The Lesser One

by Zeppy Cheng

  “Were you guys okay? Did anyone in your family get hurt?”

  “Nah,” says Dres. “Our family doesn’t live in the Manhattan area.”

  Rey smiles. “So what new powers did you acquire?”

  I form a bow and arrows in my hands. The red cracks shimmer once and then return to normal skin.

  “Whoa,” says Rey. “Can I try that out?”

  “Sure.” I hand the bow and arrows to Rey.

  Rey takes the bow and stretches it. “It feels off.” She nocks an arrow. “The arrow seems fine.” She holds the bow down, walks to the range, and returns to firing position. She releases and barely hits the target — which is very rare for her.

  She shakes her head. “You’re going to have to work on that.” She hands me back my bow. “For now, I think it would benefit you most to use an actual physical bow.” She shrugs. “Though if you formed your own arrows, that would ease the club’s budget.”

  “Sure.” I form a dozen arrows, one after the other, and slide them in a quiver.

  Rey grabs one and nocks it to her own bow. She fires — bullseye. “Now, these are pretty accurate. Maybe because they’re so straight?”

  “You could sell these!” Dres grabs another of my created arrows and fires it down the range. “I know most other conjurers have a side business selling the stuff they conjure.” He pauses. “Though I heard conjuring takes a lot of energy, so they can’t really make that much stuff.”

  My energy has, to my knowledge, been coming from some sort of infernal devilish storage battery that the two hundred and fifty-one devils I absorbed brought with them. So I haven’t been pulling on my own power. Which is another thing I should probably keep secret.

  “I’d pay a premium for these arrows.” Rey nocks another one. “Maybe twice what I would pay for a good ash arrow?” She sighs. “It’s a shame carbon-fiber arrows don’t work against magic.”

  I shrug. “Magic is mysterious.”

  “You can say that again.” Rey takes another arrow and runs her finger along its shaft. “What is this arrow made of?”

  “Wood,” I say. “And a steel tip.”

  She frowns. “But it feels like more than that. I’ve shot plenty of wooden arrows with steel tips. This one feels… lighter, but at the same time more solid.”

  I smiled. “I’ve created it with what’s called print webbing. Like how a 3d printer fills in solid objects. It makes things much lighter and just as strong.”

  Rey nocks her third arrow. She fires and splits the second arrow straight down the middle. “Wow! I’ve never done that before.”

  Dres whistles. “Let me try.” He takes one of my arrows. After taking aim, he releases, and the arrow flies straight and true. A perfect bullseye.

  “How many of these can you make?” asks Rey.

  I remember Dr. Barrimore’s warning. “Maybe two dozen? I’m not sure I can do more than that.”

  Two dozen, eh? comes a voice in my head. I recognize it; it’s Jirgrar.

  What about it? I think back to him.

  Nothing. I was just wondering why my new master would go so far to limit himself.

  I’m sorry, I respond. I have a life to live.

  You have two hundred and fifty demons to defend you. No force, human or otherwise, can contend with that.

  Jirgrar’s tone tells me he’s probably testing me.

  I don’t want to shake things up for now, I say. Maybe when I am done with school, I can do something big. I’m trying to be as non-confrontational as possible.

  “Hey,” says Rey. “Are you okay? You look a little glazed.”

  “No, sorry.” I hold out my hand. “I’ll make as many arrows as I can.”

  “And I’ll buy the lot for twenty bucks an arrow.” Rey turns to Dres. “Does that sound good?”

  Twenty bucks an arrow — with two dozen, that amounts to almost five hundred dollars. It’s the biggest single transaction I’ve ever made.

  My pulse seems loud as I create exactly twenty-four arrows and hand them to Rey. She takes out her wallet and — surprisingly — pulls out five hundred-dollar bills.

  “Where’d that come from?” I ask.

  She looks coquettish. “I keep a lot of money on me for situations like this.” She hands me the bills. “But that’s all I have. Don’t ask for more.” She winks.

