Funeral

Bright summer sun banished any mystery from the graveyard, revealing well-maintained marble tombstones and trimmed healthy green grass. It was the very image of peace and serenity. From the appearance alone no one would ever guess that this graveyard was haunted.

"In a time like this, we have no words. We have only each other."

Among whites and greens, there was now darkness. Like a flock of crows, living, dressed all in black, which must be moderately unpleasant under broiling sunshine, have gathered to place one who was no longer one of them into the ground.

As it was nominal on such an occasion a priest was speaking but I was not paying attention to his words. My attention was wholly occupied by my new smartphone. It may have been a bit rude, but funerals were for the living.

"Today we have gathered together to mourn the passing of Emily Deetz, devoted wife to Charles and beloved mother to Lydia."

And it was a very nice smartphone, and I had been without one for more than two years. I was going into withdrawals.

What? I know that there were some stereotypes about Magi being bad with technology. But I have studied some at Norwich Faculty. They alone had online courses. And while was quite welcome to come to the Clocktower, leaving would be another matter.

There was something recognizable about those names.

My memories had become much clearer. I had been remembering things that I had long forgotten. I suppose that happened once one was no longer subject to the weakness of the flesh.

But the problem with perfectly preserved memories was, especially when I added Elf ones, there were quite a lot of them.

So, while the names were identifiable, I didn't know why.

Well, if the information was that important, I would remember it.

For now, I had to return to this rather dry text.

"Scripture tells us: Sorrow not, for we do not walk alone."

Strange. I didn't remember that one.

I thought that Kirei had drummed all more common biblical eulogiums into my head. That fake priest never missed a funeral. Except his own, since his body could not be recovered. 

This perfect recall was steering memories I thought I had put aside long ago.

I did know that he had killed my father. Archer confessed that he knew that from the very first Holy Grail War, we both participated in, but he only told me when we had confirmed that fact with five other versions of him.

 I could understand what he was thinking. He was trying to spare my feelings. It was a nice gesture, but futile since I lacked any strong emotion on that matter.

I have no memories of Tokimi and being killed by one's apprentice was not that uncommon. In a way, it could be said that he died of natural causes, for a Magus.

I stopped reminiscing and returned to current matters.

The quote was quite insightful. For the current situation. The priest was positively inspired. But I should keep my focus on what I have been reading, no matter how boring it was.

"Could you quit fiddling with that?" Archer's voice cut through my concentration.

I glanced up from my smartphone. He was dressed in the same white and black striped suit as me. After what happened, we had awoken lying on the grass in this graveyard, just as mourners were arriving, already dressed in those suits. A familiar riding crop lay in my hand, and I swiftly discovered the smartphone tucked away in my pocket.

"Why?" I asked as I reluctantly pocketed the smartphone for the moment. In truth, the distraction was a welcome reprieve, from a very dry text. 

"It's disrespectful."

"Towards whom? She is not here, and they appear not to be able to see us." Either that or they were ignoring a pair of weirds hanging in the graveyard. And for the star of the event, the ghost of the buried woman was nowhere to be seen. Not that I looked very hard, but she would be somewhere near her husband or daughter if she was present. And I saw no one particularly unusual near them. "Besides I wasn't just playing around. I have been reading Handbook for Recently Deceased: Kindle edition."

"How is it?"

"Like reading stereo instructions."

"Should I prepare for an explosion then?"

"Very funny. And I can't use magecraft now anyway."

"Did you find why in that eBook?"

"I thought it was obvious. No? I sometimes forget how bad you are at basics. Especially more theoretical ones. To simplify, to use magecraft one needs magical circuits and magical energy in them. As long as magical circuits are attached to a living organism, they will naturally collect Od in them with time. That is one of the reasons that most magi claim that Od and life force are interchangeable terms."

"You speak like you not one of them."

"I am not. I follow the Conversion Theory. Rather than Od being a life force, it converts something, which we generalize as life force, from a living organism to generate magical energy."

"That sounds mostly the same to me. Except second seems to add one unnecessary step."

