They waited and rested during the day, preserving as much of their energy as possible. Fintan saw what happened to his grandfather when he grew too tired.
If he collapsed, he wouldn’t wake until he was recovered. When his grandfather became inert, he stiffened, almost like he was dead. If he was breathing, it was low and slow. That first night, Fintan had been so shaken by his own death he didn’t recall the details.
In the following days, sleep was more natural for both of them, but his grandfather didn’t want him out at night. It made sense to Fintan. The afterlife was built on belief, and at night, the nightmares manifested as sleeping minds lent them power beyond the light.
The Adversary tapped into the manifestation, which meant the gods had some kind of connection to their worshipper's thoughts. That was sort of similar to the way people could control machines in the Union with their implants.
Even though there wasn’t a sun, the color of the light changed at the end of the day.
They used a few gilders to buy food in the market. They had to exchange a gilder for the local currency, a silver coin. Fintan probably could have reproduced those, but he didn’t try.
They sat outside under an umbrella beside the cobblestone road and the market, hashing out a plan while passerbyers ignored them going about their business. There was steady traffic, and the low umbrella provided them a measure of privacy. The Archers were looking for them, but they couldn't be everywhere in a city of hundreds of thousands.
RuTing appeared relaxed, while his nerves felt like a loaded spring. The server brought a plate of yellow rice, roast vegetables, and stuffed grape leaves. He tentatively ate the grape leaf ball. It was savory with herbal flavors he didn’t recognize. He felt his energy increase dramatically.
“Prepared food is better than manifested food,” RuTing said. “They have spices that are extinct in the Union.”
Strange as it was, no one around them seemed to share their experiences in the Union. He was concerned if they were observed too closely, the others would see the difference.
“Why are we the only ones here from the Union?” he asked. He didn’t expect an answer from RuTing, but he thought they might arrive at a better guess if they speculated together.
“The portals are full of people, and tens of thousands of people die every day in the Union from natural causes. For the most part, they are older. Almost everyone at the portal was young.”
That was new information. His grandfather had whisked Fintan away from the portals before he got a close look.
“We both arrived at the same portals, and we both died near Dill,” he added. They died at drastically different times, but his grandfather’s explanation covered that. She died years earlier, but he went further into the afterlife. “There might be other arrival points like transit hubs into the afterlife.”
“The population of humans on Critos is different from what we were taught,” RuTing said. “They are dying young, and they have different beliefs.”
“They are bringing them in by the wagon load,” Fintan said.
“The people in my village were the rejects,” RuTing added. “They were deformed, but appearance in the afterlife isn’t as fixed as in the real world.”
“It’s still not easy to change.” They tried and failed to put on a new face. The citizens of Zeusopolis weren’t clones, so far as Fintan could tell. They all looked different. The percentage of the population in their early twenties was high, and there were a few grey beards. The Hellos were older.
What he saw contradicted nature unless they were at war. With a god such as the Adversary ruling the afterlife perhaps war was inevitable, but if the Adversary was here, where were all the bodies coming from?
They didn’t arrive at any new conclusions from their speculations. No one in Zeusopolis demonstrated any Skills. They didn’t seem particularly strong. They manifested materials at need, but they also crafted.
After they ate, they circulated around the city. The wagons that brought in new arrivals also left with soldiers. The foot soldiers had white tunics, a bronze shield emblazoned with an eagle, and a bronze spear. The entire length of the spear was bronze, and the shield was completely bronze with no evidence of wood.
The soldiers flipped them around as if they were weightless, transferring them to arm or back, and Fintan noticed a flash of electricity as the shields and spears came in contact with each other.
The soldiers were unperturbed.
“They have strength,” RuTing whispered. They kept walking, staying in the crowd and away from Archers.
“My grandfather said experiences in life translate into Skills,” Fintan replied. “He didn’t say Skills were unique. Their culture might give them the same Skill.”
“Casting bolts of lightning?”
“Maybe.”
Finten supposed he could manifest some electricity if he created a copper wire. He could probably make a simple generator. He knew the basics. He also knew that you couldn’t target lightning in a direction through open air without some type of medium for it to follow.
Could these soldiers have the power of the mythical Zeus? What kind of defenses would they find?
When the darkness closed in, lamps were lit around the city, but the population density in the streets dissolved their cover. They were forced closer to the mansions.
They hid in a copse of decorated trees where RuTing manifested the illusion of their absence. The Archers patrolled the streets. They were diligent and timely, and their organization left gaps. Every twenty minutes, two Archers would patrol. One carried a lantern in the shape of the gorgon's head. The large eyes were like two flashlights, and the Archers peered in every corner.
The lights might have been proof against Fintan’s spotty illusions, but RuTing’s manifestation was nearly impervious. By standing behind her, he was effectively covered as well.
They waited in the darkness until the Archers passed and then ran across the street to a brick wall and iron gates. Fintan couldn’t say why he picked this mansion. They all looked similar. About two hundred feet behind the gate, marble columns held a roof of clay-fired tiles, a statement of pure luxury since there was no rain.
