《The Adversary》


 A New Chapter

    The mists welcomed him, but the light startled him.


    He wasn¡¯t prepared to die. He¡¯d left behind too much. He had plans. Some of them seemed mundane since he was dead. Why was living in that neighborhood so important? Crime was practically nonexistent in the Union, but had he made the wrong decision? He had a wife and a son; dying meant leaving them.


    The darkness had settled over his eyes like wet fog. He¡¯d felt warm until he saw the light. The light created definition, and the mist in his eyes transformed from a fog to a tunnel. He was suspended, unmoving, but moved. Why did he have a body? The mists drew in close, and the tunnel grew narrower, the light grew brighter, and the haze thinned until his feet touched the ground. The thick grass under his feet was flattened¡ªwell-trodden but still green.


    ¡°Fintan!¡± the voice called. It was familiar. Was that his grandfather? There was a heaven after all. Every step felt like walking on air, and his favorite shoes sunk into the green grass as if underneath that layer was something spongy and then firm.


    There were many other people, but he didn¡¯t recognize them. They surrounded him like they were looking for something. They called out names he didn¡¯t know; most were in Western, but a few were in Eastern.


    ¡°Fintan!¡± the familiar voice called again.


    Fintan didn¡¯t want to be in heaven, and he absolutely didn¡¯t want to be surrounded by a bunch of strangers. He wanted to be with his grandfather.


    His grandfather would have the answers.


    He Stepped. His wife said he had fast feet. She couldn¡¯t keep up when they went for a run. It was almost as if his legs moved independently of his body. He used it to his advantage. He would show up in unexpected places. It almost gave him sort of a sixth sense watching other people try to find him as he disappeared. It was like knowing where they were without seeing them.


    His grandfather appeared in front of him, more youthful than he recalled, as if the old man was aging in reverse. He couldn¡¯t be much older than Fintan¡¯s father.


    When Fintan appeared in front of him, the old man almost fell over in surprise, but the hands of the masses kept him from falling.


    ¡°You¡¯ve leveled up already, boy?¡± the old man asked. ¡°Sheesh.¡±


    His grandfather knocked on his head with his knuckles and listened as if he could hear an echo.


    Fintan wasn¡¯t sure how the old man could hear anything at all, as the calls were so loud.


    ¡°How many skills do you think you have in there?¡± his grandfather asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Fintan said honestly. He wasn¡¯t sure what a skill was except in the generic sense, and his grandfather seemed to be talking about something else entirely.


    ¡°What are you saying, boy?¡± his grandfather asked loudly. The old man looked younger but was still hard of hearing. ¡°We can¡¯t stay here. Only the stupidest ideas stay close to the portal. Come this way.¡±Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Fintan nodded. He found his grandfather, and he trusted him. His grandfather wore the same clothes he wore in life. He was a doctor, and he had a white lab coat over his dress slacks and a high-collared shirt. Unlike Fintan¡¯s running shoes, his grandfather wore dress shoes. They had flat bottoms made from faux wood and should have been slippery in the wet grass, but his grandfather pushed politely past the others on the field as if he was made of stone and they were air balloons in human shape.


    It was terribly crowded, but after an intense half-hour of walking, Fintan could see trees in the distance, and much of the mist had evaporated. The ambient light brightened the day, but Fintan couldn¡¯t find the sun. He didn¡¯t see any clouds, just a perfectly white sky.


    ¡°I am dead,¡± Fintan said. His last memories were not happy ones. Some unsavory people had shown unusual interest in his wife and son. He¡¯d been warned to run away by a crazy old man, but instead, he stayed and fought.


    And lost.


    People didn¡¯t get into physical fights in the Union. He¡¯d misjudged the confrontation badly. He thought contacting peace enforcement was enough.


    ¡°As near as I can tell, boy,¡± his grandfather admitted, ¡°but death isn¡¯t the end. At least not the final end.¡± His grandfather swung a hand low into the fading mist and brought out a malt strawberry shake complete with a cherry and straw. Fintan gawked, and his grandfather sucked on the straw with obvious pleasure before asking, ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to get one?¡±


    Uncertain, Fintan reached into the mist. His grandfather¡¯s challenge was also an invitation to a memory, and he recalled the malt shakes they ¡®d made themselves. Fintan¡¯s favorite was chocolate. The powdered chocolate was expensive, and he remembered the flavor as if it was embedded into his being.


    From out of the mists, his hand returned with a shake in a molded glass cup, complete with a straw and a cherry, just as he remembered.


    He put his lips to the straw and tasted the chocolate and the grainy flavor. It was a perfect recreation.


    ¡°I can create things with my mind,¡± Fintan said. ¡°Another skill.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a skill, boy; everyone can do it. The mists are thick here. Manifesting is easy. Inside the towns, even the villages, manifesting is hard. Some say it''s even worse in the dry lands. I¡¯ve never been there, but they say you have to carry water. If you stay too long, you will throw yourself into the ocean.¡±


    ¡°How can a land be so dry near the ocean?¡± Fintan asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s the afterlife, boy,¡± his grandfather said. ¡°This one doesn¡¯t come with a manual. There are rules, but all the water has to go somewhere.¡±


    His grandfather turned and waved him along beside him. As they approached the tree line, he found a path wide enough for them to walk together. The path wasn¡¯t straight. It wound around obstacles and generally went higher. Although not mountainous, they definitely gained altitude. The size of the trees increased from short, branching water oaks that looked like they were topped into a topiary to wider mangroves that grew out of the ground with sprouting roots spreading into bushy splendor. Everything seemed healthy, much healthier than the plants he remembered from life.


    They walked upward, but Fintan felt like he was walking downhill, and his grandfather¡¯s long strides ate the turf.


    ¡°Everything is so easy here,¡± Fintan said. ¡°But this is it. There is no way out.¡±


    ¡°Easy?¡± his grandfather said. ¡°No, it''s not easy. I¡¯m not even sure if there is no way out or if this is just a trap. Only the gods would know, and they left before I got here.¡±


    ¡°There is a God?¡± Fintan said, awed. He should have guessed from the afterlife.


    ¡°Gods. Plural. Only one is left, though. The Adversary. If there is a way out, he knows it. As to how easy it is, it''s always easy to walk toward water. Try turning around.¡±


    His grandfather stopped, waiting for Fintan to conduct his experiment. Something you had to learn by trying yourself, especially when it worked in reverse to common sense.


    Fintan took a step backward down the well-trod path. His leg went down the slope, and he expected the momentum to push him along. The wind was at his back, but he slogged and stumbled, pulling himself forward as if his effort went into a climb.


    ¡°Why is it this way?¡±


    ¡°All things go to the ocean, eventually. Sometimes, it takes longer. Some people last longer. We came here from the mists, and we return to the water when our will to fight runs out. Eventually, we are all consumed."

 BANDITS

    His grandfather didn¡¯t need to explain more about the road. It was an experience that kept giving with every footfall. At one point, Fintan¡¯s grandfather appeared lost when two trails ran parallel to each other, and they had to backtrack to the intersection.


    At first, each step away from the water was like walking through heavy mud, but eventually, Fintan got used to the feeling. He compensated automatically even if he was always aware of the pull.


    His grandfather was huffing by the time they found the intersection. Fintan wanted to reach out and help him. Sweat covered his brow and dripped off of his face, but it disappeared the moment it fell away, and Fintan didn¡¯t believe his grandfather was manifesting the condensation on purpose.