"Yes, most magi would agree with you. That is why the other theory is more commonly accepted. There are some hints otherwise, like the increased caloric intake of practicing magi, but nothing definite. So most prefer to use Occam's Razor and just discard the more complex theory."

"But not you?"

"No. Magic Circuits are a relatively new phenomenon in humans. If Od is a life force what happened to it in ancient humans? And my experiments in Arda do favor Conversion Theory since Elves don't use Od, but something more primal. But anyway, the reason we can't use magecraft is simple. Both of us are dead."

The destruction of One Ring unleashed a tremendous amount of energy. Significantly more than I had anticipated. Some of that may have been my fault.

We had managed to escape eruption to that curious Otherworld, that with a strange key. But for some reason, the door to the volcano just wouldn't close. Why? Well, I had some theories, although they were pretty much guesswork. The primary one was some sort of interference made by a spell centered on One Ring that was supposed to cannibalize all other One Rings in all of the parallel timelines, making it truly unique and incredibly powerful.

Seeing no other solution to our predicament I had tried to replicate the event that brought me to Ea in the first place. It was a triumph, with a side effect. We successfully left Ea, escaping the imminent danger, but died upon arrival in the new reality.

I was still unsure what exactly killed us. Or what had happened to the Otherworld. But I no longer possessed that strange key. And considering that it tended to return to me, whenever I had left it, that did not bode well.

"Last time when I was dead, I could still use magecraft," Archer said, frowning.

"You were under contract. It supplied the magical energy you needed. Well two different contracts to be precise, but from the perspective of being able to use magecraft there was no functional difference. On another matter, do you have the key to the Otherworld? I seemed to have misplaced mine."

"Not that key. I have a whistle, a smartphone, and some other key."

A smartphone. That and the suit were the only things the same between us. And considering the only eBook preloaded in mine…

Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly, then inhaled again.

Being dead I did not need to breathe. But futile as it was, the action did help me calm down. 

I couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't quite over dying. Or perhaps it was the loss of the ring that weighed on my mind so heavily?

"Let's compare smartphones first. They look the same, although I don't recognize the maker. Let's go to the settings and compare them. So, the model name is Raven 8. Same?"

"Same."

"Country number 4, network 13, and rest 63728790."

"Same for country and network, then 62770000."

"The numbers are a little too obvious. But let me try to call you."

I typed in his number, and then saw something, "You are already in my address book. Under name Mars."

I pressed the call button, and his phone began to ring almost immediately. Fast dialing.

"And you are in mine. Mercury."

"Do you have a standard loadout? Phone, messenger, browser, and camera?"

"Yes."

"Although the browser is completely useless. I mean the date is July 13, 1987, according to the smartphone. Even the first incarnation of the World Wide Web is years away. Next is Kindle with one eBook preloaded, Handbook for Recently Deceased: Kindle edition."

"Same."

"Next is an app called Kaelido-web."

"I have it too. You know I expected that you would have opened it by now."

"You can do so if you like. I on the other hand will explore other possibilities first." The Old Man of the Jewels had a rather notorious reputation. Maybe it was undeserved, but he did saddle Archer and me with nine additional Holy Grail Wars when all I wanted was a tip on using the Second True Magic. I was sure that there was an important reason for it, but it made me reluctant to play with the app. And maybe it was because I was still stuck on completing the family homework. No unlimited power for me yet. "Who knows perhaps you will finally manage to perform the transformation sequence?" I teased.

"You just want to see me in a dress. You know, you could simply ask," he retorted with a hint of snark.

"But it's no fun unless you're embarrassed," I replied playfully, and then added more seriously, "Anyway, that's all for the apps."

"I've got two more. One is called 'Find My Bike' and the other is 'Winter Garden,'" Archer informed me with a coy smile.

"Bike, that should be useful. Start it."

"It's a compass."

"I suppose that it points towards a bike. Let's see where it leads."

