Kyra led the way back down the hall in silence, leaving Grant to process everything he had learned. As they passed the portraits, Grant looked at them closer this time, particularly the last four of Jorgen and the three people who had been killed. The thought that the same Source that had powered them had now chosen him made him feel oddly close to these people he had never met.
You are my Source, right? He thought at the voice in his head. I don’t suppose you’d like to just tell me which of them you were in?
The voice was quiet for a beat, before the faintest whisper of a thought drifted into his head. Don’t talk around the others. Never know who may be listening.
Grant rolled his eyes slightly at this paranoia.
“What was that for?” Kyra asked.
Grant started, not realising that Kyra had glanced back at him just in time to see his exasperation.
“N-nothing,” he stammered, trying to think of an excuse, “just… stupid thoughts that popped into my head, about Narnia and whether I’ll meet a talking lion next.” He smiled weakly.
Kyra raised an eyebrow, apparently not understanding the reference, before shrugging and facing back down the hall.
They emerged into the bright afternoon sun, and as Grant raised his hand to his eyes to shade himself from the glare he expected, he quickly realised that his eyes had no trouble adjusting to the transition instantly.
Huh, he thought, odd, but useful enough I guess. Certainly not at the top of my list of preferred superpowers.
Kyra escorted him back to town, still not talking. Grant was slightly worried at first that her silence was a reflection of some mistake he had made or anger on her part, until she smiled slightly at him and he realised she was just trying to give him space to adjust after his display of despair earlier.
“So,” he said, breaking the silence, “we’re getting food and clothes, right? Is there like a cafe or a mess hall or something, or do we have to go hunting for deer?”
“There is a cafe of sorts,” she responded, gesturing towards a wide, flat building towards the outer edge of the town, “but you’ll probably want some food of your own, bread and milk and the like. We don’t use money obviously, you can just ask for whatever you like. Maya, the woman who runs it, has one of the more unique powers - she can control food.”
Grant looked at her in confusion. “Wait she… what?”
Kyra laughed. “She can control food. You saw how Ed was manipulating all the metal in his kitchen to cook things? Well, she can just… cook them. Ask her for a meal, and she’ll have it ready in a few minutes, whatever it is. She can’t just move food around, she can instantly cook it however she likes. You want a well-done steak? Give her a few seconds and hey, presto, overcooked steak in front of you.”
Grant goggled, his logical mind trying to understand how such a power could work. “But… that’s so vague! I mean, can she control chickens while they’re alive? What about grass? I could eat grass, so can she control grass? Hell, technically I could eat almost anything! How does ‘controls food’... that makes no sense!”
Kyra laughed again. “Oh, Suriya is going to be happy with you,” she said, amused. “But, before food, clothes. Here we are.”
Grant’s further questions were cut off, as Kyra stopped in front of the house she had apparently been guiding them towards. It was… a house. It was a perfectly normal, two-story, suburban house, with a rose garden in bloom, a lush green lawn and two wide, tall trees casting shade, one on either side. Grant looked at it, then around at the array of impossible buildings in the town, then back to the house, befuddled.
“So, all those ridiculous houses, they’re… what? Just showing off?” he asked.
Kyra grinned and shook her head in the negative. “Nope,” she said cheerfully, “Bernhard is just paranoid. He’s quite sure that someday soon the town is going to be invaded - though with what he never actually specifies - so he’s gone out of his way to prevent the invaders from being able to locate him. Don’t ever go into the main house, it’s full of booby traps, some of them just annoying, but some are quite, quite deadly. The real house is-” She strode over to the tree on the right, and placed a hand on the bark. There was a small rumble, and Grant watched in astonishment as the lawn in front of it sunk into the earth, forming into a stairwell leading down into the earth. “-here!”, Kyra said theatrically, grinning at him and walking down the steps.
Grant hurried to catch up with her and followed her down the soft, verdant stairs. The staircase was longer than the lawn that had moved, and as they continued downwards the grass that had sunk rose back up again, blocking the outside light. As the light receded, the earthen walls began to glow with a gentle blue phosphorescent light, illuminating a beaded curtain a few metres below them. Grant followed Kyra through the beads, emerging into a spacious room that seemed to be an art studio - one that was in use by a particularly chaotic artist. The walls were lined with dozens of projects, from canvases and half-finished sculptures to mannequins with various brightly coloured cloths draped over them. The scent of oil paints and chemicals was mixed with a strong, herbaceous fragrance, and the combination made Grant feel slightly dizzy.