He boosted RuTing over the fence by creating stairs that disappeared into mist after she slid over the top. She manifested a pole and slid down the length while he Stepped, traversing the distance between them in a heartbeat.
The wall was a statement, but it couldn’t keep people out. What he feared most were guards. He sensed people around him, just like when he had an implant in the Union. He thought that Skill was technology, but now he wondered. It didn’t tell him exactly where they were or who they were. He knew he hadn’t met them before because each time he sensed someone, he had a memory for what their eimai felt like.
“They are all around us,” he whispered to RuTing.
She took his hand, dragging Fintan behind her while she manifested the illusion of nothingness.
This was the most worrying to him because he couldn't tell she was doing it.
Every time the Archers passed by them, he’d sighed internally in relief. Inside her illusion, he didn’t know if she was doing anything. He had to trust and follow.
They didn’t try for the front doors behind the colonnade. The guards were numerous and closer, so he didn’t whisper. He traced a direction on RuTings hand. Go left. They’d worked out a few gestures. According to RuTing, the Guannei had a whole silent language, different from sign language and particular to guarding the Emperor.
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Fintan didn’t have time to learn a language—a few words were enough.
She went right. He had longer legs, but she was faster than he was. Her jog was closer to his run, and when she broke out into a full-out run, she was faster than he was.
By the time they looped the corner, he was at a sprint, but it wasn’t as if he had lost energy. Since consuming the gilders, he’d gotten overall resilience and fortitude. He monitored the consumption closely. At level fifty, he felt like he could run for days if he did nothing else.
Unfortunately, there was always something else to do. They wrapped around the house. In the worst case, they would go through a servant’s entrance, but they both knew every obvious entrance would be guarded.
RuTing dragged him to a halt in the darkness behind the house. She’d seen something. She raised his hand, and his eyes followed.
On the fourth floor, a small window was open. It was almost entirely dark, and the shutters were pushed all the way open against the wall.
It was big enough for a person, but the wall had few handholds. The bricks were well crafted, very solid, with almost no mortar between the joins.
The benefits of crafted materials were apparent when detering breaking and entering. Quick manifestations could be dissolved just as quickly. They had appearance but little substance.
He could probably dissolve handholds in the bricks, but they would be here all night. It was too risky.
RuTing had a different idea. She grabbed his leg under the knee with one hand and balanced him with her other hand on his chest before heaving. He was launched upward forty feet, and he grabbed the ledge before falling back to the ground. Even that would have been impossible for him in life, but he was quicker now. RuTing had changed the most.
She put almost all her gilders around her body. The water’s call was the same, but the effects were different. She gained the same solidity with the levels, but her strength doubled several times where she placed the gilders.
Despite her training, if he’d been able to land a blow before, RuTing would have been seriously hurt. They’d tested the effect with brief sparing after her leveling. One notable difference they found was in Skills. Her Skill was unchanged since the leveling. Perhaps that was why Hector leveled his mind. He was after more coins.
RuTing jumped, not bothering to wait for him to climb in the window, she used him as a ladder and pulled him in behind her. She was manifesting the illusion. He could tell the room was empty, but there was reason to believe it would remain that way.
They came in through a sitting room with stuffed couches. The ornate woodwork on the handles and feet and floral upholstery were telling. While he might be able to manifest fine furniture, he could tell with one look this was substantial. There was a book on a table, and Fintan immediately manifested the smallest possible light in his hands and flipped the heavy pages. They were flexible metal, and the ink was silver.
His eyes drank the words greedily, but as he flipped through the pages he became more disgusted. He could tell there was no one around them so he whispered.
“It’s a romance novel,” Fintan said. He put the book back, remembering its exact placement. The composition was important. Reproducing a book with gold lettering would have been demanding. If he worked in silver and less dense alloys, he could produce several pages without running himself down. They needed to steal information, not property. Since leveling his memory had sharpened, but he never had eidetic memory or techniques for recall.
He also didn’t have any training in materials sciences beyond the typical Union education, but after he held the book, he felt like he could reproduce the pages.
Fintan nodded toward the door. They needed to keep searching. If they a romance novel, they had more books. The hallway was lit with an oil lamp on a tripod. RuTing examined the bronze reservoir.
“It’s almost empty,” she whispered.
In all likelihood, someone would come around to fill the reservoir for the night. They’d only waited until darkness, since almost everyone rested in the night, but now Fintan reconsidered. With wealth came gilders and with gilders levels. Levels meant you didn’t need to rest as much.
“Be cautious.”
RuTing nodded and led them forward. They checked rooms, and he started to sense people below them.
All the rooms they swept appeared to be bedrooms, possibly guest quarters or maintained by servants. He was a little surprised there were no visible signs of dissolution. The whiteness that filmed on every manifestation wasn’t present as if someone made daily rounds in every crack and corner.
In one of the bedrooms, Fintan found another book—The Justice of Zeus. Their god was embossed on the cover in gold. Of the many statues he’d seen this Zeus was the most angry.
In the Parthenon, the hundred statues of Zeus was a multifaceted god. He was a protector and a king. Each of the statues demonstrated another facet. They worshipped one god, so he stood as the wise old man teaching children or the warrior defending his people.
