by Zeppy Cheng
Glen nods. He hands me a plain white business card. “That has my number, my office address, and my email. Come to my office the first chance you get, and I can start advising you on how to approach schooling at Ixtham.”
“Thank you.”
He smiles. “And don’t worry. You’ll be getting paid as my lab assistant.” He pauses. “Just not much.”
I bow and leave the bar.
On the way home, I daydream about my success as an Adventurer despite my low power level. I dream about suddenly receiving enough power to become the best Adventurer in the world. Even though I know it will never happen, I find some measure of satisfaction from the fantasy.
After getting off the subway, I head home. However, as I arrive at my neighborhood, I see someone that makes me stop in my tracks.
Aaron. He is standing beneath the streetlamp about a block down from my house, along my usual route, as if waiting for me. Before I can duck into a shadow, he catches sight of me. As he starts stalking my way, three bulky men wearing leather jackets studded with metal peel away from the wall of the building beside him and trail along behind.
I stop. Aaron continues to approach. I try walking backwards, but the street is behind me and the light is the wrong color. I stop at the curb’s edge.
Aaron gets within striking distance.
A phantom fist flies at me from where Aaron will be in two seconds. I dodge the phantom fist instinctively, and Aaron’s actual punch swishes a foot from where I had been two seconds before. Stumbling, I back into a lamp post.
Aaron kicks me in the gut. Even though I see the same blue phantom, this is one attack I can’t avoid.
The three burly thugs surround me. One of them cracks his knuckles. “You ruined his life.” He motions to Aaron. “Now we are going to ruin yours.”
“Wait, wait,” I say. “What did I do? Aaron is the one who—”
Another of the thugs slams his fist into my sternum. I double over in pain.
Aaron leans close. “I heard you got into Ixtham.”
I shake my head vigorously. “No, I just took the entrance exam—”
Aaron grabs my chin. “You destroyed my life. I’m going to destroy yours.” He flicks a switchblade open and dramatically licks the edge. His eyes are glazed over — he is probably high. “I wonder what I should write on your forehead?”
The three thugs laugh and applaud like they are enjoying this.
As Aaron repositions himself to get a better shot at my forehead, I see a phantom blue mark appear at his side. Somehow I know he is going to let up the pressure on me in just a few moments — there.
I punch with my newly freed hand, sending Aaron reeling. He drops his knife.
Following the blue phantom, I dodge through the grasping arms of the three thugs and book it. The phantom is leading me somewhere. I don’t know where, but I follow it blindly, hoping it leads me to salvation.
I am not a very fast runner. I can sense, behind me, Aaron and his friends gaining.
I might not make it. I throw the last of my energy into my sprint and hope the salvation I am waiting for comes soon.
4 Adventuring is a Profession
I turn the corner at breakneck speed. I am running faster than I ever have in my entire life. Even at this speed, though, it will not be long before my pursuers catch up.
I was always the slowest runner in school.
“Help!” I yell, hoping to get someone’s attention. “Help!” In this neighborhood, however, that doesn’t mean anything. Most people here will simply bolt their doors and close their shutters when something is happening.
I turn another corner, heading towards a street where I know there will be people.
Five seconds before it happens, I see another blue shadow that seems to be hinting at what will happen next. I skid to a stop and whip around.
A girl in green Spandex lands right in front of me, between me and Aaron’s thugs. She holds out her hand. “Halt!”
Never have I ever been so grateful for the Civilian Adventure Patrol.
She’s skinny, with crimson hair pulled back in a ponytail. “Why are you chasing this kid?” she asks the four thugs.
Aaron approaches her boldly. “This ain’t your problem, miss. I suggest you get out of our way.”
The girl sighs. “That doesn’t help your case.”
Aaron turns and looks at his thug friends. Then he spits and drags his feet on the ground. The thugs fan out and crack their knuckles, ready for a fight.
The girl flicks her fingers. A bright yellow ring, adorned with mystical lettering and arcane shapes, forms around each of her fists. A wisp of colorful energy surges around her torso.
I gasp. I know what this is. This is a Spirit Circle. It is the first time I have seen one in real life. I see them on TV all the time, but something is different about its presence when right in front of me.
The girl laughs. “You’re attacking me?” A wind picks up, giving a low growl that sends shivers down my spine. Leaves and paper scraps float from the gutter and rise, undulating, as they swirl around the girl’s Spirit Circle.
All at once the winds concentrate and then blast forward with an impossible noise. It picks up Aaron and the three thugs and smashes them against a dumpster. They fight to move but are unable to stand against the withering gale.
She flicks her wrist. A rope uncoils from a satchel at her side, twirling and snaking along with the wind. With a swinging motion, it trusses up the four bullies. When the wind dies down, they’re hanging from the top of a streetlamp, swaying gently in the leftover breeze.
Only now do I notice the police sirens. I look around. All I see is devastation. Several dumpsters have been thrown across the street, their contents strewn about willy-nilly. At least a dozen lampposts are bent or crooked. A transformer box is crackling, looking like it is about to explode. The windows on the building closest to us are cracked, some of the panes missing.