“Bernhard,” Kyra called out, making her way carefully through the room as she tip-toed around the fabric and paint-covered floor, “you have a new visitor. Come and meet Grant.”
“Kyra? Is that you?” a man’s voice called back, coming from a door on the far side of the room. “Are you back with our newbie already?”
A man appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a rag tucked into his waistband. He had a handsome, if somewhat scruffy, face, blonde-haired with a square jaw and strong cheekbones that stood out despite the few days of stubble he had accumulated. He was dressed in a plain white shirt and blue workman’s jeans, both marked with streaks of paints and oils. His bright blue eyes were slightly distant, and he seemed quite confused by Kyra’s presence.
“Yeah, I’m back. It was a quick trip, it turned out,” Kyra said, beckoning Grant to follow her. “Bernhard, this is Grant, our new arrival. Grant, this is Bernhard, tailor extraordinaire to the Forsaken.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Grant said, stepping carefully around the objects on the floor and holding out his hand.
“Likewise,” Bernhard responded with a brilliantly toothy smile, grasping Grant’s hand with a firm grip and shaking it, “I’m always glad when someone arrives to shake up the place. Gets too stuffy around here otherwise. I assume you’ve come for a fitting?”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“Ummm,” Grant said uncertainly, looking at Kyra, who nodded at him. “Apparently so!”
“Wonderful,” Bernhard said, leading them into the room he had emerged from and into another side room. This room was similar to the first, although a lot more orderly and devoted entirely to clothing. The walls were lined with row upon row of cloth bolts, hundreds of different shades spanning the entire spectrum. There were also several barrels scattered throughout the room, each filled with a different sewing accessories, from thousands of buttons of all different materials and sizes, to zippers, needles, braids and even sequins.
Grant looked around the room for a moment before turning back to Bernhard.
“So,” he said dryly, “if I’m judging this place correctly, your power must have something to do with clothing?”
Bernhard nodded and grinned widely. “A part of it, yes,” he said proudly. “Welcome to my laboratory, where I will make you the most perfect, stunning, practical, dazzling clothing you can imagine. Middle of the room please, arms raised to the side, and do try not to move too much.”
Grant looked back and forth between Kyra and Bernhard before shrugging and moving to the centre of the room and raising his arms. Bernhard snapped his fingers. Instantly, tape measures leapt off a wall and swirled through the air around him. Grant flinched slightly at the speed of the movement, despite the fact that he had expected something like this to happen. The measuring tapes wrapped around his waist, torso, arms, legs, and even his head at lightning speed. Grant had no idea how Bernhard was even noting what each measurement was, but after only a few seconds the tapes flew back to the wall and hung on the pegs they had started on.
“Wonderful,” proclaimed Bernhard. “Now, styles. Any preference for styles, looks, casual, formal, au naturel?” He winked.
“Uhh just… clothes, really,” Grant said, uncertain what was expected of him. “I’ve never really cared that much honestly, as long as it’s comfortable and doesn’t make me look like a slob.”
“A worthy aim,” said Bernhard seriously, “but one that I think we can exceed soon enough. I’ll develop some options for you, and I’ll be sure to make them temperature-resistant, given your Source.”
Kyra cleared her throat. “Actually, Bernie, hold off on that for now. Ed suspects that Grant may not have Jorgen’s source, so we’re going to test that tomorrow. Just give him the standard protections for now.”
Bernhard raised his eyebrows, then shrugged. “Whatever you say. Come back tomorrow sometime and we’ll narrow down your style more then. In the meantime, take these.” He waved a hand at the door behind him, and a few seconds later a neatly wrapped cloth bundle flew through the air to land at Grant’s feet. “Just a few casual outfits, to tide you over for the day.”
Grant picked up the bundle, which was surprisingly light given its size. “Thanks! I, uh… you wouldn’t happen to have shoes as well, would you?”
Bernhard looked down at Grant’s feet and blinked, realising for the first time that he was barefoot. “Oh! I can make some for you for tomorrow, but I don’t really keep footwear lying around spare. But the clothes are mostly for modesty and style - your powers should stop you from ever needing shoes to move comfortably. But I’ll get your size and work you up some options for tomorrow as well. Foot up, if you please.”
Grant obligingly raised his foot and the measuring tapes flew into work once more, wrapping around it in every direction and soaring back to the wall.
Bernhard clapped his hands together happily. “Good! Now that that’s done, why don’t you wait in the foyer while I get Kyra a package she’s been waiting on.”
