Waking up is a delight, compared to the abrupt transference that is not dying.
When death comes for me while I’m out busy living a real life in a real world, it’s often deeply unpleasant. Dying is almost never happy; age or disease or violence, there aren’t a lot of great options for it.
Age is the worst. A whole life of aches and pains, cumulative damage building up and a body that’s shutting down, all of it compounding to a threshold where the mind simply opts out of the whole affair. But getting there is painful, undignified, and long. Your teeth hurt, almost every time around that I’ve lived. We try to tell anyone we meet that’s new; pick up [Dental Durability] or something.
Surprisingly, violence isn’t the easiest. Violent deaths hurt, and often come with horrible emotional trauma. Usually if you’re dying that way it’s not some dramatic last stand to save everyone you ever cared about. Usually it’s them going with you, if you’re not just dying alone for no reason. There’s also, for myself, a certain malicious anger to having a life cut short by a random mugging, just as I was getting into it.
Disease is easy. Fever and delirium, disease that takes you out does it with your thoughts unable to process what’s even happening to you most of the time - as long as it’s not one of the cancer subtypes. I’ve never been angry to die to a disease. Not until afterward, anyway. It still sucks though, the slow loss of control, the pain you can’t fight back against.
And then, over the edge, and opening remade eyes here, and that’s another death done.
It’s abrupt, and while I appreciate the relief from the pains, there’s a kind of spiritual severing that comes with it. I will never go back. That life is closed, that world off limits, a chapter now concluded. Those people are lost to me for…
Not forever. I don’t like the word. But a while, until statistics reunites us.
Waking up, though, is different. There’s no sudden disconnect, no jarring sensation of suddenly opening my eyes to be back in the between. Instead, I’ve been here the whole time. There’s a comfortable continuity to the whole process; my mind isn’t just rebuilt, it’s been resting and dreaming. And when I wake, it is to a feeling of being abstractly refreshed. In a newly built replica of my favorite body, in a place that feels safe. With lifetimes of trauma safely put into mental boxes and tucked away to not bother me for the heartbeats that I have here, now, with everyone that really is permanent in my life.
I keep my eyes closed and shift in the hammock that Six put together. It’s not going to be giving me any buffs, but between the sturdy rope and the blanket I’m cocooned in, I find it deeply enjoyable. Even better, hangovers don’t exist in the between, unless you really work at it.
A voice comes to me as I drift. “…not too erratic, I guess.” It’s Mark, from somewhere nearby. Probably behind the bar that the hammock is partly strung up against. “Still worried though.”
“Let them sleep.” Six’s familiar monotone replies. “They have never had a good first day back. Things will be better, you will understand.”
“I’ve been to Bastion’s a dozen times now, Six.” I can practically hear Mark folding his arms. “I’m not dumb. This is different though.”
Ellin chimes in from nearby. “Six has triple the lives on you, and I’ve got more, and half your stops here were low on heartbeats. We won’t gainsay you, and there’s nothing wrong with caring because you love them, but trust us when we tell you Luri isn’t going insane.” She pauses. “More insane.”
There’s a sound of Mark making some wordless utterance in the back of his handsome throat, but Six cuts in again before Mark can worry. “You could simply ask them. They are awake.”
“It’s impolite to blow my cover like that Six!” My voice comes out muffled by the blankets that surround me. The golem offers a deadpan sincere apology as I crawl out, dropping over the hammock as the ropes flip and threaten to fling me to the floor. It’s an amusingly novel sensation; not that I’ve never been in a hammock, but it’s never been routine for me. Maybe next life I’ll try to be a … sailor? Sailors use hammocks, I think. On some worlds anyway.
Mark looks away from me sheepishly as I windmill my arms and rise up to my feet, my tail helping to keep me standing. I’m pretty sure it’s because he’s worried I overheard, and not because I’m not wearing anything again. For all that he makes jokes sometimes, I know Mark likes how this body looks.
