I touched my chest gingerly, then traced the fresh line to my shoulder and down the length of my right arm, trying to figure out how I felt about getting my first tattoo. I still couldn’t believe that I actually had one, and that Mama wasn’t beating me over the head and calling me a fool boy for getting it, like she had promised to do when she was trying to make sure I turned out alright.
It helped that the tattoo could turn invisible, which meant it wouldn’t be a problem for job interviews or whatever. The best part, though, was finding out that it made me incredibly strong and supposedly gave me magical powers.
Since everyone else in the group had also gotten one, it didn’t feel as weird to get one myself. Even if it was one more thing people would have frowned at me in church for getting, they probably would have already excommunicated me for using magic, and for killing small, furry critters with a giant sword.
Christina and I were still having a hard time with reconciling all of the necessary details of our new life, but we were managing. We came to the conclusion that maybe a different planet with different physical laws might be like those books with the children entering another world through their wardrobe, where the rules for good and evil were specific to the environment. That, and the fact that the church people who used to yell the loudest about things like these had all come here as some sort of dragon-demon-worshiping cultists that went around enslaving and murdering people.
They had also tried to kill my friends and family.
They were the kind of people that my faith demanded that I oppose, so I was going to combat them with all the tools at my disposal until I got some kind of sign or message that I was going about it the wrong way.
I put my armor back on, the mixture of padding, chain mail, and scale mail that Wes’ foster sister Samantha had modified for me, then strapped on the Dunegraced bazubands and shin armor that she had been the most excited about. My Woadtattoo flared up briefly, suddenly decreasing the heaviness of the dozens of pounds of gear, until it weighed less than my old football padding. Grinning to myself over the handy new benefit, I grabbed the long blade that our tabletop games had always referred to as a bastard sword, but was historically called a longsword, and headed for the team meeting.
We had returned to Avalon shortly after our last battle in the Woadlands, just in time to catch Chris before he went back to his dad. His news lined up pretty well with what Merada had been suspecting after that last run-in with those furry monsters.
It was pretty disturbing to figure out just how bad things had gotten, and I could tell that plenty of the locals felt that way—even if they were hopeful that things were about to turn around, now that the old Challenger had returned, and eight new Challengers had emerged. Fortunately, it looked like our side finally had enough breathing room to plan things out.
I eased my way into the room that Ms. Guineve had scheduled the meeting in. My parents and Mrs. Malcolm were already waiting, and the rest of the people my age gradually filtered in a few moments later.
We all sat down at the table as the tall alien woman glided in with a tray of coffee and cookies.
At least, I assumed it was coffee. Coffee usually didn’t smell that good, though.
“Thank you all for coming,” she said as she handed out steaming mugs of something that smelled like vanilla and roasted cocoa beans. “Please take a moment to refresh yourselves before I begin.”
“Yes ma’am,” I said gratefully, in tandem with both my father and Andre. The ladies were a bit more subdued, but we all had to admit that the woman worked wonders with food.
And as strange as Wes’ relationship with this woman was, it didn’t make me any less happy for him, now that the woman’s main body had worked things out.
We finished our treat of homemade vanilla wafers and the best coffee I had ever tasted, and then Wes’ demigoddess love interest began the meeting.
“I received a report from our Lord Malcolm late last night. He now has a power that will allow him to contact Avalon directly, if only to leave brief messages through one-way communication. He is well,” she added in a reassuring tone as she gazed at Wes’ mother. “He found allies immediately and was able to destroy a powerful being, saving thousands of lives on at least two other worlds. He is now working closely with the local college of Saga wizards to retake the world from the dungbeasts who murdered the last Challenger.”
Her eyes flashed with the same fury heating her voice. It surprised me, but I had heard others mention that Mr. Malcolm had been the last Challenger before Wes, and that Guineve and the rest of Stell had probably gotten to know him as he’d saved her people’s lives.
For that reason, it didn’t take a detective to guess that she had probably taken Mr. Malcolm’s murder with as much anger as my family had.
But she wasn’t his wife or daughter, and as she mastered her anger, she shot a guilty look toward Rachel and Mrs. Malcolm. She clearly realized that there were those who grieved John Malcolm’s death even more deeply than she did.
“Forgive me,” the normally composed woman said penitently. “I forgot for a moment that I am not the one most affected by John Malcolm’s death.”
“Don’t apologize,” Wes Malcolm’s mother said, as her red-headed daughter nodded in agreement. “Your pain does not disregard our own. It is comforting to hear others demanding justice for my beloved.”