    Physically, his grandfather seemed healthier than ever, but he strained under the burden of walking backward just a little ways.


    They found the path and twisted and turned through the forest until Fintan lost his sense of direction. It was difficult to track the time without the sun, but near what should have been midday, they pushed through large leaves to a manmade opening.


    The small log cabin was picturesque. Not even the free people from home could create something so perfect. The overhanging roof, two windows sculpted on each side of the door with literal carvings in the frames, and matching rocking chairs was the ideal retirement.


    His grandparents had never seen that retirement. Violence wasn¡¯t typical in the Union, but neither was especially long life when you dealt with all the pollution. In his grandparent''s time, bubble technology that kept in the fresh air wasn¡¯t as good.


    This was his grandfather¡¯s chance to live in the natural splendor he worked for all his life.


    Someone else had the same idea. The front door was open, and two bandits emerged. They carried possessions in both arms. A little ways past the house, Fintan saw the river. A small wood boat was anchored to the side near the house¡ªan easy getaway.


    When the bandits saw his grandfather, they dropped most of the possessions. They started to run, but instead of running toward the water, they slogged toward the opening in the trees as if fighting the current.


    Fintan grabbed his grandfather¡¯s arm. He was going to pull him to safety, but his grandfather shook away his hand angrily. From within his doctor¡¯s lab coat, he pulled out a sword.


    The long, thin blade was a dichotomy in hands meant to heal. He¡¯d seen pictures of his grandfather with a scalpel. The old man waved the sword with the same precision.


    The bandits didn¡¯t have armor as Fintan considered armor. Ropes around their neck and waist held crude wooden slates over their midsections. They both tried to run around his grandfather, but the old man pinned one against the water.


    When the bandit dodged left and right, the point of the sword followed him, jabbing inward.


    ¡°I call this sword Burst,¡± his grandfather said to the bandit. ¡°Whatever organ it strikes explodes.¡±


    The sweating bandit struggled to run metaphorically uphill, but upon his grandfather¡¯s announcement, he blanched and ran toward the boat.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    When he turned his back, the old man lunged. The point slid into the bandit¡¯s back where his right kidney should be.


    ¡°Kidney Rupture!¡± his grandfather yelled.


    The bandit yelped and fell. He rolled on the ground toward the boat. His pants were wet with urine and blood. Whatever the old man had done had more than ruptured the bandit¡¯s kidneys. Something inside him must have exploded.


    As the bandit rolled, Fintan caught up with him. He slid on the ground to grab the bandit around the neck and pulled him upward. He could secure the bandit, tie him up, and then call a peace officer.


    He dragged the bandit to his feet, expecting blood from his grandfather¡¯s strike, but he found none. The bandit struggled hard, but the blood he¡¯d seen earlier on the bandit¡¯s pants was gone.


    ¡°Hold him steady,¡± his grandfather said. He lunged forward again in a well-practiced set, striking every organ on the bandit''s chest and finally ending with the ¡°Heart Attack!¡± where he skewered the bandit¡¯s heart.


    The bandit seized and fell out of Fintan¡¯s arms.


    ¡°Let that be a lesson to you,¡± the old man told the bandit. ¡°Return here, and I will rupture every organ until the pain sends you into the river.¡±


    The bandit was not so quick to recover, and they waited wordlessly while the sour-faced burglar stumbled to his feet and ran into the forest.


    A picture of Fintan¡¯s grandmother lay on the ground. It must have fallen out of the bandit''s hands. Fintan picked up the picture, wondering why anyone would want to steal such a personal possession. They didn¡¯t have many pictures in the Union. It was easier to look at a digital representation. This picture was made of ink and had his grandmother precisely as he remembered her.


    His grandfather took the picture from his hands. He¡¯d sheathed his sword inside his lab coat. Now that Fintan knew it was there, he was surprised he hadn¡¯t noticed before, perhaps because he couldn¡¯t imagine his grandfather with a weapon.


    He couldn¡¯t keep the shock and inquiry from his face.


    ¡°The frame is metal,¡± his grandfather said. ¡°Metal is expensive. It¡¯s hard to manifest.¡±


    He took the picture and went to the front of the house. He moved a rock and pulled out a small cloth bag tied with a string. He opened the pouch and counted gilders into his hand. Fintan was surprised to see the Union currency. His grandfather handed him one, and he realized it was the same size and shape as a Union gilder, but the markings were different. He focused his attention on the coin and willed a new one into existence. His forehead grew a little warmer, but it appeared in a second. His coin was a perfect match.


    ¡°That did take effort,¡± Fintan said. He wiped the sweat from his brow. Maybe he should have manifested a breeze.


    ¡°But you did it,¡± his grandfather said. ¡°Not everyone can, and why bother?¡± His grandfather stared at the gilders in his hand as if he wanted to toss them into the bushes. ¡°This money is almost meaningless.¡±


    ¡°Why have money at all if you can make anything you want?¡± Fintan asked.


    ¡°Even in my time, the Union had enough food for everyone. We had robot slaves. In the end, it doesn¡¯t matter because you can¡¯t make everything, and no matter how much you have, someone always wants more.¡±


    Now, Fintan was confused. This seemed like the utopia the Union always wanted.


    ¡°Everyone comes through the portal equal,¡± Fintan said. Left unsaid was the fact that you had to die for that equality because everyone died equally, no matter their possessions. ¡°Perfect equality should mean fair outcomes.¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t born equal, and you didn¡¯t die equal,¡± his grandfather said. ¡°The best we can hope for is equality before the law, and this place doesn¡¯t even have that. Some of the bigger towns have laws, but the countryside is lawless. When people gather together, they fight. Most of them fight to get to the Adversary. They say if you kill him, you can become a God.¡±


    His grandfather looked at the picture. The glass was cracked, but the crack mended itself. Manistesting meant more than entirely new objects. His grandfather could fix things without replacing them, and Fintan was sure he could do the same thing. A tear crept into the old man¡¯s eye as he studied the picture, and Fintan had to ask the obvious question that had bothered him since he found himself in the afterlife with the old man.


    ¡°Where is my grandmother?¡±

 GRANDMOTHER

    ¡°Let¡¯s see what the damage is,¡± Fintan¡¯s grandfather said. The old man had ignored his question. He walked around the carefully trimmed yard, recovering items dropped in the attempted burglary.


    This close to the water, the pull of the river was impossible to ignore, and Fintan wondered why his grandfather lived here. He wondered about his grandmother more. It was part and parcel of his family to ignore difficult conversations. He¡¯d always preferred facing them head-on. That was why he chose to live so far away. He picked a spot on the other side of Union City. He sent his wife and son away before he was killed. He hoped they were safe.


    His grandfather struggled to hold all his belongings and walk away from the river. Fintan grabbed what he could to help, and his grandfather motioned him to the front door.


    ¡°There are things I have to explain to you. Let¡¯s go inside.¡±


    He was serious. What could be more serious than death?


    Inside the log cabin, he found evidence of his grandmother all over the single-room abode. Pictures and vases, his grandmother liked flowers and pictures of flowers, sat empty until his grandfather walked by, then they filled with roses and lilies. A few herbs grew in a small indoor planter by the window over the kitchen counter. His grandfather took a plant waterer with a large handle and sprinkled a few drips on the soil.


    Nothing looked out of the ordinary except a white sheen covered several of the frames.