I don’t blame him for worrying. Each life feels like a lifetime, especially to someone who’s new. When you’ve been through five or six lives, the next one can feel like a big commitment, a lot of time.
It’s not. It doesn’t take long to either go mad, or cross the threshold. I’m on the other side; each life is real, and can feel long when you’re in it. But then I’ll be back here again after. And I’ll have my own time, my life, my real one, with my friends.
There are different philosophies, obviously. I’ve met enough people here to know that not everyone agrees with me, and we can have some pretty grand yelling matches about it. I don’t think anyone is actually right or wrong here; there’s so many questions we just can’t answer, it’s all guesses and shadow play anyway. Though even that is a philosophy someone could try to debate me on.
“Thanks for caring.” I bump a fist on Mark’s upturned jaw in a light tap. “I’m fine. Promise.”
“Really?” Mark looks back down at me with a disbelieving stare. “How?”
I don’t really have a good answer for him. How am I okay? I’m currently dead, technically, I think. I’ve lost more friends and family and lovers than most people will ever dream of. There’s no end in sight, and no way to stop even if I wished there was. I’m trapped in life, whether I want to be or not. So why do I feel okay?
“I had a good nap.” I give a glib grin. “But also… I’ve got a subjective month here. That’s a pretty good chunk of a vacation. I can either be okay, or not okay, and for as long as we’re here, I’m choosing okay.” I smile and reach around the bar to grab one of the generic cups and fill it with water from the overpressured spout, taking a sip as the stray droplets run down the back of my hand. “It’s a bit dumb, but then again, so is being given codified magic powers for eating too much or whatever.”
“I can’t believe you actually ran the [Glutton] perk.” Ellin spins in her barstool. “Also, oy, now that Luri’s up and pacing, anyone else want to use the hammock? I could go for a nap, but I’m immune to the verdant submersion of dread, so I can wait.” None of us react to her claim. We’re all used to turning our lies into jokes.
Finishing my water, I set the glass down on the counter with a thunk. “Where’s Jules? Didn’t he want to sleep?”
“Ah.” Mark points across the bar, and I follow his finger. Jules is sitting in his own coiled tentacles at one of the tables, across from someone that I hadn’t noticed when I woke up. “New kid came in.” He says softly. “Jules is trying to keep him calm.”
“Oh. Shoot.” I glance around and find the bathrobe Ellin gave me, tossing it on and swishing my tail against it.
Ellin rolls her eyes at me. “This, this makes you get dressed.”
“Okay, to be fair, I’m still barely dressed.” I turn to her and spread my arms to show off my form, and she scowls at me but doesn’t look away while Mark stifles a laugh. “But that’s a kid kid.” I say, pulling the robe shut and tying it off around my waist. “And I’m gonna go say hi, since I’m the most normal person here.”
“That is a falsehood at best.” Six informs me. “Also, I wish to speak with you first.”
“Course! What’s up, Six?” There’s an energy to my words that makes me happy to feel again. The slow fading of the pain of death, before the upcoming responsibility of life, it leaves me able to simply exist in the now and be content with it.
The golem turns up his palm to me, showing off a meta item. “The between has decided I have crossed a threshold, and allows me now to purchase limited doorways.” The golem says. “I know many of you have this ability, but now that it is within my reach, I wish to explore the between, before returning.”
Part of me suddenly hurts. But I refuse to let that show. I’ve lived enough lives to have a keen sense of where emotional blackmail starts and ends, and I refuse to perpetuate that particular bullshit. “Well, I can’t say I like it, but I understand.” I tell him instead, setting one of my hands on the durable grey skin of his arm. “I’ll miss you though! But I hope you find something out there.”
“Oh.” Six blinks his wide and circular eyes at me. “I have eight million heartbeats here. I believe that I will have ample time once the rest of you have moved on. I simply wished to ask for help with the funding.”
“Oh!” I gasp in relief. “That’s so much easier! Of course! What do you need? Marks? Drops? Some other nonsense?”
