Arrival

  ABILITIES

  * * *

  YOU WALK IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH. TEMPORARY ABILITIES GAINED:

  * * *

  ANY LAST WORDS (temporary)

  Death comes for us all. Upon witnessing the death of a sentient creature according to its own cultural beliefs, as a direct consequence of the creature’s personal choice, or through natural causes, you gain fluency in that creature’s primary language.*

  * * *

  *This does not allow you to utilize languages where your biology prevents you from speaking or understanding the language learned.

  * * *

  SPEAK WITH THE DYING (temporary)

  Your proximity to Death allows you to commune with a dying creature even if they are unconscious.*

  * * *

  *When using “Speak with the Dying,” you are considered fluent in that creature’s language. Biological limitations do not apply. Target must be fluent in at least one language.

  * * *

  DEUS EX MACHINA

  A one-time boon granted by Verna as compensation for that dumbass Carl’s screw-up when you were sent to Arenia. Verna will decide what it looks like when she finally gets through all this Carl-induced paperwork. Gods, Verna hates Carl almost as much as she hates writing about herself in the 3rd person.

  * * *

  THREAT ASSESSMENT

  The constant grind of war has given you the ability to deduce information about hostile targets and their potential weaknesses.

  Requirement: Minimum 300 days of military service in combat conditions.

  Jack stared at the book. What the hell is this crap? Walk in the Shadow of Death? Was he mid-heart-attack when they brought him to this place or something? That didn’t seem right. The abilities were labelled as temporary, after all. But if they were temporary, what was the trigger that would make them go away? They seemed handy, if a bit weird. Well, maybe not that last one. If it was referring to that fake war movie blather he’d gotten with the coyote, he could do without it.

  Something strange was going on. From where Jack was sitting, he could see no tie between the temporary abilities and that deal he’d made with the lawyer. There had to be something else at play. Unless this was the compensation that space lady mentioned? If so, it was a pretty raw deal to only get something temporary.

  Footsteps sounded on the walkway outside Canus’ hut, and Jack dismissed his Tome just as Kaeso stepped through the curtained doorway.

  “Come with me,” she said.

  Jack got to his feet and followed the Chian’dir elder outside. It was raining, but the weather didn’t seem to bother her, nor did Jack let it bother him. The elder led him into the trees’ highest reaches, their path taking them across several rope bridges that she traversed with a fluidity that exceeded even the nimblest of scouts. She didn’t wait for Jack on the other side, either, but she did slow her pace to ensure that he didn’t lose her on the way. The general message was clear, though: Hurry your ass up.

  There was no talking as Kaeso led Jack across the village in a no-nonsense, direct path to their destination, with only one curious deviation. That happened when they passed a large platform that was ingeniously suspended between several trees. The platform had the feeling of some sort of meeting place, with sloping seating for viewing that ringed the central area like an amphitheatre. There were only three occupants in the space; two warriors and one heavily injured, frantic scout who was being dragged towards a large hole in the centre of the amphitheatre floor. When the warriors got to the hole, they unceremoniously tossed the scout in, his screams echoing for more than five seconds before cutting off with a distant thud.

  The whole affair occurred without Kaeso or the warriors acknowledging each other. Still, there was no doubt: The incident was prearranged to show Jack that the manner of his capture had been investigated, and they’d decided Jack was telling the truth. Whatever that meant for Jack’s fate was still unknown, but it was certainly better than the alternative.

  Eventually, Kaeso led Jack to what he suspected was the highest point in the entire tree village. There were no more huts up here, just small rooms set into the trees themselves, almost as though they’d grown that way. Some of the rooms had a single warrior and elder stationed outside the door, but most of them were empty.

  One of them was different, though. This one had many elders outside, and the only warrior present was Canus. They soon noticed Kaeso and Jack’s approach, and he immediately picked up on the sombre mood.

  “Kaeso, Jack,” Canus said, nodding to them each in turn.