    ¡°The plants don¡¯t need to be watered,¡± his grandfather said. ¡°Everything gets life from the mist¡ªthe plants, animals, and people. Enough water, and there is energy. Too much water beckons something inside. When we get tired of fighting it, we join the water.¡±


    ¡°Grandmother sailed away,¡± Fintan said. He wanted to ask it as a question, but it was an answer. He felt the pull to the river. There was a small boat ready to go.


    ¡°She didn¡¯t sail. She just went in. We didn¡¯t have a boat.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± Fintan demanded.


    ¡°A boat is expensive,¡± his grandfather said. ¡°We planned on using one together, but I wasn¡¯t ready. I was waiting¡ªwaiting for someone I knew to appear. To pass along what I learned. I expected your father. Time travels differently in the afterlife. It¡¯s faster in the center and slower out here. But as you¡¯ve seen, it''s also not safe out here.¡±


    ¡°The boat is for you.¡±


    There was only one person the boat could be for. Fintan certainly wasn¡¯t going to take it. If there was any possibility of escape, he needed to know more. Even the weak rumor his grandfather offered him was worth investigating.


    The rules in the afterlife seemed complex and woefully different than the living world. He wasn¡¯t so foolish to step out unprepared and die again.


    He¡¯d learned that lesson recently, and in death, he wasn¡¯t going to repeat it. In life, he¡¯d used his luck until it ran out.


    Death changed me. He was going to be a planner. He would do whatever it takes to get back to his family.


    ¡°The bottom of the boat is lined with metal,¡± his grandfather said. ¡°Even a thin covering lasts much longer than wood. Concentrated water has a corrosive effect. It¡¯s not salt water. If you drink it, it will taste fresh. It won¡¯t kill you, but you won¡¯t gain anything. The water you manifest will evaporate quickly in the open air.¡±


    That was somewhat discouraging. If he could empower himself by drinking water, he could grind his way to strength with a cup. That would have been dangerous in the real world.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Fintan looked at the picture of his grandmother. The white sheen on the metal was a tarnish he couldn¡¯t rub off. He manifested the frame as polished and it was renewed. As with the coin, working with metal required some effort.


    ¡°The tarnish is the metal evaporating,¡± Fintan said. ¡°If we do nothing, everything returns to a natural forest.¡±


    ¡°Yes and no,¡± his grandfather said. ¡°Philosophers speculate the forest and animals were all once alive, and now they are here the same as we are. A tree can¡¯t travel through a portal, but perhaps for nonsentient life forms, they don¡¯t need to. Within the afterlife, you will find all the variations of plants and animals, the same as in life, but the shape of the world is different.¡±


    The question that came to Fintan¡¯s mind was ¡®Different how?¡¯ but he could tell his grandfather was tired. The old man sat heavily on a chair by the counter.


    Fintan manifested a glass of water and a whole stew, complete with utensils, but instead of metal, he made the forks and spoons out of polished wood. Ironically, hand-carved wood was just as expensive as metal in the Union.


    The old man ate, but around spoonfuls, he talked.


    ¡°Eating helps some, but it¡¯s no substitute for rest. You are never really hungry. In the worst case, you can manifest food, water, or even air directly into your mouth.¡±


    After his grandfather finished, he dragged himself onto one of the simple beds in the corner. Thoughtfully, there was a guest bed. The light outside had grown dim. Fintan found a candle and lit it. The wax burned unnaturally bright, lighting the entire interior.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let the candle go out,¡± his grandfather mumbled, but then he passed out on the bed, still fully clothed.


    Fintan took the lab coat off of his grandfather. Beside the bed, a peg was driven into the log walls. That begged the question of whether it was driven there with a chisel and hammer or manifested complete with all the markings of being driven.


    He let that go and transformed the old man¡¯s clothes into the familiar nightgown he¡¯d seen his grandfather wear before. He didn¡¯t feel cold, but he pulled the blanket over him with some effort.


    How many fights had his grandfather seen? Manifesting took some energy. Did making a blade that burst organs take more time? The most troubling realization was that his grandfather struggled just to walk away from the water. How much time did they have? His grandfather had died not that long ago, and yet the old man sounded as if he¡¯d been here for millennia.


    Those thoughts captured Fintan¡¯s attention until he realized the cabin was surrounded by darkness. There were eight windows. Each wall had a window of crystal clear glass. If his grandfather was trying to hide from the bandits using an incandescent candle wasn¡¯t the way. Everyone outside could see inside the small house. Fintan couldn''t see anything outside; the light made the windows look completely black, and he felt exposed.


    He opened the door and looked out into the forest. The night air was refreshing until he heard a crash in the distance. He thought a tree fell, but he looked for night shine on animal eyes. The big cats were sentient in the Union. If they died and were welcomed into the afterlife, he might be dealing with a giant vengeful lion hungry for human flesh.


    ¡°There¡¯s no reason to be concerned,¡± he said to himself. The emptiness was making him talk to himself. His grandfather didn¡¯t stir.


    He wasn¡¯t a hunter, but he knew about them. He would manifest a plasma rifle¡ªa fancy one with an advanced AI targeting system that could act as a turret and do all the work for him.


    Fintan focused on his manifesting. He knew that guns were mostly plastic. There was metal in the barrel, but he was prepared for the work. He sweated profusely while he put together the image in his mind. The mist seemed to be coming more from the water pouring out of his body than the thin wisps on the ground.


    He held his hands up in expectation, and the gun appeared as he dropped to one knee in exhaustion.


    ¡°It¡¯s heavier than I expected,¡± Fintan said. The feeling of weakness didn¡¯t leave his legs when he stood. Most of the barrel was simple steel. He guessed the denser the metal, the more effort it would take. Gildermarks contained gold, and that was a very dense metal.


    On the surface, it looked perfect, but when he pressed the ¡®on¡¯ button, it didn¡¯t do anything. The battery cartridge was firmly in place, but when he checked for a charge, it was dead.


    The stock was polished walnut. Since wood was easy to manifest, he put as much wood as he could on the gun. He found more wood when he opened the panel that was supposed to be the AI microprocessor. The gun was heavy, but the battery was lighter than it should be. He opened that, too, finding more wood in the place of the battery cells.


    He didn¡¯t really know how the battery or the advanced AI worked. He knew they were supposed to be there. Subconsciously, he must have replaced them with wood.


    I can¡¯t manifest what I don¡¯t know.


    The realization was particularly painful when the incandescent candle guttered, sending flashes of light in the house like an emergency SOS signal.

 DARKNESS

    Fintan manifested another candle, but unlike his grandfather¡¯s candle, his was an ordinary wax candle. It lit the room dimly. His grandfather¡¯s candle flashed one last emergency message that he correctly assumed meant it was finished.


    Then it guttered out with a pop, leaving a puddle in the saucer but no wick. Outside the house, the trees crashed into each other, and Fintan could see the darkness moving in the shadows. It was substantial, not smoke, with defined limbs.


    He shook his grandfather, but the old man didn¡¯t budge. He was still breathing, but nothing Fintan tried would wake him up. The light was important, but twenty of his candles wouldn¡¯t equate to one of his grandfather¡¯s.


    There was no choice. He would have to face the darkness alone. He couldn¡¯t manifest more fire inside the cabin without risking burning it down. He thought about manifesting a sword or a spear, but the metal was too difficult to manifest. He put together the image in his mind, but when the spear started to form, the metal resisted and drew strength out of him, as if he would disappear before the sharp edge appeared.


