventuring program.”

I look at Dr. Barrimore.

He gives me a thumbs-up. I have never seen his eyes twinkle like this.

I know I am in for something special.