“Marks of labor and skill, yes.” Six nods. “I would offer that we work out the details later. Do not think I would abandon you, Luri.” The compassion in the golem’s words don’t fit his monotone voice. “There is much to be done here, and much to enjoy. I still wish to hear stories of your time, and there is intellectual satisfaction in our games.”
“Thanks Six.” I smile. “I missed playing board games with you, too.” I give the golem a light hug, before I turn back to the room. “Gonna go say hi now.”
“Good luck.” Ellin comments, raising a glass of something at me in a salute. It almost sounds mocking, but I can see through her tone.
This place, this room in the between, isn’t perfect. We call it Bastion’s, but it doesn’t have an official name that the between recognizes, and no one has saved up enough to unlock that. Technically, it’s not even it’s own room, it’s legally defined as a sub-hallway that happens to be connected by a series of one-way doors to a set of return rooms.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
This distinction isn’t especially important, but it does mean that it’s possible for people to stumble in here. It also means we pay a lot of our extra marks into keeping things here from degrading.
Time in the between is subjective, meaningless, and unconnected from the lives we live. My next life might last eighty years, while Mark gets a bad run and dies at twenty to a falling piano. But I could still show up here before him, even if we left at the same time.
Because of this constant unknowable amount of time, it’s a challenge to set up meeting places like Bastion’s. To the point that we didn’t even set it up; I inherited it from someone. Our group just puts points into it to keep it stable, and we’ve been trying to update the decor and the collection of alcohol and board games. But we do have some control over the space, and we do know that unless someone is actively hunting for it, the between won’t create doors or corridors to it unless one of us is here
But if we are? Well. People can stumble in.
We aren’t the only eternal dead. There are, presumably, an infinite number of us. Though I’ve only met about a hundred. An infinite number of people in an infinitely large space means it’s infinitely unlikely that we ever bump into each other, so I’m pretty happy with the handful of friends I do have.
Another thing that’s unlikely is to meet someone young. And yet, despite the impossible odds, sitting at the table across from Jules and drinking lemonade out of a ceramic coffee mug, is a child. Also despite the impossible odds, I have experience in this situation. You can tell when someone is a child, or just in a child body. It’s the eyes. The way they look at everything like they’re halfway between blind fear and intense curiosity.
“Hey there.” I speak softly as I claim a chair between Jules and the kid. He’s half my height, dark skin and an angular face that tapers to a flat line of a chin. The kid has whiskers, which makes me wonder if he also has a tail hidden beneath the blank white set of clothes the between gives first timers. “How’s the lemonade?”
He pulls the cup closer, biting down on the straw like he’s worried I’ll steal it away. Internally, I chalk that up to some kind of abuse. Which doesn’t shock me as much as I’d like. Of the ways to die, children generally don’t get old age. Which really leaves two very bad options.
“Has Jules been a polite tentacle monster to you?” I ask, grinning softly. The kid shrinks back a bit, but the question forces him to consider the situation.
Before he can answer, Jules huffs at me with a sonorous vibration. “Luri, I am the picture of polite etiquette. No one is as polite as I. I have charisma running from my every orifice.”
“Ew.” I scoot my chair slightly farther away from Jules, making a face at the kid who lets out an abrupt giggle before fear takes over his face again and he silences himself. Jules and I have a strategy, though, and it’s working. Some people play good cop, bad cop. We play good reincarnator, weird reincarnator. “Don’t ask him about the orifice thing.” I whisper conspiratorially to the kid. “I’ve never asked and I’m kind of scared to at this point.”
The boy nods, before realizing from my smile and the tone of my words that I’m kidding, and leans in to whisper back a nervous “Okay.” His voice sounds comes out as a rasp.
“So. As long as Jules is oozing in a friendly way…”
“I resent this intently.” Jules hams up his disgrace, folding tentacles over his body in a mimicry of crossing his arms.