    He thought about changing the gun barrel to a spear point, but that didn¡¯t work either. Apparently, the same effort was put into changing the metal¡¯s shape. He couldn¡¯t make part of it disappear; he was working with some kind of magical second law of thermodynamics, and he hadn¡¯t studied physics well in school. He was always better with animals. He had an almost empathic ability with them as good as anyone with computationally augmented assistance.


    He had to make a choice.


    When at last you don¡¯t succeed, fail with honor.


    That got him into the afterlife. Maybe it would get him into the next life. If he failed at a Western version of resurrection, perhaps he would succeed as a reincarnation of a tadpole or a radish.


    He¡¯d died, barely fighting back. He wasn¡¯t ready for physical violence. This time, he would die fighting.


    He flung open the door, leaving the dim candle on the counter. His spear was nothing more than a staff, but he ran out of the cabin toward the woods.


    In the distance, a subtle glow reminiscent of the portals provided a backdrop for the outlines of the trees. A paw from the sky landed in front of him, flattening the vegetation, and the elongated shape of a large feline body shoved the treetops aside as if walking through a field where oaks were no more a nuisance than tall grass.


    The maw turned toward him, and Fintan manifested a giant torch in one hand.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    He was right. It was a lion. The look in its eye was vengeance. Lions hated people, and they were inordinately large, having been engineered for size and near human intelligence. This lion was grotesquely larger than any he¡¯d beheld on the net.


    Fintan bent his will to the fire, creating a towering conflagration in the palm of his hand. If he¡¯d done anything like this near the cabin, it surely would have burnt to the ground, but he was in the clearing.


    The lion¡¯s mane was golden in the yellow light, and it had a spiraled horn on its forehead. It was not like the lions he remembered. He was in the afterlife, and this was a spiritual creature.


    The lips pulled back into a snarl, and a clawed paw raised as if to rend him and his puny flames, but a transformation came over the face of the cat. Instead of vengeance, he saw interest. The gaping maw closed, and the large eyes contemplated him.


    Surprised, Fintan pulled back the flames he¡¯d been ready to hurl at the spirit.


    Then he waited.


    The lion didn¡¯t speak, but he didn¡¯t move along. Fintan considered easing away from the lion, but the house with his grandfather was only yards away. Where would he go? With a simple misstep, the lion could crush his grandfather.


    Lions were said to have near-human intelligence.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Fintan asked.


    ¡°You will serve me in death as you did in life,¡± the lion pronounced. The words came out in a low rumble but were clearly audible.


    Fintan frowned. He¡¯d never served the lions. He knew quite a bit about them, but he primarily worked in horticulture. Herbivores were particularly dangerous, and they required a varied diet. Since the chain of life was broken, he had to figure out the missing compounds and make sure they were present in the environment using spray compounds. Most of those were vitamins, and loosely, he thought of himself as a rabbit nutritionist.


    Arguing with the lion seemed like a bad idea, so he thought he should stick with questions.


    ¡°How?¡± he called to the face in the night sky.


    ¡°You are impatient and angry,¡± the lion said. ¡°Your desire is my conflict. Your passion feeds my purpose. I stand before the door, but you will not enter.¡±


    ¡°Is it the door to life?¡± Fintan asked. The lion was speaking in riddles, but this riddle was obvious. He¡¯d come through death¡¯s metaphorical door to get here. That door turned out to be a portal.


    The lion nodded. His massive head sent a gust downward as he spoke.


    ¡°You know this is true because the telling provides me no purpose, and the doing is your purpose.¡±


    Fintan considered how to respond to the words. The lion was human or at least capable of human emotion, and as with any conversation there was as much to read in those feelings as the logic in the language.


    The language seemed contradictory. He wasn¡¯t sure what the lion was saying, but he felt the hostility behind the words like an alien presence. Lions hated humans, and they hated fire. They did not feed off of them. Something about this spiritual lion saw him as food, and he shuddered at the thought.


    ¡°Go sleep, tiny man,¡± the lion said. ¡°This night, I grant you a reprieve. Serve me well, and I will fulfill your greatest desire.¡±


    The lion turned aside, his massive footfalls lost in the darkness. Strangely, there was no crashing of trees as the lion left.


    Fintan had no desire to chase the beast. With the threat gone, he barely had the strength to stand. Nervous energy drained out of him, and he dragged himself back into the cabin.


    He bared the door before falling on the guest bed beside his grandfather. Before closing his eyes, he wondered if he would dream.

 SKILLS

    The ambient light shined through the windows of the log cabin when Fintan woke. He hadn¡¯t dreamed, but he felt refreshed with a restored will. His grandfather was already awake.


    His grandfather moved from picture frame to picture frame. Every frame he touched became brighter as if a faint, nearly invisible white sheen disappeared. Fintan wouldn¡¯t have noticed the difference if he wasn¡¯t watching for the subtle change in hue. The white crust formed slowly, almost like rust or corrosion. It must take many days for the wood and metal to dissolve into the mist. Which begged the question, why?


    ¡°Do you do that every day?¡± Fintan asked.


    ¡°Not every day,¡± his grandfather said. He drew out the word ¡®every¡¯ as if Fintan was trying to avoid a chore. ¡°Left alone, they would last months, but if I put a little effort in most days, I don¡¯t have to recreate them from scratch. The metal would be an effort, but the pictures would be lost for good. These pictures are from your grandmother¡¯s memories.¡±


    The thought of memories made Fintan wonder why he didn¡¯t dream, but he also wondered how anyone could produce a pixel-perfect picture. His memory didn¡¯t seem any better than it was in life, but he did have an image he didn¡¯t want to forget in mind.


    He held up his hand and manifested the image of the lion as best he could remember. The picture formed with more detail than he could focus on as if a high-resolution camera had been right above him as he held that animal off with towering flames.


    ¡°You went out into the night,¡± his grandfather said gravely. He saw the picture in Fintan¡¯s hand. ¡°Did it hurt you?¡±


    ¡°No. It had a lot to say.¡± Fintan quickly relayed as much of the conversation as he could to his grandfather. The old man¡¯s eyebrows sank lower as Fintan recalled the conversation.


    ¡°Bad ideas can take shape in the night, but they stay away from the light,¡± his grandfather said. ¡°I prefer to keep them far outside the house, but even an ordinary candle will stop most of them.¡±


    Fintan had manifested towering flames that lit the entire surroundings. The lion had gone from angry to cold.


    ¡°Ideas like that can¡¯t talk much. It requires focus to make a seeming and even more to have it move and talk.¡±


    ¡°Like a robot?¡± Fintan asked.


    ¡°Even more limited. If enough people believe in a bad idea, it can gain power but not intelligence,¡± the old man sighed. ¡°I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ve caught the eye of the Adversary. If he¡¯s measured you, he probably won¡¯t let you go.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve only been here one day, and I¡¯ve made an enemy,¡± Fintan said morosely.


    ¡°He¡¯s not an enemy. He¡¯s a god, but not the kind of god you want looking over your shoulder. Fortunately for us, he¡¯s not very powerful. With very little effort, you can ignore him.¡±


    ¡°And if he smashes me out of existence?¡± Fintan asked, but his grandfather was already shaking his head.


    ¡°He can¡¯t do that, but it''s time to get you trained. At least with the basics.¡±


    Abruptly, the old man was padded in heavy clothing and wooden armor. His armor was nothing like the armor the bandits wore. Their wooden slats were tied about their bodies with cheap hemp rope knots that fitted into slots. His grandfather¡¯s wooden armor was polished, and each slat was tucked into a fitted slot. His sword, once hanging inside his lab coat, went to a wide leather belt around his waist. He held a buckler in his other hand.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Fintan tried to reproduce the outfit. His clothes changed into a single fabric, knitting his arms together as if he¡¯d crawled into a giant sock, and the wood slats fell to the floor in front of him.


