“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—the 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—waiting 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.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  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—a 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.