  “Bleh,” says Dres. “Don’t listen to her. She just got paid from her part-time job.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a waitress at a bar.”

  “Some of the customers are rich and give big tips.” Dres elbows her.

  Rey grins. “It’s because I’m attractive.”

  I sigh.

  After spending two hours on the range, I pack up my bow and take the elevator to the Riding Valkyries’ home floor. It is about one in the morning, and I want to go to bed so that I don’t wake up too tired to do anything. The reconstruction effort is being talked about on the TV in the Riding Valkyries’ common room when I walk through. A lot of the city was damaged during the battle. I don’t see much about myself — for which I am thankful — but I do hear that the estimated damage is in the billions.

  I enter my room and collapse onto the bed. In half a minute I am sleeping.

  I enter a dream. I stand on the main street of a town that looks like a mixture between a western frontier settlement and an eighties video game texture pack. Dozens of normal-looking citizens are walking back and forth.

  A man in a black suit with sunglasses approaches me. He kneels before me. “Master.”

  I recognize the voice. It is Jirgrar. I am confused. “Why do you look like a human?”

  Jirgrar stands up, still bowing, this time like a butler. “We fey can take whatever humanoid form we wish. We simply adjust ourselves to the taste of our master.”

  “Well, okay.” I take a look around town. “Is this place where you live?”

  “We do not technically live like you would as a human in the real world. This town is a façade to facilitate interaction with you. Is it not to your liking?”

  I shake my head. “I like it, but it’s a little sparse. It feels like I’m in a video game.”

  Jirgrar stands up. “What would you prefer this town to look like?”

  “Er, I think it’s okay,” I say. “At the very least it feels like an alternate dimension.”

  “Very well. We shall keep it this way.” Jirgrar pauses. “Do you wish to learn about the power of your minions at this time?”

  “You mean, like what you guys are capable of?” I ask.

  Jirgrar smiles, revealing sharp teeth. “Of course. Understanding the capabilities of your fighting force is integral to winning any battle.”

  “Okay then. Show me.”

  Jirgrar snaps his fingers. Five devils dressed in the same costume as Jirgrar appear in a semicircle around me. Jirgrar points to the left-most devil. “Summoners can summon a number of familiars to fight alongside them.”

  The summoner devil makes a sign with his hands and a wolf pops out of a small portal.

  “Next,” says Jirgrar, “we have warlocks.”

  The second devil, a woman, forms a ball of fire and sprays one of the buildings alongside the street with it.

  “Warlocks,” says Jirgrar, “can generate magical abilities based on their spirit.”

  The third devil, holding a bow and arrows, steps forward. “Snipers can hit far away targets,” says Jirgrar. The sniper shoots a flaming arrow all the way down the football-field-length street and hits a pre-placed target with perfect accuracy.

  “Assassins do what assassins do.” Jirgrar points to the fourth devil.

  The devil bows, and then disappears into shadow.

  “And knights fight on the front lines,” says Jirgrar.

  The fifth devil kneels before me, holding up its sword.

  I can’t help but be a little afraid. I am in control of an army that is powerful enough to go toe to toe with the biggest Adventurer guilds — and it’s all
my own.

  “It seems as if you’re dissatisfied with this arrangement,” says Jirgrar.

  I shake my head. “No, I’m not.”

  “One last thing,” says Jirgrar. “Just like human spirit wielders, we fey can absorb the Spirit Rings of defeated monsters. We will manage this ourselves, but if you have anything you want to command us to do about Spirit Rings, we will obey your every word.” He smiles again, showing his teeth. “It appears that it is time to wake up. When you are awake, simply asking us to appear before you will be enough to draw us out of your pocket dimension. We can do many things for you.”

  The world shimmers, blanks out, and I wake up in my bed with the sun streaming through my window.

  13 CCC

  Conjuration class begins at twelve noon. I enter the class, a small room with five empty chairs arranged around a desk.

  A normal-looking man with a beard turns to face me. “You must be Markus.” He extends his hand. “My name is Dr. Winding. I’m a professor of conjuration studies here at Ixtham. Please, take a seat.”

