Avatar of Light

by Dmitry Bilik

  His heavy sigh was filled with all the wistfulness of the hapless Purgator people. I even felt a bit sorry for him: because of me, he was now stuck in a job he hated. I wanted to tell him that half of all Russian men were in the same position, but he wouldn’t have understood the analogy. So I just bade my goodbyes.

  Jack saw us to the front door. He didn’t ask us to pop by whenever we had the time or the need for his help.

  “May your journey never end,” he said to our backs, “and let’s just hope I never see you again. And even if I do, let’s hope nobody’s life depends upon it next time.”

  His words were filled with such earnest simplicity that I felt a lump in my throat. I wanted to take him to a bar, order a couple of drinks and talk through the night over them, discussing all kinds of stuff. But somehow I sensed that would never happen.

  “Pompous douchebag,” Traug said, disrupting my reverie.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Stupid enough to push that table over, he said! It wasn’t my fault you started waving your hands in front of me! You blinded me, that’s all. Never mind. He paid well for that little gaffe.”

  I tensed up. “What do you mean?”

  “Here. That’s what was on that table,” he showed me the item he’d just pilfered.

  It looked like a regular whistle, slightly bigger than the plastic ones used by PE teachers. This one was made of wood — wenge, to be precise, — veined with black. Somehow I didn’t think it was meant to order clumsy students around the school gym.

  “Give it to me,” I said.

  “Oh no,” Traug put the whistle away. “I’ll give it to you when we’re back in Sorrow. Otherwise you’ll go straight back and return it, I know you. You’re too chivalrous for a Seeker. It’s not a trait a real Player should exercise.”

  “Traug!”

  “I’ll give it to you back in Sorrow,” he repeated, darting off toward the Gatehouse.

  What would you do with him? I had no other choice but to follow. As I ran, I checked my level-up message:

  Available points: 3

  Strength: 26 (x)

  Intellect: 18 (x)

  Fortitude: 22 (x4)

  Agility: 24 (x2)

  Stamina: 21 (x)

  Rhetoric: 18 (x3)

  Speed: 16

  That made sense. The Destruction alone had brought me nine skills. Plus Resistance, courtesy of Jumping Jack’s little obstacle course. I’d have loved to invest some in Intellect, but the bonuses to Stamina, Agility and Rhetoric spoke in their own favor.

  Congratulations! You have reached the first bonus sublevel of Stamina! Sublevels available: 4

  Your resistance to all toxins and pestilence spread by cursed creatures has improved!

  Congratulations! You have reached the first bonus sublevel of Agility! Sublevels available: 4

  Your learning rate of acquiring the skills of small firearms and throwing weapons has improved!

  You can now improve any Agility-related skill.

  Small firearms, of all things! And improved toxin resistance! It wasn’t as if I had a Catherine of Medici lurking around me. But as for improving any skill… they must have mentioned it for a reason.

  Your current level of Lability allows you to select one permanent improvement to your body.

  Sprinter. Improves your speed for a short period of time

  Weight Lifter. Allows you to carry heavier loads for a short period of time

  Marathon Runner. Lowers your Vigor expenditure during strenuous physical activity for a short period of time.

  Oh. Ever since I was little, I've adhered to two great pieces of wisdom. The first one is, if you wanna stay healthy, you should eat alone and in the dark. Joke. And the second one, the best way to win a fight is by avoiding it. As they say, a fist is no match for two swift feet. Legging it in time is quite a valorous thing to do. Not really heroic maybe, no. They don’t make movies about such guys; they don’t get decorated, but they’re normally the ones who make it home alive. So I selected Sprinter.

  I got so deep in thought that I nearly smashed my head on the wide open door. Traug was already waiting for me inside. I took one last look back, surprised at the Community’s tranquil lifestyle. Everybody seemed to be going happily about their own business. The only things that reminded one of the city being attacked were the occasional sounds of battle filtering in from outside, as well as the anxiety of the guards and the presence of Commoner Purgs sitting around by the gates. Of course, you can’t judge a world by just one town, just as you can’t judge a nation by only one person, but Purgator only evoked negative associations within me. Had it not been the only junction between earth and everything else, I would have avoided it like the plague.

  Never mind. Time to go home. I got my fare of 64 grams ready and stepped inside.

  ONCE BACK ON EARTH, we left the building with our very different personal emotions. Traug reminded me of a rookie on leave back in his home town, discovering all those girls who’ve reached the age of consent. I might just be right: I had a funny feeling he might go on another bender. Just in order to de-stress, so to say.

  As for me, despite all my fatigue and yet another sleepless night, I still managed to take stock of my financial situation. It didn’t look rosy. At the moment, I had 476 grams left. It wasn’t even enough to pay Litius back. Of course, we collectively still had the rachnaids’ eggs, but first we needed to sell them.