    ¡°I said the basics, boy,¡± his grandfather said. ¡°Just stay in your normal clothes.¡±


    Hastily, Fintan changed back. The wood poofed into mist, and his grandfather once again looked thoughtful.


    ¡°We better do this outside, or you¡¯re going to break something important.¡±


    Outside the log cabin, his grandfather huffed a steady walk until they were further away from the water. Yesterday, Fintan had noticed the pull of the water, especially when he got close. Today, that pull seemed normal.


    His grandfather turned and unsheathed his sword.


    ¡°Should I manifest a sword?¡± Fintan asked.


    His grandfather considered.


    ¡°I think we should just rip the bandage off,¡± his grandfather said. Then the old man lunged forward faster than Fintan thought possible and ran him through.


    Fintan staggered backward, attempting to avoid the blade, but it was already buried in his chest, and his effort ripped the handle away from his grandfather¡¯s hands.


    ¡°Hold still!¡± His grandfather was reaching for the handle, but Fintan staggered around in circles. He felt fluid filling his lungs, and he coughed up blood. He fell to his knees, gasping. The searing pain burned all the way through him. He fell over onto his back, and the blade bit into the ground, keeping him upright, impaled into the dirt.


    His grandfather grabbed the hilt and quickly drew out the sword. Fintan collapsed on the ground like a marionette without strings. He labored at breathing, coughing up thick blood. His grandfather took a seat beside him in the grass.


    ¡°This is going to be harder than I thought,¡± the old man said. ¡°You have quite the imagination. That¡¯s what happens when you don¡¯t study the hard sciences.¡±


    His grandfather always wanted him to spend more time in math and science. The old man thought of animal husbandry as one step above manual labor.


    Fintan choked on bile and blood. He¡¯d been betrayed. He lost all control of his bodily fluids and then stopped fighting for air. He closed his eyes, waiting for death.


    But he didn¡¯t die. Then he waited some more.


    ¡°Are you finished yet?¡± his grandfather asked.


    ¡°I can¡¯t breathe.¡± Fintan choked out more blood and slick bile. He must have spit up at least a few gallons, but his body didn¡¯t seem to have a reserve.


    ¡°Try manifesting air in your lungs,¡± his grandfather said, ¡°but truthfully, you don¡¯t have lungs.¡±


    After one last gurgle, Fintan put forth the effort and breathed deeply. The deep breath banished the pain. He searched his chest, but there was no wound.


    ¡°How?¡± Fintan asked.


    ¡°You¡¯re dead already,¡± his grandfather said. ¡°You don¡¯t have a body. When you stopped worrying about it, your wounds disappeared because you manifested all of them yourself. Belief is a powerful thing in the living world, but it¡¯s life in the afterlife.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re invincible,¡± The logic didn¡¯t add up. His grandfather named his sword Burst. When he attacked the bandits, he exploded their organs. Fintan had seen the results himself. ¡°But your sword...¡±


    Fintan trailed off, trying to reconcile the damage he¡¯d seen that disappeared so quickly.


    ¡°It¡¯s a Skill I have,¡± his grandfather said. ¡°Not one of my choosing, but the Skills we have in the afterlife relate to the skills we learned in life. The last one is lowercase. When I was a doctor, I tried to ease pain. Often, I had to perform surgery, and that gave me an intimate understanding of the body''s internal organs. I¡¯m not sure if we have organs in the afterlife or if we just think we do, but the results are the same. When I stab them with my sword, I can cause them to know the pain even if they haven¡¯t experienced that kind of pain before.¡±


    ¡°The sword doesn¡¯t do it?¡±


    ¡°It has nothing to do with the sword. I could use a fork, but the sword has earned a reputation, and if I call out the attack, it¡¯s stronger.¡±


    ¡°Because they believe it,¡± Fintan said. It made a perverse kind of sense. His grandfather was powerful and a little scary. ¡°You made me feel like I was having a heart attack.¡±


    ¡°No, that was entirely you. I stabbed you with the sword, but I didn¡¯t use my Skill on you. You¡¯re new here, and that makes you sensitive. When I use my Skill, it doesn¡¯t matter how long you¡¯ve been here. Skills are like that. The strongest ones are undeniable.¡±

 GETTING STRONGER

    ¡°Having a Skill doesn¡¯t make it strong,¡± his grandfather said. ¡°There are good doctors in the Union. Some are very good. Some just try their best. Skills are not usually as complicated as a whole profession, but they are more inexplicable than any profession.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s entirely contradictory,¡± Fintan said. His grandfather didn¡¯t like his job, and Fintan liked to argue logic with him if only to prove that doctors and scientists weren¡¯t the only ones who could reason out a solution. ¡°It¡¯s par for the course.¡± His grandfather liked an ancient sport, hitting sticks with stones. Seemed like a waste of time, but Fintan knew some of the lingo.


    ¡°When you came out of the portal, I didn¡¯t see you. You appeared in front of me.¡±


    ¡°I heard you and walked over there,¡± Fintan said. ¡°It¡¯s not like I popped out of thin air.¡± Was his grandfather saying he could teleport? That would be a useful Skill. He needed to find a way back to the living world. He¡¯d accept being a ghost if he had to, but regardless of the options, teleportation would go a long way toward getting him to his goal.


    He knew enough about science to know teleportation was impossible. Union scientists could send information over quantum entangled electrons, but actual mass was an entirely different matter. Then again, he didn¡¯t have mass.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t see you appear,¡± his grandfather said, ¡°but I¡¯m sure you weren¡¯t there before I called your name. Trying moving around.¡± His grandfather motioned with one hand. He expected Fintan to pop into existence somewhere else.


    Fintan shrugged. He walked around and willed himself to the other side of the grandfather.


    An image of himself briefly appeared on the other side of the old man, but looking at himself was such a shock that the duplicate faded as he stumbled backward.


    ¡°I was in two places,¡± Fintan said.


    His grandfather shook his head.


    ¡°No, that was just a seeming. Most people from the Union can make a seeming. I guess it¡¯s technically a Skill, but it''s common. There are a lot of common Skills. You can feed it enough mist to keep it there or do something that might help you, but most people will see right through it.¡±


    His grandfather spent the next half hour with him, trying to figure out a way for him to be somewhere else. He tried closing his eyes as if not observing Fintan would make a difference. He tried having both of them close their eyes. Then he tried various meditations, some of which he¡¯d learned in the afterlife. Nothing worked. Whatever Fintan had done was unconscious. His grandfather said that wasn¡¯t unusual either.


    ¡°People don¡¯t learn new Skills in the afterlife,¡± his grandfather said. ¡°I don¡¯t think they have the motivation. The Skills they do have they¡¯ve learned unconsciously, and they relearn them when they get here. I¡¯ve never heard of a Skill that in some way wasn¡¯t related to a life experience. We¡¯ll try something easier. There are common Skills most have like the seeming.¡±


    His grandfather pointed into the sky, and a grey balloon formed. It was a magnificent manifestation, easily the match for Fintan¡¯s conflagration in sheer size. If there were bandits around, they would see them for miles, but his grandfather explained that this place was fairly secluded and near water. Likely, they¡¯d followed him from his trips to the portal, and after that beating, it was unlikely they would return.


