It was the last thing I heard before opening my eyes in a new world, and a new realm. For several long seconds, I lay stunned, blinking up at an ashy sky.
I’d been murdered. And not by the priests, which probably wouldn’t have surprised me quite as much, but by Jack.
The squire who had saved my life the night before, from both fire and an assassin. The squire whose life I’d saved by convincing him to run instead of die on some kind of noble dumbass quest.
And after the bullshit he’d fed me the night before about being honored by my presence – to turn around this morning and bam, knife to the throat.
“He really is a jackoff,” I said, anger overcoming the paralysis. In a flash, I’d pushed to my feet. I knew this must be the realm of the dead. That’s where they’d been trying to send me. But more than that, I’d been to two worlds so far, Earth and the Realm of the Eight Moons.
And neither of them had a sky that looked like this one, not on their worst, stormiest, darkest days. This was gray, but not in an overcast way. Not even in a smokey way, like when wildfires had been raging.
This was gray like ash, with a slow, steady rain all around. A rain of ash. And everywhere underfoot, nothing but ash.
No grass, no trees, no flowers.
Just ash, and the occasional charred black stump jutting out of the ashy surface.
I wondered if I’d gone to hell. Had they perhaps neglected to account for the fact that I might not have lived such a blameless life as the Chuckster, and so maybe I’d wound up in the bad place, and he’d gone on to pearly gates or some such?
Then, I dismissed the idea. The old gremlin Tiberius didn’t for an instant consider me any kind of saint. Now, I wouldn’t have put it past him to give me a one-way ticket to hell under false pretenses, just to get me out of the way. But he wouldn’t have given me the scepter and blade before doing so.
The scepter and blade.
I glanced down, and to my relief saw the pair still clutched in my hands. They’d come with me, somehow.
“So if you’re not hell,” I asked the world, “what the hell are you?” A double whammy of sparks ran up each hand, one from the scepter and one from the sword.
As if in answer to my question, a translucent figure materialized before me. A humanoid of some sort, though its indistinct features and ghostly skin prevented any specific classification. He wore a long cloak, its hood pulled back. “Welcome to the Realm of the Dead, Soul.”
I blinked at it. I’d seen a lot of freaky shit today. I’d been murdered. But talking apparitions were still freaky enough to surprise me, even after the day I’d had. “What the hell are you?” Another set of dual zaps.
“I am Kharon, guide of the dead. It is my job to welcome and acclimate you to your new home.”
“Are you…a ghost?”
“Oh no. A common misconception,” the figure declared cheerily. “I am not a soul like you or the others here. I am a construction, provided to ease your existence in this plain. An artificial intelligence assigned to you as both guide and companion, if you’ve need of my services. You may summon me at any time, and only you see me or hear me.”
“I thought you said your job was to welcome the dead. You don’t work for the other dead, just me?”
“I am a single instance of Kharon. Your instance. The other dead have their own instances, that you will not be able to see or hear.”
“Oh.”
“First, you must understand the Realm of the Dead. There are many tales told in the realms of the living, and not all of them are accurate.”
I glanced around at the barren landscape. “You’re telling me.”
“The Realm of the Dead consists of three sectors. Three nested rings of territory, if you will. The outermost ring is that of the damned, reserved for the evilest and vilest of all beings. Murderers, rapists, multi-level marketers. A realm of fire and torment and darkness, where souls are cast into burning pits, the walls of which are sheer rock a thousand feet tall.”
“Sounds lovely,” I said.
“It is a place of great suffering,” the AI answered gravely.
“Yeah, I kind of got that.”
“You are not in the sector of the damned.”
“Got that too. So where am I, exactly?”
“You are in the second ring, the largest ring. The sector of purgation.”
“The what now?”
“The sector of purgation, where souls who have led – let us say, ethically compromised existences congregate.”
“Ethically compromised? What the he-I mean, heck is that supposed to mean?”
“Do you inquire in the general sense, or in the more particular – namely, relating to yourself?”
“Both, I guess. But start with me. Why am I here?”
“Because you are a thief and a liar.”
He said it bluntly and with no malice. Still, it felt like a slap. “Well, only because I have to be.”
“As I say, a liar.”
I didn’t know if he was trying to be funny, but I didn’t care for his attitude. “What, you mean, because I could have signed up for the Great Ogre War, and got myself torn limb from limb by monsters instead of stealing? Or starved to death in the streets like so many other pour souls?”
“You are a man of moderate intelligence, Kaej,” he said.
“Moderate?” I sputtered.
“You know well enough that there is a vast gulf between stealing to survive, and stealing for the thrill of it.”
“That’s ridiculous. I steal because I need to. It’s not a crime to enjoy your job, is it?”
“You did not need the scepter,” he observed. “And I believe if we consulted Salvidora, she would have a thing or two to say about your pilfering.”
