She suddenly blinked and drew in air, just short of a gasp. Even though she forestalled a reaction on my part with an upheld hand, the fact that she spent the next few seconds blinking and breathing rapidly had me standing up the rest of the way anyway. For those brief moments, her body movement finally matched the age her appearance suggested, jerky and uncertain.

  “It’s okay,” she finally managed to speak.

  “Are you sure? Do I need to get you anything? Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Her smile told me everything I needed to know. “I’m quite sure, Samuel. Your concern warms my heart, but there’s nothing to be done for it. A side effect from that night, you see. Or maybe you didn’t.”

  My eyes fell to the desk in front of me. “I did. From his perspective, anyway. You’ll have to forgive me, but magic is a foreign thing to me.”

  The air behind the old elf appeared to shimmer ever so slightly as Quinn nodded. “Aoibheann told me so, and more. What you saw, how magic— even Her magic— twisted in on itself. When we saw you dragging your cargo up the spire, we contemplated killing you to prevent such a thing from repeating.”

  “We?”

  She continued without answering. “But we settled for blinding your metal bird before it saw our scout to give us time.”

  The shimmer filled in ever so slightly, revealing the ghostly form of Aoibheann, eyes cast downward, who quietly laid a hand on Quinn’s shoulder.

  Quinn’s gaze rose to meet mine. “Her messenger forced our hand. You were brought here instead. I cannot say I’ve ever been thankful for my indecisiveness before, yet I’m also not entirely certain I made the right choice.”

  I sat, mostly to hide the fact that my hand was now on my pistol. I didn’t have any particular quarrel with anyone here, but if push came to shove, they’d pay dearly for my life. Dearly indeed. “Why would that be?”

  Quinn pursed her lips and sighed. “Do you remember your conversation with little Mollie?”

  My eyes never left hers. “I do. What in specific about it?”

  “When did you learn to speak our language?”

  I blinked. “I didn’t.”

  “And yet you spoke it fluently enough right then. Did you think your conversations with Rowan today were in your native tongue?”

  I slowly sat back, suddenly very not okay with everything. The part of me hell bent on survival silently drew my pistol and rested it on my leg. “I guess maybe that’s what I thought? It didn’t occur to me anything was out of place.”

  Aoibheann squeezed Quinn’s shoulder. When the goddess stepped forward it was like watching someone emerge from a deep shadow. Unlike before, she was undeniably physically here now. “Forgive my daughter, Samuel. Her people can no longer afford mistakes when it comes to their safety. My children never had a name for the pestilent harbingers, but my family heard a name whispered across the fabric of the world when they arrived. Vore, they called themselves. The weave of magic warped around them, much as it does you. Our saving grace now, why my messenger saved you, is that unlike the Vore you are capable of reason. As today has proven, you, much like my children, have the patience to respond in kind.”

  I cleared my throat. “Always be polite. There’s plenty of time to be rude later if need be.”

  Both women nodded, but Quinn was the one who spoke. “Just so.”

  Questions popped into my head, and I reflexively asked, “Did you hear anything when I crossed over or however you want to put it? What did you mean they cannot afford mistakes?”

  Aoibheann shook her head and her face darkened with regret. “I heard nothing, but to answer your other question, I must use terms from your memories. Defeating the Vore was most likely an extinction level event for my children.”

  Quinn’s eyes glistened as I sputtered, “But— what? How? There are easily a hundred elves in this settlement, probably twice that.”

  Aoibheann quietly nodded and stroked the top of Quinn’s head, her face filled with the desperate sorrow of someone mourning the inevitable. “Your scholars have a term, minimum viable population.”

  Dear God in heaven. My hands numbly went to the carafe. I poured its contents unseen into the glass, hoping it was alcohol. “Tell me they’re not below that number, Aoibheann.”

  “Before the Vore, some seven thousand spirits called the Lonely Glade home. Now, counting children, they number just over five hundred. The Syr do not breed as humans do, nor do they die as humans do either. I cannot speak to whether or not that is enough, but I fear it is not.”

