The first shock of the evening is when Caedi returns with Yenna.

The half-orc is unrecognizable. Before, everything about her was camouflage. The matted mess of her hair, tangled up with leaves and twigs, the shapelessness of the tattered rags she wore, the dirt scrubbed into the skin of her face and body, even her stench all had the effect of a modern sniper’s efforts to break up the human silhouette and a person’s powerful facial recognition abilities so that they can hide better and the smell would keep them at a distance. Yenna had good reason to hide. The world had hurt her in horrifying ways. Anything she can do to keep others from seeing her as a person, as a woman, is as justified as it is tragic.

Caedi must’ve insisted at the creek that Yenna wipe all that away. When Wendy and I hear them approach our building, Caedi comes through the door first and gives us a pleased look. Yenna steps in and I hear Wendy gasp.

Caedi’s found some brown leather pants for the ranger somewhere, probably from the corpse of a mercenary. They’re small and tight on Yenna’s seven-foot frame, only coming down to mid-calf on her legs. She’s also wearing a gray tunic with the sleeves cut away. To get it on her, they had to slit it six inches up the sides and about the same down from the neckline to accommodate Yenna’s torso and a bust that's almost as generous as Caedi’s.

Her black hair flows in tight curls halfway down her back, held back from her eyes by a leather cord worn above her forehead. Her eyes are large, black, and round. Before, I found them dull but now, by the light of the little brazier the kobolds gave us, they seem bright and unsure. Her cheekbones are high and pronounced, her nose proud, her lips are thick. To my Earthling eye, there’s a distinct middle-eastern cast to her features, despite her light green skin, that the people of Green might label as a variety of sub tropical. In short, Yenna is striking and beautiful in a way that’s all her own.

She’s also blushing and I realize that Wendy and I are staring. I nudge my wife and she gives her head a shake as if to clear it.

“Anyway, as I was saying…,” she says but then doesn’t say anything. It’s rare to find Wendy at a loss for words.

“Right,” I say. “We should absolutely leave for Fort Reach as soon as we can in the morning. After breakfast. As long as that’s okay with everybody and the kobolds.”

Yenna sits on her bedroll. She’s staring at the glowing coals of the brazier. They've put her on the opposite side of it from me, with Wendy and Caedi to my right and left, and I wonder if that was done on purpose. Not that I would try, but in order for me to get to her, I’d either have to step over my wife, the healer, or risk burning my nuts to jump over the brazier. I’m suddenly and uncomfortably aware that I’m the only man here and I might not be entirely welcome.

I’m tempted to say something. I don’t know what. Something reassuring? Something that proves I’m safe? I have no idea what that could be. I feel desperate to put Yenna at ease but there’s just no way I can think to do that, and maybe I should just sleep outside.

Wendy says, “Exactly. We need to get back and expose these fuckers. Yenna?”

The ranger raises her gaze from the fire to look at my wife.

“It may not be safe for you to go back to your tower right now,” Wendy says. “Those mercenaries might hold a grudge. I hope you’ll stay with us. For now. We could use your help, frankly. We don’t know what’ll be waiting for us at Fort Reach.”

That’s true.

The mercs could have gone back to report their failure. Teeg and Gorminiel would know we’re here, that we’d found the kobolds. They might even know who we talked to in Bull’s Tavern. It was safest to assume that they were expecting our return and that they’d be ready. Would they ambush us on the road or confront us in town? Or maybe they’d just deny, deny, deny.

No. Teeg didn’t seem like that sort. Much would depend on Heckwin Gorminiel’s judgment. Hell, maybe they’re hightailing it out of town right now, fleeing farther into the Unclaimed Territories or disappearing to the criminal contacts they must’ve made in the Four Kingdoms to resell their stolen goods on the black market.

Not enough data.

Yenna grunts once and nods.

Caedi grins and claps her hands. “Oh!” she says. “She could be a knight too!”

“What?” says Yenna.

“A Knight of Hyparien!” says Caedi. “We’re a secret order of knights, and I just remembered that secret part, oh my. I’m sorry, Wendy. Mark.”

Wendy giggles and says, “I think Yenna’s probably good at keeping secrets. She’s kept herself one for years, after all. Kept safe too. I don’t mind that you told her.”

“I should have asked,” says Caedi.