  The elders looked at Jack with wary suspicion. Jack raised an eyebrow to Canus, who shrugged as if to say, “I don’t know why you’re here either.”

  One elder stepped forward. Her hair had lost any traces of yellow, replaced entirely by silver, and the remaining red hair had lost its lustre. It was hard to tell age with something as alien as the Chian’dir, but the elder looked ancient. Probably older than Jack was.

  “You are the human named Jack,” the elder said. “I am Novus.” She gestured to the door of the hut. “Two days ago, Pash began the Rebirth. He has since stalled, his body resisting the change. If he does not progress soon, he will die.”

  “He was not ready,” one of the other elders snapped.

  “These things are never certain,” Kaeso said calmly. “Pash had no chance of surviving his wound. The flesh had festered, and his blood was poisoned. Rebirth heals all wounds; restores all limbs. His actions in battle earned him the right to try, regardless of his chance for success.”

  “This is true,” Novus said, shutting down any further second-guessing. “But he is dying nonetheless. So, we look to you, Jack. What do you think we should do? Do we plunge a knife into his chest and allow him a peaceful transition to the afterlife? Or do we wait, refusing to interfere while allowing him to persist in great pain?”

  It was a test. Any idiot could see that.

  “Why ask me?” Jack said. “I figure Pash likely has some thoughts on the matter.”

  The gathered elders laughed, and Canus managed to look embarrassed.

  “This is not possible,” Novus said. “If you went inside the hut, you would see why.”

  Jack gritted his teeth. He did not like being laughed at. They were clearly trying to back him into a corner, but they didn’t need to get their rocks off in the process. “Maybe I’ll do that. Then we’ll decide what’s possible.”

  A general murmur of discontent rose amongst the elders, other than Novus and Kaeso, who looked at him with great curiosity. They glanced at each other, and after a moment, Novus nodded.

  “Very well,” she said. There was an explosion of indignation from the other elders, but Novus silenced the crowd with a gesture. She looked at Jack with an intensity that would have put a younger version of him on edge. “I will allow you to enter, Jack, but know this: Our custom dictates that only an elder, the caretaker, or a Chian’dir warleader may cross that threshold. If you choose to do so, you will be bringing the shadow of death down upon you.”

  Jack couldn’t help but laugh at her choice of words, his sharp outburst catching Novus by surprise. “Lady, word on the street is that I already walk in the shadow of death.” He gave her a wink. “Better luck next time.”

  Ignoring the shocked expressions of the gathered elders, Jack pushed aside the curtain and stepped into the room.

  Jack expected Pash to be in a coma-like state when he entered the room, or even encased in some kind of cocoon. Instead, he found something still vaguely humanoid but covered in a semi-transparent, grub-like sheath that completely encompassed the Chian’dir scout, oozing puss and generally stinking up the place. The smell wasn’t helped by the warmth—far warmer than anywhere else in the village. There was no fire to account for such an uncomfortable temperature, but Jack noted the thick black bags placed in a circle around the room. Two of them sat on either side of the door, and Jack nudged one of them with his foot.

  Not hot, but warm
enough that you couldn’t carry it for long. Hot coals stuck in sandbags if he had to guess.

  Jack turned his attention back to Pash’s writhing form. The pallet beneath the grub-like Chian’dir was completely soaked with pus. “That much oozing can’t be a good sign.”

  “No. It is a sign the transition is failing.”

  Jack looked into the shadows where the low voice had come from. He hadn’t noticed anyone when he entered but then saw an old Chian’dir warrior shuffling out of the darkness. From the girth of his arms and chest, the old warrior must have been gigantic in his youth, possibly even larger than Canus. Somewhere along the way, he had lost both of his legs, and the rest of his body was a tapestry of scars. If landmines were a thing in this world, the warrior looked like he had stepped on one.

  The old warrior dragged a basket and small drum behind him as he made his way to Pash’s body. Once there, he pulled a hunk of thick, fatty meat from the basket and dipped it towards Pash’s white head. A round, tooth-covered hole opened up and devoured the flesh, beckoning for more.

