Chapter One

Falcon and I are sitting up in a tree, legs hanging down. We sit in silence, except for Books’ occasional hum as she doodles at the base of the tree, oblivious to the world as always.

“You nervous?” Falcon breaks the silence.

“Pssh. No way! I’m pretty much about to decide my fate tomorrow. Scared? Naw!” We laugh.

“What’re you choosing?” Falcon asks. It’s a ceremony- the Selection Ceremony- where on your 18th birthday, you get to choose which guild you want to be a member of. The decision isn’t permanent, as on your 21st birthday you get to choose whether to stay with your new guild or go back to your old one, though it’s considered shameful to go back, because it's as if you weren’t responsible enough to make the right decision for yourself the first time around.

“Defender’s Guild.” It feels both uncomfortable and relieving to finally say it out loud. There are six guilds.

The Defender’s Guild defends the people and serves as emergency responders, police, firefighters, and military. They also do a lot of sports, entertaining the population. They’re athletes and don’t like to sit still a lot.

The Artist’s Guild is made up of artists of all kinds. Sculptors, drawing artists, painters, actors, musicians, vocalists, dancers, and many others call the Artist’s Guild family. They are mostly quiet and withdrawn, like Books, though there are a few extroverts, like Falcon and me.

The smart group is the Knowledgeable’s Guild, who value intelligence, almost reverently. To them, if you don’t know something, you’re as good as dirt. Facts are their religion. They also love to argue those facts, all the time.

The Truthteller’s Guild is both peaceful and truthful. They are committed to finding the perfect balance between peace and truth. They don’t like fighting or arguing at all, the truth is black and white, and being peaceful is good. Lying can cause problems and is only to be used as a last resort to keep the peace. People who are selfless fit into the Assistor's Guild, who are devoted to helping people and doing acts of community service. Those in the Builder’s Guild are creators, people who build and make things like buildings, furniture, and clothes. Falcon, Books, and I are all a part of the Artist’s Guild right now.

“Hey! Same,” Falcon exclaims. I look at her, surprised. She seems perfectly happy in the Artist’s Guild, amid all her band activities, comics, and stories. I guess she does seem athletic. I look down at Books.

“Does she know?” I ask. Books is a year younger and thus won’t get to choose until next year. It doesn’t matter anyway, everyone knows that she’ll stay in the Artist’s Guild. Falcon shakes her head. “You’re the first I’ve told,” I admit to her and she nods her head in agreement.  My wristclock beeps, my careparents signaling dinnertime.

“Gotta go,” I say with a smile. “See ya at the Selection Ceremony.”

“See ya.”

---

I wake up early, before my alarm goes off, and get dressed in a hurry, putting on my favorite outfit, my strappy tank top, and dark skinny jeans. I survey my outfit in the mirror. There are black and blue paint splatters on the red tank top, but what would anyone expect from an Artist? I grab my flats and light long-sleeved sweater that falls to my knees and walk out, then come back in for my sketchpad. Just in case I get bored. My last name is Rove, which means that I will be towards the end since they go alphabetically. I slip on my favorite necklace, my favorite earrings, and my wristclock, which is silver and black. My ever-present favorite bracelets are already on my right wrist, and I have to slide them up to fit my wristclock on. I can’t stand having anything around my left wrist, and we’re required to wear our wristclocks everywhere outside of our homes.

I run downstairs, lured by the smell of bacon and pancakes. My caredad is a cook and is always strangely arranging our meals, and we have a competition where he tries to arrange the food so that it falls down and makes a mess when we try to eat it, and we try to eat the food without making a mess. I think that it started when we were really young and always are super messy, so he made a game to keep us clean. My twin, Dancer, is in the dining room next to the kitchen, dancing like some sort of a high dubstep robot while beatboxing. Another of my brothers, Rap, is, like his name suggests, rapping along with Dancer’s beatboxing. Rap’s twin, Catch, was the only one of us four to be sorted into the Defender’s Guild, like our parents. Lilly’s cat, Trouble, takes advantage of a precarious dance move and rubs against Dancer’s leg, knocking him over. Rap bursts out laughing, as Dancer tries to regain some of his dignity by turning his fall into another dance move. I shake my head. Boys.

“Dinner’s ready!” Whisk sings as he places the plates on the table. Pipes, who we all called Piper, came downstairs, her hair in an elaborate updo and the rest of her in a complicated red and violet dress woven out of strips.

“Beautiful!” Whisk proclaims, wrapping a mostly clean arm around his wife and kissing her.

“Eew!” Lily yells, covering her eyes. “Kissing is gross!” Lily is Whisk and Piper’s birthchild, eight years old. Their other birthchild, Andrew, stands in the hall, sucking his thumb and holding his blanket, sleepclothes still on and hair tussled.

“I’m hungwy,” he says quietly.