“Oops.” The girl turns to me, grinning like a maniac. “Run!”
Before she can even take a step, Blackjack — a local Adventurer I know well from TV — lands beside her with a thump. He grabs her arm and plants his feet.
“Nooo!” she says. “I’m sorry!”
Blackjack sighs. “Look, Esla, I know you were meaning to help, but you have to learn to control your powers.” He glances over at me. “Sorry about that. She has a habit of going overboard.” He examines the four hanging figures, uselessly struggling to free themselves. He sighs again. “I’ll take care of these four bozos. While I’m at it, I want you at the police station. Now.”
Esla, which I assume is her name, scuffs at the ground. “But—”
Blackjack slams his foot down, sending a wave through the concrete.
Esla shrinks back. “Okay.”
Blackjack rolls his eyes at me, apologetically. “I’m going to need your statement, too. If you don’t mind. Just follow Esla here to the local station.”
The walkie-talkie at Blackjack’s side flares up. “We have a psion wave convergence at Fifth and Main. A dungeon has been forecasted. The Black Cats have been assigned to clear it. Over.”
Blackjack grimaces. “As you can see, I’m busy.” He peers at me. “Be careful out there. The police can handle the trussed-up idiots there.” With a kick, he jumps ten feet up and begins running against the side of a building, climbing to its top, and leaping away.
Esla smiles sheepishly at me. “Sorry. I get carried away sometimes.” She motions towards the nearest street. “Asalo station isn’t too far away.”
With one last glance at Aaron and his thug friends swaying gently beneath the streetlight — better there than loose and hunting me — I follow her along the sidewalks and towards the police station. I live here, so I already know where it is. “You’re an Adventurer, right?”
“In training,” says Esla. “I’m a junior at Ixtham Academy.”
“I’m going to be going there soon,” I say.
Her eyes light up.
“Really? Congratulations!” She holds her hand up.
I pause.
She seems disappointed. “High five?”
I reluctantly give her a high five.
“Yeah!” She pumps her fist. “Fighting for justice!” She tilts her head. “What did those bullies want with you anyways?”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing. They just don’t like me.”
“There has to be a reason. No bully assaults a pedestrian in broad daylight without a reason.”
“I…” I pause, debating about whether or not to speak. “I got him kicked out of SMART’s youth program.”
“Ouch,” says Esla. “I’m sure he did something to deserve it, though, right?”
“He… he’s always been a bully. He just happened to try to bully me in front of the Judge who awakened me.”
“Ha! It seems like he got what he deserved.”
We turn the corner and reach the local police station.
Esla’s attitude becomes somber. “Look, whatever you do, don’t look suspicious. I don’t want any trouble.”
I nod vigorously. “Of course. Of course.”
Esla pauses. “You look scared.”
I shake my head. “No. I’m not.” Though I really am. It’s the first time I’ve ever been in a police station for something bad, even though this is more of a kiosk than an office.
Esla grins, and then shrugs, appearing to regain some of her liveliness. “First time for everything, eh?” Then she waltzes through the front door.
I follow.
The cop at the desk looks up, appearing annoyed. “What is it this time, Esla? Did you ruin another streetlamp?”
Esla looks sheepish. “Well, a little bit more than that.”
“Ha,” says the cop. “You were the cause of the disturbance call just five minutes ago, then.” He scratches his head. “What did you break this time?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “A lot of stuff? There were some sparks, a lot of glass, and… and some bad guys I left tied to a lamp post.”
He rubs his temple. “As long as the academy covers the expenses, I can’t actually do anything to you.” He pauses, seeming to notice me for the first time. “Is this the person you, eh, saved?”
I nod. “Yes. She saved my life.”
He sighs. “I’m going to have to take both of your statements.” He clicks a couple times at his desktop computer. “Come on in. It will only take fifteen minutes.”
Twenty minutes later, feeling more frazzled than I ever have in my entire life, I step out of the police station beside Esla.
She turns to me. “You said your name was Markus, right?”
I had, during the questioning. I nod.
Esla grins broadly. “Call me Esla. My spirit is a Typhoon. What’s yours?”
“Er,” I say. “Blue Anima.”
She doesn’t seem fazed. “So you see stuff?”
I nod.
“What kind of stuff?”
I shrug. “I think it has something to do with space… and time… Maybe space-time?”
She laughs bubbly-like. “So you’re the next Einstein?”
I shake my head vigorously. “I’m not nearly smart enough. I just barely managed to get in. I haven’t even got the results of my entrance exam back.”
Esla smiles at me. “I’m sure you’ll get in. You seem like the kind of guy who makes the best of things.”
I don’t know what to think about that. Am I really making the best of things? Of course I know that I am weak, stupendously so from what almost everyone is saying. But how am I reacting to that? Have I tried taking my future into my own hands yet?
I don’t know.
Esla extends her hand. This time, I don’t hesitate to shake it.
“I’ll see you at school,” she says, winking. Then she turns around and ambles away. At the corner, she turns back and waves. “You’ll get in! I know it!” With a twirl she vanishes around the corner.