  I bolted back the contents of my glass and was halfway through refilling it before the flavor of a sweet red wine registered. “What about the other forests? The other survivors? Can’t you just bring them here? You’re a goddess, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Samuel.” Quinn’s voice was thin, tired. “Be kind to my Lady. Please. You are not the first to ask, and though it be many years later, her pain, her shame is not lessened. You saw my husband’s sacrifice. He was not a rarity amongst my people. We did not shirk or shy away, nor did our Lady. Sometimes, even if you do everything perfectly, do nothing wrong, you still lose. Such is the way of this world. Yours, too, I’d wager.”

  Aoibheann’s eyes were reddened when she glanced lovingly at Quinn. “Daughter, dear, rest your eyes a moment.”

  The air around Quinn shimmered ever so slightly. Her eyes suddenly drooped, and she settled back into her chair with a faint, restful smile.

  When Aoibheann turned her eyes to me, her gaze wavered. “I am but a shadow of what I once was, Samuel. I won’t force my daughter to listen to the explanation again, but know that we have told no one else the extent. Eidhneán, Ivy as you call her, deeply suspects, but has not directly asked yet. That day will soon come.

  “But as you asked, the Homewood is but ash. My children’s cradle is barren, strewn with naught with the dead even today. The few who survived the Vore did not survive their neighbors. Nor have those neighbors survived theirs.

  “Of the rest, my children are scattered. Before the Vore, there were few places that escaped my sight, but now, other than where my children gather, my gaze pierces only where my brethren were once worshiped. Aught else, the scattered few are simply motes amongst the darkness, too small, too brief to be seen clearly.”

  Aoibheann took a moment to compose herself. “Only the most far-flung outposts, like the Glade, survived with any appreciable numbers. I cannot say how many would survive the journey here. Despite the best efforts of my brothers, my sisters, and even our children, we have been hollowed. I am the last in my branch of my family, just as my children are theirs. Even were I inclined to forsake my oaths as a Patron, to live down to the standards of my baser brethren, I no longer have the power to do much more than I am already.”

  “You’ve given up.” Sudden anger caught in my throat. “You can’t just give up.”

  Aoibheann’s eyes closed for several long moments before she gave a long, almost impatient sigh. When she spoke, her voice carried subtle irritation. “Mourning what will never be again is not surrender, Samuel. If your homeland fell to infighting, even if you knew you and yours would survive, would even prosper anew, would you not mourn the death of what once was?”

  Her words gave me pause. Loathe as I was to admit it, I knew she was right. If the United States was rent asunder, I certainly would mourn the loss even if I knew we’d rebuild. I’d mourn not just the loss of unity, the loss of so many, I’d mourn the— I struggled for a long moment trying to find the word that fit the thought’s feeling. I’d mourn the loss of innocence.

  “And so it is thus,” Aoibheann quietly said. “While my children have retreated inside what remains of their borders and cut contact with the outside world, that will not protect them. I cannot shield my children from what comes, no matter my wishes.”

  Images flickered through my head, horrible scenes I knew had played out in my world, back long before the industrial revolution gave the gift of strength to any who could wield a gun. The Dark Ages didn’t earn their name because of an overabundance of Goths, at least not today’s variant, all fond of dark clothing. Unfortunately, the original namesake was even more fond of chains and used them to good measure when they choked off Rome, put most to the sword, and had their way with the rest.

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  As the Syr’s numbers dwindled, they’d be ever more unable to resist raids and slave-taking. Unless another path was found, the Syr’s legacy would end in bondage, rape, and murder.

  I shuddered at the thought. God, forbid it be so.

  “What if someone were to go and find your children, bring them back?” I asked quietly.

  Aoibheann’s soft eyes focused on mine. “And what of those that would stop you?”

  “I’ve killed people on five continents. Adding another wouldn’t faze me.”

  Aoibheann slowly shook her head. “I could not ask that of you.”

  I knew in my heart that what little faith I had before coming here did not justify the words boiling up in me at that moment. They came out quietly at first, but the words quickly gained speed and force. “Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?’ And I said, ‘Here am I. Send me!’”

  I set my pistol on the table as I slowly stood. “Here am I. Send me.”

  Aoibheann regarded me silently for several long seconds. “When you sister is safe, I’ll consider it, should you still feel the same.”

  I slowly shook my head, but I didn’t give the haunting images roiling my mind voice. It’d be a cold day in hell before I let the horrors I’d seen in Africa, in the Middle East, happen to children like Mollie. “I think you’ll find my heart unchanged, but you have a point. Jenna comes first.”