  But the moment we entered the Syndicate building, all my anxiety melted into the background. Litius very nearly swept me off my feet, trying to give us both a big hug, as if checking that we weren’t an illusion. Arts stood behind him, nervously biting her lips as she tried to smile.

  “Finally you’re here,” she said, throwing her sketchbook on the table. I gave a mental chuckle when I saw she’d been drawing another hand grenade. “I’m gonna get you something to drink.”

  “You can do that later without me,” I said. “I can hardly stand on my feet. Arts, will you please give me my stuff back, and I’ll be off. Traug’ll tell you all about it.”

  “Not even one quick drink?” she asked, giving me my phone.

  “Only aristocrats and degenerates drink first thing in the morning,” I joked as I glanced at the phone screen. Oh. It was only ten a.m. The day was just starting, which was a good thing. Because seeing as our team was finally back together, we needed to decide what to do with the eggs. Or rather, where to sell them.

  “We could sell them through the normal channels, but to do that, we need to make a quick trip to Cyrillia,” Arts said pensively.

  “To Moscow, you mean?”

  “Yep. Some you can sell on the black market. But seeing as they’re not illegal, I doubt there’ll be any takers. Still, it’s worth trying. We have so many that if we try to sell them all in one place, we might bring the whole market down.”

  Traug scratched the back of his head. “I have an uncle at the Nogglean court. I could discuss it with him, I suppose. It’s true we’re not that tight — but he might turn a blind eye to our disagreements if the price was right.”

  “In the meantime, I could analyze the purchasing power of some of Earth’s other communities,” Litius offered.

  “Excellent. You do that. Here, take the eggs.”

  I started unloading our rachnaid loot directly onto the table. After a brief discussion, Arts began packing them all into her inventory. Traug already had plenty, so he too had to hand some over to her because she was the one responsible for most of the sales. Still, he didn’t do it straight away, promising to hand them over to her in a less public place. Judging by the lewd glint in his eye, he must have meant his bachelor pad. Still, I had a funny feeling she would quash all his expectations — literally, if necessary, because this girl could handle herself.

  “And here, look what I got from one of the Kabirids,” I produced the spear. “I can’t use it. We might try and sell it, as well.”

  “Oh,” Arts said, scrutinizing it.
“It’s got a name on it: Krune. It’s no good for anybody else but this particular family. Anyway, once I’ve got rid of the eggs, I’ll try and sort this out. I might just look up one of them.”

  “Excellent. Okay, I’m off, then. Keep me posted. Litius knows how to find me.”

  “Wait a sec. Take this,” Traug handed me the whistle he’d expropriated at Jumping Jack’s new place.

  The moment I touched the artifact, I sensed its inner power.

  Glowing Whistle

  Summons the fluorites who are closest by, rendering them unable to harm the summoner for the duration of 1 minute.

  So that’s what Jack must have meant when he’d said we’d had everything to successfully pass the test. Or something like that. What an interesting item. Although…

  “Why didn’t you give it to me back in Purgator?”

  “Because you’d have gone straight back to that pompous alchemist and given it back to him. And now you’ll have to make a special trip to do so.”

  He had a point. I wouldn’t part with another 64 grams just for the pleasure of returning the whistle. I might do so some other time if I ever got the chance.

  After another round of goodbyes, I finally left the Syndicate and hurried away from the Community limits while peering at my phone screen. I nearly jumped for joy when I finally had a signal. I quickly typed a text to Julia:

  What time can we meet up?

  She replied straight away:

  I’m only free after 4 p.m.

  Cool. I’ll call you then.

  All of a sudden, I felt much better. I even began whistling as I headed for the bus stop. I’d get back home now, have a quick wash and go straight to bed. All earthly problems could wait. And then I’d just keep a low profile and try to be happy if possible.

  I was so lost in reverie I didn’t even hear the sound of a phone going off. No, wait — it was my phone. It was Mom. What could I have possibly forgotten now? It was an eerie feeling: I knew I had to do something but I couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was.

  “Sergei!” she snapped like a regimental sergeant major. “Why can’t I ever get hold of you?”

  “I was out of range.”

  “You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

  “Of course not,” I said, rummaging through my memory for what I was supposed to have remembered.

  “Good. Just checking,” her voice softened. “Did you receive Darya’s message with the address?”

  “Of course I did.”

  Your Lying skill has increased to level 7.

  “Okay. Try not to be late for the wake. See you later.”

  I very nearly screamed as I hung up. Of course! How could I have forgotten! I checked all the missed texts and immediately found the one from my sister. It had been sent yesterday, giving the time and the place: today at 4 p.m., about twenty or thirty minutes’ bus ride from my place. In theory, I could squeeze in a couple hours of sleep, but what would I look like then? They might decide to shove me in the coffin instead of that Granny… Granny… oh great, now I’d forgotten her name as well. I’d have to turn up early and ask Mom, so as not to look completely stupid. The entire Demidov clan would be there, so help me St. Januarius.

