The World Which Is

Dinner’s spent in silence. The look Dad gives me when I open my mouth to tell him about my class shuts it. I don’t know what caused his bad mood, but I don’t want it unleashed on me. When I get to my room, there’s a bow on my bed.

Frowning, I take it.

Wooden Long Bow, Quality: Excellent, Ranged Weapon

The weapon of the archer, used in conjunction with arrows to inflict damage at a distance

Perception check failed

There’s only two ways this got there, and I can’t imagine Dad making it. “Base?”

“I figured you shouldn’t have to rely on whatever Francis will bring for you to train with. Think of it as a belated birthday present. It’s made of Cali wood, so if someone gets too close, you can use it as a staff instead of having to equip your sword.”

“I don’t have that skill,” I say, turning it over in my hands. It’s plain looking, since Base can’t do decorations on what he makes, but the weight is just right for me. The little one level in archery lets me know. “What’s Cali wood?”

“That’s just about the hardest wood out there. It’s only found in Cali, and it hardly ever makes it all the way here.”

“Doesn’t that mean it’s expensive?”

“Like you have no idea,” Base replies with a chuckle. “But I didn’t have to pay for it. I got a few logs way back when, and they’ve been gathering dust in my inventory. Cutting up one of them for your bow is worthwhile.”

“Thanks.” I put it in my inventory and realized I have stuff in there I need to get rid of. Being grounded means anyone I try to hand this over to will ask where I got them. I take the pouch out. “Can I give you a few things to make space in my inventory?”

“Of course.”

I access my dresser and put the hides and empty vials in it, then shift them to Base’s inventory. That only freed two spots. Not making the space I was hoping for, but that’s because of my armor. Since I’m not a guard, I don’t get the second equipment slot for what I’m wearing. It’s where they keep their armor or personal clothing when on active duty. It’s just a thought to switch. Those who can afford to have personal armor keep theirs there at all time I expect.

I’m going to have to equip mine one piece at a time when I want to change. Not to say anything of the space it takes up. If not for the attention it’d attract, I’d keep it in a backpack and carry that all the time.

“Thank you for the bow.”

“You are welcome,” Base replies, sounding like he’s smiling.

* * * * *

“Dad?” I start over my plate of eggs, and the tired expression he gives me makes me shake my head and go back to eating breakfast. Did he even sleep?

* * * * *

“You must be Dennis.” Francis Maltese is tall and thin, with sun bleached hair tied in a ponytail and amused brown eyes. He might be in his late twenties. He’s dressed in jeans and a shirt with boots that look like a kick from them will hurt.

“I am.” I offer my hand. “Dennis Carpenter.”

“I’m well aware.” He chuckles as he shakes it. “Francis Maltese. Grandmother made sure I knew to avoid your father on my way to instruct you. Base, you have someplace quiet I can teach this young man archery?”

“I do Francis. Dennis, where you practiced yesterday will do just as well.”

“You practiced on your own?” Francis asks. “Good for you. Does it mean you have a bow already?”

“Base gave me one for my birthday,” I reply, leading him and not correcting him on what I practiced.

“Then I expect it’s going to be a decent one. We were still using some of them when I started learning archery from my father.”

Once we reached the industrial area, Francis studied it and has Base make targets against the wall. “Care to provide training arrows for us, Base?”

A table forms with wooden arrows on it.

He spent close to an hour showing me how to hold the bow, how to nock the arrow to the string, how to hold myself, both at rest and while pulling the string, while not letting me fire it. It was mildly annoying not to fire my new bow, since unlike what he thought, I hadn’t actually practiced shooting it, but if there’s one thing Grandmother taught me in her class is that rushing training to get to the ‘good stuff’ is a sure-fire way to be horrible at it.

You have gained a level. You are now level 2 in Archery

“Good,” Francis says, “now, let’s move on to seeing if you can hit the target.”

“You know I gained a level?” I nock the arrow and pull.

“As your teacher, I get a notification.”

I let it go and it shatters on the wall. I nock another one.

“Take your time, Dennis. The longer you aim, the more the bonus to your skill increases.” I hold it, lining up with the center of the target. “Of course,” he adds after a while. “It also means your target can get closer to you, so you can’t simply wait unit you can’t miss.”

I let it loose and it shatters against the wall, but at the edge of the target this time.

“It’s why you want to get your training in, to raise your skill.” He stands behind me as I pull on the string and adjust my footing, then my stance.

I shoot the target over and over, well past the point my arm hurts from the strain and my shots get worse from one to the next. This isn’t about accuracy, I tell myself. Remembering Grandmother’s mantra from the early days of my training. This is about ingraining the movements so I can stop thinking about how to fight, or shoot the bow in this case, and just do it. Only then can I move on to doing it better.

You have gained a level. You are now level 3 in Archery

I am sweaty and my strength feels like it dropped below zero.

Francis pats my shoulder. “Good work. I can come back tomorrow morning, but after that, we’re going to have to work out something if you want me to continue training you. I have other duties, too.”

“I can pay you for the training,” I offer. Happy Base kept me from spending all the money. This is definitely a better investment than another skill.