  A smile graced the goddess’ face. “There is one thing I would like to attempt while Quinn is resting. Considering how magic seems fickle around you, I cannot promise this will work.”

  My gaze drifted over to Quinn. What would she not want Quinn to know about? “And this would be?”

  “I had to strengthen your attachment to this world to find your sister. Doing so meant I saw much of who you are, at least in terms of your memories and the shape of your spirit. Some of what I saw made little sense, but I figured that was a consequence of your incompatibility. I’d like to look over those parts of you again to see if your new connection to this world has sorted what I saw into something more sensible.”

  That’s terribly vague. “What exactly are you looking at and how?”

  The goddess frowned and her brow furrowed. “I would be using realm magic to access your underlying true nature.”

  “Realm. Magic.” My eyes narrowed on their own.

  “Realm magic is, itself, fundamental to the existence of this world. The spell in question should only reveal what exists, not alter it.”

  Read-only? I shrugged. “Sounds harmless enough. Go ahead.”

  The hand Aoibheann raised toward me immediately emitted an emerald glow.

  I slowly cocked my head to the side at the semi-transparent surface that blinked into existence before my eyes. The fuck is this? A terminal window? That’s weird. Skimming the text, I quickly realized I was looking at a pen-and-pencil style character sheet, and the character in question was me.

  Several seconds passed before I recognized the format and almost shivered in horror. The game in question was one of those overly complicated roleplaying games most people avoided because they didn’t want to spend eight hours rolling a character. Coincidentally, I was on deployment when I played this particular post-apocalyptic RPG and had welcomed the distraction at the time.

  Aoibheann muttered something to herself, and I glanced over to find her eyes focused on the air in front of her and making a remarkably sour face. “What was that, Aoibheann?”

  “Well, this is less than helpful.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Thanks to your memories, I know this isn’t gibberish at all, but I can’t find what I’m looking for.”

  I eyed the sheet while I asked, “What are you looking for then? This is pretty straightforward.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Wait, you can see your information?”

  “Uh, yeah? I shouldn’t?”

  “No.” Aoibheann sighed. A second surface appeared next to the first. “Is yours identical to that?”

  I glanced between the two. “No? No. Yours doesn’t have a menu bar at the top.”

  “A menu—” She suddenly sighed again.

  “Most of the menus are grayed out, but I can open ‘View’ and— huh, that’s neat. I can change the display format. Yeah, current format is called ‘Reflex.’ Uh, shit.”

  Aoibheann shot to her feet. “What? What’s wrong?”

  “Well, I figured I’d see what it looked like converted to a standard fantasy game system, so I hit ‘d20.’ For a second, I thought it crashed, but then almost all the information slots filled in with ‘Warning – Current format incompatible with source.’”

  “Samuel.” The only other woman who’d ever managed to put that much warning and disappointment into that word was my mother.

  “Yes?” I asked, innocently.

  “I speak for literally all my surviving family when I say that I’d appreciate it if you had more caution manipulating the magic underpinning our world.”

  I shrugged. “I didn’t think that changing formats would do that, sorry.”

  “Samuel, look for something like ‘status effects’ or a list of things that are like unique talents.”

  “There’s a ‘notes’ section that’s got a number of entries. Wait, can’t you just read my screen or something?”

  Aoibheann shook her head. “I tried. Read what you’ve found.”

  “So, first entry is totally not concerning.”

  Pandora’s Box – This character has survived crossing between worlds unshielded. Gain the following trait:

  Weavewarper: Any caster targeting the character must make a DC20 arcana skill check, using only stat modifiers and ignoring skills allowing automatic success. Spells that inflict damage or negative effects are rolled at disadvantage. On failure, randomly change at least one aspect of the spell, which may include (as appropriate) applying damage at disadvantage; changing/reversing the spell’s target; reversing, negating, reducing, increasing or even completely replacing the effect with another spell effect. Area of effect and pre-cast/caster-less spells (e.g. spell effects from traps, etc.) are presumed to fail. See %ACCESS_DENIED% for further guidance.

  I cast a glance at Aoibheann once I’d finished reciting the entry. “You okay over there?”

  “Okay is a relative thing, Samuel. What are the remaining entries?”

