Jack’s mind reels with an onslaught of questions. Why is Old Man V here? This plane is supposed to be for people who got hit by the Touch. And how come the old man can speak when none of the not-faces can? Hell, why can’t Jack speak? Or move, for that matter? Why didn’t the old man talk to him sooner? And why did the not-faces go all crazy a minute ago? Why don’t they seem to like the old man? Why—

“Whoa, whoa, kiddo. Slow it down. That brain of yours makes almost as much noise as all those other nuggets combined. Takes a lot of effort to filter that stuff down. If you want me to get what you’re sayin’, you’ve gotta be real clear with your thoughts. It’s like thinkin’ real loud.”

Jack concentrates, fusing all of his thoughts into a single question. WHY’D YOU HAFTA DIE?

The not-faces all around Jack stop writhing in contempt at Vardin’s voice. Their attention is all on Jack.

“Too loud! Too loud, kiddo.” The old man’s voice snorts his laughing cough. “I forgot how good your focus can be when you actually try. I—”

The old man’s voice breaks, like he’s distracted by something. His next words come out soft, softer than the raspy whisper he’d been using. “I know. I know. Let the kid get his damn bearings first.”

The not-faces react to Vardin’s words, almost thrashing at the sound like they’re upset.

“Oh, cut it out!” The old man’s voice pauses again, this time like he’s trying to compose himself. “Sorry about that, Jack. The souls here are a bit sensitive about words like ‘damn’ and ‘hell’—give it a rest!” The not-faces had gone into another flurry of movement as soon as Vardin mentioned the terms. “They’re a buncha sensitive nuggets. You can say ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ all you want, though. Doesn’t bother them in the least.”

Shitfuckers.

“Ha! Good volume that time. Well done. And I’m glad to see you’re as foulmouthed as ever.” Vardin lowers his voice like he’s trying to tell a secret. “But let’s not get in the habit of insulting them. I’m kinda stuck with them for eternity, so it’s probably best not to make things any more uncomfortable than they already are.”

As glad as Jack is to hear his old mentor’s voice, it’s still weird. Kind of unsettling. It doesn’t help that he sounds like he’s talking to himself when he’s addressing the not-faces. And he still hasn’t answered any of Jack’s questions.

“Ah yes! Your question. Wait. What was it again?”

Why’d you have to die?

“Oh, Jack, you’ve seen enough death in your short life that you should already know that eventually we all die. No one is immortal, not in a way that’s worth anything.”

Jack can almost feel himself vibrate in frustration. No. That’s not what I mean.

“Oh? What, then?”

Why did you die? It ain’t like you were sick or anything. Did someone get to you? Poison you, maybe? Was it Harris? It was Harris, wasn’t it?

The old man doesn’t respond immediately. It’s hard to tell if he’s chewing on his thoughts or if he’s just gone. Eventually, though, he does speak again. “Harris wants to take the bar, does he?”

Yes.

“Yeah, I can see how I kinda left you in a bit of a mess.” Vardin lets out something that almost sounds like a sigh. “And no. As convenient as it would be for me to tell you that Harris killed me and give you the means of provin’ it, that’s not what happened. The truth is—well, the truth is quite a bit more embarrassing.”

The not-faces pick up the pace in their movement. It’s not like before, though. It’s more like they’re lining up to listen. Like they’re eager to hear what he has to say.

Vardin seems to notice their change in behavior, too. “Yeah, yeah, sit down to hear your favorite story about how Old V fucked up. I swear, you nuggets are so predictable. Were you this easy to anticipate when you were alive? No wonder you’re dead.”

V.

“Right, kiddo. Sorry about that. Easy to get distracted here. In fact, I’m not even sure how long I’ve been here. There ain’t exactly a calendar or even a wall to scratch lines for the passage of days. Makes it real simple to lose a sense of things.”

Focus, old man. The question! Jack doesn’t get it. Old Man V was always sharp as a tack, even as far into the gray as he’d gotten. It’s really uncomfortable to hear his mind amble off in every which direction.

“Did it again, did I? What was—oh wait, I got it. You wanna know how I got here. Short version, I did it to myself.”

What?

“Yeah. Well, think about it. You know how we started seeing this plane when we started training for the Touch? How we figured all these nuggets here are souls that got pushed out by the Shadowfold when they were still around?”

The not-faces all appear to contract as a single unit at the mention of the Shadowfold. Slowly, though, Jack is starting to put the pieces together, to make sense of what the old man is saying.

Wait. So you’re saying that you put yourself here?

“It wasn’t really on purpose, mind you. I was working my way through that training notebook ahead of you, like I do, tryin’ to get you ready to attempt the real thing. Figured I’d try it on a rat or lizard. Not quite sure what I did wrong, but the whole thing ended up backfiring. Landed me here.”

A sudden thought occurs to Jack. If he could, he’d be grinning right now. You’re here because you Touched yourself.

“Well, yeah, I just got done saying—”

It takes a second to click before the old man understands what Jack is getting at. “Ha!”

The old man’s laughter fills the space and goes on for quite a bit. Jack mentally laughs along with him while the not-faces all around them appear to heave a collective groan. Jack has no idea if the thought of laughing conveys like words do, but it doesn’t matter. It’s good to be able to talk to the old man again.

“Oh, kiddo. I do miss your perverse little mind.”

So, wait. Is that why you can talk and no one else here can? Because you used the Touch on yourself?

“To be honest, I don’t know. Could be that. It could just be you. Could also be just because you n’ I have a connection. I wasn’t even sure I was actually talking until you showed up. I’ve only heard one other voice on this plane and that ain’t someone I’m inclined to hold a conversation with.”