“Then I shall continue to demand it,” the mist-clad woman said softly, “and know that John Malcolm’s name is still highly esteemed by our worlds, regardless of the time passed and the actions of the false Earthborn...” She blinked, and her expression hardened again. “...and your son has just confirmed his proposed strategy, which his general and I have already discussed.” Her nod toward the corner of the room indicated the space where the massive armored skeleton was standing unobtrusively. Everyone blinked, apparently noticing him at the same time I did. “I hope we did not offend any of you by excluding you from that council. It was late, and I had not known whether you wished to be involved in the planning of such military matters. But as Challengers, you have the right to request admission to such meetings, and I will be sure to offer you the chance to join us in the future.”
Rachel cleared her throat.
“Is there any reason to believe that we understand your people’s military enough yet to offer any constructive advice? Because I’ve been putting all of my Skill points into my Ideal magics, and I’m still just in the Journeyman ranks. According to our abilities, I’d be more useful as a living weapon than a campaign planner.”
But you would have made sure the actual campaign planner invested as many points as possible into Campaign Planning, if it were up to you, I thought privately.
Wes’ sister was never one to shy away from providing feedback. It was usually pretty constructive, but it was always provided, whether we’d asked for it or not.
“That was the main thing I was considering at the time,” the stately woman admitted in a respectful, deliberate tone. “I thank the Challengers for their understanding. Now, on to the details. Our Lord Malcolm has requested that we set up a system which will allow rapid communication through the Pathway. He recommends the use of the Spritefolk, as well as a small team of our more veteran troops to defend the Pathway site—in addition to a larger force to defend the city itself.”
The tall woman glanced at the massive armored skeleton, clearly giving him the floor.
“The Lord Challenger’s initial strategy was sound,” the undead soldier began, “but it could be improved by utilizing his newest, and possibly most powerful, asset: the new Challengers of Avalon.” He turned his eye sockets to look at each of us. “All of you, thanks to the Starsown’s efforts, can create a projected body that will reform after death, although it will likely be a traumatic experience. But assuming you can set up a projected body in a different world, like some of you have already been doing,” he said as he glanced at Rachel’s—or my—team, “you will be able to easily transition fro
m there to here, as the turned asset, Chris Rhodes, has already demonstrated. That skill will allow for the most rapid form of communication possible between this world and the Golden Sands.”
“It would also be the most stable,” Guineve added, as the living skeleton fell silent. “Our work with the other turned asset, the scientist responsible for creating the portal to Avalon, has proven cooperative. He has managed to help my primary body reinforce the transportation ability of your projected bodies to a degree that is more durable than any of the Malus murderers currently can access. Should your projected body perish, it would be able to reform in its original world, though definitely not immediately, and we don’t have any idea how long it would take. But if any of you are willing to go, it would provide the most stable, effective, and safe line of communication between our world and the next theater of combat.”
“That’s wonderful news,” Mrs. Malcolm said. “When can I leave?”
“Are you sure, Stephanie?” my dad asked her. “I could go just as easily as you could, and I’ve had experience in combat back on Earth.”
“You are certainly most welcome to come,” Wes’ mom said in an unperturbed voice, “and having two people would probably be better than one.” She leaned forward and met my dad’s eyes with a calm, unyielding gaze. “We have already clarified how, unlike us, Wes is unable to come back from the dead. And even if he wasn’t in danger, I wish to see him again. I do not blame this dear woman for letting us sleep through his last message, and I know he would not have had time to talk to me, even if I had been there. He is busy doing important things, which I support wholeheartedly. But he is still my son. I will not have his shoulders carry every single burden alone anymore. I have already let that happen far too many times over these past few years.”
Her daughter gave the smallest of nods.
“I’d like to go, too,” she said in a quiet voice. “Just briefly, to see him again. Afterwards, I’ll come back and do whatever else you need me to do.”
“Maybe we could all go, honey,” I heard my own mother say. “Lord knows we’ve all missed the boy, and it hurts to know that he’s had to handle so much without us. Let’s just all go together, and then we’ll figure things out from there.”
“That sounds perfectly reasonable,” Guineve said as she turned to consider us all. “You could escort the rest of the forces, remain until they have secured their forward base, and then return after speaking with Lord Malcolm.”
“I’ll go notify the other commanders and make preparations,” the bronze-armored skeleton announced, turning to leave. “You should all probably leave within the next hour or so, if you are ready.”
“We will be,” Wes’ mother and sister said at the same time.
I didn’t mind them speaking for us.
Because Guineve and Wes’ mother were right.
These dirtbags had come after my family, my boy, and my boy’s family.
It was time to help Wes come after them.
Wes’ Perspective
Once again, I found myself back in the darkness of my dreams, where voices from the unseen beyond had crossed over to reach me.
“Greetings, Champion,” a familiar, but unusually formal, voice began, “I have been summoned to reward you for your…oh, fuck,” the Pendragon swore as he came into view. “It’s you again. Figures.”
“Yeah, I’m excited, too,” I replied sarcastically. “Nothing like getting a vision from a ghost every other time I try to turn in for the night. But I thought I would just be speaking to a projection again or something.”
