by Dmitry Bilik
I had some of yesterday’s borsch, poured myself a cup of lemon balm tea and got engrossed in my stats. Hello, level 9. I’ve been looking forward to you for quite a while.
Available points: 3
Strength: 26 (x3)
Intellect: 18 (x)
Fortitude: 26 (x)
Agility: 26 (x)
Stamina: 21 (x)
Rhetoric: 21 (x3)
Speed: 16 (x2)
Strength went without saying because it would give me 15 HP. Ditto for Rhetoric because the bonus was also quite reasonable. But as for Speed... was I really sure I needed it? To all intents and purposes, I should be investing into Intellect because without my trench coat, I wouldn’t have enough mana left for even the simplest of spells. Rumis had been right cussing all those “so-called wizards”.
I nodded to myself and, ignoring the double bonus to Speed, invested in Intellect.
I then texted Julia wishing her good morning, and stumbled into the shower. My body really needed some kind of pick-me-up pill after suffering such physical abuse. All my muscles were stiff and filled with lactic acid. My leg was covered in a fine web of scars courtesy of Hunter’s spear. My entire body felt leaden as if I’d single-handedly unloaded a ten-ton truck. I was so exhausted that I nearly slipped and collapsed on the wet tiles trying to climb out of the shower.
Still, I decided not to drag Bumpkin out of bed. Come on, game, give me another 20 points to karma for being nice! Although, if the truth were known, I was still a bit wary of the state he was in. He might screw something up while preparing his potion and that would be the end of me. I had no desire to be taken out of my house feet first.
I called a cab and hobbled downstairs, grunting and suppressing an occasional groan.
“Hey grandpa, do you have some real skinny guy living here?” the familiar voice asked.
Not again! You’d think it was just another day at work for them. I turned toward the thug who today had only one minion in tow. I had neither the strength nor the will to talk to them today. So I just shook a fist in their direction and croaked in a shaky voice, warming up to the role,
“Goddamn junkies!”
You can say that again. Seeing the two thugs’ astonished faces was priceless. I didn’t get the pleasure of enjoying their expressions for long, though. I climbed into the back of the cab and pulled out the true mirror. I really looked like an old man. A fedora hat, a warm coat, a neatly trimmed moustache, a gaunt tired face — I looked like the last surviving intellectual in our ‘hood. No wonder they’d been so astonished to hear me cuss.
The Community was dead quiet. The crunching of snow under my feet echoed through the silence like the soundtrack to a thriller. Where the hell was everyone? I only relaxed when I reached the street leading toward the Gatehouse. A couple of guards were on patrol here, watching what few Players were heading for the Syndicate. Still, there weren’t that many. Had I missed some kind of festival or something?
Arts was already inside waiting for me. She was drawing in her sketchbook, leaning against the wall. Upon seeing me, she stepped out of the shadows and nodded at the Gatekeeper.
“We don’t need to leave our stuff here, do we?” I asked. “Because this isn’t a jump between worlds, right?”
She nodded.
I put my phone back into my pocket. “What’s the fare?”
“Thirty-eight grams. Relax, it’s on me.”
If anything, this made me suspicious. Arts just wasn’t the charitable type. We walked over to the stone. The girl threw the fare into the bowl and said, visibly nervous, “Heraclea.”
“What the hell is Heracl-”
A cloud of fine dust filled the air, cutting my question short. I burst out coughing, which was why it took me some time to realize we’d already arrived. I wiped the tears from my eyes, stood up and repeated my question. “What the hell is Heraclea?”
“The Commoners call it Iraklion, after one of the greatest Seekers of all time.”
“You mean Heracles?”
“That’s one of his names. The Seekers know him under a different name. Stop hassling me. Go buy yourself a book and read up on it.”
“Are there books on the history of the Game?”
“Sure,” my question seemed to surprise her. “There’re books about Seekers, about all sorts of important events, about lots of things. Then again, you only need to ask Litius, he’ll tell you all about it. Quit yapping and let’s go. We still need to rent a mount.”
“To rent a-... Wait a sec! I’m not flying that damn thing again!”
“You don’t have to. We won’t fly: we’ll ride. A nice quick ride,” she tugged at my sleeve.
“You mean, on a snapdrake?” I asked, feeling the soup in my stomach rising like a geyser.
“So you see? You know already!”
“Can’t we hire a cab?” I weakly carried on resisting.
“No, because it would take too long. It’s almost three hours one way. Don’t worry, it’s gonna be all right. You’re not the first one to ride them nor the last.”
“Well, if I’m not the last, it’ll already be a good thing.”
We walked out of the Gatehouse into a street basked in sunlight. Bright rooftops, sand-colored walls and an almost unearthly colorful sea. I felt my lips stretched into a smile. The sea...
“Let’s go already. If we have time, you can do some sightseeing later.”
I nodded. “I’d love a quick dip.”
“Are you mad? The water is barely sixty degrees F! The ‘F’ is for ‘freakin’ cold’.”
“I’ll do it anyway.”
Still, Arts used all her resolve to yank me away from the sea. When a house wall blocked the sight of the azure waters, I finally came back to reality. The magic was gone. Trust Arts to ruin it all.
We kept probing deeper into the city, past pompous residents clad in thin jackets. There weren’t many cars but whenever one drove past, the driver would lean out and speak to us in the local language which I didn’t understand, then switch over to English. A few touts and shopkeepers awoke from their seasonal slumber, raised their heads and tried to attract our attention to themselves. But Arts gave them all short shrift: in English, in Greek and even in Russian.
When we turned off into yet another side street, I realized we’d arrived. Or rather, I sensed a whiff of manure first, followed by sounds similar to neighing. “Similar” being the operative word. No horse could ever make such weird sounds. We walked along a high wall and found ourselves in a large yard lined with stables. You wouldn’t call it exactly crowded. There were three drivers, a Pilot — whatever that was supposed to mean — and a street vendor. All of them Players.
