Chapter Four: Call for a Reaping

Tom’s thoughts tumbled about in complete disarray as he hurried to the Office of the Director. He pulled in the scent of the manicured gardens that lined the walls of the various buildings as he jogged past, trying to slowly put his frantic thoughts in order.

There was only one reason they’d call an impromptu assembly. The Council has called a Reaping. It’s here already. I haven’t had enough time! But in his heart Tom knew that more time wouldn’t matter. It was do or die. His thoughts skittered back to his Philosophy class.

Glass holds the Sword? It filled him with envy and awe and shame. And she gave me a compliment!

Although he’d always found Glass just as terrifying as the next student, he had a tremendous respect for her. The advice she’d given him was a treasure.

Why would she tell me not to focus on the Sword? he puzzled. It’s my only hope. I have affinities for most weapons, but I’ve tried manifesting them too. It doesn’t make sense.

He turned the advice around in his mind some more, hoping to pry lose some kind of understanding. Why would she do this now? I’ve known her since I was eight and she’s never been anything but steel and sharp edges.

Insight flashed through him. The Reaping! Of course! This is probably the last time I’ll see her, one way or the other.

He felt oddly sad at the thought, where a day ago he probably would have felt relieved. Actually, he still felt relieved, if he was being honest with himself. Just a little.

A healthy amount of students were still straggling out of classrooms and wending their way towards the Office. Tom pushed himself a little faster; he didn’t want to find a spot under the baleful glare of the Director.

He rounded the corner of the Sciences building, and the Office and its paired assembly lawn came into sight.

The Office was an understated building, compared to the rest of the stately stone buildings of the Academy. Red like the rest of the Academy, but only a single story tall, it didn’t draw the eye the way the bell-tower next to it did, or the long, squat combat hall, or even the relatively plain, but tall sciences block. It commanded a certain respect that none of the others did though, purely by virtue of housing the Director. Tom had only seen him a handful of times outside these assemblies.

Thousands of students had gathered, talking excitedly to each other. There were just enough instructors spread around and throughout the crowd that the hubbub never quite reached a clamour. Even so the noise was pervasive.

Tom glanced to the front, but the Director’s podium was still empty. He breathed a sigh of relief, and found a space near the middle of the crowd at one of the edges. Two younger students in front of him chattered to each other nervously.

“Do you think we’ll see a monster?” a short boy with curly hair asked his friend, tall and leaner than a stalk of wheat, with hair to match.

The tall boy puffed out his chest. “Of course we will. My Da saw a soil drake on his, and Jered saw a whole stand of wood golems!”

The short boy did a poor job of covering nervousness with bravado. “Well I’m gonna manifest Earth, Ma says I will. Then I’ll sweep away monsters like an avalanche!”

“You’ll manifest Loser and get chucked out of the Academy!” jeered the beanpole.

The short boy turned to punch his neighbour, but caught sight of Tom. He awkwardly aborted his playful attack and began whispering to his friend.

“… Cutter! That sop who…”

“Heard he still hasn’t … surely won’t manage it now…”

They stole sidelong glances at Tom. He couldn’t help himself, leaning slightly forward.

“The Green’s got more monsters than leaves,” he said. “You think the day’s bad, looking sidelong at every tree - wait ‘til the night. So many monsters howling in the dark you can’t tell one from the other.” Tom smiled at them as he leant back.

The boys stared at him with wide eyes and then broke into frantic whispers. Tom tuned them out. Hushed conversations were a familiar background noise to him now. At least now it wasn’t about his failings.

His mind wandered while he waited. He’d exaggerated to scare the boys, but what he’d said wasn’t too far from the truth. Reapings were a harrowing experience no matter what way you looked at them.

Reapings were held every three years, usually near the end of summer. Every youth in Wayrest was required by law to attend at least one once they turned fifteen. They were dangerous, but provided valuable perspective. There wasn’t a single citizen of Wayrest who didn’t treasure their high city walls after spending time in the wilds. And if some of them died, well, they lived in a world full of monsters. People died all the time. Tom came back from his first Reaping with a great respect for those living in the village-rings, outside of Wayrest’s ancient protections.

The village-rings kept everyone in Wayrest fed and clothed, but they sacrificed greatly for it. They had no enchanted walls to keep the monsters at bay. Each village in each ring had Guards, and soldiers from the army, but they were not always enough to stop an attack. They couldn’t be everywhere at once, and attacks in the fields were common, especially in the third and fourth rings.

The Reapings had a simple purpose: to cull as many monsters as possible. Without them, monster attacks would ramp up with such frequency that the village-rings would be eroded away within years.

Tom’s face was slowly drawing into a pale mask. The Reaping had been a looming threat for the last three years. Now it was here. He unclenched sweaty fists as a ripple ran through the crowd. Director Steppenson had exited the Office.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

He wasn’t an impressively built man, rather he was average in just about every way. Almost forgettable, if it wasn’t for his eyes. Like shards of ice, Tom could see their piercing blue all the way from where he stood. Director Steppenson had manifested Force in his youth, and had spent a decade serving in the Guard. His leg had been mangled by a chimera as he defended a fourth-ring village, but still he’d managed to kill the beast. After that, he abruptly pivoted into a position as Instructor at the Academy when it became clear his leg would never heal properly.

Since then he had moved steadily upward, and had now held the position of Director for over fifteen years. He was a man who operated through sheer force of will. Even Glass spoke of him with nothing but respect.

He strode up the steps to the podium, a slight hitch in his gait the only indicator of his injury. He stood a moment as his assistant fussed with the enchanted speaking-seal.

The crowd quietened. The students at the front, generally the younger ones, pushed forward slightly. Most would not be accompanying this Reaping, not being of age, but they still wanted to be as close to the excitement as they could all the same.