    The balloon formed directly over Fintan¡¯s head in the grass clearing in front of the log cabin. At first, it was cabin size, but then it grew and changed shape, gaining definition. The balloon looked like a boulder. It picked up mass rapidly as mist from the ground swirled lightly up into the shape.


    As Fintan watched, the soft lines became hard lines, and grains manifested in the stone. It was a floating, propelled in the air in some fashion by his grandfather¡¯s will.


    ¡°I want you to catch the boulder boy,¡± his grandfather said. ¡°Strength is a common Skill. Untested, you will remain normal, but after you catch the boulder, you will find yourself stronger in almost every circumstance you can imagine.¡±If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    This was worse than the sword. He looked for someplace to jump, but the shadow of the boulder covered the entire landscape.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need to be strong as long as I can find a way out of here.¡±


    Fintan said the words, but he didn¡¯t believe them. He died because he wasn¡¯t strong enough to protect his family. He looked for a way to evade the boulder, but in part, he wondered if he deserved it.


    Maybe I¡¯ve awakened in a bad place, and this isn¡¯t my grandfather? The thought was undeserved. He knew this was his grandfather in a way only he could know. He recognized his grandfather¡¯s eimai without the net telling him who he was.


    That recognition was on a personal level, and perhaps that was how he found his grandfather when he Stepped. He might be able to Step toward his grandfather and avoid the boulder. His grandfather¡¯s eimai was like a direction. He was either closer or farther.


    Would that make him stronger?


    Fintan held up his hands as if to catch the massive rock. His grandfather looked approving, but Fintan felt like there was room for a compromise.


    ¡°Showing me how you make it float might be more useful than carrying it around,¡± Fintan said.


    ¡°That¡¯s another level. We have to start at the beginning.¡±


    His grandfather scarcely said the words before the boulder dropped out of the sky.


    Fintan had manifested things, and they all had mass and weight. The boulder whistled in the air, but such was the distance, the whistle wasn¡¯t long before it hit his arms with the resounding crack of broken limbs.


    His legs crumpled under the weight, and the boulder smashed his chest into the soft ground. He sank through the dirt a half meter while the crushing weight pushed down on his chest. His legs were above him, and his face was pressed against the side of the boulder. He tasted rock dust and granite on one side of his face and earthworms on the other.


    If he hadn¡¯t been recently skewered, he would have thought he was dead, but he focused on manifesting air in his lungs and breathing out dirt while he gathered his thoughts.


    ¡°Are you under there, boy?¡± His grandfather asked the question as if he could be anywhere else.


    ¡°Yes!¡± Fintan called. He coughed loudly as he breathed in dirt, but the dirt didn¡¯t stay in his lungs.


    ¡°Oh, okay,¡± his grandfather sounded disappointed. ¡°I thought you might have traveled somewhere else.¡±


    ¡°Was I supposed to?¡± he said. He thought the whole purpose was to lift the boulder.


    ¡°I mean, if you could, that would have been good, but lifting the boulder is important too. It¡¯s a more mundane Skill, but mastering the basics is good.¡±


    ¡°How am I supposed to lift the boulder when my feet are over my head?¡± he asked the old man.


    ¡°You can¡¯t expect to land on your feet every time you fall.¡±


    The words sounded more distant, as if his grandfather was walking away.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    ¡°I need to take care of the boat.¡±


    His voice sounded easy and even more distant. Fintan understood one part of that. Walking toward the river was like walking downhill. It was easy, even peaceful¡ªand fast.


    He couldn¡¯t put away the thought that his grandfather struggled to walk away from the water. When the old man turned to the water, a surreal expression of peace came over him.


    While his grandfather was talking, the old man¡¯s eyes often darted to the river. There was no escaping, not even for a moment.


    The old man was going to check on the boat, and Fintan was trapped under the rock. He pushed against the stone, and it didn¡¯t budge. He could bend his effort toward turning the stone back into mist. He¡¯d done that before with other objects, but he felt like that wasn¡¯t what his grandfather wanted.


    He needed to be stronger. Certainly I¡¯m stronger than a boulder made out of mist? The thought was a question, but his belief hardened into fact. The longer he was pressed under the rock, the less real it felt. Perhaps he cheated a little and let the dirt around his face dissolve.


    It¡¯s not real. At least it was less real than he was. He pushed down with his legs. The earth beneath him gave way, and he crunched his abs, until he got the boulder on his shoulders. Then he lifted. He didn¡¯t try to unmake it, but he focused on his belief that he was stronger. His thighs felt like they were made of iron strands and his arms felt enormously swoll.


    Strong enough to lift a mountain. The boulder came up out of the air, and he tossed it to the side, but instead of falling, it dissolved into mist. He looked at his arms and legs but if they¡¯d grown bigger they were back to normal size¡ªthat was disappointing.


    His grandfather was already at the river inspecting the boat.


    Fintan bounded out of the hole and ran downhill to see him. He almost didn¡¯t stop when he reached the edge of the river, and he windmilled to pull himself back.


    ¡°Don¡¯t fall in,¡± his grandfather said. ¡°You might make it back out, but many don¡¯t. Fishing isn¡¯t a pastime in the afterlife. I guess we were all supposed to get that done before we died. No one told us it was a luxury.¡±


    ¡°I did it,¡± Fintan said. His voice held a hint of pride. He felt stronger. He¡¯d leveled up. Many of his weaknesses disappeared simply because he wished them to.


    ¡°I can see that. It was a passable first effort. With no one other than yourself paying attention to it, you defeated the boulder.¡±


    ¡°I realized it was empty, and I made myself stronger.¡±


    ¡°Yes, you did, but in the future, you will encounter worse than a paper-thin boulder full of helium. When people want something to be true, no matter how impossible it is, they have a way of making it so. That¡¯s when the real challenge begins.¡±

 RECYCLING

    His grandfather worked with Fintan all day to increase his strength, stamina, and resilience. They didn¡¯t return to his other Skill as if repeated failure would only sour his attempts.


    By the end of the day, he was too tired to attempt the candle. The wick was a metal composite and took a lot of energy to create. His grandfather cautioned him about using his Skills when he was tired.


    ¡°Most of what we feel and think is actualized in the world around us. If you get too tired, no one will be able to wake you until you make a full recovery. You will be vulnerable.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± Fintan asked. What he really wanted to know was what could happen when he was vulnerable, but he shied away from the thought. His imagination did him a disservice. He didn¡¯t want to voice his ideas because that would give them power over him.


    His grandfather picked up on his feelings immediately.


    ¡°They could lock you in an iron cage and poke you with a pointy stick until you manifest what they wanted. Everyone can manifest, but it¡¯s an effort. By the time you got free, you might throw yourself in the river.¡±


    ¡°Does that really happen?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen it, boy,¡± his grandfather said angrily. ¡°Don¡¯t go try saving anyone from that trap. They are already dead. The quickest way to incarceration is getting involved with local politics. If you mind your own business, no one will care what you are up to.¡±


    The old man was tired, but this was a different side to his grandfather. He remembered the doctor who always wanted to help people¡ªtime in the afterlife had changed him. His grandfather said they couldn¡¯t learn new Skills in the afterlife, but it was obvious that by the end, they were different people. Would he be used up and cast into the river? All the more reason Fintan needed to find a way back.


    They slept, and Fintan didn¡¯t dream. The sounds in the night did not wake him, but he was up before his grandfather. He sat on the edge of the wood bed. His grandfather had been meticulous about its construction, and Fintan removed the tarnish from the flexible slats that worked as springs and the gell mattress.