The old man’s words hang in the air, meaningful. Jack knows exactly who he’s talking about. Thegn.

“Yeah. Comes through every now and again. Normally moves around like he’s wading through a dumpster. The last time was a bit different, though. Blasted through like—hold on. You jumped to his name right quick. What ain’t you tellin’ me?”

How do you think I got here?

“Well, you ain’t dead. That much is obvious.”

How can you tell?

“You’re fixed in place. Think of yourself like a tree. You’ve still got roots in the material plane. The Touch cuts those roots. Sends the soul adrift on this plane, kinda like a seed in the wind.”

Is that why you’ve been calling them nuggets?

“Yup. And because I think it bothers them. They don’t like being reminded that they’re the littlest kernels of who they used to be.” The old man’s voice does that snorting cough-laugh again. “Gotta amuse myself somehow.”

The not-faces go back to their frenetic swirling in response to this.

But why aren’t you floatin’ all around? You’ve been outta my view this whole time.

“Hold on, Jack, now you’re distracting me. Let’s see, we said you’re here, but you ain’t dead—”

Death came to the bar and I used the Touch on him. The thought spills from Jack’s mind, loud and fast. If he were able to talk, he would’ve just blurted it out.

“You what?”

The not-faces retract as a swarm, like a giant spiritual flinch. Their movement is jumpy, agitated. Jack doesn’t pay them any mind.

Wrinkled old bastard was hurting Zeke and a friend of mine. And he was wrecking the bar. He’s an annoying dick. No, a whole bag of dicks.

Vardin’s voice doesn’t respond immediately. When he does, it’s quiet. Thoughtful. “He finally found Zeke, did he?”

Well, yeah, but no.

“What do you mean?”

Jack can almost feel himself squirm. That’s not why Wrinkles was at the bar. I mean, he did find Zeke—what in the world is so special about him, by the way?

“Don’t change the subject, Jack. This is important.”

No, I’m serious. What’s with everyone bein’ all up on Zeke’s junk? First, Corva has her fits when she’s around him. Then ol’ Wrinkles comes after Zeke like, like—

“Like they’re mortal enemies.”

Yeah. Like that. Jack pauses. It’s so frustrating that he can’t turn and face the old man, can’t see him as he speaks. How come you know all this?

“There’s a lot I never told you, kiddo. One of my greatest regrets. Zeke and I left you real unprepared for this world.”

You could talk to Zeke, too?

“What? No. We just built our own little way of—hold up. Who can talk to Zeke? You?”

No. Corva. She’s … well, she’s—

A sudden sharp pain shoots across Jack’s ribs and he feels himself move. Not much. Just a little. The odd thing, though, is that he can feel himself move on this plane, but the pain in his ribs isn’t here. It’s wherever his ribs are, wherever his body is.

“Jack? You okay?”

Yeah. I think so. I just moved a bit. But my ribs hurt and my chembraid itches. It’s strange. He only just now realizes that he hasn’t been feeling any pain from the beating he took back at the bar.

“Kiddo, that’s not okay. Moving here means dying there. Did you get hurt?”

Yeah. Wrinkles got me an’ Zeke pretty messed up. Shit, Zeke! He’s hurt bad, V. Corva went to get Lyia, but I can’t help if I’m stuck here. I’ve gotta get back to him. Jack stops as another sudden realization hits him. How do I get back?

“Not sure, little guy. My first time here was a one-way trip. You ain’t dead yet, though. But from the sound of things, you ain’t farin’ much better than Zeke. You really need to be worried if you start moving here.”

Moving?

“Yeah. Mobility. You start being able to move around here and you know you’re dead.”

Fuck V, I don’t wanna be dead. Jack thinks he feels himself move again. Panicked thoughts start flooding his mind.

“Well just hold on, kiddo. Slow it down. You said your ribs hurt and—when did you get a chembraid? How old are you now?”

Now ain’t the time for that, V.

“Right. Right. Don’t think I’ll forget about that, though. But yeah, you said your ribs hurt?”

Yes. Took some heavy hits.

“Use that. Pain lets you know you’re still alive. Focus on it. Embrace it. See if you can follow it. Make it your own little path back to your body.”

Follow the pain?

“Exactly. You’ve been here once. You can get here again after you get yourself patched up. It ain’t like I’m goin’ anywhere. We’ll get to your questions. And maybe you can answer a few that I’ve got.”

Jack turns his attention to the pain he’s feeling. It’s tough to do, though. His mind keeps going back to the idea that the more he can move, the closer he is to really being dead. It doesn’t help that he’s not overly fond of being hurt. Who wants to feel that?

“You come back from being this close to dying, kiddo, and you’ll have a whole new appreciation for pain. Now focus.”

Shit. Mind reading. Jack redoubles his efforts and concentrates. He tries to visualize the pain and its source, the same way Lyia taught him for doing healing work. A splotch of color, pulsing in time with a heartbeat. Mentally, he imagines wrapping a tendril around it and pulling. A little tug at first, like testing a rope before climbing. His hold is good, so he pulls harder.

In an instant, the not-faces dissolve away and his entire field of view is filled with that pulsing splotch of color. Agony burns its way across his mind. It hurts so much. He can feel that mental tendril slip a bit, the color shrink and fade. But he feels his face wince. The pulse on that splotch is his own. Air is filling his lungs and painfully pushing out. It’s working!

It sucks, but it’s working.

Jack redoubles his concentration on his splotch of pain and sends a second tendril to it. Just one more pull should do it.