Downfall And Rise

by Nathan Thompson

  Maybe I was being more insolent than I thought. Maybe I was pretending the old pastor was still here, the guy who loved hearing about people's doubts and helping them work through them, or just listening to them when he didn't know what to say.

  Or maybe the new pastor was just an asshole who took everything I said as a challenge to his authority, and didn't appreciate me making him look bad. But after my words the flush went all the way down to the man's neck, and he practically bared his teeth at me when he spoke again.

  “Not everyone who comes here once or twice chooses salvation in the end, young man. And I'm sorry, but unsurprised, to know that neither of your sister's immigrant friends or others so dear to you made the right choice with their lives. But that harms only them, because the church can do without their presence. The people who can really make a difference in the community have all made both this place and heaven their home, whatever you may say or think. And those people are going to be the ones making real change, using God's money to bring in leaders that will pass laws that honor his own rules. And when that happens, maybe the consequences of those laws will motivate others to choose salvation before it's too late.”

  “Amen,” someone muttered behind me, and for a second I couldn't recognize anyone standing around this man.

  That wasn't true, I realized. It had been far longer than a second.

  It had been two years. I haven't recognized anyone in this town, save my family and a handful of others, in two years. Everyone I had grown up with was either gone or... changed. Into what, I couldn't articulate. Maybe they were always like that, and just had stopped pretending after Dad's death. I didn't know. But this place, the place my parents brought me to learn how to love my enemies and my neighbor, had become a place of something sick and malicious. Where people who didn't even like each other whispered together about others they hated even more.

  And since I had only seen what was directed at me, I just took it personally. But mentioning 'immigrant friends' in a way where the word immigrant was a slur? Mentioning that people had lost their salvation just for missing sermons?

  Even at my mind's most damaged state, I could remember enough facts to know both of those ideas to be un-biblical. And really, really douchey.

  There was a smug grin on the pastor's face, and I realized I had been right earlier. Even in his anger he had been relishing this, this triumph of his. He had boasted of numbers and tithes and the prestige of his members to me, a half-crippled eighteen-year old kid. I was a nobody, and I was still someone he couldn't bear to be ignored by.

  I shook my head. The movement hurt a little. But this was rare case where my stomach hurt more than my head.

  There was nothing more to say to the man, so I turned, slowly and carefully, to leave so that I could find a ride home. Either Christina or Davelon should be still around.

  Pastor Barnes apparently felt like he hadn’t already had the last word, because he called out to me again.

  “You should repent and submit to authority, son. I know you take your disease and suffering as a sign of God's judgment and abandonment, but if you repent now you may yet find some small measure of God's mercy.”

  “Actually Pastor Barnes,” I said as I stopped and turned my head slightly. “The first chapter of James says I should consider all my troubles as pure joy, because the testing of my faith produces perseverance, and that perseverance will make me mature and complete in time. Also, Jesus said 'blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted,' in Matthew 5. So I shouldn't take my every single problem to be a sign of His judgment and I shouldn't ever expect a 'small' amount of mercy from God, because the New Testament says over and over that God is rich in love, slow to anger and abounding in mercy. I miss hearing messages like that here, Pastor Barnes. Good day.”

  A gasp had swept through the room as I had started speaking, but it had vanished by the time I had said goodbye. I turned back to walk out of the room. More whispering had begun behind my back, and for once I was able to ignore it completely.

  My nerves were agonizing. But the rest of me was rejoicing. I had stood my ground, despite my balance problems, and recalled something I had read twice in a row without my brain blanking out on me. That was easily worth the newly increased pain I was feeling.

  More than that, I felt...lighter. A heaviness had fallen upon me when that man had begun dumping hate out of his mouth. I felt like some vagrant ghost had taken refuge inside my conscience, and as soon as it had moved in it begun hollering about how it had been wronged and dishonored and evicted from its rightful home. When I had finished talking with that man, though, I felt it give a satisfied huff and move on.

  It had the right idea. I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could too. When I had gotten home, I thanked Davelon and Christina for the ride, but I asked them to stop inviting me. They were hurt, but after hearing about what happened they understood and didn't fault me for it.

  I could tell they felt torn about the place. They still went because they felt obligated to, and because they didn't know where else to go. They just shook their heads when I asked about the other churches in town.

  I got home, greeting my mother and sister who hadn't gone. Then I went to go wash the sweat off my face in the bathroom. The stares and whispers I noticed while little Gabby had held onto me hadn't been easy to deal with.

  I looked back up at the mirror, and blinked. When I opened my eyes again, I still saw the same thing.

  “Mom, Rachel,” I called out. “Did either of you write anything on the bathroom mirror?”

  “Rachel!” I heard my mother shouted. “What did I tell you about leaving your little lipstick notes everywhere?”