    It was strange seeing something as high-tech as a gell mattress in a cabin with mostly low-tech tools. They didn¡¯t have plumbing or a bathroom. They didn¡¯t need it. So far as Fintan could tell, he didn¡¯t dedicate himself, although he knew enough about animal feces to manifest a pile if he wanted to.


    His pretend plasma rifle leaned against the bed, and he picked it up. Most of the internals were made of wood. There was quite a bit of plastic and some glass. Everything but the metal seemed inconsequential, so he willed it into the mist. It wasn¡¯t much effort, but the rifle, now only a barrel, was directly in his hands. Working at a distance seemed to require more work.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    The barrel was a different matter. It was metal, and he¡¯d almost collapsed, manifesting such a large piece. A handgun would have been more practical, but there weren¡¯t many handguns in the Union because the AI that made sure the shot was legal was bulky for a handgun.


    He didn¡¯t want to waste the metal, but he didn¡¯t have a purpose for it. Maybe he could reshape it into a sword?


    He focused on the metal barrel, directing the mist to turn into a sword like his grandfather¡¯s, but the metal resisted.


    ¡°It takes almost as much effort to change the shape as it does to create it,¡± his grandfather said.


    ¡°I guess I should just throw it away. It will turn back to mist eventually.¡±


    ¡°That would be wasteful,¡± his grandfather sighed. ¡°There¡¯s a better way.¡±


    The old man beckoned him out of the log cabin so he wouldn¡¯t accidentally ¡°destroy anything.¡± Fintan was over two decades old, but his grandfather still treated him like a child. If time really worked the way the old man said, then his grandfather would have been here a long time, so fair was fair, and Fintan didn¡¯t want to destroy anything. It wasn¡¯t as if they could go to the store and buy a replacement.


    He rounded the corner, following the old man, and suddenly, a kiln appeared out of thin mist. The rocks were glowing red with flames, but they started to cool immediately.


    ¡°Work the bellows, boy,¡± his grandfather said, pointing to a bellows that appeared to inject air into the bottom of the kiln. His grandfather used a pair of wooden tongs wrapped in fiberglass to hold the bar over the fire. He heated it, melting the steel into a large clay cup before dumping it into a form.


    Fintan¡¯s thrashing at the bellows wasn¡¯t the only thing heating the flames. Whenever the old man thought the steel was cooling, he focused on the fire, and the inferno became white hot.


    When the form was full, he took the clay and broke it onto the ground. The still red hot short sword sucked in the mist, and an edge appeared, although no one touched it.


    His grandfather wobbled, and hastily, Fintan manifested a chair for him to sit in. It was a complete reproduction of the old man¡¯s easy chair with overstuffed cushions in taupe leather, complete with a symbol of a longhorn on the armrest.


    Fintan was proud of his reproduction and even more curious about his grandfather¡¯s creation. It was still on the ground but no longer seemed warm.


    ¡°You can pick it up any time. It¡¯s hard to get burned and even harder to stay burned. It¡¯s a good deterrent, but you will find the most pushback on fire. Compared to cold steel, it¡¯s a puny attack.¡±


    Fintan picked up the sword. It was the same material as before but felt dense. It was smaller than the gun barrel. The gun barrel was empty on the inside, but the short sword was solid.


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t I have just manifested this?¡± Fintan asked.


    ¡°You could, but it wouldn¡¯t be the same. When it goes through the transformation, it absorbs more mist.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s so dense that I can¡¯t banish it.¡±


    Now he understood. He could get trapped in iron.


    ¡°We don¡¯t banish. We recycle. Recycling is valuable, but it always takes more energy. You can¡¯t recycle your way out of a problem. I¡¯m beat. You test the sword. If you want, try to make some more metal. If it doesn¡¯t turn out, you can always practice recycling. Start with a belt buckle; those are useful everywhere.¡±

 THE WITCH

    There was something peaceful about the flow of water. Even the rush of water over rocks inspired a sense of fulfillment. The lazy river that swung into his grandfather¡¯s property only to disappear into the forest did not run fast. Fintan pulled a tuft of grass from the ground and threw the leaves into the water, observing them bob as the slow current drew them away.


    The boat was gone. The mooring post was empty, and his grandfather was missing. He¡¯d spent weeks preparing Fintan with a watchful eye toward the water.


    But you couldn¡¯t pass along a lifetime of knowledge in a few days. By his account, his grandfather had spent hundreds of lifetimes.


    His grandfather didn¡¯t have a map for the afterlife, only words of advice to watch for ¡°changes.¡± The afterlife was as fluid as life. As fluid as the water, all things returned to.


    With the old man missing, changes were coming for the landscape. Fintan saw seedlings sprout in the mists near his feet. Their small leaves were a reminder that this place was a product of his grandfather¡¯s vision, and he hadn¡¯t shared with Fintan how he had done it.


    Maybe that was one of his grandfather¡¯s Skills.


    In a few days, the clearing would return to the forest. In a few weeks, it would be impossible to find the cabin behind the weeds. The logs would remain for a time, but they would crust over like a white filter applied to a picture. Eventually, without contrast, the picture would fade away.


    Should I go after him? His grandfather gave Fintan explicit orders not to follow when the time came. The leaf disappeared around the bend. His grandfather could be miles away.


    Fintan returned to the cabin. He packed all the metal in a backpack and tried to commit pictures of times he didn¡¯t remember to memory. His grandfather¡¯s sack of gilders was hidden under a rock. He buckled his sword to his side and manifested a cloak reminiscent of his grandfather¡¯s lab coat.


    He divided the gilders and hid them in slots in his boot, in his belt, and even a few inside a wide-brimmed hat he manifested for the heavy band around the base.


    His last defense almost buckled his knees. He manifested a poinard. His grandfather spent some time talking about various swords and knives. The old man didn¡¯t like any of them.


    Fighting and killing was unheard of in the Union, and Fintan hadn¡¯t wanted to admit to him there was a knife with which he was most familiar¡ªthe dispatch knife.


    The Union didn¡¯t use chemicals in cases where animals had to be put down. The environment was already full of hostile chemicals. They weren¡¯t going to add to it.


    Instead, he carried a knife as long as a knitting needle with a sharp end and a handle. With one gloved hand, he would hold his target behind the neck, and with the other, he punctured the skin under the jaw. A quick thrust and the hollow point would hit the top of the skull. He¡¯d take the brain sample out of the dispatch knife and return it to the Union scientists carefully bagged and tagged.


    The knife was surgical-grade titanium. After each use, he cleaned it carefully inside and out. It was the least favorite tool of his trade, and after manifesting it, he hid the poniard inside the sleeve of his long coat.


    Fully packed, he walked back down to the river. It was the easiest way to go. His grandfather told him all things change. He would follow the water, and if the old man changed his mind, maybe Fintan would catch up with him.


    The river disappeared into the forest, but there was a healthy sand bank beside the water. The white sands were tiny pebbles, and he walked on top of them easily. In his hand, they felt gritty, almost sharp like sandpaper, but they didn¡¯t leave a mark when he rubbed them between his fingers.


    His education taught him that river rocks and river sand should be round. The pounding of the waves and running water smoothed the sharp edges.


    He couldn¡¯t count on his education from the living world, but he could count on what his grandfather said. People feared the water, but they couldn¡¯t get that far away from it.