As Fintan flipped through the pages of the book, he read a version of Zeus who was not that god. He was the god of domination.
“We need to leave,” RuTing whispered.
Fintan had become so engrossed he didn’t realize people were approaching from all sides. His sense flicked from one to the next. They must have triggered an alarm or someone else in the mansion had a Skill similar to his for sensing people.
Guards were forming up outside the wall so they couldn’t escape through a window.
The book was heavy and he didn’t want to take it with him, but as he put it down, there was a map drawn on the back—the path to Olympus.
They didn’t come here for nothing. Fintan held out his hand and manifested the map. He used the same metallic paper and silver lettering. It sapped his strength to manifest so much metal, and his forehead grew slightly warmer form the effort, but it was much less so than a gilder, and he recovered in seconds, putting the book in its place.
RuTing dragged him forward toward the door, but he stopped her.
“Not that way,” he said. He pivoted towards the small window, but before he could push aside the curtains and open the shutters, the room went white as if a sun had manifested inside the bedroom.
The walls turned into mirrors. They were trapped inside with no visible exits. The wood-framed bed, a small table, and the unlit brass lamp were still in place, but the door disappeared.
Fintan heard a voice. It was a man’s voice, deep and gravely.
“They are in there. I am not sure where. They jumped in. They have a teleporter.”
RuTing still manifested their illusion of nothingness. Her hand was on the sword he gave her. With a few cuts, she could make an opening large enough for them to jump through, and she appeared ready to do just that. He gripped her hand in their signal to stop.
A man appeared inside their room, older than Fintan, and clean-shaven. He wore common white robes, but his belt was fastened with a lorel in gold.
“I know you are here,” he said. “I can bring fifty soldiers into this room. They will find you no matter how clever your illusion. Do you think we don’t have defenses against the Skilled?
“Lower the illusion,” Fintan signaled on RuTing’s hand.
Her squeeze in reply was a simple return—I will be ready.
She subtracted him from their illusion. If they were trapped the best plan was not to reveal them both. RuTing had the stronger illusion and a killer instinct.
He didn’t think they had any hopes of talking their way out of this, but maybe he could understand the master of this house.
“You mirrored the walls,” Fintan said chagrined.
“We’ve dealt with teleporters before,” the laureled man said. “You are a Critan aren't you? Few make it this far. You should have stayed near the portals, but your foolishness is my gain. I have a use for Skilled Critans. You will find my ownership is not overburdensome, and if you work hard, you will be rewarded.”
From out of the mirrors, a hand appeared with golden manacles. Based on the price of gilders, even gilded manacles would have been astronomical.
The master of this house knew he was a teleporter and mass mattered, particularly mass in gold. Density increased difficulty. Fintan’s range had increased when he absorbed the gilders, and part of that was because he wasn’t carrying them.
Fintan guestimated that if the manacles were solid, they could be ten pounds of gold. That would be the equivalent of carrying sixteen hundred gilders.
He would get further walking than using his Skill.
The master was confident. He looked ready to tackle Fintan, and Fintan had no way of judging what level he was at.
Fintan drew the poinard out of his sleeve and crouched.
“What type of service?” he asked.
“You will move things for me every day until you are tired and fall asleep.”
“What if I decide to stop and rest?” Fintan asked. He tried to sound like he was considering the offer. The master wasn’t bothering to hide how the relationship was going to work.
“I have other people who are Skilled in pain. As long as you work, you won’t feel the pain. I’m sure you think once the manacles are off, you will disappear. That won’t happen. We will test your Skill. The manacles will be fitted to your task. When you become a trusted slave, the manacles will be lessened.”
“How do I become a citizen?”
The master shook his head.
“You either came to Zeusopolis as a citizen, or you are not. Your Skills are evidence that you are not one of us. You don’t look like us. You should have seen that by now. You are a flawed slave, a mutant from the corrupt surface of a destroyed planet. In the afterlife, you are fit only to serve.”
“It’s time for us to leave,” Fintan said to the empty air. He knew where RuTing was. Her illusions stopped every sense but one.
“You can’t teleport where you can’t see,” the master said.
He was wrong about that.
Fintan grabbed RuTing and Stepped behind the soldier's outside wall. The distance was not so great, but he had the extra mass of a whole person, although he didn’t think it was RuTing’s size that made the difference. It was more like he was dragging her through the intervening space, much like she dragged him around the mansion. Instead of being instantaneous, it took two or three seconds for them to reappear, which, of course, made Fintan wonder where they were when they disappeared.
Dragging her weight left him gasping when they reemerged, and he immediately felt hungry as he’d lost something inside he needed to replace. He wasn’t fit to run, but RuTing threw him across her shoulders and sprinted toward the far wall. He knew she would put up the illusion. Word was getting around to the soldiers, but they were caught by surprise. Before they even organized for a search, she vaulted over the wall.
Until now, they’d attempted to hide their levels. They needed to get out of Zeusopolis before they were captured, turned into slaves, or worse, thrown into the river.