  “I haven't done that since I was thirteen, Mom!” My sister shouted back as stomped over to the bathroom. “Wes, what are you talking about?”

  When she got to the bathroom mirror, she blinked too.

  “What?” she sounded confused, and I started to feel relieved because it meant she had seen it too.

  “That was weird,” she said next. “For a second it looked like there was something written on the mirror. But nothing's there. Right Wes?”

  I looked back at the mirror, still seeing the exact same words scrawled over it.

  “Yeah, it's clear,” I lied. “That's weird. I thought I saw writing too. What did you see?”

  Rachel shook her head slowly.

  “It was only there for a second. I couldn't make it out.”

  “Same here,” I lied again.

  “Do you think it was a trick of the light? Or are we both going crazy?” My sister asked jokingly.

  “I think it's just been a long day,” I replied tiredly. I was tired, but I hoped I wasn't still sweating.

  “Already?” she asked carefully. “Church still that bad?”

  I shook my head slowly. At least this time it didn't really hurt. Or I was too busy not freaking out to not feel any pain.

  “Worse,” I replied. “New pastor's a jackass, and probably an evil cultist in disguise. And all the other jackasses left at church think he's great.”

  “Bummer. One more reason for me not to bother checking it out myself.”

  “Good call,” I said. “I'd recommend you do exactly that. I'm going to lie down and see how many brain cells I lost in that sermon.”

  She muttered a goodbye and went to her own room, looking distracted. I hurried to my room as fast as my better balance allowed. I closed the door and locked it, then, to get myself under control, I closed my eyes and slowly tried to count to ten.

  I didn't make it.

  I limped over to my bed and lied down, closing my eyes again.

  I still saw it.

  The same writing I saw on the mirror stood out against the dark of my eyelids, with the exact same angry, scrawling script.

  Traitor-prince. Malus is watching for you.

  Chapter 21: Trudge instead of Stumble

  The next day I woke up feeling especially fuzzy. A corner of my min
d was screaming that I had seen something intensely disturbing right before I had fallen asleep, but I couldn't remember what it was. I had the dim memory of seeing something horrible written on a mirror, and the words following me for the rest of the day every time I closed my eyes. But I couldn't remember what they were. No one else looked like they remembered anything, so I didn't bring it up and chalked it up to just another bad dream. There just wasn't much else I could do about it.

  Well, there was one thing, I realized.

  I could get stronger.

  I told my mother I needed more time off, that I wanted to see what I could study online, safe at home, and that I wanted more time to do exercises, both physical and in my game. She was thrilled by all of that, even if she still didn't come around to liking my game. Didn't matter to me. As long as she let me play it and hopefully keep getting better, I'd take it.

  When I wasn't gaming with my Australian friends, I was practicing the movements I had done in Avalon. The similarity between the game and that place was uncanny. I had done comparisons a long time ago, but now that I had actual combat experience from Avalon I found it to be almost identical to combat in Heroes Unbound. Looking back, it was like that game had wound up being the perfect set of training wheels for actually going on adventures in Avalon or the Woadlands. Swinging a sword didn't seem that different, for instance. Neither did my punches and kicks, although those attacks weren't as supported in the game. Even the magic had a few things in common, especially the basic positioning to begin a spell.

  When I realized that, I started to ask myself more questions.

  Was I unique? Would other people who had played this game also have the same benefits if they became a Challenger? Were these benefits a coincidence, or by design?

  Could Heroes Unbound have been designed by another Challenger?

  That last idea seemed absurd. The game wasn't even ten years old. I know time passes more slowly on Earth, but surely Stell would have reacted more to getting a Challenger that much sooner.

  But what if the Challenger had traveled to Avalon a long time ago?

  Say, thirty, maybe forty years or so?

  Could they have been a hero in Avalon's worlds, then, long after they came back, decided to go into game design, using their projected body’s experience as a template for virtual reality?

  And if so, wasn't that a waste of time? I mean sure, go ahead and make a successful video game, but in the end a Challenger was supposed to gain a great deal of power. Like a sharper brain, a healthier body, and a bunch of minor magical benefits that somehow carried over into this world. I would hope that the kind of person who had successfully been a hero in other worlds would keep being a hero in this one and do things like save a third-world country, make a new breakthrough in medicine, or just create a really awesome charity.

  At the very least, if there had been a Challenger this century, I should have heard about an awesome person who did something like that, save lives, help people in developing countries, etc.

  But maybe I was presuming too much. If a lot of other people had my condition, then this game really was helping lives.

  But why put so much of the rules that governed Avalon and the rest of the Expanse into it? That couldn't have been easy, and how could they have known for certain that the next Challenger would wind up playing the game?

  Too many questions, too few answers, too little time.