“The let’s eat!” Whisk exclaims, spinning his wife around and then setting the rest of the food on the large table. The house does get a bit loud, sometimes, with seven people, but I’m fine with loud. I’m in band, after all. We sit down and I take a look at the stack in front of me. Between each pancake is the edge of a piece of bacon, the top edge of the bacon is wedged in between two different pancakes in another spot. If I take any piece of bacon, at least one pancake will fall, which will cause a chain reaction in which the rest of my food would fall. The same is true if I take a pancake. I scratch my head. No one else has taken any food yet, and I quickly pull all the bacon off in one move, like how a magician pulls a tablecloth off of a table, and the pancakes all land on top of each other, like the dishes and cutlery would. Dancer and Rap copy me, pretending to have thought of the idea themselves. We eat quickly, not wanting to be late, and we all pile into the hover with only ten minutes till the ceremony starts. Rap has to hold his turtle, Jeff, Lily has to hold Trouble, and Whisk and Piper have to hold their pets, as there isn’t enough room for all seven people plus the animals to have our own seats. Sable, my dragon, rides on the roof. We live eight minutes away from the ceremonial theater by hover, five by dragon ride. I wish I could ride Sable, to get there earlier, but this is probably the last hover ride that I’ll have with this family, so I want to savor it.

I finger my birthstone around my neck and the dragon symbol engraved there. When you turn five and get your name and your sorted guild (both based on your interests at the time), you also get the symbol of your name engraved on the front of the stone. Everyone wears their stone, sort of an identification token, in case something happens to our wristclocks. My stone is a white diamond, which sparkles in the mid-morning light. The black dragon engraving sets off the bright white perfectly. When you turn twenty-one and decide on a guild for good, that guild’s symbol is engraved on the upper half of the back of your stone. If you get married, then your spouse’s symbol is engraved on the bottom half. The hover jerks to a stop and the Pisk-Rove family all tries to fit through the door at the same time.

“Alright, who's going first?” Whisk sighs.

“Me! Me! Me!” Rap says, then breaks into a rap about how he should go first.

“I should be first! I’m selecting my guild today!” I say.

“I am, too!” Dancer argues. “And I’m the better twin, so I should go first!”

“Yeah, but I’m older, so I should go first.”

“Only by five minutes!!” he argues back. Piper steps back, letting us all fall on our faces, then walks through, a smirk on her face.

I hurry backstage and to the waiting area. I arrive just in time and find my place in the alphabetized line. We are led to the stage, seats set up in several risers on one side of the stage. On the other side, there’s the six bowls, each tinted a different color. The Defender’s Guild’s water is tinted black, the Artist’s water a sort of oily rainbow, ever-changing, the Knowledgeable’s Guild’s water is a sort of greenish-blueish with chemicals that are supposed to improve the look of the stone. The Truthteller Guild's water is as clear as possible, and it looks almost as if there’s nothing in it. The Assistor's is just river water, nothing fancy. Builder’s has some sort of chemical that’s supposed to make the stone not scratch or get ruined in any way but takes off some of the shine. I sit in my seat, which is hard and uncomfortable. Falcon’s last name is Bistor, which means that she’s close to the beginning.

We are at the center of the Ceremonial Theater, which is a giant stadium, except for there’s no field, just a twenty-foot wide circular platform in the middle. I can pick out the different groups, with the Assistant's (dressed in muted colors), Builder’s (some still wearing their safety gear, the others wearing practical clothing), and Truthteller’s (dressed in white and black) guilds sitting in the bottom sectors, and the Defender’s (a swath of black with highlights of silver and gold), the Artist’s (the most colorful group), and the Knowledgeable’s (dressed in mostly formalwear), in the upper sectors.

I find my carefamily in the Artist’s Guild section and give a little wave. I try to focus my attention on the bowls, as the speaker starts talking. I’m so nervous that I can’t even hear his voice. What if I pick wrong? What if I get an injury and can’t serve or compete in the Defender’s Guild? What if I miss the bowls? What if I throw it in the wrong bowl by accident? Good thing I’m not going to be a quarterback. What if... Oh, God forbid, I can’t pick? I was confident last night, talking to Falcon, but now... I’m not so sure. Am I really ready to leave drawing and writing behind? Am I ready to leave the band? But then again, am I ready to do something physical besides marching band for once? Yes. Am I ready to be a soldier and serve my community, keeping both of my families and guilds safe? Yes.

“Sabre Quebra,” I’m startled out of my thoughts as the boy two seats down stands up at the sound of his name. I didn’t realize that the ceremony had started... Falcon must’ve already gone...