“We can talk it over tomorrow. How about I meet you here at the same time? If we get in a solid three hours, you should reach level four, but don’t expect to notice a lot of changes until higher levels.”

“Level thirteen is where we get the first noticeable boots.” Sword fighting, that’s when I started getting a sense of how my opponent moved. I still can’t anticipate worth shit, but I figure at twenty-six that’ll get easier.

Francis chuckles. “You won’t get a noticeable effect until twenty-six. The strain of repeated firing will lessen at thirteen, and you’ll get faster with nocking the arrow.”

“I got the quick-nocking skill. Base recommended it.”

“And it’s a good suggestion, but we’re going to wait until you have a good basis for your archery before spending much time with that.”

“Is it okay if I practice it on my own?”

“Of course. Nothing wrong in putting as much time as you want into improving yourself. So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here.”

He whistles as he walks away, and I get in a few more shots, none of them in the target, before heading home for a shower.

* * * * *

I’m dry and dressed to the sound of Dad in the kitchen and the smell of beef and barley soup.

“Dennis,” he greets me, plating grilled cheese sandwiches to go with the soup, “I heard back from Mister Charles. He’s going to be in town next week, and he’s willing to meet and discuss if you’d be a good fit for his farm.”

“About that,” I say sitting, “what if…” I trail off as he places a bowl and plate before me. I muster my courage while he takes his place opposite mine. “What if I don’t want to be a farmer?”

“What else are you going to be?” he replies dismissively.

“I want to be a guard.”

“That’s not your class,” he states between spoonful.

“Everyone’s told me that my class doesn’t define who I was,” I reply, struggling to keep my voice even. “Even you told me that. I spent my youth training to be a guard. I have the skills, and I can still practice them.”

“Dennis,” he replies with a hardness that matches the look in his eyes. “If that was really what you wanted to do with your life, then you shouldn’t have just gone off gallivanting. I get it,” he adds as I open my mouth. “Richard can be hard to resist. But you still went off with him, Dennis. You put yourself in this position. You have to live with the consequences. And that means you’re going to be farmer.”

I don’t say anything.

Of fuck, do I not point out how much of a hypocrite he’s being for claiming it’s my fault I don’t get to be a guard when we both know he was never going to let me do that. I want to scream at him. I want to fucking flip the table and…

I focus on eating and so does he.

Good, because there’s only so much self-control I have. One other word from him, and I don’t know what I’ll say. Other than it’s going to be nasty.

Once done, I wash and dry my bowl and plate, put them away, and head for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” I snap, then take a breath. “To clear my head,” I say, because the alternative is spiteful.

Once outside, I run until I’m in the industrial area, then scream. Once I’ve worked that out of my system, I run up and down the wall a few times before stepping on the parapet and looking out onto the town, then beyond it.

I search the roofs for a while, wondering how much it costs to get a place there. I’ve never had to think about that, and until this moment, I didn’t consider moving outside of Base’s walls. Even moving to a farm hadn’t been something I thought about until Dad said Mister Charles would be over to talk about it.

I’m not going to be a farmer.

I don’t care what Dad wants, but I am going to be a guard.

I’m an adult now. I get to do chose who I am.

* * * * *

I eat dinner before Dad gets back, then I’m in my room, with the door locked—not that it’d stop Dad—and practicing quick-nocking until I’m too tired and go to bed. At least that got me a level.

* * * * *

I wait until Dad’s left before exiting my room. Then it’s a hurried breakfast, and I’m off for my training. I’m going to be late, but hopefully Francis will understand.

Explaining my tardiness becomes a moot point as I don’t find Francis waiting for me, but my Dad, arms cross over his chest, and a pissed off expression over his face.

“Just guess who I ran into on my way to my workshop,” he demands. “Go ahead, guess.”

“Dad,” I start.

“Don’t, Dennis. Don’t you even think of coming up with some justification for going behind my back like that? I explained how things are. You have no excuses.”

“Explained? You don’t fucking explain, you fucking order me around.”

“Dennis,” he snaps. “Do not speak to me like that.”

“Like what, Dad? Like some tyrant I’m fed up having lording over me? Some deaf, power hungry something who doesn’t give a fuck what I want?”

“Dennis! I will not have you swearing like that.”

“Who fucking cares!”

“Go to your room!”

I roll my eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me? Go to my room? I’m sixteen, I have a class, I not a baby anymore.”

“Then stop acting like one!”

“Me? I’m the one acting like a baby? You’re the one—”

“To. Your. Room.” He points and the anger in his eyes makes me take a step back.

“Fine.” I turn and stump away. I seriously consider not going there. The problem is that there is nowhere I can go within Base’s walls that will keep Dad from finding me, and when he does, his mood isn’t going to improve.

Fuck, where can I go in Court, Dad can’t have someone find me? He doesn’t know everyone in the town, but if they were alive before the system, they at least know of him. That’s not counting all his clients. Dad’s just about the best carpenter in Court, so if he asks someone to find me, it’s not going to be long into they do.

I slam the door to the house, then my room. I scream in my pillow, then try to prepare myself for Dad’s arrival, because I don’t think that’s going to be pretty.