I stand motionless in front of the police station for a couple of seconds, then I shrug and head towards my house. A police car passes by, coming from the direction of the incident. I think I catch sight of Aaron in the back. At the very least, no one is hanging from that lamp post any more.
Once home — it’s a short distance from the station — I go up to my apartment and enter. My mother is on the living room floor playing with the baby. My dad isn’t home from work yet.
“How did it go?” Mom asks without looking up.
“I took the test. But I’m not sure yet if I passed it.”
Mom coos at baby Sandy. She is not yet old enough to walk, and so she crawls around the safe space on the living room floor while our mother watches her.
I go to my room and toss my backpack on the bed. As part of the written exam, I had filled out some information, including my address, phone number, and email. Email was how they were going to send me my results.
I check the Dungeon Keeper’s forums online to see what is going on in the Adventuring community. Three new dungeons have opened up in the greater Tri-City area this afternoon. That is not unusual. There is some video footage of the one that was cleared by the Red Birds — I watch everything. Usually, high-profile guilds bring media personnel with them to film their work. The “sport” — which isn’t actually a sport but rather a public necessity like firefighting and police work — is nevertheless filmed for entertainment. At least, a lot of people treat it like that. I’m pretty sure the actual people involved in filming treat it more like wartime correspondence than televised sports. Analysts instead of announcers, a sixty-second live delay, and ticker tape running along the bottom of the screen.
I get to see Drew Clerk, the healer for the Red Birds’ A-team, obtain a triple-digit Spirit Circle. It is from a gigantic snake-like monster that takes them half an hour to bring down. The analysts call it an Orange Toeless Monitor. I check the usual forums, and after dinner play some video games. A night like any other.
I go to sleep at my usual time, eleven PM.
When I wake up my phone is blinking. It’s early, too early for the alarm to have gone off. I grab the phone and check it.
An email. It has just arrived. Even though it isn’t even seven in the morning, it appears to have been no more than five minutes since I received it. Strange, I think. I open it up.
Congratulations. You have been accepted as a trial student at Ixtham Academy. You will start the day you receive this message. Please don’t be late.
Today?! That’s too quick!
The message continues. Your draft scoring is as follows:
Dexterity: 5
Constitution: 6
Strength: 6
Intelligence: 14
Charisma: 5
Wisdom: 9
Spirit Rating:
Versatility: E
Power Output: F
Combat Rating: F
Priority: E
Notes: Unusually high psion emission rate.
It isn’t anything I wasn’t expecting. I know from watching dungeon crawling on TV that these stats are below average in everything except intelligence, which is five points above average, and wisdom, which is average. This isn’t much to work with. If anything, it proves that I am not going to be very useful for whatever guild selects me.
I may not even be selected at all. That is a possibility.
F is also the lowest grade possible for a combat spirit. E means I am just barely above the non-combat spirits in terms of battle power. It’s discouraging, and everything seems to sink inside me.
I do feel a little bit happy, though, that I at least have a more powerful spirit than Aaron. Though his spirit is probably more useful, overall, than mine. Just in a different field.
But Adventurers are more respected than engineers. And I don’t think Aaron is smart enough to even be an engineer.
A mixed bag, to be honest. But I know what I want. I want to become an Adventurer. I always have. This is, at the very least, an opportunity to take
hold of.
I look up the address of Ixtham on Google Maps. It’s in the same building as the Adventurers’ Association. As I get ready, I make extra sure that I don’t forget anything. The email includes a list of starting supplies, so I gather what I have handy.
In the kitchen, I realize I’m the first one up, which is rare in a household with a loud-mouthed infant. As if on cue, Sandy starts bawling.
My bleary-eyed dad shuffles out from the hall and stops, startled. “You’re up early.”
I smile. “I got in to Ixtham.”
He hugs me. “Congratulations. When do you start? Next week?”
“Today.”
His eyes widen in surprise. “They aren’t giving you any time, are they?”
I shake my head. “But I think I’m going to be fine.”
He releases me and heads to the kitchen. “Do you want breakfast before you leave?”
“No, thanks.” I shoulder my bag. “I should probably be there early.”
Dad checks his watch. “It’s only seven. Are you sure you don’t want to wait?”
I shake my head. “If I’m early on my first day, I’ll make a good impression.”
He shrugs. “Okay. Tell me how it goes.”
“Gotcha.” I head out the door.
The trip to school is uneventful. I pass where Aaron attacked me yesterday and find myself smiling at the memory of him dangling beneath the streetlight. When I arrive at the Association headquarters — also the campus of Ixtham — I approach the man sitting in the guard kiosk beside the entrance. “Hello. I just got accepted into Ixtham.”
The guard smiles. He types a few words into his computer. “Name?”
“Markus Red.”
“Address?”
“Ten-twelve Second Street.”
“Day of birth?”
“June seventh, 2003.”
“All right.” He gives me a hastily printed card. “Please go to the administrator’s office so we can handle your intake. There, you’ll receive your ID and your class sheet.”
I thank him, enter the building, and follow the signs to Ixtham Administration Office. There, I go through a series of processes that include paperwork, a photo for my ID, and gathering several textbooks.