“…I’d like to ask you a couple questions. Do you think you’re up for it?” I keep my tone as kind as I can. No raising my voice, even for a joke. He nods, and I take a deep breath. “Okay. First thing. When you got here, something would have shown you words - or spoken if you can’t read - to tell you how many heartbeats you have. Can you tell me how many?”
The kid nods, his whiskers drooping as he gets a worried look on his slim face. “O-one and three and zero, zero, zero.” He says, his throat making the words sound pained.
“Thirteen thousand.” Jules reads back. “Damnation. That’s…”
“That’s plenty.” I say, flicking a finger at one of Jules’ tentacles that’s within range on the green felt. “Hey, go tell Ellin that I need a copy of the thing from her.” I order. Jules’ trio of eyes rotate into curious upward angled slits, but he shrugs his tentacles and heads back over to the bar anyway.
“What… is that?” The boy asks.
“Jules?” I say. “He’s French.” I answer. The kid looks at me with that expression that says that he’s very smart for his age and he knows that I’m full of shit and that my jokes are unappreciated. A smile is all he gets in return. “Jules likes having a different body than the rest of us, and this place, the between, lets him change it. And we don’t mind, because he’s our friend. He’s a nice person.” I follow up, before abruptly changing the subject. “One other quick question for you. Do you want to try again?”
“…try what?” The boy asks.
“All of it.” I say. “Start over from the beginning. A different life, a different family, a different world. Do you want to do it all again?”
He looks around at Bastion’s. At the mismatched tables and wood floors that seem to generate a dusting of sand when we’re not looking, at the prop engine overhead and the creaky stairs to the library. “Am I dead?” He asks, not sounding too concerned by it.
“Sort of.” I say, setting a hand on the table between us. “But also sort of not. Maybe, but also very yes.” He looks down at his hands, poking out of the sleeves of his white shirt as if he’s only just waking up. Which happens. People who are new can sometimes wander the halls of the between for longer than they have heartbeats before they even notice what’s going on. “Not as bad as you worried, huh?”
“I have my hand.” He rasps out. “But my voice?”
I nod and start to speak quickly, giving the information that I have ready for exactly this situation. “The between restores your first body to what you think should be it’s normal version. You see your hand as missing, so it fixes it. You think your voice is supposed to sound that way, so…” I shrug. “It’s not being mean to you, not on purpose. It just doesn’t know. But now, I need to know. Do you want to try again?”
“…will it hurt?” He asks, and no amount of years behind my heart would ever make the sentence not stab at me.
“Sometimes.” I won’t lie to a child. “Sometimes it won’t. I can’t tell you that it will be better. But I can tell you that it could. And that we can help you make sure you’ll have a better chance.”
He looks at me with those eyes on the verge of tears, like I’m a god offering him heaven. And I feel bad, because I know I’m not, and I know that by the next time we meet, if we meet again at all, he’s going to maybe think differently. But all I can do now is help the child suffering in front of me. He nods, reaching out to set his hand in my palm like he’s accepting a contract.
He’s not, I was just offering a hand. I think he understands as I smile at him, while Jules returns and hands me a meta object with a layer of thinly disguised disgust. “Okay.” I say. “You don’t have a lot of time here. When you run out of heartbeats, you’ll be removed from the between, and put in a new world. And you’ll be back here when you’re done, and you can try to find us again if you want to. This place is called Bastion’s. Now, let’s get your voice fixed, hey?”
His eyes light up, as Jules and I guide him through the process of opening the translucent window from his mind that will let him adjust his body. The two of us show him where to focus, and how to determine what it will cost. Because it’s technically a form of healing, the cost is vastly reduced, and I do take a minute to wonder if perhaps the between is playing some cruel joke. Or maybe trying to find a way to motivate people to learn their inventory screens.
We front him the cost in marks of vigor that it takes to repair himself. The boy cries as he says words that don’t hurt, with a voice that isn’t scarred.
And then I ask how many heartbeats he has left, and get a number that’s rapidly dwindling.
