The journey back to the Yorktown had been slow, but uneventful. With the Jeep fixed — at least structurally — I only needed to make a single trip. The weight of the vehicle hardly registered as I once again summoned a quartet of eldritch tentacles to pull me forward. Only the danger of flipping the vehicle on the narrow paths and tight corners slowed me as I towed it behind me with a chain made of conjured energy.

I should have been annoyed at being turned into a beast of burden, but honestly, I was just relieved to be far enough ahead of the group that I didn’t have to participate in the mindless chit chat that they insisted on engaging in. I knew I could have just let the rescue party finish their job — every day I told myself this was the day to leave the survivors to their own devices. I just couldn’t bring myself to do so. I had a constant need to be doing something, anything.

Quiet voices tormented me in my sleep. The morphic lands of the Dreamscape were blocked to me and the Fisher stayed silent — so I ran, and I fought. I killed and faced death on a daily basis for one reason —

Because I was afraid.

There were things on this planet I wasn’t equipped to deal with. Even the archmage, Telvy, could destroy me if she ever turned her magic or living chains my way. There were things far stronger than the archmage, some not very far from home. This didn’t stop me from wanting to face them.

I was willing to die. What stopped me from trying was the knowledge that I would be dragging others to their deaths, and likely doing so in vain. I needed to be stronger. I had to find a way to level — to break through the walls I had hit. Telvy was the only being I had seen with a level above twenty-five, which was rare even among the Peacekeepers. She refused to tell me how she had done so.

“Only the Seas of Kell know,” she had said. Her amused smile told me there was a hint there, but without context, it was just as good as no answer at all.

One thought kept running through my head, but I refused to acknowledge it. I would repeat the thoughts over and over, before forcing them down in shame. Still …

The girl has power.

No. But I couldn’t ignore the temptation. Hers was unlike the power of a Dreamer or a god, and Telvy had confirmed it didn’t come from the system. If I could learn to harness it, or use it to gain some insight into the powers I had inherited …

Did humanity have other powers? Were they all lost … or waiting to be rediscovered?

To use a child for power … it reminded me too much of what I had lost. No, I could never be like Liv. I would help the girl, not seek to exploit her. I would protect her from those who tried. In the meantime, I would just need to train harder.

Once we were in sight of the makeshift camp directly under the Yorktown, I detached from the jeep. I ignored the calls of protest and leaped past the guards. The netting we used as a ladder still hung from the deck of the Yorktown. I climbed it in bounding leaps that carried me upwards a dozen meters with each step. From the ground, I must have looked like a furious spider ascending its web.

Before I reached the top, I heard the music of cheerful voices and acoustic instruments. The gentle buzz of conversation and the sweet smell of baked goods and spices filled the air. I tried to slide onto the crowded deck quietly but as soon as my feet landed faces turned towards me in shock and disgust. Two pairs of tentacles still grew from my back and a faint mist of black, fiery energy filled the space around me. I stared back at the accusatory eyes, but they all looked away as soon as my gaze turned towards them. It was as if they were afraid to acknowledge my presence.

I sped forward, dismissing my eldritch armor and revealing the silver jumpsuit that covered everything below my neck except for the naked darkness of my right arm. The crowd parted as I made my way towards an old WWII fighter plane that had been bolted to the deck. It had become a gathering spot for traders and even the occasional performer.

A line of merchants were still busy plying their trade; most were selling potions, food, or clothing and jewelry made from the remains of monsters. For the first time, I noticed that the survivors were beginning to look much more like a society of hunters and less like a modern society of pencil pushers. Muscle had replaced flab, while fur and leather replaced khakis and floral sundresses.

Somehow, the fashion of keeping one arm bare had become popular. I noticed the style on most of the men and even a great deal of the women. A single pauldron would often cover the shoulder of the clothed arm, and I noticed full-sleeve henna tattoos on many of the women while similar, more angular tattoos had become popular among the men.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

I shivered when I realized most of the tattoos were depicted stylized eyes.

An entire culture was beginning to develop. I felt a sense of pride, but the knowledge that it had gone unnoticed by me till now only filled me with an even greater sense of loneliness. Was Charleston even my home anymore?

I looked around for familiar faces but each time I recognized a hunter or one of the original survivors they would look away, sometimes with a polite nod but just as often they would give me nothing but hurried, downcast eyes.

I told myself I didn’t care, and marched further into the crowd. I was determined to at least join in the food and perhaps listen to some music before tracking down Tiller and Catayla. Maybe they were even here? Someone had strung a cord of white lights around the deck and conning tower. The gentle music, conversation, and sweet smells made it seem like the perfect place to find a new couple.