I had no doubt she would. I decided to change the topic, before I got myself in worse trouble. “So you’re saying I’m in purgatory because I stole?”
“And lied, among other failings. But it is not purgatory. It is the Sector of Purgation. It is here that one purges the evils of one’s character, and embraces a new and better self. A rebirth of the spirit.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
I snorted.
“Or one does not, and one languishes until the soul simply fades out of existence for all time.”
I protested that this was bullshit, and earned two ferocious zaps. Kharon ignored me, and went on talking.
“In order to progress to the third and innermost ring, the Sector of Ascendence, a soul must either have demonstrated great virtue in life or completed its stay in the Sector of Purgation. Then, the gates of the glorious city are thrown open, and the soul is welcomed in triumph to an eternity of everlasting plenty and peace, where there is neither crime nor turmoil, neither mischief nor sorrow.”
“Sounds great,” I said, privately thinking it sounded boring as hell. But what I really needed was to figure out how to find Chucky boy and get out of this place. “Question for you. There’s a place called the great chamber of passage, isn’t there?”
“Indeed there is.”
“Where would I find it?”
“It lies in the heart of the Sector of Ascendance, but even if you were already there, you would not be admitted. Only the gods and those laboring on their behalf may enter.”
“Okay. Cool. Second question. Say I was looking for someone. Do you have like, I don’t know, a directory or something?”
“I know the name of every resident of every sector, and those who have faded to oblivion as well.”
“Great. I’m looking for a dude who died recently.”
“Many have died recently.”
“Yeah, but I doubt most of them were kings.”
“Indeed not. Of kings, only two have passed recently.”
“Two?”
“King Leopold and King Charles.”
“Oh yeah. Well, it’s Chucky boy I’m looking for. That is, Charles.”
“You will have a long wait to see him,” the AI said.
“Why’s that?”
“Because he is in the Sector of Ascension.”
“Course he is,” I said, feeling irrationally angry at the dead king. He’d skipped the line his whole life, being a prince. It didn’t seem right that he got to skip it after death too.
“He died a hero’s death, beloved of his people. Long will his memory live on in their hearts, and greatly do they mourn him.”
“Good for him.”
“Indeed.” The AI didn’t seem capable of picking up on sarcasm, which was probably all for the better. I still needed its help.
“So how do I get him a message?”
“No messages are permitted between sectors. The only way to contact him is to ascend yourself. Or, I suppose you could find someone about to ascend, and ask them to take a message. But that is generally frowned upon.”
That part didn’t worry me. Rules were made for breaking. But I didn’t need to send Chucky a message, not really. I needed to get him the hell out of here.
“So the only way I can get to him myself is to get out of this sector?”
“Correct.”
Annoying, but it wasn’t like I had a lot of choice. “Okay. How do I do that?”
“There are three ways to exit the sector. The first, I’ve already mentioned: fail to progress, and slowly fade to oblivion.”
“Let’s jump to the part where I get into the city,” I interrupted.
“The remaining two options pertain to ascension. They are toil and questing.”
“Toil? Like, work?”
“Correct.”
“Yeah, let’s skip that one. Tell me about the second option. Questing.”
“Would you like a description or an interactive tutorial?”
“Uh…”
“Tutorials are recommended for all new arrivals.”
“Okay. Sure, let’s do a tutorial.”
All at once, a shimmering blue world of huts and figures popped up around me. A thin thread of blue wound through it, and here and there tiny mountains towered above the rest.
It seemed to be some kind of holographic map of the sector, as I could still see the gray and charred husk of the world behind it.
“Welcome to the Sector of Purgation, Soul,” the AI said, in a too-cheerful voice. “You are about to embark on an epic quest to reclaim your honor, and find your way into the Sector of Ascension. You have chosen difficulty: hard.”
“What’s that now?”
Kharon ignored the question. “As a zealous quester, you assume the mantle of the weary toiler, as well as additional, more difficult assignments. You will be expected to perform your daily duties.”
“What duties?” I demanded.
“Pausing Questing Tutorial,” Kharon said. “Initiating Toil Tutorial.” The world of translucent blue disappeared, and in a moment reformed. A few of the wobbly figures vanished and others took their place, but otherwise it looked much the same as before.
The same huts, the same gray-blue landscape, the same ash behind it all.
“Welcome to the Sector of Purgation, Soul. You are about to embark on the slow, steady path toward honor and peace through arduous toil. You have chosen the easy way out. It’s not glamorous, but there is salvation to be found in honest sweat.
“As a toiler, you may choose your profession. You can change professions at any time, but you may not switch back to a previous profession for a year, so choose wisely.