  Dark Passenger (Wardens of the Lonely Glade): This character has freed the Warden leader and absorbed part of the Warden’s essence. Treat the character as the new Warden leader without applying the traits or effects from becoming a Warden. See %ACCESS_DENIED% to determine character’s degree of access to the former warden leaders’s memories, skills, proficiencies, and feats.

  Some Dude: All perception-based checks targeting or opposing this character are made at disadvantage and suffer a penalty scaled by level disparity unless the character is in direct sight. The character counts as invisible for entities without the ability to physically see. When desired, the character’s features become remarkably hard to remember to the point witnesses will only remember “some dude” being involved. Additionally, any initial attack made by the character when not directly observed by the target considers the target flatfooted and may inflict sneak attack damage.

  Trivial Pursuit: The more obscure and niche a fact from the character’s old life is, the more likely they are to recall it. Grant’s ‘Knowledge(Earth)’ which can be used to recall any fact not covered by other knowledge skills.

  Firmly Anchored: Negates penalties derived from being non-native to the local plane of existence.

  CTRL-ALT-DEL: This character has access to the realm magic spell Object Query.

  I paused to catch my breath and nodded when she asked me if I was done. “Well, other than explaining some of the weirdness, I’m not sure how useful that is. What’s this access denied stuff?”

  Aoibheann shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, Samuel. The entries shown to me are simply not described like that at all. Your entries sound like rules to one of your RPGs. Mine are far more general in nature. I suspect if I’d read those, instead of ‘All perception-based checks opposing’ I’d likely see something to akin to ‘This person is significantly harder for others to notice.’ I suppose I should be happy to get what little explanation we’ve found with as little a hazard incurred. I can’t say any of my family would be happy to learn a mortal has access to realm magic, but it is a little late for those regrets.”

  An idea popped into my head, and I couldn’t help but ask the question. “Could I open a status window on you? Wouldn’t it just show some stupidly high stats?”

  She nodded. “You could and it would.”

  “So Object Query really just lets me see the equivalent of a character sheet for a given living thing? What if I used Query on some object here, like the door over there?”

  “You’d likely get the object’s name, a listing of the materials used, and some quantization of the item’s quality and durability.”

  “Other than spotting fakes or non-obvious properties, that doesn’t sound terribly useful.”

  “It’s not. That’s one of the reasons we moved away from using Query for anything beyond displaying status effects or special traits. The information is either too simple or too abstract to be useful in most cases. What’s the real difference between a stat at one point and one a point higher? Sometimes the difference feels entirely arbitrary, even to us.”

  “I bet if you’d used it on the general mortal population to give them an idea of their relative strengths, it would’ve caused more drama than it was worth.”

  She nodded. “More than I wish to remember.”

  By the way her expression turned inward, I could tell she was about to return wherever she’d come from. “Before you go, can you tell me what happened to Quinn? The night Flynn died, she looked roughly the same age as her daughter, but that was only fifty years ago. Elves don’t age that fast, right?”

  Aoibheann grimaced as she stood, and she slowly turned her gaze to the elf. “No, they do not.”

  When they returned to me, the goddess’s eyes carried unmistakable regret. “Quinn was one of my most promising daughters. What you saw, the weave growing discordant, was unheard of before the Vore arrived, but common enough to make using magic against them and the infested hazardous. Functioning almost like a curse, the warped spell birthed the wardens while pulling magic from Quinn and myself in equal measure when it should have only drawn from me. What you see is the aftereffects of dipping too deeply into a shallow well. Sadly, nothing can be done. The damage is not merely physical.”

  By the time I’d wrapped my head around just what that meant, Aoibheann had returned to her position behind Quinn. “Of the many things I regret about this age, my daughter’s fate bothers me more than most. Though you’ll be under her tutelage, please aid her, if you would? She’s unlike to admit when she needs help, even now.”

  Before I could answer, the goddess offered a sad smile and faded away.

  Quinn’s eyes opened. She stiffly stretched her upper body and didn’t hide the irritation in her voice when she asked, “I see she’s left you with me. How long has it been?”

  “Ten? Fifteen minutes tops.”

  Quinn yawned as she stood. “Just because something is beneficial doesn’t mean it isn’t inconvenient. If you ever have children, Samuel, respect them once they’re out from underfoot. A bit under thirty decades under my belt and you’d think it was less than one.”