  Chapter 12

  OUR RELATIONSHIPS with our neighbors are a very special story. Whenever we move house, we tend to look at a variety of factors: the neighborhood, the floor, the proximity of shops and schools, but we sometimes seem to forget the most important thing. How many stories do you know when the so-called “sworn friends” next door made one’s life hell so much so that you’d have to move again? They’d slander you, calling you a “whore” or a “junkie”, ruining your reputation for good or some would go even further and smear your door handle in you-know-what.

  Considering the fact that I hadn’t gotten to choose my current lodgings, overall I’d been lucky with my neighbors. The kind-hearted lush Professor and his long-suffering wife; Uncle Nick a.k.a. Hunter; and naturally, Lydia and her tribe. Plus a few nodding acquaintances with whom I’d exchange an occasional “Hello”.

  Still, there was a fly in that particular ointment.

  I didn’t know the woman’s name. She lived on the third floor below me. I wouldn’t say she was old — probably about forty, give or take five years. Such a drastic age effect was probably due to her constantly worn-out appearance, hunched back and never a trace of makeup. She gave me the impression that she used to live a normal active life but that at some point, she’d simply gotten tired of it and slowed down. It was perfectly fine with me: everyone has their own hang-ups. Still, she had one particular drawback. Or rather, four drawbacks, constantly meowing but never leaving her apartment. According to the Professor, the cats had been living with her for quite a while — and judging by the smell, she’d never refreshed the cat litter. Which was probably why everybody tried to hurry past the third floor as quickly as possible.

  Unfortunately, today of all days Lady Luck had turned her back on me, dropped her pants and even flashed her butt in my direction. Because the cat lady’s door was wide open, releasing all sorts of effluvia. But that wasn’t the worst of it. As soon as she saw me on the stairs, the woman hurried toward me.

  “If you’ve taken a dog, you should be walking it regularly, you know.”

  “How do you do, Ma’am.”

  “I’ve had a week of suffering your nonsense. All that constant howling and scratching! My cats can hear everything. They climbed under the couch and didn’t dare come out.”

  “Three days,” I corrected her. “Three and a half, if you want to be precise.”

  “You’re not listening, are you? If you continue to mistreat the poor animal, I’ll set the police on you.”

  What was I supposed to say to that? Sorry, it’s just a house goblin grieving for me. Don’t worry, I’ll have a talk with him, he’s a responsible individual and will never do such a thing again. In that case, the police would be the least of my problems.

  Then I noticed a scruffy skeletal cat looking fearfully from behind the door, sniffing at all the odors of the stairwell. And what if…

  I didn’t even raise my hand; I just focused on the moggy and tensed my fingers up a little.

  Your Sorcery skill has increased to level 2.

  “What is it your mistress hates the most?” I asked.

  “Are you taking the piss?” the woman threw her hands in the air. “Stop that meowing, right now!”

  “She hates it when I climb onto the kitchen table,” the cat replied in all honesty.

  “Then would you please climb the table and drop something on the floor for good measure?”

  “Stop clowning around!” the woman glared daggers at me. She was about to add something definitely threatening enough to confuse and terrify me when the sound of a breaking cup came from within the apartment.

  Or could it have been a sugar bowl? No idea.

  “Marquis!” the woman rushed back inside.

  Unwilling to push my luck any further, I hurried upstairs, to check on the most disobedient dog in the world.

  “Master!” Bumpkin greeted me, draping a tea towel over his furry shoulder. Judging by all the amazing smells, he’d been busy cooking.

  “Who do you think?” I said, trying to contain my disappointment as I realized that I wouldn’t get the chance to sample his cuisine. How was I supposed to explain my lack of appetite later at the function? “Take this. Here’s the wallpaper, and here’s some glue, to replace what you’ve shredded.”

  I’d bought them on my way home; now I reached into my inventory and handed both to the goblin. Great thing, this inventory. It permanently freed your hands up and took care of any heavy loads. The items’ actual weight had diminished so much that I hadn’t even noticed it. Now the prospects of grocery shopping had ceased to be quite so daunting.

  “Hunter didn’t turn up?”

  “He did,” he said it in such a soft voice with his eyes lowered that I knew straight away that he must have sc
rewed up again.

  “You’ll have to keep that guilty expression for a bit,” I said. “I’m gonna make a plaster cast of it and hang it on the wall. Because that’s how you look most of the time. Okay, I’m off to the shower. Don’t lose track of what we were talking about because we’ll come back to it.”

  Only when standing under the streaming hot jets lathering myself down with some fruit-scented soap, did I realize how much I loved civilization. All boys seem to be dreaming of going back in time to the Middle Ages, to become heroes riding under the banner of Richard the Lionheart or battling Livonian invaders on the ice of Lake Peipus with Alexander of the Neva. One thing they don’t seem to realize is that they probably would be dead within the first couple of minutes of their arrival, slain by a much more fearsome enemy: the lack of hygiene.