“Okay.” I say. “One last thing. You should have a perk slot open. You’ll get more, you’ll have time to fuck around with everything, to learn and to grow and to set your own grand quests, okay? But right now, I want you to do me a favor.” I hold out the thing I had Jules fetch me, kneeling down to meet him eye to eye. “Take this. And think really hard about equipping it, okay?”
“What is it?” He asks, already pulling the strange non-object from my hand and curiously looking at it.
The next words I speak are grim, but necessary. “[Heartstopper]. It will let you end your next life early, if you need to.” I say. “Later, maybe, you’ll be strong enough to punch through anything that hurts you. But this time? If things get bad? You can know that you’ll end up back here. So you never have to be afraid again, okay little brother?”
The meta-item vanishes, and the boy stares at me with eyes that have experienced too much pain for someone so young.
“Okay.” He says in a painless whisper of a voice.
“Good.” I lean back on my heels. “Now. You’re all set to leave soon, aren’tcha? Never enough time! Want a hug before you go? One for the road? Jules get over here and help me give him a hug!” The kid shrinks back, but when I make no move toward him except to open my arms and offer, he straightens up, and slowly moves toward me.
When I wrap him up in a loose grip, and feel Jules’ tentacles encircle us together, I slowly feel his small body untense and start crying in my grasp. “I don’t wanna go yet.” He says with a pitiable sob.
“I know.” I whisper back. “Never enough time. But don’t worry. You’re going to do great things, and you’ll make a lot of friends, and if you’re very lucky, you’ll find happiness.” I rustle his curly hair, paraphrasing and echoing the words that dozens of parents have told me when I was on my way to my first day of school. “And when you get back, we’ll see you again, and you can come up with a good name that’s yours, and you’ll have plenty of time, okay?”
“I have a name.” He sniffs into my bathrobe.
“Not yet.” I tell him. “We don’t have names here until we pick our own. And you can tell me when you make it…”
He’s already gone, and now Jules is just holding me, and I’m hugging one of his tentacles.
“…back.” I whisper.
The others make their way over, as I let myself drop to a sitting position on the floor, taking deep breaths of the fake air and shaking my head as if that will somehow help clear my thoughts.
“You okay?” Mark asks.
“Oh, yeah, what a great question.” Ellin asks. “I can see how your lives of experience are shining through.”
“Fuck off.” Mark’s use of the most common human expression across every world we’ve all been reborn in makes me snort out a laugh.
I stand up, relying on Jules’ daintily provided tentacle to brace myself. “I’m fine.” I say. “I’m glad he found us, and I hope he does okay. That’s always hard, but… but he’ll be okay.” He has to be. Not just because it would be unfair on a cosmic level if he wasn’t, but also because I demand it of the universe he ends up in. And if experience has taught me anything, it’s that when a universe and I disagree, it’s in the universe’s best interest to not fuck with me too much. “Yeah. He’ll be okay. Safe journey, kid. And a better life this go round.”
Everyone echoes the last words along with me. The closest we ever get to a prayer.
“Okay.” Ellin claps. “After that, forget sleeping. I want to get drunk. Mark, make that thing that kills people for me!”
“I would also welcome a distraction.” Six says. “Would anyone join me for a round of Leaves and Branches?” The others groan, and I join them, but agree anyway. Six’s favorite games are the ones that require a lot of staring at a board on the table trying to derive what your opponents are doing based on secret information, and I love them, and also love him, but the only reason I’m agreeing is because at least here the game can’t drive us to try to kill each other.
Also Six has the unfair advantage of twice as many heartbeats as any of the rest of us. Though no one would ever use that clock as a tactical advantage. That’s a cruelty, not a joke. And for all that we’re a little silly a lot of the time, it’s done with the attitude of spirited banter, never to actually hurt.
I start rearranging chairs around our good table, and wiping chip crumbs off the felt and into nothingness. I’ve got a month left here, and I intend to savor every heartbeat of it.