Chapter 30: Death and Taxes

Trint acknowledged the request and willed the system to allow Jung’s assistance. The system understood Trint’s intention, and Jung suddenly appeared in Trint’s Spirit Space. Not the same blank throne room Trint first met Iliana in combat. Black as the void on one end and pure white on the other, save for a small wooden door in the middle of the light.

“Trint, Iliana cannot hear us,” Jung spoke into Trint’s mind. “This next part is for you alone.”

He produced a cloth strip and held it out to Trint.

“Bind the cloth over your eyes,” Jung instructed.

Trint obediently took the cloth and followed his instruction. Once blind to the Spirit view but still present and focused, Jung gently placed his hands on Trint’s shoulders and turned him around to face what had been the darkness.

“Now, you must walk,” Jung said. “Time is strange here in the void of the Spirit. When your feet reach water, you may take off the blindfold. I will continue to speak and guide, but I cannot enter the void. Begin now and don’t stop. I will give you time to consider your path.”

Jung released his shoulders; Trint could sense the man stepping away from him. “The one thought I wish you to focus on is your family: the one you know and the one you were brought into,” he urged. “You won’t know what to focus on, but let your mind consider your connection. The connection you felt before, and the promise of a future reunion. The family you know will lead you to the family you have yet to meet.”

Trint had come this far and decided to take a walk into darkness on faith and hope. So, he began walking. Initially concerned about the possibility of falling, he shook his head, refocusing to let his spirit body proceed and instead contemplate his family and the promise of seeing them again.

He felt tears sting the corners of his eyes as he began to feel things he hadn’t felt since waking in the hospital: the loss, the memories of love and home. He couldn’t remember that feeling of home. Of safety and peace. Whenever he felt a hint of those, he was smacked with cutting grief at the loss of peace.

He realized now that Sara had been his true home. Their kids were extensions of that same feeling. Home wasn’t things or the building they lived in. Home was the spirit and connection they shared. He glimpsed the image of the door of his house. The first house Sara and he had bought in the early years of their marriage.

As the image of that house and its yellow door appeared in his mind, his next step was met with a splash.

“Trint, can you hear me?” Jung called out. He sounded anxious. “Can you hear me? Please respond if you can hear me.”

“Jung, I can hear you. What’s wrong?” Trint became concerned and reached for the blindfold.

“Good! Don’t take off your blindfold if you are near the water!” Jung spit out rapidly. Trint’s hand froze an inch from the cloth.

“I almost did. What is wrong?” Trint tried to take another step and realized the water was now up to his shins.

“I don’t know, exactly,” Jung confessed, his voice little more than a whisper. “But you have wandered deeper into the void than I ever imagined it went. You unknowingly passed several doors and checkpoints. Some powerful guardians prevent even our family from gaining the entry you have. You should have found the water a long time ago.”

The man hesitated. “You have been gone the equivalent of a Spirit year. But that doesn’t matter. You can’t turn back. I could only reach you when you entered the Spirit water and connected to your family’s bloodline. That is less water and more blood. Blood spilled and blood that flows in your Spirit.

“Trint, do you trust me? Never mind that; I need you to trust me beyond anything you’ve been asked before. I’m sorry to have guided you into this. I never imagined you would reach this trial. But when we regained connection, I was given notice that I entered the realm of the Spirit of a Sovereign. I never thought… you must enter the water, Trint. I’m sorry.”

“I’m already standing in it,” Trint’s concern was growing. “Why are you so concerned, Jung?”

“Because you will not survive the next trial,” Jung stated. “Not much is known in our family, but a story is told to all of our children. A true sovereign must willingly die. Not for himself and pride of power. A sovereign must be willing to die for his family. Your thoughts of your family brought you to the pool, and now you must die for them. I don’t know what that means, but I believe you won’t truly die. But you will likely suffer.”

Jung was silent as Trint considered what he had heard. “Trint, I will help you get back to the light, but if you exit the void without getting beyond the sovereign water’s influence, you will forsake the sovereign title and lose its power. From everything I know, you don’t want to do that. I can share the story of the sovereign later, but now you must choose. Family or comfort. Experience death, or possibly never see your family again. I don’t mean to be so bleak. I leave it to you to consider and choose.”

‘Pneuma, is this for real?’ Trint asked his advisor. After silence greeted his question, he realized he was alone, save for the voice of Jung.

Trint didn’t know what was coming but accepted this was going to suck. He started walking forward, and the water – no, it was blood – the blood rose higher and higher. Soon he was on the tips of his toes, tilting his head up to keep his mouth above the surface. He took another step, but the ground fell away. His step plunged him below the surface. Panicking, he felt himself sink. Though he realized in a small part of his mind that he didn’t need to breathe in this spirit body, he was still panicking.

But the panic did not serve him. He finally relaxed as logic won out, allowing himself to sink. He also allowed his spirit body to take a breath. That’s when the anxiety turned to extreme terror. He didn’t think he needed to breathe, but he was suddenly drowning.

When the blood entered his lungs, he immediately ripped off the blindfold and tried to exit his spirit body and open his body’s eyes. He could no longer logically process that he was sitting on an island in the middle of a pond but also here in spirit and drowning. Why couldn’t he leave?

The terror and pain were not physical but had components of mind and spirit, which hurt. After such a long and agonizing time, his mind very nearly snapped. Finally, he lost consciousness.

Unseen or felt by Trint, his dead Spirit body sank into the depths. The body, previously filled with circuits and connected to a grid of hexagons and pentagons that even Jung couldn’t see the details of, had been flowing with energy. That light, power, and energy were now replaced with blood. Blood, dark and unmoving. The circuits were not his circulatory system, but they had been filled with this dead blood, stagnant and unmoving.