He nodded and began to walk in a straight line. I put my smartphone in the pocket of my jacket and I followed him. Even when he walked right through the stone angel statue. That had been a very bizarre sensation, walking through the solid stone. I wasn't sure how to describe it. The closest I could come was that it was a bit like wadding through the water, muddy water, since I couldn't see much.

Then Angel was not the last. We were intangible, there was no reason to walk around obstacles, like for example tombstones, when we could just walk through solid objects. It was a bit strange to me, but I guess that was something Archer already had experience with.

We were leaving the mourners behind. Good. I was not sure I wasn't ready to enter another person in a non-sexual way.

To distract me from that I asked, "Do you remember what happened? I was distracted."

"Not really. It was very sudden. Just splat."

"Perhaps I had run into something? It was not as could see where we were going."

"I knew there was a reason you always let me drive,"

"Yes, there is. I hate driving."

He chuckled and then added, "You can ride the pillion as usual. I don't mind being at the wheel. I think I can see it now."

So could I. The bike was parked right on the edge of the road. How did I know that was the bike we were looking for? It was simple.

"Is that bike you made?"

"Or one just like it."

"I believe that your bike is quite unique. What interesting grave goods we have. A bike for you, a ring crop for me. Both were made by us. The key is for the bike?"

"It shouldn't be. I didn't make an ignition key for my bike. There would be no point in making it."

"Let's check."

"But first. Answer one question. Do you still have the One Ring?"

"It was destroyed. Remember the whole thing with volcano eruption?"

"And we are dead, and we possess some items we had in life."

"So what? You are suspecting me of hiding a ghost of Precious," I said, my thoughts turning towards the ring. I still missed it; the elevated state of mind when I had it. Together we were so much more. "in my pocket. No, I don't have it. If don't trust me, you can strip-search me."

"Good, you can start with your jacket," he sternly commanded.

"You are serious?"

"Jacket," he repeated, holding out his hand.

Well, I said he could, so took it off and gave it to him. The shirt I had underneath was a fancy silk one, with nice cuffs, but also stripped. Vertical lines of white and black. I also had a necktie, a black one. Not something I usually choose to wear. He went through all my pockets, pulling out my smartphone. Satisfied he then said, "Pants."

The first thing I gave him was my riding crop. It had been hanging from one of the belt loops on my pants. Then the belt. Next were the shoes.

"Socks, too." He interrupted me.

I looked at him. Did he really think I had it on my toe?

"Socks," he repeated.

I obliged him. The sensation of the grass on bare feet was not unpleasant, but it was strange. It felt more like a reminiscence of walking on the lawn, and it stirred recollection of all of the times I did before, many of which I had thought lost and forgotten.

A shirt and undershirt followed leaving me just in tight briefs. They were also stripped: white and black.

Irritation was slowly but surely replaced by arousal. Being forcefully stripped, especially in public, was one of my kinks, whether it was done to me, or I did it to others.

He was still holding a hand out. I guess he did want the last piece. Considering where I tried to put Ring of Fire, I couldn't really blame him.

Thus, I gave him my briefs, leaving me completely naked. The sun should have felt warm on my skin, but I felt nothing. Neither hot nor cold. 

"I believe you owe me something," I said after he finished searching and found no ring.

"What? An apology?"

It was obvious from ay he held himself that he believed this was completely necessary.

"No. Something else with your mouth. A hint, no words will be necessary."

He knew me well, so it didn't take him long to guess what I meant. He kneeled at once, in almost unseemly haste.

When he took my member in his mouth, I expected it to be hot. It was oddly cool, but not that disagreeable. I was already half-hard, from the stripping, so it didn't take me long to gain a full erection.

Looked at him kneeling, fully clothed, at feet. There was something missing. If only I had some rope. I could only imagine how much better it would be if he was completely bound. Not rope. A chain perhaps?

No. something more exotic. Roots. I visualized roots, white as bones burring in this graveyard, emerging from the ground, entangling and binding him. Rendering him completely helpless as choked him with my cock.

Inspired by that image I grabbed him by his red hair and thrust my hips, pushing my member deep into his throat.