  The old warrior saw Jack looking and nodded to Pash. “During Rebirth, the body constantly hungers for food. It is more reflex than desire.” He paused and shook his head forlornly. “Even as he is dying, the body hungers still.”

  “You’re the caretaker?” Jack asked.

  The old warrior nodded. “Yes. My name is Sextus.” The warrior caught Jack’s glance at his missing legs and gave a wan smile, waving at the missing limbs dismissively.

  “Our warleader’s time had come and gone. He knew I would depose him soon, so he took us into one last battle against a wyvern, hoping to remember the excitement of his youth. It was ill-advised, and the hunt did not go well. Had I ordered a retreat, he would have been killed and I would have become warleader, but I chose not to.”

  “Why not?” Jack asked.

  “It wasn’t what was best for the tribe,” Sextus said simply. “Hatha was a brilliant and strong warleader, and the tribe needed him as an elder more than it needed me as a warleader. So I charged the wyvern while one of my fellow warriors ordered the retreat, taking Hatha with them.”

  “Lemme guess, he became warleader instead of you?”

  Sextus laughed, large canines flashing. “It is our way. I bore him no ill will, mind you. My only goal was to allow Hatha’s escape. I certainly did not expect to kill the beast. But when the new warleader returned hours later to recover my body, they discovered the wyvern dead and me not far behind. Both of my legs had been destroyed beyond repair in the beast’s death throes, but before falling unconscious, I somehow managed to break my spear in two and use the leather from my sword’s hilt to tourniquet my wounds. Somehow, I had survived.” He smiled. “Hatha had the honour of consuming the wyvern during the Rebirth, which was nice.”

  Jack cocked his head. “Shouldn’t the attempt to depose Hatha have failed since you still killed the wyvern?”

  “No,” Sextus said. “Hatha followed the order of a challenger. If that happens, the deposition is always considered to have succeeded.”

  “Seems like a pretty raw deal for you,” Jack noted. “Jumble up that order a bit and you get to be warleader for a few seconds, come back a hero, then get your legs back when you’re Reborn as an elder. Hell, if you ask me, you sound like exactly the kind of guy the elders want producing the next generation of Chian’dir.”

  Sextus chuffed out a laugh and leaned towards Jack conspiratorially. “You and I are old and wise, human. Do you honestly believe the mating habits of an entire tribe could be as simple as our customs claim?” He grinned heartily. “Just don’t tell Canus. He’s an idealist.”

  That was when Jack realized the resemblance between this old warrior and Canus. He couldn’t help but laugh. “That why you’re doing this job?”

  “No, nothing of that sort,” Sextus said, shaking his head. He gestured to his legs. “The caretaker is always an elderly warrior who watches over a Chian’dir as they pass through death and into a new life. What warrior could be better at that role than one who has walked that road twice?”

  Jack gestured to Pash’s writhing body. “Except that sometimes…”

  The warrior nodded somberly. “Sometimes I fail in my caretaking. Pash is at the point where his heart must stop beating if he is to proceed, but his body resists.”

  “His heart needs to stop?”

  As a response, Sextus reached over and poked a finger into Jack’s chest. “The heart of a scout,” he said. Then Sextus took Jack’s hand and placed it on his own chest. “The hearts of a warrior.”

  Jack could feel the beating of two hearts, one on either side of the powerful chest.

  The old warrior released Jack’s hand. “There is a point in the Rebirth where the scout’s heart stops beating, and the warrior’s hearts begin,” Sextus said. “At that moment, between beats, we die. When we die, we enter the realm of Nochd, the god of the dead and our patron deity. Only through his blessing are we allowed to leave and experience Rebirth. In doing so, we grow stronger as a people.”

  Sextus placed one palm on the slick surface of Pash’s bloated form. “Sometimes, the scout’s heart does not stop beating. It lingers, and with each beat, the chance of returning from Nochd’s realm diminishes. I fear that is what is happening to Pash.