  I pulled my focus back to getting healthier on Earth and preparing to stop the coming cataclysms in Avalon's worlds.

  According to Stell and Breena, the preparations were coming along very well. They were able to get some basic weapons in the armory- something they assured me they would have already had if Stell had been able to call me like a normal Challenger, but whatever. I was finally getting time to practice moving about with different types of armor. Once again, the experience was suspiciously familiar. Playing Heroes had made it easier to understand Breena explanations when she described how to walk in it. I also got more practice with different weapons, eventually getting to use things like a spear and a long blade.

  I had another minor Challenge come up. A large but primitive coastal village on the Sun-jeweled Sea was facing an intense storm created by rogue magic. Dealing with the rogue magic was necessary, but the Challenge would still be failed if the village was wiped out. Even after I dealt with the source of the rogue magic I still had to deal with the storm it had summoned. This Challenge was neat because it wasn't solved by just killing things, although I did find a nest of lizard-men-things sailing around casting dangerous and unstable storm magic. It turned out that they were manipulating the air currents to make harsher seas, apparently in preparation for the upcoming Tumults and Trials. I had asked Breena if it was normal for monsters from one Challenge to help prepare for another. She said it wasn't, and the whole thing made her very nervous. Two bits of good news though. The lizard men had been easy to find and deal with. They were just a few miles off the coast, in a large, easily seen ship that was glowing from all the rituals they were performing. When they somewhat rudely declined my request to not destroy the world and tried to attack me, I just retreated to my own vessel that Breena was helping me pilot and wrecked their ship with strategically worked lightning and air magic. It turned out that other than that ritual they were performing they had no real weapons or offensive magic- just some claw-like fingernails and faith in their Dark Icon to grant them victory over their enemies.

  Casting at sea was a little difficult, but the extra balance and concentration from my Ideals seemed to make the process much easier. Ironically, what helped me the most was a new Earth spell Breena taught me called Stone Grip, a spell that created a bond between myself and objects I wanted to hold onto. I was nonplussed until she explained that I could use it on my feet, allowing me to grip the deck of a ship or raft and not fall over easily. I thought that was the most brilliant thing she’d taught me yet. With that worked out, all it had taken to wreck their ship was a gust of wind into their sails to direct them towards some high rocks, and a few attack spells for when they tried to correct their course. Boarding the boat didn't pull up any real clues except for the diagrams they were drawing and a few religious paraphernalia that Breena said was for an Dark Icon called the Writhing One. But the real good news was that Breena was able to determine that wrecking the ritual had delayed the upcoming storm by several days.

  Three days later, as the waves were finally beginning to swell and the wind was beginning to pick up, I had thrown down the last heavy rock into the water, walked away from the edge of the cliff I was on and collapsed onto the grass with a heavy sigh.

  “Wes, what are you doing?” Breena chittered at me. “The storm is coming! You need to evacuate like everyone else has!”

  “I will,” I panted. “In five minutes. I have that long for sure.” I took a few deep breaths to fully answer her. “I have spent the last three days carting heavy rocks from Avalon and the Woadlands to here, directing people where to move them, and personally placing the ones too heavy for Unrisen people to move. Give me,” I panted, “time to catch my breath.”

  “Number one, no,” The little fairy said firmly and confidently. “Number two, we don't even know if this idea will work,” she ticked off another finger.

  “It will work,” I panted back. “I just spent three days making sure it would.”

  “Number three, even if your big strong human man body can handle the storm, my petite delicate shapely princess body deserves to not have to. So get up and make sure I can fly out of the rain.”

  “Fine,” I sighed as I got up, my back aching terribly. As I walked over to the cave the villagers were using to hide from the storm, Breena stopped flying and landed on my shoulder, squirming around until she apparently got into a more comfortable position. Which was right on my sorest spot.

  “Really?” I asked the little fairy in annoyance.

  “Flying around all day is tiring,” she yawned.

  Yup. Ste
ll definitely needs to work on her empathy some more.

  “Tell you what,” Breena said with another yawn. “I can respect your needs and compromise. If your shoulders really hurt that much, I can just rest in one of your pockets-”

  “No.”

  Definitely not going that route.

  “That way your shoulders can rest and-”

  “No.”

  “I can stay completely out of the rain!” She looked proud of the idea.

  “No.” I was not.

  “Why?” she asked, tilting her head. “Are you legs as tired as your shoulders?”

  “No. And no pocket rides for tiny women-things. The world isn’t ready for that and neither am I.”

  “But I'm so small!” my (hopefully) naive friend protested. “And I can get even smaller! I'd hardly weigh anything in there! And if you're worried about me playing a trick, there's all these people that would be watching us!” She pointed to the nearby villagers huddling in the cave.