A Soul Worth Crossing Worlds

    “What?” Sean asked numbly.

    The three goddesses looked at each other in confusion.

    “Perhaps things have changed more drastically in his home world than we thought? Are the masses there no longer ruled by their betters?” Mig asked her sisters.

    “Impossible,” Mog replied, “Mortals crave leadership no matter the era. Maybe he’s been struck dumb by our generosity?”

    “Or we just picked up a simple one, Mig, maybe you need to use smaller words.” Mag offered. “Let me try, I deal with a lot of that kind.” She turned to Sean with an ingratiating smile as her sisters muttered to each other. “We want you to be king. You’ll wear a big hat and tell people what to do. Then you tell them to pray to us. Get it?” Her explanation, simple as it was, was accompanied by exaggerated hand movements that left him feeling slightly insulted.

    Sean waved her off, “No, no, no, that I understood the first time. What I don’t get is, well, why me? I was just a guy in my past life, not a king, or a president, hell I hadn’t even made manager at my last job yet.” He shrugged his shoulders, staring at the trio dejectedly, “I have nothing to make me worth all this trouble. Why would you choose someone like me to drag across the universe?”

    The goddesses stopped their discussion as Mog stood, sweeping towards him from her throne. Sean felt a chair pop into existence behind his knees as she pushed him into it with a finger. A slate board replaced the earlier image of the map in front of him.

    “Because you have potential, fledgling. An ocean of it, even though you know it not. Tell me, what do you know of your land’s gods? The Dagda, Danu, or that prancing buffoon Aengus?” She asked.

    “Oh, I don’t know Mog, I thought Aengus was quite dashing,” Mag interjected.

    “Hush, sister,” Mog dismissed. “Well, fledgling?”

    Sean took a moment to recall what he’d read about Ireland’s mythology. The gods of ancient cultures had always fascinated him, but they were just that – ancient history.

    “Not much,” he finally replied, “I recognize some of the names, and I could tell you a story or two involving them, but no one really worships them anymore. If they ever really existed they’re long gone now.”

    Mig frowned, “Then it is as we suspected. The gods we knew are lost and the pacts not just broken, but forgotten as well. This will require additional thought. Please continue though, Mog.”

    “Indeed,” Mog huffed, addressing Sean once more. “As I said before you have potential, but beyond that you were a target of opportunity. We can reach into your world in specific places, but without a partner on that end we may only act in specific circumstances.”

    A floating piece of chalk began to draw an image on the board. It showed two globes, both with small rings dotting them. A small stick figure with X’s for eyes, labelled ‘Fledgling’, was being sucked through a tube connecting a pair of rings.

    “So,” she continued, “because you died – putting you within our influence – and you did so in one of the old pact forts – an embassy of sorts between our worlds – we were able to draw you over.”

    “Alright,” Sean rubbed his eyes. “So you took me because you could and I was there, but that doesn’t really answer the question. What benefit do you gain from taking me over someone from your world?”

    “That comes back to your potential. As you mentioned before, in your previous world you were unremarkable, yes? Average, mediocre, completely uninteresting and incapable of even dreaming of greatness?”

“That stings more when I hear it from you, but yes that pretty much sums my life up. I was an unremarkable man, who died an unremarkable death.”

    Mag nodded, her face sober as she chimed in from her throne, “Aye, it’s the same for most here in this world as well. Fewer and fewer heroes are born each generation, and even they never reach the peaks their forebears climbed to.”

    “And that,” Mog said, slapping a summoned wand against the slate, “is because the trade in souls, in potential, has ceased between worlds. Like still ponds slowly growing scum, our worlds have stagnated.”

    She poked the slate again and the drawing zoomed in on the stick figure. Around it Sean now saw tiny motes floating in space, with equally tiny tendrils drawing them towards the body.

    “When a soul passes between worlds it gathers magical energy, or mana, to itself, absorbing it like a sponge. When a god squeezes that soul into a new vessel much of that magic flows out and into the land, where it collects in the earth and in the people who work it. When magic is plentiful, the potential of a man or woman to achieve greatness is nigh limitless. When it is scarce, the people suffer and live stunted, unhappy lives.”

    Mog motioned with her wand and the slate board disappeared. “The exchange need not be constant, for even a single soul gathers a vast amount of mana on its journey, but it is a necessary process that we each facilitate in our own ways.” Mog looked back at her sisters, “Or we did, until the gods of your world went silent. Your soul is the first in hundreds of years to cross over, and the news you bring is dire.”

    “But that is for us and the rest of the gods to deal with,” Mig said, as she and Mag left their thrones to join Mog. “The good news is that you, Sean, have brought us a supply of mana that will feed the world. Magic will once again flow freely, at least for a time.”

    “And,” Mag said, “We can use some of what’s still in that shiny new shell of yours to give you a pair of boons. Aiane will have a real hero king for the first time in a long while, and you’ll obtain power greater than you could have ever dreamed of.”