Kyra raised an eyebrow at him inquiringly, before realisation dawned and she blushed deeply. “Oh, uhh, yeah. The package. I’ll take that with me now, I guess.”
Bernhard laughed and led them from the fabric-lined room into the cluttered entryway. “Wait here Grant, we won’t be but a moment.” Kyra and Bernhard wandered into another of the adjacent rooms, and Grant heard the voices fade into the distance.
Grant took advantage of the time to examine the art projects lying around him more closely. He hadn’t been much of an art aficionado back on Earth, but even he could tell that the paintings and sculptures that lined the walls were masterpieces - although, to be fair, he supposed being able to use magic to craft artworks would make it considerably easier. His analytical brain flew into overdrive as he speculated whether the artistic talent came from the related powers, or whether the powers had come to Bernhard because of his skill. What did that mean for his powers? Had his Source chosen him because of some talent he possessed? The problem was, Grant would be hard-pressed to name any outstanding ability. He was a decent student, a decent athlete, and a decent singer. He had never really excelled at anything throughout his life, and while he had found a passion for his criminology studies at university, he was still far from the most talented or engaged student at Monash University, let alone the entire world.
Putting his questions aside for his later confrontation with the voice in his head, he allowed his eyes to wander over the paintings closest to him. They depicted several otherworldly - or, for his new world, maybe just worldly - locations and creatures. One showed a sea in a storm, the dark clouds above looming over a ship while massive pink tentacles ripped it in two. Another showed a peaceful scene, a flowering meadow, where centaurs and fairies of some kind danced and laughed atop a chequered picnic blanket. The most striking was a ring of bright white obelisks arranged in a semi-circle around a stone altar. Each of the obelisks was guarded by a decaying, disfigured corpse that got progressively more gruesome from left to right around the circle, and they each had their swords raised towards the altar. He didn’t know why the idea of zombies being real affected him so much more than the other creatures shown, but the lifelike drawing sent a small shiver running down his spine.
Kyra and Bernhard emerged a moment later, Kyra holding a cloth-wrapped bundle tight to her side, and Grant caught the tail end of their conversation. “... so just remember, this new batch is a little bit stronger than you’re used to. And only try the orange if you’re feeling brave - and maybe set aside a full day or two when you do.”
“Got it,” Kyra nodded, hugging Bernhard, “I’ll let you know how I go with it. And thank you for trying.”
“No problem,” Bernhard said, smiling as he returned the hug, “I just hope it helps finally.”
They separated and walked over to Grant. “Nice to meet a new face,” Bernhard said, holding out his hand, “and I’ll see you tomorrow for your fitting.”
Grant shook the offered hand and smiled at him. “You too. I’ll give some thought tonight to what kind of style I want. I feel tempted to go full Superman, but I’ll try and hold back.”
Bernhard gave him a small, tight smile. “I remember someone said something similar a few decades ago. I’m afraid it’s too recent a reference for me to fully understand.”
Grant’s smile faded slightly as he remembered that anyone he met could be decades or centuries older than they appeared. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t… wow. I am not going to get used to that idea for a while, I think.”
Bernhard sighed sadly. “No, nothing to be sorry for. I’m just a bit sensitive about my age, the last few years. You weren’t to know.”
“We should get going,” said Kyra pointedly, pushing Grant towards the door firmly.
“Yeah, right. Sorry. Nice to meet you!” Grant said hurriedly, stumbling slightly as he tried to avoid the debris scattered over the floor.
Bernhard waved a hand goodbye absentmindedly, his eyes staring off mistily into the distance, before turning and disappearing into one of his back rooms.
“Really, don’t feel too bad about that,” said Kyra as the pair emerged into the daylight of Sanctuary a few moments later. “He’s been sensitive about his age the entire time I’ve been here, he’ll get over it quickly enough.”
Grant nodded, still feeling slightly guilty for his small faux pas. “Just out of curiosity…” he began.
“About 80 years,” Kyra said, anticipating his question.
“Wow…” said Grant softly.
“I know, it took me a while to get used to it. But don’t fret, you won’t get in trouble for forgetting how old everyone is. But, just so you know, almost everyone here apart from me has been here for at least 30 or 40 years. Enu and Sam are the newest apart from me, but even they’ve both been here for 15 or 20 years. So just don’t expect too many pop-culture references to go down well.”
“Damn. Well, that eliminates a huge section of my social skills.”
“I can tell. Come, let’s go meet Maya.