Fintan grew weary of watching the road. They left the banks of the river when they encountered the first bridge. The bridge was towering compared to the bare twenty feet of water underneath it, but the presence of the water justified the over-engineered construction. Anything of permanence needed to be at least twenty feet away. He suspected the math wasn’t a direct ratio to the size of the body of water. If so, the oceans he heard of would have a considerable effect on all dry land.

  The road and the bridge were both cut stone or manifested into cut stone. If his experience was any guide, shaping manifested items made them more durable. His grandfather’s boat floated in the water with minimal maintenance. The bridge and road was unattended.

  Their encounter with Clyde and the centaurs left RuTing disturbed. He hadn’t shared the leveling process with her yet, but as the days wore on and they shared more of their personal lives, he was convinced of her authenticity.

  She traveled more than he did. He lived in the bubble city of Dill and worked for the University. Everyone in Dill worked for the University if once or twice removed. Many of the Free People traveled, and she’d been all the way from Union City to the mushroom farms in the west and the marshlands in between. The Union was peaceful, but she was wary of travelers on the road.

  He couldn’t inspire confidence he didn’t have, but he wasn’t going to ignore a road, so he convinced her to turn right. By his measure, they were leaving the portals behind with each footfall on the cold stone. He manifested himself better walking shoes and didn’t look up for hours until thunder reminded him of rain.

  It didn’t rain in the afterlife. In the night, the mist rose from the ground, and in the morning, what wasn’t covered with thin tendrils felt damp, but there were no storms.

  “We need to find cover,” RuTing said. She pulled at his exosuit, and he nodded in approval.

  His exosuit was a mimicry of her own in greens and browns to match the landscape. They were in a hilly country with pine, walnut, and oak trees and brush beside the road. The road followed the landscape, weaving around obstacles and cutting through none of them. The afterlive didn’t seem to have another season except spring. The brush was tall and sharp, and they dove and pushed their way through. His exosuit tore, but the thorns didn’t penetrate the layers he’d manifested. RuTing didn’t have the same problem, and he thought they should work together to create sturdier clothing.

  He stopped beside the road, but she kept going.

  “We need to get a better look at them,” she said. “Follow me.”

  She ghosted between the branches, her slight form barely stirring a wake in the leaves behind her.

  He might be able to keep up, but he cheated outrageously. Stepping behind her. He didn’t tell her about leveling, but after the Hector, he decided there was no reason not to explain his Skill—it might be necessary if they were caught and he knew hers. His only regret was that he hadn’t fashioned her a better sword than his grandfather’s quick smithing, but a whole day lost on good metal was too much to spare in the uncertainty.

  RuTing found a hill that overlooked the road, and they slid on their bellies near the top, keeping their heads deep in the leaves and parting the thin branches just enough for a clear view. The thunder had resolved itself to a pounding, and they watched the heads emerge over the rise as hundreds of chained men and women ran ragged in front of a carriage.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  The driver was dressed not much differently from the Adversary’s priest in a black robe with gold stitched seems. His cowl was thrown back, but he had a scull cap that matched the robe, and he was not alone. At least ten other men and women sat atop the carriage, equally well-dressed. They carried whips at their sides, but the driver’s whip was extended on a long pole so he could reach the front of the yoked slaves.

  “Priests of the Adversary,” he said.

  “The upside-down cross,” RuTing said. “That’s one of his symbols. He takes whatever he finds and turns it around.”

  “You’ve seen others?”

  “In the Priest’s book. He had many symbols. I was only in the village for a few days.”

  The slaves outnumbered their masters a hundred to one, but they didn’t fight back as the whip lashed. The carriage had at least a dozen wheels. It carried more than people. The thick straps that suspended the body above the frame swung back and forth on the uneven road. Whatever it carried was heavy. Fintan couldn’t think of a reason to transport stone. It was easy to manifest. The only heavy item he could think of would be metal.

  The lash drew blood that quickly disappeared, but the panic kept the carriage moving on the path of least resistance.

  “They won’t fight,” Fintan said. “It’s the water.”

  It wasn’t a memory he wanted to recall, but he’d put a finger in the river, testing the water his grandfather couldn’t take his eyes away from. In those few seconds, all the volition in his body drained out like someone put a straw into his brain and sucked out his will to live.

  RuTing had been suspended over the river in a cage. What if they let her fall in? What if they dunked her on purpose?

  She seemed to read his thoughts as if they were sharing a memory on the net.

  “If I’d fallen in, I’d be the same as them,” she said.

  Fintan nodded, but internally, he disagreed. The priest hadn’t tried to save RuTing. There was something different about her. Almost all the people he’d seen returned in the afterlife did have a trait he and RuTing didn’t share. Physically, they had more in common with the villagers.

  All the slaves looked symmetrical and muscular. He didn’t think about the slight differences so much. A casual observer from the Union wouldn’t notice that he had a lazy eye and one of his feet was smaller than the other. I finally have fitting shoes. RuTing was no different. Perfect symmetry in the Union was rare.

  All of the slaves were perfect. They had their differences in size and shape, but they were toned as if printed to a specification. Since the birth of his son, Fintan was a little bit rounder about the middle than he remembered. He thought of himself as fit, but the slaves looked like statues carved to epitomize the definition of man and woman. There was one thing they reminded him of.

  “Are they clones?” he asked.

  “They don’t look alike.”

  They didn’t use the same DNA for every clone when they cloned animals. That would negate the purpose of restoring a species. Humankind didn’t need to be restored. There were hundreds of millions of people.

  When the carriage passed, they returned to the road.

  “My grandfather would have told me if every town followed the Adversary. He said there were good ones.”

  “Right now, his word is all we have to go on,” she said. Fintan noticed she gripped the handle of the sword he gave her. She’d fashioned a leather scabbard she kept at her waist painted in the same greens and browns of the exosuit. “But we have to be more careful. There won’t always be trees around us.”

  “We need to be able to blend in,” he said. He was good at hide and seek as a child, but this was life or dissolution. Hiding in plain sight was an entirely different kind of skill. His voice betrayed his uncertainty.

  “I can teach you,” RuTing said. “If we are going to find a way back, we have to learn new things.”

  “Learning isn’t easy in the afterlife,” Fintan said. He didn’t want to sound spastic, but they were both dead. They didn't die of old age. RuTing fell into a rabbit warren. Whatever stealth skills she proposed had to reconcile with the fact she hadn’t lived long. He wasn’t about to give up, but she wasn’t the answer.

  “You don’t believe me,” RuTing accused him.

  He shrugged. She didn’t get angry. She wasn’t like his wife at all. They didn’t have that kind of relationship, but after weeks, he didn’t think it was only professional. They were friends. He didn’t think she was holding back. She had a different way of addressing problems. RuTing was calculating.

  “I didn’t fall into the rabbit warren,” she said. “I was thrown.”