The Director’s assistant stopped, satisfied, and then muttered a few quiet words to Steppenson. He nodded calmly, then stepped up to the seal, a small metal disk mounted on the podium.

“Good afternoon, students,” he began, his voice clear and strong, amplified by the enchantment. “I hope you are all well. This morning the Council summoned me to the Chambers, along with the heads of every noble House and the principals of every School in Wayrest. It has been decided.”

The crowd was silent. Waiting for the words they knew were coming, straining for release like a breath held underwater.

“The Council of Wayrest has called a Reaping, and the students of the Academy will answer.”

The release came not in the form of shuffling or hushed conversations with neighbours. Not in the form of cheers or whistling. The students of the Academy stood tall, as one. Perfectly still. Every one of them knew the cost of a Reaping - had experienced it personally in one way or another. Maybe it was a brother or a sister, their favourite baker or cobbler, left and never returned. Maybe they had also been themselves. They all knew. Knew the cost and were willing to pay.

“For many of you this will be your first Reaping,” he continued. “All students fifteen and over who have not yet answered a call for a Reaping must attend. All other students have a choice.” His tone made it perfectly clear what he thought of those who chose not to go. Only a bare handful of students wouldn’t.

“In a week’s time you will muster at Sanctuary Square. Students will be placed in groups of twenty and assigned to a unit of soldiers. Each unit will also have five Guards attached. Provisions and transport to the outer rings will be provided. For the students of the Academy, weapons and armour will not.” The Director paused slightly.

Nothing about the crowd changed, but Tom swore he could almost hear the derisive thoughts. Most students here could probably outfit their whole unit with their personal armoury.

The Director continued again, “The Council have also called a Sowing. For this reason, the Reaping will be six weeks instead of the usual four.”

A Sowing was the establishment of an entire new village. A hundred or so willing candidates were picked. A specialist unit of Artisans cleared out the forest, constructed buildings, and made many other preparations. A unit of Guards in addition to the one that would be stationed at the new village were sent too, to ensure the work could happen uninterrupted.

The crowd began to shuffle about, beginning to murmur questions and concerns. A thunderclap sounded from above them, and the crowd flinched in unison.

One of Director Steppenson’s Force skills, Tom thought as he recovered from his momentary fright. The other students stood back to attention as they came to the same conclusion.

“The Academy does not shy from its work. We will range into the Deep, and we will reap those monsters who would kill the citizens of Wayrest. Everything we teach is for this. You have one week to prepare. Make the Academy proud. Make your Houses proud. Make Wayrest proud.”

“Afternoon classes are cancelled. All those who answer the call should not attend classes until muster. Please make your decision, if necessary, known within the hour.” And with that Director Steppenson stepped back from the podium, his assistant moving forward to speak into his ear.

Make your Houses proud… the words rang in Tom’s head. His gut was a boiling cauldron of emotions. It’s too soon. I can’t do this. I have no other choice. I won’t manifest. I need to.

The Instructors spread throughout the crowd had all moved to the edges, and Cullen passed just by Tom. He had a large clipboard that was struggling to pin down far more paper than it was designed for.

Most of the other students were chattering to each other in groups, or swarming about trying to find their friends. Tom had no such considerations, and was first to Cullen as a reward.

“Fucking thing…” Cullen was muttering at the clipboard as Tom approached, fiddling with a pencil.

“Instructor,” Tom said, standing at attention in front of him.

“Cutter,” said Cullen, his gruff voice making it sound almost like a cough. “Enough of that. You’ll be puckered up tight for a month and half, no need to get started too early.”

Tom relaxed a little, waiting as Cullen rifled through his paper. His beard wiggled back and forth as he searched. After a moment he found what he was looking for and gave a small grunt.

“Marked you for a yes. That about right?” he glanced at the slowly growing crowd of students gathering behind Tom.

“That’s right.”

“Alright then. Don’t get yourself killed now, eh?” The look in Cullen’s eyes said he knew just as well as Tom that, one way or another, this would likely be the last time they spoke.

“I won’t.” He paused, unsure of what to say. “Thank you, Instructor,” he said. It seemed too little, for the man who’d taught him so much over the years. But anything more would be too much.

Cullen waggled his beard at him a few times, then grunted again and waved him off, already swearing under his breath about paperwork. He was quickly swarmed by more students.

One week, Tom thought as he made his way out of the crowd and off the lawn. One week ‘til the Reaping. One last chance to prove I’m not a failure.

He was brought up short as he reached the gates by a stormcloud drifting into his path.

“Rosa,” he began. “How ar-”

“Fuck up, Tom. Small talk? They’ve just announced a Sowing! Goddess, but you’ve got nothing in that head,” she fired at him, flicking him in the forehead. Her silky hair fell forward as she did, shining in the sun like sheets of liquid black glass. She cocked an expectant eyebrow at him.

“Um, well -” and she cut him off again.

“You’re going on the Reaping, yes?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Good. Good man.”

She tapped her finger thoughtfully against her lips, considering him briefly. “Don’t die now, okay? I like teasing you too much, I think.” She flashed forward and swept him into a brief hug. Was gone again before Tom could recover from his shock and put his arms around her.

“Rosa, wha-”

“Fuck off, Tom!” she called cheerily over her shoulder, striding off to the black carriage that had just arrived for her. “And don’t fucking die, yes?”

And with that she was gone, leaving Tom feeling happy, mildly offended, and very confused. Which was, of course, how every interaction he had ever had with Rosa had gone.

Fuck I hope she’s not in my unit, Tom thought. I’ll die for sure. Or I’ll manifest Befuddlement. I don’t even know which would be worse.