“The good news is, the Realm of the Dead operates much as the Realm of the Eight Moons. Whatever skills you acquired in life followed through to death, so you may find a good use for any nefarious talents you picked up. Your skill chart is viewable at any time. In fact, why don’t we call it up now? You can also view your objectives. I manage these for you, so you don’t have to keep track of them!”
This was said in a coaxing voice, the kind of tone people use on toddlers. Or dogs. “There’s a good boy, no biting people!”
When I did nothing, Kharon said again. “Your skill chart is viewable at any time. Why don’t we call it up now?”
I sighed, remembering that he’d said the tutorial was interactive. Which meant, I suppose, that I needed to interact.
So I pulled up the chart. It appeared immediately, a shimmering, translucent box hovering before my eyes. Nothing much had changed since the last time I’d glanced at it, except my profession had switched from Master Thief to Wayward Soul, and a tab had been added at the top.
An [Objectives] tab. I reached out and touched the shimmering text.
<<<<>>>>
[Objectives]
As a wayward soul, your first duty lies in purging the iniquity of life, and ascending to greater things.
Objectives:
* Report to a task master to begin work
* Ethel, head scribe of the library of the gods
* Profession: scribal drudge (next level: assistant)
* Hours: six AM to ten PM
* Responsibilities: Clean, fetch, obey orders. And for the gods’ sake, don’t drop anything!
* Quintus, chief architect of the gods
* Profession: build site dogsbody (next level: ditch digger)
* Hours: ten AM to midnight
* Responsibilities: Shovel, haul, fetch. Faster. Faster!
* Archimedes, chief healer of the gods
* Profession: test subject (next level: ingredient gatherer)
* Hours: eight to eight, AM or PM (applicant’s choice)
* Responsibilities: Ingest various concoctions created by apprentices and report effects. Don’t worry, you’re already dead. They won’t kill you a second time (but it can hurt. A lot).
* Amelia, chief sanitation officer
* Profession: Poop scooper (next level: street sweep)
* Hours: noon to midnight
* Responsibilities: shovel, haul, scrub. It’s a shitty gig, but someone’s got to do it.
* Jason, head chef of the gods
* Profession: potato peeler (next level: scullery maid/man)
* Hours: noon to midnight
* Responsibilities: peel potatoes. Lots and lots of potatoes.
* Locate quest givers to accept quests, and shorten your sentence (optional)
Days of sentence remaining: 16,425,000 / 16,425,000
<<<<>>>>
Preoccupied as I was by the appalling professional options, I almost missed the bottom line. Almost, but not quite. My jaw slackened.
“Is that saying…I need to work for sixteen million days?”
“Sixteen million, four hundred and twenty-five thousand,” the AI corrected. Then, as if I hadn’t interrupted at all, he went on, “Very good. Under your objectives, you can find the task masters currently in need of new applicants. Note that more senior positions will fill very quickly, but junior positions are usually open. You can always start at the bottom of the ladder and work your way up in your desired career path.”
“Yippee.”
“If you look to the map, you will see the task masters currently hiring highlighted in red.”
I glanced over at that, and sure enough, a few of the chalky figures had morphed from silvery blue to a grayish red.
“Select any task master to discover more information.”
I did nothing.
Kharon waited for several seconds, then said, “The following task masters are not currently seeking applicants, but may be in need of assistance in the future. They are: Beatrice, guardian of the harvest.”
A silvery figure near the edge of the sector turned red.
“Bartholomew, hunter of rogue spirits and wandering demons.”
Another figure morphed, but I hardly noticed. “Wandering demons?” This place was starting to sound interesting.
“Mariana, keeper of the hounds.” A final shadow figure came to life. “Select any of these task masters to learn more.”
I tapped Bartholomew. Not because I planned to hang around long enough to hunt demons, but because, well, demon hunting.
“Bartholomew, hunter of rogue spirits and wandering demons. Maintains the borders between sectors. Protects residents from rampaging demon hordes, and retrieves escaped spirits, returning them to their appropriate sectors. Can be found wandering the borders between sectors.”
I frowned. “Hold on. Spirits can escape their sectors?”
“An extraordinarily rare event,” Kharon informed me. “But it has happened.”
My mind was turning. “And this guy, Bartholomew, he hunts them down?”
“Bartholomew and the hunters, yes.”
“Does anyone ever escape the hunters?”
“No. Sooner or later, they are found.”
“Huh,” I said. I was thinking of the key I had, and how long it might take me to make it to the portal. If I could stay hidden, ‘sooner or later’ might be just enough time to get back to the land of the living. “What happens when they catch these rogue spirits?”
“They are returned to their sector of origin.”
“That’s it?”
“No. Residents usually find their sentences extended.”
“Usually? Not always, then?”
“Sometimes, they are simply purged from existence altogether.”
“That’s…very permanent.”
“Yes it is. However, as you have no intention of such nefarious behaviors, you have nothing to worry about.”
“Right. Of course.”