  “It is too bad. Pash was a strong scout, and as a warrior he may have risen high. Now we will never know.”

  Jack watched Sextus’ face as he spoke, reading the compassion this old warrior held for a fallen comrade. While Jack could sympathize with Canus’s role based on his own experiences during the war, and understood the elders’ place in the tribe from a logical standpoint, this old warrior was the first Arenian Jack had met who felt like a peer. If for that reason only, Jack wanted to help Pash.

  “You seem like a good man, Sextus. I’m sorry your boy here ain’t doing so well,” Jack said. “From what you say, it sounds like he was a good lad when he wasn’t trying to kill me.”

  Sextus smiled.

  “That said,” Jack continued speculatively, “why don’t we chalk that up to a misunderstanding and see if I can’t help out.”

  “I don’t understand,” Sextus said.

  “Can’t rightly say I do either, but it seems I’ve got a couple tricks up my sleeve. It’d be a shame not to at least give them a shot.”

  “You have tricks in your sleeve?” Sextus asked, confused.

  Jack’s eyebrows pinched together. “Yeah, guess that wouldn’t make sense. Doesn’t matter. Shuffle over. I’m gonna try something.”

  Sextus reluctantly moved off to the side, his robust frame and long arms allowing him to walk on his hands with ease.

  Positioning himself at the top of Pash’s head, Jack sat down cross-legged—it was still a marvel that he could contort his body in such a way—and placed a hand on either side of the scout’s head. The thick, translucent skin was rubbery, not to mention slippery thanks to the mucous oozing from cracks in the flesh. It was empirically disgusting, but Jack had held worse things in his hands during his life.

  Alright. How do I do this?

  Fortunately, it wasn’t the first time Jack needed to teach himself how to do something without the benefit of a manual—it’s not like they had the internet in 1952. So he did what he always did: Try, fail, learn, and repeat until successful.

  “You there, kid?” Jack said. “Not sure how you’re supposed to answer me with just that meat hole you got there.” He looked at Sextus. “Can he talk?”

  “He can’t even chew,” Sextus said, looking extremely skeptical. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “Does it look like I do?” Jack said.

  “It does not.”

  “Well, there you go, answering your own question.”

  Jack frowned at Pash’s writhing form. Then something occurred to him, and he produced his Tome again to double-check the description of his Speak with the Dying Ability.

  Yep, there it was: “…allows you to co
mmune with a dying creature even if they are unconscious.” Apparently, this was not going to be a normal conversation.

  Jack closed his eyes and focused his mind on Pash. Where are ya, kid? You’re just about at death’s door, and I need to talk to you.

  Even with his eyes closed, Jack could feel a change in the sensation across his skin. It was cool. Like a foggy morning by the ocean, and with the same feeling of ambiguity; where you never knew if the fog was going to burn off or thicken into a full-on storm.

  Opening his eyes, Jack found he was no longer in the hut. Instead, he was sitting in some kind of twilight mistscape. It obscured his vision somewhat, but not so severely that he couldn’t see a reasonable distance through the mist.

  He shook his head in annoyance. “Really? I gotta deal with some kinda bull-crap dreamworld?”

  Impatient to get the whole experience over with, Jack stood up and looked around for Pash. Sure enough, the young scout was sitting on the ground nearby, staring at a simple arch made of black stone. Within the arch, the mists seemed to pull together and thicken until they formed an opaque wall.

  Jack walked over and nudged the Chian’dir with his foot. “Just what the hell are you waiting for, boy?”

  The scout scrambled away in terror at Jack’s unexpected appearance, his expression turning to one of confusion when he realized who was standing there.

  “Human? Why are you here? Are you a dream, come to torment me for my failure?” Pash said.

  “I’m not a dream, but I’m opening to tormenting you for your failure,” Jack said. “Just go through the dang arch! I’ve been in this place for a hot second, and I already know that’s what you need to do.”