As I reach the line of merchants, I approached a stall made of old plywood inexpertly cobbled together with crude nails and duct tape. The merchant gave me a wide grin, as he ignored an older couple that had been waiting before me. The couple stood aside and began speaking softly to each other. They each must have been in their fifties or even sixties, and yet I noticed that they moved with a grace that spoke of youth. The apocalypse had been good for some, it seemed.

“What’ll it be,” the merchant asked.

I glanced at a sign written in sharpie on old cardboard.

Bat Berger – 5 Stones

“Thunder Dog” – 6 Stones

Coke – 2 stones

“Ah, what’s in the dog?”

“Some kind of reptile, or so I’m told. It’s good meat though and damn fine sausage. I made it myself.”

“I’ll take one, and a Coke. Got any mustard?”

I finished ordering my meal and sat down on a wooden bench, facing the setting sun. The sausage was gamey and difficult to chew, but it was warm. The feeling of grease washed down by lukewarm coke was nostalgic, and I allowed myself to enjoy just sitting. The sunset over the warped landscape was beautiful.

Reds and golds hung above the sheer, chalky cliffs and the rolling hills, as the skies slowly faded from blue to purple. “Night” was a different concept these days, as it never grew truly dark. The pillar of light to the east, rising from the center of a dungeon that could not be entered, was strong enough to act as a second sun. Nights were just slightly less bright, more purple days with deeper shadows and greater threats.

As I finished the last bite of my sausage, I took a chug of Coke but almost spit it out as something small and fast collided with my midsection.

“Gus!”

The young girl wrapped around my stomach would not have looked unusual if she was walking to school in the days when surviving just meant going to work and paying bills, and indoor plumbing had been taken for granted. Her unruly hair had been done up into twin poofs on each side of her head and her blue, corduroy dress looked brand new.

“Trish,” I said. “I can’t breathe!”

She squeezed harder but let go as a strong hand landed on my back.

“Pastor Belk,” I said. “It’s good to see you.”

“I wish you’d just call me James,” he said, sitting down next to me on the bench.

“Trish,” I said, pulling a handful of pearly, pea-sized stones from my pocket. Her eyes widened as I placed the glowing orbs into her palm. “Why don’t you go buy us some Cokes? Mine’s all gone.”

The girl beamed and jumped up and down, but her celebration ended as she looked over to Pastor Belk for permission. The old man smiled and nodded his head, causing the girl to fling herself into the crowd like a rocket parting clouds.

“So … how’s Tiller?”

“We don’t see him much, not at home or church.” The pastor sighed, sitting up a little straighter as he looked out at the sunset. “He’s got responsibilities these days, not to mention a new girlfriend. We’re proud of him.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Bother me? Well, this whole magic business is still uncomfortable, but I’ve prayed on it and I don’t see any way for us to survive without it. The Bible never tells us how to spot the witch for the miracle, it’s left to our hearts to guide us to the truth.”

I shook my head, “I meant Catayla.”

“I thought the three of you were close? I’m surprised at you.”

“I love them both,” I said. “It’s just she’s …”

“What, got a foot of height on him and claws that could skin a deer? How could I love her any different because of such gifts? Besides, as dangerous as the world is … it is nice to know she is by his side.”

“And if he leaves?”

“I think I understand, Finn,” he smiled. “I raised the boy, and I see the man he is now. I trust his judgment, and you should too.”

“So many people need us …”

“Finn,” The pastor stood up and his voice deepened. I called it his sermon voice, and I suspect it was subconscious. “You know the Chinese proverb of the Fisherman, yes? It’s better to teach a man to fish than to feed him for a day."

"What, no scripture?"

"You know my beliefs, Finn, but not everything can be learned by reading scripture alone. We need to live in the world to truly understand the Lord's will. If you understand your own heart, you'll know what  you should do."

"People will die, Pastor. That's not in question."

“And if you stay, everything goes back to normal? Teachers are not meant to stay with us forever, Finn. You’ve given these people what they need, all of us, and eventually, you will need to stand aside to let them catch the fish on their own. You do more good elsewhere — or perhaps you will fail. We can never know, only do what feels right.”

“What about Trish, and the other children? Who protects them?”

“We all do, Finn. As a community, a village. We won’t always succeed, but we must keep trying. I’ve never been a father, not in the biological sense — but I’ve raised two children and I’ve been to funerals for far more than that. I will do so again.”

“You …”

“Don’t understand the pain of losing a child? No, I don’t. I’ve seen that pain firsthand, though, and it can destroy lives, but it can transform them as well. You’re not alone. For all your strength, you need the power of community. The church …”

“Pastor … James, thank you. I have to go.”

“Can I ask where to?”

“To find your nephew. I have an apology to give … and a few ideas to go over.”