    If I traveled down the bank, I should find a town or village. After the village, he would try to find a map. With a map, he would learn more about the afterlife and hopefully find a portal back to the real world.


    There were beings of power in the afterlife. They might be able to send him back. The Adversary was a concern, but if his grandfather was correct, he could avoid the nefarious god. Fintan wouldn¡¯t deal with the Adversary unless he found no other way.


    With sound logic on his side, his footfalls in the sand marked his path deeper into the afterlife. When he peered back, the lapping water ate his trail, and in the distance, the crystal clear water flowed oddly and sparkled with a glow that belied the sunless sky.


    He walked for miles, and the forest thinned. After hours, he lost hope of finding his grandfather. He cast branches into the water, sure that he was walking faster than the slow-moving current. The branches disappeared below the surface. He should have been able to see them since he could count the rocks on the bottom, but after a few moments, they were gone. His grandfather said the water was corrosive, but the boat lasted day after day.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The day grew dim before the river turned again. He lost sight of the sparkles from the water in the distance and considered a night without shelter. He could manifest a tent, and he packed several of his grandfather¡¯s special candles.


    The old man had tried to teach him chemistry, but either they didn¡¯t have enough time, or Fintan couldn¡¯t muster enough belief in what his grandfather said. He could only produce a regular candle, but that should be enough to keep the darkness at bay.


    As he considered stopping for the night, he heard voices carried over the water.


    ¡°She¡¯s a bad witch!¡±


    The voice was clearly from the other side of the water. The river wasn¡¯t large and had narrowed and deepened. It was about twenty paces across.


    The voices that shouted were numerous, and Fintan was afraid this was exactly the kind of crowd his grandfather told him to avoid. He was on the right side of the river to avoid it, and he could cut across the clearing to the remaining trees and stay on the low ground until he passed by these people. Tomorrow, in full daylight, he could observe them from a distance if he wanted to.


    That was the best plan, but when he heard a high-pitched scream of pain. He abandoned the rehearsed plan. The scrub around the river wasn¡¯t much cover, but he manifested a camouflaged tarp and pulled it around his body before ducking into the weeds.


    A full camouflage exosuit would have been better, but he hadn¡¯t used one of those in life, and he didn¡¯t have time to learn about it in death. In his field, they¡¯d often used blinds to spy on the animals. In death, he created his own blind and wore it like a cloak.


    As he crept closer he realized his strategy was good, but he needed not have bothered. No one was looking at him.


    Across the river in the distance, he saw a wooded barricade with torchlike sconces at regular intervals. In the fading light, they were already lit. The village did not look large, and he suspected most of the people were crowded around a crane they had constructed out of wood.


    The crane dangled a cage over the river, and in the cage was a woman. She didn¡¯t seem much older than Fintan, and she wore clothing he recognized from the Union. Like his tarp, her single suit was camouflaged, but unlike a Free People exosuit that blended into its surroundings, her single suit was patterned in fixed greens and browns. Fintan didn¡¯t know how to produce a battery, and high-tech gadgets were meaningless without electricity. Her exosuit faired little better.


    One of the villagers had manifested a bow, and he shot an arrow at the woman. She screamed as it lodged into her leg. She pulled it out and threw it into the river. She wasn¡¯t fighting back, but perhaps they¡¯d threatened to drop her into the water. The river wasn¡¯t that wide.


    His grandfather had mentioned only the weak and foolish remained this close to the portals. The village he found might not be a representation of the best of the afterlife.


    A white-robed figure emerged from the crowd. He was an old man who wore a mask of benevolence that disappeared as his eyes were caught by the river. He carried a large book adorned with golden lettering. While he struggled to look at the witch, a villager in a frayed tunic caught his arm.


    To his credit, he didn¡¯t pull away as the dirty hand left a smudge on his white robe, and he listened with earnest.


    ¡°She¡¯s a bad witch,¡± the villager said. He had one lazy eye and a mouth full of yellow teeth. He pointed to a large wart on the center of his nose, crying foul. ¡°Look at this.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s still there,¡± the robed figure responded with a shake of his graying head.


    ¡°She promised, she did, to remove it,¡± the villager said. ¡°She cut it off, she did, and applied a poultice, but still it remains. I traded fair and square as always, I did. A stock for a gilder and a gilder for a memory. She slept on my floor and ate my supper, but never did she return in equal measure.¡±


    ¡°She promised to cure my gas,¡± another villager burped.


    ¡°She said she could make me clothes,¡± a bare-chested villager said. She scratched at her potbelly, and a small dislodged lizard ran from one bosom to the next, hiding out of sight.


    ¡°Promises made and payment delivered,¡± the leader said, ¡°and the Lord asked us to show mercy.¡±


    ¡°In life, he did,¡± the lazy eye villager said.


    ¡°But in death, he left us with The Adversary,¡± the leader concluded. ¡°Equal life and equal gain, life beyond death is equal pain. Return what was given to the river.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± the witch said. ¡°I can do better.¡±


    The villager pulled a lever, and the trap door was released below the cage. The witch didn¡¯t fall willingly. She gripped the wooden bars and dangled. Her black boots fell off as she danced feet above the water.


    The crystal clear river couldn¡¯t have been more than six or eight feet deep and slow moving. Most people in the Union didn¡¯t know how to swim, but even the worst swimmers stood a chance.


    The villagers treated it as a certain death, and Fintan¡¯s grandfather warned him about the water. Even now, he felt peace in those depths, but his purpose kept him motivated.


    If the witch fell in that stream, could she get out on her own?


    He didn¡¯t know, and he didn¡¯t care. He¡¯d seen enough. The villager¡¯s leader had extolled equality, but the finality of a dunking wasn¡¯t worth a few failed home remedies. He looked along the shoreline, spying an enormous outgrowth of jagged rocks, and that gave him an idea.


    He needed to be as close as he could to save energy.


    Tossing aside his camouflage that disappeared in a puff, he ran forward, startling the villagers and the witch who had quit bargaining for her life.


    Below her, he manifested a dock. He knew enough about the water to avoid placing support in the current. Instead, he made engineered beams woven together with synthetic rope. He put a support in the center and a large stone as a counterweight on the very end, an equal distance away on dry land.


    The manifestation appeared instantly, faster than ever before, but something felt wrong about the wood as he ran to the edge of the water on the stout beams. He manifested composite two-by-fours, but the wood felt hollow to his feet.


    The witch didn¡¯t speculate on her good fortune. She dropped onto the dock and lunged in his direction, trying desperately to get to the safety of dry land.


    The robed leader would have none of it. He¡¯d raised his book with the golden lettering. Below the unknown words were two overlapping lines also in gold.


    ¡°The Lord¡¯s will shall not be denied,¡± he intoned.


    The crane beside him dissolved, and the heavy cage hit the end of Fintan¡¯s dock. The weight of the cage flipped his counterbalance stone off the end, and the dock tettered into the river.


    Before Fintan could do anything about it, the cage had sunk below, and the other end of his dock had followed, disappearing as the water lapped on the wood. In a few more seconds, the witch would be lost in the current.


    In desperation, he manifested the largest boulder he could, dropping it on the end of the teetertotter.


    From the center, he felt very little, but the witch was flung into the air on his side of the river. She landed headfirst onto a pile of jagged rocks. Her bones crackled like snapping wet sticks as she bounced and slid down the escarpment to stop in a heap near the sandy bank.


    The light continued to fail, but the leader raised the book once again. The gold lettering seemed to glow in the twilight.


    ¡°Do not return!¡±