A long time later, his lifeless form was carried by the currents from the depths of the blood-filled ocean in the void and washed up on the shore. A shore far distant in time, space, and power from the one he had stepped from. An invisible form picked his body up and carried it like a child to a table. Laying it upon the table, the invisible being knelt and began singing. If anyone were to hear it, it was a sad song that grew to a pleading wail at the crescendo, with the last verse ending on a more hopeful note.

“This is my son. Let all tremble at the mention of his name. I name him ....”

The name was heard by no one save the speaker, but at the moment of his naming, the blood in his circuits flashed like the explosion of a blue star and burnt to bright white.

Trint’s awareness returned to him. He was on his back on a table in the void. He could hear the crashing of waves but could see no shore. He looked around and tried to speak but immediately coughed and choked. Sitting bolt upright, he spiritually heaved out his blood-filled lungs. The blood was black, and it evaporated into the void.

Trint vowed never to pretend his spirit body didn’t need to breathe ever again. He looked around and saw he was alone but alive.

“It is good to see you, Trinten,” a voice spoke. It was gentle and warm, like a deep bass that would rattle windows. Even his core seemed to vibrate to the rumble of the voice.

“Hello,” Trint managed. “Who might you be? And did you save me?”

“Trinten, you may call me Father, but I don’t plan to tell you who I am at this time. You only need to know I care deeply for you and have great hopes you will meet my expectations. That is all that matters for now.”

“You are the one who saved my family and adopted me into your family?” Trint asked. “Did you make me a Sovereign and send Pneuma?”

“Yes, all of those were my doing,” the formless voice answered.

“Why?” Trint managed to ask. “Why me?”

“It seems you doubt your worth. Why not you?” the voice countered. “Are you hoping that something special or unique about you makes you worthy of my gifts? For your pride, I wish that were the case. But you are special because you are mine. You are powerful because I remade you. You, your wife, and your children are my family. You are now, in many ways, a part of me. Like you and Pneuma, we, too, are inseparable and yet not the same. Don’t bother trying to wrap your mind or Spirit around that puzzle; even you won’t get it yet.”

“So there will be a time when I understand?” Trint wondered.

“No, probably not,” the voice laughed.

“Will I ever get to see you?” Trint asked.

“Will that help you trust me? Help you get to your family? Get to me?” the voice rattled off. “No, no, and no. Seeing me will confuse you and not help in your quest. But this isn’t some fetch quest from your books or games. It’s not a puzzle to unravel. Please do everything you can to reach your family and me. But… please also do your best to have fun while doing it. With every part of your being, I hope you will learn the thrill of battle, grow in power, and crush your enemies. Many are counting on you.”

The voice paused for a moment as if considering the weight of its words. “Don’t get me wrong. I don’t need you; I want you,” The voice continued. “I chose you, and you are mine, but I too am yours. Call me father for now. I have named you and grant you access to your ancestors’ Spirit at the deepest level possible. You may one day surpass my knowledge of Spirit. But today is a first. I have named you in Spirit. You have a name that only the System and I know. It carries power and marks you as mine. You were mine at adoption, but you received your new name today. Welcome to your family, my son. My only heir.”

Trint was honored by the actions and words, but he still couldn’t shake the confusion and mounting questions running through his mind.

“I shouldn’t keep you here any longer,” his father said. “On this island, you will find the door you were drawn to. Take the book and key on the chair and go through that door when you gather yourself. Sorry, I cannot stay longer. I would say good luck, but that isn’t a stat, and you don’t need it. We will speak again soon.”

With so many questions left unanswered, the voice and formless body that carried Trint from the shore was gone. He never actually saw the form of his father’s body, but he could sense it. It radiated power, authority, and warmth. The kind of warmth from a big hug that a father would provide to his child. Trint had felt safe, comfortable, and peaceful. That was a stark contrast from the experience of death by drowning in the sea of blood.

Trint hopped from the table onto the floor. He saw the book and key. The book was only about the size of two of his hands and about four inches thick, but it felt impossibly heavy as if it was made of tungsten. He almost couldn’t get it off the table, but once he had it in hand, the book felt as light as an ordinary book of its size.

The key was the size of his palm and made of bone. Or at least it looked like it was. The handle of the key was spherical on the side opposite the teeth. These teeth, he realized, were the teeth of some predatory animal. Not molars, but canines.

Trint picked it up. It did not magically change weight. It was just heavy. He tried to place them in his ring, but they wouldn’t enter. He was forced to carry them. The island wasn’t large. It encompassed approximately two football fields, end zone to end zone. The door he found at the furthest end of the island. It was not a tiny door, either. He came up to the door knob. The keyhole was at his eye level or about 6 feet off the ground. The door itself was at least twice as tall.

Without any further delay, he inserted the key. He turned the key clockwise, and his palm shot with pain. He reflexively jerked his hand away. The palm that had held the key had been branded with the family crest matching his ring, outlined by an octagon. The pain he felt had been both a burn and a cut. Looking closely, Trint observed the outline of the octagon was not burnt but bleeding. Stunned, he watched the bloodstained, formerly bone-colored key retract into the keyhole and disappear.

Before he could worry about losing the key, the door slid ever so slightly ajar. He had come this far, so he slipped his fingers into the crack and pulled hard. It took everything he could manage to get the door to inch open. Once it was open just enough for him to squeeze through, he released his grip on the unnecessarily heavy door further and slipped inside.