“Are you under the impression that Mark or that I am in charge? There’s too few of us for that. I think we should be equal partners for now,” says Wendy. There’s color in her cheeks and I’m not sure why. “I also think Yenna would be a fine addition.”

“She’d be welcome,” I say.

Yenna says, “Hyparien?”

“Yes!” says Caedi. “They’ve actually spoken to her. The goddess herself! She commissioned this knighthood and asked them to lead it. She even spoke through me once. Yenna, we serve love itself.”

Yenna looks thoughtful, frowning.

Caedi says, “Say you’ll think about it?”

The half-orc nods and then lays down on her bedroll, pulling a blanket over her.

Caedi gives Wendy and me a big grin, and then she follows suit.

Wendy and I have trouble getting to sleep. I know it’s only been nine days but what will it be like to see our parents again after we died. After all we’ve been through since. I mean, Wendy and I have killed people. Our parents might not see it that way. To them, this probably feels more like a video game than anything, the people inside are all just NPCs made of ones and zeros, right? Well, so are we. If we’re still people then so are they.

Oh, and let’s not forget that Wendy and I are married. None of them were there for that, and if Ms. Armstrong didn't tell them they wouldn't know. True, we had no way to invite them, but still, that's going to upset my mother in particular, I know. I doubt any of them, her folks or mine, would be too surprised. Wendy and I have been together for long enough they must’ve suspected this might happen, but this, on top of everything else was not going to be much of a consolation.

“Mark?” Wendy’s question is so quiet I can barely hear her. She’s reaching a hand out to me, tears standing in her eyes.

I take her hand, kiss her forehead, and say, “I know.”

Wendy nods, biting her lip, her tears fall.

“You want to put Yenna on your list,” I say.

Wendy giggles, sniffs, and says, “Ass.”

 

 

We wake up outside an unfamiliar house. It’s a ranch with a small porch and an attached garage. A curving walkway leads from the driveway where we stand to the porch and front door.

Wendy’s still holding my hand.

The door opens before we can knock. Ms. Armstrong stands there in a burgundy t-shirt and jeans. Her smile is gentle. She steps aside to allow us in and behind her, past a short entryway, is the living room where, on a big brown leather couch, sit my parents. They’re huddled together, clasping each other’s hands, looking at us. Their faces are slack with shock. Their lips trembling.

“Mark?” says my dad. His voice is hoarse with emotion. He stands and Mom comes up with him, staggering a little as she does so, tears running down her cheeks.

And then I’m with them, in their arms and them in mine. It feels and smells like home and love. We’re all crying. Sobbing.

I look over and see that Wendy has her mom, both of them bawling, her father standing awkwardly behind, his long face stricken and gray. He looks twenty years older than when I saw him last.

My dad’s maybe an inch taller than I am. I get my floppy black hair from him and his basic build, which is lanky and lean. Mom’s a foot shorter, with curling auburn hair, and six dimples that Dad teases her about endlessly. I’ve missed them. I can’t imagine what they’ve gone through. What they’re still going through. This is all so strange.

I think we’d have spent the whole visit just holding onto each other if Ms. Armstrong didn’t ease us into the living room to sit.

She says, “Now, you’ll be able to visit each other as often as we can arrange, everybody. Over and over now that we’ve got everything set up and tested. Though I should point out that it does impact Mark and Wendy’s sleep. Not a lot, but there is an effect. This is just the first of as many visits as y'all can stand."

Wendy looks at me as we start to sit down and I know she wants to be with her parents. So do I, so I nod and smile and shoo her away.

She giggles and sits on her mom’s lap, who guffaws she’s so pleased. Her dad sits down, leaving a foot of space between Wendy’s mother, on the opposite side from his daughter.

My mother pulls me down between her and Dad.

Dad says, “Ms. Armstrong says you’re in some kind of fantasy world having adventures? What’s that even like?”

I say, “It doesn’t feel that way, dad. It feels real. I think that’s because, for all intents and purposes, it is real. It’s where we live now.”

Wendy nods, smiling. “Exactly. There’s nothing fake about it.”

“It is though,” says Wendy’s dad. “Machine-made. Man-made.”

Wendy giggles. “So’re we. I’m pretty sure you and mom made me. I mean, does all this seem fake?” Her gesture includes the house and the room we’re in.

Wendy’s mom says, “It really doesn’t! It’s amazing.”

