They traveled as far as they could before RuTing manifested a tent. She was better at manifesting tents and cots and a variety of supplies that were routine to the nomadic Free People. She created bio-kerosene torches on poles stuck into the turf around the tent. She had Fintan’s sword, but after their encounter with Hector, she added a horn bow, and the pockets of her exosuit bulged.

  He was sure they were weapons. Almost anything else could be manifested in a few seconds, but even a slight delay in a fight could lead to capture or pain.

  By the standards of his manifestation, her tent was lavish—a walled tent on flat ground with the tent flaps pulled to the side on silk ropes. The cots were positioned on each side, and the tight woven rug kept the dirt away from their beds.

  He added a small table in the middle and created a candle, but before he could light it, she stopped him.

  “Your candles always smell like lavender,” she said. She manifested a glass lamp with a delicately curved chimney settled over a thick wick suspended in the fluid. Compared to his poor candle, it was a masterpiece, and he dissolved the manifestation.

  “All the candles I know are scented,” Fintan said ruefully. “The bees were made in a laboratory, and we took the wax to make fancy candles for the Univerity provost.”

  The bees were clones created from preserved DNA. Many students worked on the project, and it was a fond memory that was easy to manifest, but his results were always the same.

  “They might be useful to trade,” RuTing said. “Gilder’s aren’t the only currency. Clyde was bringing the hay from somewhere else.”

  “Crafted items are more durable,” he said.

  “I think it's more than that,” she replied. “It takes time and patience to learn new skills, but why bother when you can create a simulacrum of anything you desire? No one is going to go through the effort. If you want something better, you can always trade.”

  “Sometimes you don’t know what you want.”

  She nodded.

  It was food for thought. Without the net, no one would know what they were missing. He had the impression that few traders had journeyed to the portals. This was a hunting ground for converts.

  “I want to check the perimeter before it gets too dark,” he told RuTing. That was not his only purpose, but it was the truth, and she readily agreed. She manifested quickly but expected she had more fortifications in mind. The centaurs didn’t have walls, but their stables were well constructed. From what he’d seen of the small village, they had manifested obstacles. Fintan couldn’t imagine a manifestation that would keep the nightmares at bay, but if people dared the night, some form of protection might slow them down.

  Since the light was failing, he manifested a simple torch. It was no more than a bundle of sticks held together with leather and a firestarter. They camped near water because his grandfather said that was safer, but he didn’t stop walking away from the tent until he was at least fifty yards behind the trees. The density had changed since they left. The trees were closer together, and the grasses were less tall. He was as far as he could go and still see some light from RuTing’s kerosene torches.

  He opened his bag of gilders. His grandfather meant for him to have these, but traveling with so many was a danger. He intended to use them. Now was the time to level up, and he wasn’t planning on going one level at a time. With little difficulty, he could manifest a new gilder each day. If pressed, he could probably do several. He still didn’t know the ramifications of adding virtual circuitry, but he wasn’t dismayed. After all, he had an implant before. Was this no more than the equivalent? If so, was he really dead, or was he captured? Did it matter if in the end, he would dissolve into the water? He remembered the experience of dying all too well. His physical body was gone. He had no doubt of that.

  He took a gilder and pressed it to his forehead as he’d seen the Hector do. The gilder disappeared in his hands, and he immediately felt refreshed. He felt stronger, but the effect dissipated quickly, as if the temporary energy he gained ran away, and he knew exactly which direction it was going. In that millisecond, he could have pointed to the water with his eyes closed. The sensation was always in his mind, but the effort magnified. He’d be stronger and weaker at the same time.

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  Hector hadn’t mentioned that. Fintan’s grandfather couldn’t keep his eyes off the water, but he’d lived here a comparative thousands of years. He’d collected gilders, but maybe he couldn’t use them.

  Fintan added another and another. Each burst of strength magnified his ability to manifest for a few seconds, and he wondered if it might not be possible to manifest gilders and join with them. It was easier to manifest near the river. If he juggled the manifestation correctly by morning he might gain thousands of levels.

  Or I’d die.