  I sit down in the left-most chair.

  Dr. Winding pulls out some papers. “I’ve told the other students in this class that we won’t be meeting today. I need to talk with you about some very sensitive things, and as such we can’t have company.” He pauses. “I assume Dr. Barrimore gave you the talk about artificial limitations?”

  I nod. “Did he consult with you about this?”

  Dr. Winding taps his papers against the desk. “Yes. I was also one of the professors who analyzed your Anima excretions.” He arranges the papers on his desk. “You can, as far as we can tell, create an infinite array of items. Dr. Barrimore has informed me that your limit is about two thousand calories in the period of an hour.”

  “Calories?” I ask.

  “Yes. You’ll learn this in class, but the system of measurement used to describe the objects conjurers produce is the same as food calories. This is because conjuration spirits convert food energy directly into matter.”

  I understand. It seems that Dr. Barrimore is hiding the fact that I can produce an almost infinite amount of material on command from even his trusted colleagues. “So, how much stuff is two thousand calories?”

  Dr. Winding writes something down. “The best conjurers have creation limits in your range, between two thousand and three thousand possible calories per hour. Most of these, however, are not dual theme conjurers.” He makes another note. “You have an infinite array of possible objects. This includes restricted materials. The full list is right here. I will explain the law behind restricted materials after you read this.” He hands me a paper.

  United States List of Restricted Conjuration Themes

  1. Any metal with a value per troy ounce greater than ten dollars or any gemstone worth more than ten dollars a carat

  2. Any mind- or body-altering substance

  3. Any kind of assault weaponry, as defined by US law

  4. Dangerous poisons

  5. Patent-protected inventions

  6. Copyright-protected material

  7. Antimatter

  I finish reading the list. “So, what does this mean?”

  Dr. Winding finishes with another note. The stack of papers in front of him keeps growing. “Normally, one would have to do this at the Department of Spirit Services, but since you are a minor and your case is so special, I shall be filing as your proxy.” Dr. Winding shuffles through the papers. “As far as we have experienced, conjurers fall under one, at most two restricted themes. You fall under all seven. There are differing degrees of restrictions for each category. I assume it is obvious why these seven themes are restricted.”

  “I guess the government doesn’t want me making meth or an AK-47,” I say.

  “Precisely.”

  “How will they enforce this?”

  “Every conjurer has a signature that they cannot remove from their conjured objects,” says Dr. Winding, “a conjuration fingerprint. We already have yours — we took it during your most recent testing. However, you still have to sign some forms to pledge that you won’t break these restrictions and that you know the rules.” He takes a few papers out. “I’ll read you the restrictions, down the list.” He shuffles the papers in his hand. “For any metal, alloy, or material worth over ten dollars per troy ounce, or any gemstone worth more than ten dollars a carat, you will have a quota of two thousand dollars-worth per month. All created materials must be processed through the Spirit Association — you cannot sell your conjured precious materials on any public market. A violation of this rule will result in a fine ten times the amount of the metal sold off-market. Any metal, alloy, or material worth under ten dollars per troy ounce has a much higher limit of sale, capping at twenty thousand dollars per month. It is recommended that you sell non-restricted metals to the Spirit Association, though not required if you have a license. An exception to these rules will be made for strategically important materials, such as uranium, plutonium, and various rare-earth metals. Details about these exceptions can be found in…” Dr. Winding pauses. “Well, we can talk about that when we get there.” He switches papers.

  “Any amount of a controlled mind-altering substance assigned to schedule one that is traced back to an individual conjurer will result in the same penalties as if said conjurer had sold them normally. Schedule two drugs may only be produced with explicit permission from the government, and are subject to many unique regulations. Let’s see, let’s see…” Dr. Winding pauses, switching papers. “Schedule three and four drugs still require permission from an entity, though for these it doesn’t have to be from the government. A corporate sponsor will suffice. Any other prescription drugs will fall under this category as well. Over-the-counter drugs can be sold to the Spirit Association at fair market price.”