Ms. Armstrong glances over my shoulder and says, “We don’t have a lot of time. Only an hour for this first visit. We find that more than that can really take it’s toll on everybody. I can arrange for something as soon as next week?”

Dad says, “That’d be fine.” He laughs. “It’s not like we know what we’re doing. We’ll trust the experts until you give us reason not to.”

“I appreciate that,” says Ms. Armstrong. There’s something behind me that Ms. Armstrong is acutely aware of. She’s either glancing at it or working hard not to, but when I risk a glance, all I see is a six foot floor lamp made of bamboo. “I know you have questions,” says our liaison.

“Yes,” Dad says. “What the Hell happened, Mark?”

Leave it to Dad to cut right through the shit. “We were run off the road, Dad,” I say. “It was deliberate. They didn’t tell you?”

The shock in the room is palpable. It’s clear that this is news to them all. My mom and dad look sick. Mrs. Foster has gone as white as a sheet. I’m afraid she’s going to pass out right there. Her dad has his elbows on his knees and his head lowered almost between them. He’s breathing hard and shaking his head.

“Honey,” says Mom. She’s looking past me, up at Dad. Her grip on my arm is bordering on painful. “Our son was murdered?”

I’m angry. “What the fuck? Why weren’t they told?”

I’ve caught Armstrong looking at the goddamn lamp again. I’m tempted to turn and break it over my knee.

“They wouldn’t let us,” says Ms. Armstrong.

“Wouldn’t let—?” I say. “Why not?”

“They wouldn’t say,” says Ms. Armstrong. She looks mad and sick. She’s clutching her fists so hard the brown of her skin around her fingers is paling to white. Her eyes are a little too fixed on mine.
That’s when I understand about the lamp.

“Tell us everything,” says Dad.

So, I do. I tell them about the rally and the trip home. The drive-thru and then the truck.

“What kind of truck?” says Wendy’s mom.

I’m about to answer when Wendy’s dad stands. “It doesn’t matter what truck!” he roars. He’s crying. He turns to Wendy. “You promised me you wouldn’t go to that rally. You told us you were studying with a friend. You weren’t even supposed to be there!”

“I know, dad, but you—.”

“But me nothing! This has nothing to do with me or my daughter,” he says. “You aren’t even her. You’re not her. None of this is real. These are the trappings of man. There’s nothing of God here.” He levels a finger at Wendy. “You aren’t Wendy. Wendy's dead and I'll have nothing to do with you. You're a mistake. An affront. You’re a computer’s pale shadow of her. A homunculus spawned to keep us from heaven.” 

Wendy collapses under the tirade, sheltering into her mother who glares up at her husband as she holds her daughter tight.

I stand. “You’ve got it wrong, sir. She’s Wendy. I’m Mark. I remember the whole transfer and—.”

He rounds on me, leading with that finger of his. “You!” he shouts. “You garbage! You got her killed. You took her away from me. You’re the murderer, not whoever was driving that truck. You!”

I’m on my knees.

Did he hit me?

Maybe. It doesn’t matter. I understand everything now. All of it.

I don’t think he hit me. My ears are ringing but I’m not hurt anywhere. I don't think. I might be in shock.

I hear a slap. Wendy’s mom is standing over me and her father staggers back. His hand's to his face. There’s blood under his nose.

“I warned you,” says Mrs. Foster. Her voice is ragged. “I warned you about your bullshit.” She straightens and says to Wendy, “We’re leaving. I’m so sorry.” She turns to my mom and dad. “I’m so, so sorry. We’re leaving right now.” She turns to me. “Are you okay, Mark?”

Wendy is clinging to her mother, sobbing. I’ve never seen her like this.

I'm really not okay, but it's not the time to say so. I nod.

Mrs. Foster rubs her daughter's back, holding her close. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’ll see you soon, and I won’t be bringing him.”

“Mom?” Her voice is tiny and broken.

“We’re leaving,” says Mrs. Foster. She gives Ms. Armstrong a pleading look, and then Mr. and Mrs. Foster are gone. Vanished.

Wendy almost falls over. She'd been leaning on her mother. My dad catches her, my mom a step behind him. Wendy wails. I've never seen her like this. Not even close.

I get up.

Before I join my parents and my wife, I lean over to Ms. Armstrong. “I want to speak to you tomorrow night. Alone,” I tell her. I hold her gaze until she nods. “Bring the lamp.”