The Avalonian king sighed, and his armor and regalia rattled in response.
“I’m…sorry,” he said, struggling to utter the apology. “I felt what you did. You killed him. Thank you.”
“Technically, my adopted sister did,” I admitted with a shrug. “I’m surprised you’re not visiting her.”
“She’s getting a projected message from me, as well as a large outpouring of power,” the Pendragon confided, “but now that I’ve Passed on, I’m not able to visit anyone but the Planetary Lord of Avalon. Not with my actual consciousness. Still, thank you. I felt what you did to his physical body as well. There’s no way he can ever hurt my people again.”
“For what it’s worth, you’re welcome,” I replied quietly. “He seemed like a total prick. Was he the one that killed your wife?”
“Maybe,” the other man said as he started to pace in the darkness. “I know he hurt her. I thought I had fixed the damage, at least enough to make it fade over time. But the pain lingered, and she started having other problems. I think there were others involved. I’m not sure who they were, but I made protocols to sniff them out. If they were successful, you’ll get another projected message from me and learn about another bounty.”
“I should go ahead and tell you,” I said, changing the subject to his wife, “she made a simulacrum of herself in one of the Rites. I spoke to it.”
“I know,” the Pendragon said with a nod. “I put her there. She was always the better diplomat than I was—even if she had zero patience for degenerates—and I figured she could give you the best advice possible, once you completed the Rite. That, and if I didn’t keep her away from me, I’d talk to her all the time, and her real ghost would suffer.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, trying not to grow worried. The woman had seemed like a wonderful person, so of course I wouldn’t want her to suffer.
But more than that, I was worried for my deceased father.
“I’m not entirely sure what I mean,” the Pendragon replied, “but when you Pass on, you’re supposedly able to find those that have died, if you look hard and long enough. But it’s been ages, and I’ve never found her ghost here. So something’s gone wrong. Her soul must have fragmented when Peitan brutalized it, Invictus damn him. Or one of the other Stellar monsters did something, somehow. At any rate, she hasn’t been able to come here.”
“Could she still be alive?” I asked carefully. It seemed like a stupid question, given how much time had passed, but by now, I had met countless people who were still alive, despite being thousands and thousands of years old. Literally anything was possible these days.
“That would be the only logical explanation,” the former king said with what felt like an unusual amount of patience for him, “but I…” He swallowed hard, looking away. “Excuse me,” he continued hoarsely, “I saw her body die and grow cold. And I had tried to experiment with Peitan’s stolen notes, tried to make some kind of second body for her. But it didn’t work. Maybe there is a fragment of herself somewhere out there in the Expanse, but I could never find it. I spent centuries looking. Her people almost suffered for it,” he admitted, looking down in shame. “Well, they did suffer for it. I tried to alternate between handling my duties of protecting the populace and destroying Tumults, to combing the stars and planets in a desperate search for any sign of her. And it didn’t work. I spent so much of myself in that hunt that every Tumult wound up taking more from my soul than I gained from conquering it. Because of that, I was unable to endure as a Pendragon should, and thus Avalon’s worlds lost their High King millennia before his time should have come.”
“Why did you Pass on, then?” I asked, perplexed. “How does Passing on even work?”
“I Passed on because it was the best way to preserve as much of myself as possible,” the Pendragon replied, shrugging apathetically. “It’s hard to describe how things are on this side of reality, but people who Pass on have much more control over themselves when they reach this place. During my time on Avalon, people generally had some knowledge of what it meant to Pass on, but no one knew anything about death other than it hurt, it sucked, and it was usually permanent. I had no idea if I’d be able to find Arden’s ghost, or help Avalon’s next Lord, if I had died instead of Passing on. I had the power to choose, so I took the opportunity.”
“Which brings us back to my second question,” I persisted patiently. “How does Passing on work?
”
“Right,” the Pendragon said, nodding in acknowledgement. “No one fully knows, not even on the other side. But there are at least two ways you can achieve the ability to Pass on. The first is to change your soul through Rising enough. You know how there are certain thresholds of Rising, and how you are currently within the Torch stages?”
“Yeah, though I don’t know what that means,” I replied unhappily, feeling frustrated over all the important things in this universe that I still didn’t know and needed to, “other than the fact that I get an extra infusion of power whenever I cross a threshold, and that the increase in power grows larger each time.”
“That is true,” the ghostly man nodded, “but you are also changing in ways that you can’t easily determine, even with that mindscreen your Starsown woman crafted for you. Your soul is growing stronger as well, and it’s expressing that power in manners that are hard to measure. Which, as far as I can tell, is part of the reason why you keep coming up with impossible methods to do impossible things.”
“Are you telling me that it’s my soul’s fault that I’m getting yelled at all the time?” I asked, trying not to sound irritable.
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