  Dr. Winding switches papers again. “Assault weapons, as categorized by US law, will result in civil penalties if traced back to an individual conjurer.” He pauses. “Well, let’s just say that you’ll get in trouble if you make any gun that the US doesn’t allow on the open market. Even legal guns require a lot of paperwork for you to be able to sell them.” He shrugs. “Since very few people ever receive a spirit manifesting as a modern weapon, the rules are sparse and case-by-case.” He licks his finger and flips the page.

  “On to dangerous poisons. If someone dies because of your poison — no matter how — and it is discovered, you will at the very least be responsible for manslaughter unless there are extenuating circumstances.” Dr. Winding puts down the papers and picks up another stack.

  “Patent-protected inventions and copyrighted material — of any kind — will be prosecuted as if you had infringed on them normally.” Dr. Winding then picks up a single small sheet of paper. “And no antimatter. Ever. Don’t even think about it.” He pauses. “You know why, right?”

  “Yeah. Of course I do.” Half of Detroit no longer exists. As well as the only antimatter spirit ever discovered, and two million people.

  Dr. Winding puts down his papers. He then hands me a clipboard with at least a dozen pieces of paperwork clipped to it. “Sign wherever it tells you. I’ve already filled out the requisite information.”

  “Shouldn’t my parents give permission?”

  “You are an honorary Adventurer,” says Dr. Winding. “Thus, you have power of attorney over yourself, even if you are a minor.”

  It takes me five minutes to sign everything.

  He smiles and takes the papers, filing them away in his desk. “Now let’s head to the conjuration practice room.”

  I follow Dr. Winding to a small room on the same floor as the class. It resembles Dr. Barrimore’s new office in size and choice of equipment.

  “I know Glen — Dr. Barrimore — will be doing a lot of research on you. I, though, want to satisfy my own curiosity.”

  “I have a question first,” I say. “I sold two dozen arrows to one of my club members. I made five hundred dollars. Did I break the law?”

 
“Arrows?” asks Dr. Winding. “No, I don’t think it will be a problem if it’s just that incident. What were they made of?”

  “Wood with a steel tip.”

  “Well, that’s fine. That doesn’t infringe on anything restricted and once we get you a conjurer’s sales license, everything will be okay. The law gives a little bit of room for entrepreneurship when it comes to less valuable metals and objects.” He sits in a chair behind a row of computer monitors. A periodic table of elements appears on the wall, projected from the other side of the room. “We’re going down the periodic table, from hydrogen.” He points to a big counter in the center of the room, covered in hundreds of bottles, flasks, scales, and tubes. There are three labels: gas, liquid, and solid.

  “Hydrogen is a gas,” says Dr. Winding, “so start with that. Please produce two moles of hydrogen.”

  “Moles… moles… I don’t know what a mole feels like.”

  Dr. Winding points to a metal cube on his desk. “That is a mole of iron.”

  I pick it up and weigh it in my hand. “Okay. I think I got this.” I take a mental image of the cube and place it back down. I then hold my hand over the gas flask. Red cracks run along the back of my hand. Anima goo seeps out of my palm and turns into wisps of smoke that disappear before they reach the bottom of the flask.

  Dr. Winding whistles. “That’s pure hydrogen. One hundred percent.” He pauses. “Now helium.”

  We walk through the entire periodic table. For radioactive elements, there is a lead box for my creations. For radium, which manifests as a gas, there is a special apparatus that sucks it up and protects me from radiation.

  “Be careful not to produce anything radioactive when you don’t have the right equipment,” Dr. Winding warns me. “You’re not immune to it.”

  Next we move onto alloys. Dr. Winding gives me a breakdown on how metallurgy works, in terms I can understand. From what I hear, I figure working with metal is a lot more complicated than I think.

  Dr. Winding has me create bronze, then brass, then steel — small amounts of each. Every time I create something, Dr. Winding clicks a small pitch counter.