“Knowledgeable’s Guild. Birthparents: Quail and Zebra. Careparents: Quail and Zebra. Sabre, make your choice,” as he makes his way down to the bowls, I think about how odd it is that he’s raised by his birthparents. Maybe it’s just weird to me because I wasn’t raised by my birthparents. I guess that my little brother, Catch was,  but I’ve never thought of it that way. My parents had four kids, and only one of them stayed. I start to feel sad until I hear my name and am immediately taken over by feelings of dread and anxiety. I walk down to the floor, nearly tripping over my own feet as I do. The world slows, and my heart is beating unnaturally loud, so loud that I’m sure that my carefamily in the upper level can hear it. I am acutely aware that all eyes are on me, and I start to worry if my hair is messed up or my pants are sagging. My mouth goes dry and I forget everything that was in my head. I catch Dancer’s eye as he waits in his seat, and he waves a little, encouraging me. I wet my lips and take my necklace off, bright sparkling diamond glinting on the sunlight shining through the windows. I throw it towards the Defender’s Guild bowl, and I’m relieved when it goes in. I walk off of the stage and am directed to the waiting room where all of the new Defenders are waiting. Waiting inside the room is Sabre, the boy a few people up from me, along with quite a few other people.

I turn around and see Dancer going up to pick. Although we have the same last name, I went first, because I’m older. He throws his birthstone, confidently, into the Artist’s Guild. Of course, he’s going to stay in the Artist’s Guild, why wouldn’t he? There’s nothing else that any of the other guilds can offer him. We didn’t discuss what we would pick, I was too busy worrying about trying to decide, and he probably assumed that I would stay. I was happy in the Artist’s Guild, and he knew that. But he didn’t know about the thirst, the craving, to be more physical, to go out and actually do something. Falcon’s already gone, her last name being called pretty early, but I don’t see her. Maybe she’s in the bathroom. I sit down and a pretty girl with black hair, orange eyes, and pale skin flops into the chair beside me with a sigh.

“You would not believe how comfortable this is,” she says.

“What?” I ask, surprised that anyone is talking to me.

“This chair is sooo comfortable. I guess some people actually believe in comfort.”

“Who doesn’t? In my guild, everything is comfortable,” I say, then add: “In my old guild, at least.”

“Not in my old guild. I was a part of the Truthteller’s and believe me you, if you don’t truly need a comfortable chair, like if you’re old or disabled, then you don’t need it, and apparently using one is lying, saying that you need it.”

I snort.

“That’s ridiculous! If you want to be comfortable, why not?” I start laughing as soon as I realize that I’m quoting the Artist’s Guild slogan, Try it, why not?. The tiger girl shakes her head.

“We’re going to have to break you of that habit,” she jokes, and I start laughing, and she joins me.

“What’s your name?” I ask. “I didn’t catch during the choosing.”

“Victory Krose. But call me Tori.”

“Nice to meet you, Tori. I’m Dragon Rove.”

Falcon walks up to us, looking a little empty-handed without her constant companion, her harpy eagle, Mão.

“Hey, Dragon,” she says, and we do our handshake.

“So, you two know each other?” Tori asks. We nod.

“This is Falcon Bistor,” I explain. “Falcon, this is Victory Krose, Tori for short.”

They nod.

“What happened to the hawk robber?” Falcon asks.

“What?” Tori asks.

“He got caught red-tailed!” Falcon laughs, sounding a little like a bird kekking, and we all laugh.

“What’s so funny?” the guy I saw earlier, Sabre, asks, walking up. My breath almost catches at the sight of him up close.

He is hot!

His jet-black hair falls partially over his face, the longest I’ve seen someone from the Knowledgeable’s Guild have. I can’t believe that his parents didn’t make him cut it. Chocolatey brown eyes stare right into mine, contrasting well with his olive skin. He wears a dark brown shirt, the long-sleeved button-up kind that Knowledgeable’s prefer, with black slacks and black shiny shoes.

“Your fly’s down,” Tori says, almost immediately.

“I don’t have a fly, these pants have a stretchy waistband. Much more comfortable and less embarrassing,” he replies calm and collected. Dang, I think, he’s smooth. It’s as if he’s not at all nervous, which he probably isn’t.

“I’m Dragon Rove,” I say, and he sends a killer smile my way that nearly blinds me.

“Sabre Quebra.”

“This is Falcon Bistor and Tori Krose.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Alright Rookies, listen up. You are now Initiates in the Defender’s Guild, and acceptance into the guild is not guaranteed,” a man dressed in all black steps into the room and announces, a club hanging at his hip.

My heart drops. What?

“If you are not good enough, if you are disqualified, if you suck, you’ll go back to your original guild. However, it’s rare to choose the Defender’s Guild and not make it. Probably only about nine or ten out of twenty new recruits. Good luck!” He walks back out through the door that he came through, and a woman, this time, comes out.

“Who’s ready to start training?” she asks, and a round of loud cheers goes up. “Then follow me!”

Reviews

[Peregrinator7]

"though there are a few extroverts, like Falcon and me"
me? extrovert? waaaaaat?

[Locke Redwyne (night sys)]

You're more of an extrovert than a lot of artist nerds i know
y'know, like how you are in band?

[Jay_Bluefire]

Woooooop! I almost forgot this one =D Isn't Books' chapter next?

[Locke Redwyne (night sys)]

yeah it is :)