And answering my unspoken wish, bone-white gnarled roots did burst from the ground, and as I imagined it, rendered him completely helpless.

He was so beautiful when bound.

It was enough to push me over the edge.

Orgasm when it came was strangely muted. It was like trying to touch something tough woolen gloves.

It was pleasant, but there was no explosion, no brilliant flash.

And roots were gone and the ground itself was unbroken. As if they existed only was only in my mind. The only evidence of them could be seen in slight damage in Archer's striped suit, and that was fading fast.

Something to experiment with later.

"Being dead sucks. And not in a fun way. Actually, it is making fun way, less fun."

Archer licked his lips and said, "I could have told you that. But you make it bearable."

"We should do something about it."

"If it was that easy, there would be no need for graveyards."

"You are forgetting to whom you are speaking. I have done it before." Even if I had no idea how. "I can do it again." I hoped.

"What is the plan?" he asked.

"First thing we need access to the living world. Luckily there I have the know-how. The dull book did have some useful information. There are two ways for the dead to interact with the living. One, to die on property that they own. "

"Technically we did that."

"Yes, but that gives us clout only over said property. And we have no way of reaching the Otherworld, and even if could it tends to drive visitors insane. But there is number two. To be invited. To have a contractor."

"A Master?"

"More or less. The ritual itself is quite simple. A living person may speak aloud a name, mine or yours, three times. It must be spoken unbroken."

"Which name? We have collected a few."

"Mercury or Mars. There is something about names linked to celestial objects that makes this possible. But you can see the catch."

"If we want for living to hear us, a living person must speak our names three times. But for that, a living person needs to know our name. And for that, we need to communicate with a living person. Nice catch-22."

"It's not as bleak as it sounds. Some rare humans can see the dead. And there are those ghosts who died on their property. I am sure we could convince them to help us. So, we need to find either a genuine haunting or a genuine medium. How hard could that be?"

"We could look for them on the internet," Archer said.

"Without search engine? We are in the past. We would have more luck finding information in a public library."

"Then let's do that. We can ride my bike to the nearest town and see it from there. You can ride the pillion as always."

I nodded to show that agreed and we proceeded to go where the bike was but when we came closer, I could see that it wasn't exactly as I had remembered it.

"Have you made some modifications to your motorcycle? Because I can see a large dildo sticking from the seat. And more importantly: where is the second one?"

The protrusion was not the only modification to the seat of Archer's rise. There were additional parts, like a transparent plastic tube, with several mobile rubber rings within with straps for attaching to the rider, and what looked like fuel lines linking the tube to the fuel tank. In other words, male milking machine.

"They are detachable," Archer said, after examining the additions.

"Which?"

"Both. Look," he said and proceeded to unscrew the dildo and unhook the milking machine.

"Not going to take them for a ride?"

"Time for play later. Now we have work to do."

"What are going to do with them?"

"The is a storage under the seat." He raised the seat showing that there was a compartment under it. "Strange. There is a case just for them. And short manual."

"Should you look it over?"

He put the seat back and climbed on. "I know how to drive the bike. Coming?"

I sat behind him and grabbed around his waist. But nothing was happening, "Problem?'

"It won't start."

In the end, the solution was in the manual. The additions weren't just the sex toys, they were also the secondary power sources for the bike. Alternative to fuel. And by that, I didn't mean that used spunk as fuel since the motor would start the moment, everything was hooked up. And that included Archer.

A grave goods motorcycle that ran on the pathos of the dead. That reminded me of a pen-and-paper RPG I used to play.

"Score one for the renewable energy, I guess. Can you make more of them?"

"I didn't make this," he almost growled. "And no."

"Pity. Imagine such a machine in every home. The electric bill is too high. No problem, just hook your teenager to the machine. Joking aside, are we riding or not?"

He didn't say anything, but he began to remove his pants so that was an answer enough.

Well, one thing was certain. We would recognize any true medium by his or her reaction after seeing him riding his bike.