  If he died, he would never know if there was a way to contact his family. He would never know what became of them. Were they hunted? The further he went into the afterlife, the less time passed and the more likely he could affect some kind of change, if any, in their favor.

  He stopped when half the bag was empty. Experimentally, he concentrated, manifesting a new gilder. It was half the effort as before and felt at least as solid as the others.

  After his walk around camp, he returned. RuTing had manifested a spiked wall around the tent. They were sharpened, but like everything manifested near water, they felt hollow. He put a finger on the point of a stake. For wood, it was razor sharp, but it broke off as if someone had taken a metal hammer to the end. He corrected the spike before entering the tent.

  Should he tell her?

  He’d only known RuTing for a few days. Her motivation was much the same as his own, but he elected to wait. Tomorrow there would be changes.

  “The perimeter is clear,” he said. Laying a head on a pillow.

  RuTing whispered a thanks. Unless they were dead exhausted, they could be woken. Her manifestations had tired her.

  Tomorrow there will be changes.

  Fintan woke at first light the next morning and tripped over a line he must have walked over when he returned the previous night. A shrill whistle sounded near his head as an ingenious series of pulleys spun a fluted piece of wood in a circle.

  He jumped ten feet in the air but caught the top of his head on the edge of the tent opening and somersaulted before landing on the stakes on his back. They broke under his weight, but unlike the rest of the world, the force of gravity felt all too real.

  Breath whooshed from his lungs, and he coughed up bile while he tried to breathe and keep from throwing up.

  He wasn’t sure what he would throw up. Would his dinner return partly digested, or would a hotdog with the works appear out of his mouth?

  Power was not skill. With the right manifestations, RuTing could slingshot him into the river, and she didn’t have a single level. He woke up this morning feeling good about himself, but with a sudden realization, he knew he had a lot to learn. How many times could he drag himself out of the water? One, two, none? The touch wasn’t fatal. He didn’t know how to swim, but he could manifest air in his lungs. He didn’t know if he would bother if he fell in.

  His obvious blunder woke RuTing. The tent was so close to the water a white haze had already formed over the cheap manifestation.

  “The spikes didn’t work,” she noted critically while she gave him a hand.

  “Thank you for your concern,” he said.

  “I was shot with arrows,” she said. “We can expect a lot more if we are going to find a way out.”

  Some of the shock from his fall was wearing off. The bruises had already disappeared. The damage to his mental stability was probably more significant than anything else, but it was real. He knew underneath the layers of soil, he’d eventually find the same solidified crust that formed on everything manifested in the afterlife.

  His grandfather had shown him that crust. The ground ended in a floor that could not be broken. His grandfather had likened it to the bones of the afterlife. When you hit the bone, you stopped. They would need something with solidity to protect themselves.

  “We need more metal,” Fintan said. “I can manifest more here. The quality will be low, but we can reinforce it and maybe melt it down later to make something stronger.”

  “I could use a compound bow, but you don’t know how to make one.”

  That was a problem.

  “We could make one in pieces.” If she could detail the pieces, he could create pullies and a limb of steel. He’d have to experiment. Not all steels were the same, but he was university-trained, and she was not. Her skills didn’t seem like Free People, Eastern or Western. To his knowledge, no one practiced with cutting weapons. Physical calisthenics were essential, but when she practiced with the blade, her movements could only be interpreted as striking blows. Martial arts were prohibited. At the same time, there was no question that she was from the Union.

  She manifested a compound bow, but instead of metal, it was made of wood. It was a simulacrum of a real bow, but there was no way she could pull back the string.

  “What if we tried together,” RuTing said. “Try to manifest this as metal. I will focus on the shape while you focus on the material.”

  It was worth experimenting with. He could fix things with the mist, but she wanted him to replace something that already existed. Despite his recent fall, he had an extra step today. He was stronger than ever, and the mist swirled at his feet. They were near water where manifestations were cheap. He focused and willed the manifestation. The wood ate the mist, becoming more dense and gaining a metallic sheen. He could tell the mist fought the form, but RuTing’s will must have been as solid as the metal. It kept its shape until the wood was replaced.

  It didn’t feel as hollow as his own creations near the water, perhaps because they put in twice the effort. What might they accomplish if they did this away from the river?