Arts beelined for the Pilot. “Hi. My friend and I would like to hire a couple of snapdrakes for the day.”
“It’ll be eight grams each,” the fat suntanned man said, stroking his belly. “But don’t even think about stealing them. Snapdrakes always come back to their master.”
“We weren’t going to. Here’s the money. Only... my friend doesn’t yet know how to ride them.”
“Eh... the skill is four hundred grams.”
“I’ll pay half,” she whispered to me.
I chuckled. They’d brought the cake up to my mouth, now all I had to do was open it. No matter how much I hated all this riding around on magic beasts, her offer was indeed generous. When and where would I ever get anyone to buy me a skill?
Driven by this logic, I produced two hundred grams and handed it to the Pilot. Arts did the same. A few seconds later, he handed me a brown crystal.
My preciousss!
Riding (Agility). The ability to ride and control magic mounts.
You current level of Agility allows you to choose two development options out of the following three: aquatic, land-based or flying creatures. Alternatively, you can choose only one and focus on improving it.
I don’t think so, sorry. If I had the chance to take both heaven and earth, that’s what I’d do, w
ith all my dislike of flying dragons.
“All done,” I said.
“Excellent. While you were busy wasting time, they’ve already found us a couple of snapdrakes,” Arts said.
They were already bringing them towards us. The two snapdrakes looked like horses on steroids, their muscles bulging with every step. The creatures twitched their ears anxiously, poking out their... oh Jesus. Their tongues were long and forked like a snake’s.
“Him first,” the Pilot pointed at me. “As it’s his first time. Don’t be afraid. It’s a good snapdrake, well-broken in. He won’t go wondering off. He’ll always follow his mate. All you need to do is make sure you stay on him.”
Very interesting observation, because just as he said it, the snapdrake dropped to his knees, revealing his harness. Which was an overstatement, really. A thick strip of leather ran around his neck, with two thinner straps attached to it. The Pilot’s assistants bound them to my hands so tight that my knuckles turned white. Now even if I did fall, I’d be dragged behind it.
“And watch your back. We’ve had quite a few Commoners disappear around here just lately, and a lot of new Seekers have turned up.”
“And what are the guards doing about it?” Arts asked.
“They fine-comb all the cities around. They even sought help from the Seers. All to no avail. Have a good trip. Make sure you bring my snapdrakes back unharmed.”
Arts nodded. It took her less than a minute to straddle her own “horse”. She turned back to me, trying to suppress a mischievous smile, and dug her heels into the animal’s flanks.
Her snapdrake darted off, leaving me in a cloud of dust. My own beast made a funny noise, raised his head and, tilting his neck at a strange angle, turned to look at me, impatience in his eyes. As in, come on now, let’s get this party on the road.
There’s no word to describe how it felt. My mount could outrun and outmaneuver the fastest cars on earth. Houses, shops, passersby all merged into a single strip of living color. The snapdrake followed a route known only to him while trying to catch up with his mate, and he didn’t slow down until he’d done so.
Our speed then dropped from “very fast” to just “fast”. And still we barreled on, overtaking cars as if they were standing still. Not once did the lithe creature even brush a side mirror, despite all its power and fleetness of foot.
After only a minute of threading our way through traffic, we’d already cleared the town and taken the coast road running parallel to the sea shore. The wind tousled my hair. My eyes were watering. The tails of my trench coat were fluttering even more than Batman’s cape. Suddenly I came to the conclusion that I really liked it. This was truly great. It felt like I could travel all over the world on this amazing beast.
I let the reins slack and gave him a tiny nudge with my heels. To my amazement, my mount’s head twitched as he picked up speed. Now it was Arts’ turn to catch up with us, but she wasn’t lagging too far behind. The girl was an experienced rider, so very soon she started to take the lead again. But I didn’t intend to give up.
We spent the next half-hour indulging in this amazing, crazy chase powered by adrenaline and an unabashed childish joy. I only reined in my mount whenever Arts did so. Earlier on, we’d already passed yet another town and were now riding through a deserted wasteland. The only buildings we’d gone past were a few snow-white houses with vermillion red roofs by the water edge, one of which sported a cross on top, and an impressive old lighthouse at some distance.
“A church,” Arts said, pointing at the building with the cross. “The Oracle has some sick sense of humor, installing himself next to it. He lives in the lighthouse. Or rather, he used to before the harpies turned up.”
Only now did I notice that the seagulls flocking around the tall spire weren’t seagulls at all. They were too big to be birds... and too humanlike.
“Where’s he now?”
“Somewhere around here,” she unbuckled the reins and dismounted.
I hurried to follow her example, albeit not quite as quick. At least I managed.
“Let’s tether the snapdrakes and look for him,” she added.
“It seems that we won’t even have to look,” I said, pointing at the skinny, almost boyish figure which had appeared in the doorway.
My Insight hadn’t let me down. According to it, this was indeed the Oracle. Which made Arts’ reaction appear even stranger because she turned to me, visibly alarmed.
“This isn’t the Oracle.”
“Who do you think it is, then?” I said, handing her over the reins. I drew my knife and headed toward the scared young lad.
Chapter 19
WHEN PEOPLE FIRST MEET, they often wear masks in order to appear better than they actually are. Men lie about their love of shopping, clubbing and Justin Timberlake. Women often take a leaf out of Martha Stewart’s book even though they do breathe an occasional sigh of disappointment. A little later, everyone goes back to their actual selves — but the first impression is still a first impression.
Which was why I was so surprised to see the Oracle. He was hunkered down by the wall as if trying to shrink in it: sinewy with a hunched back, calloused hard-working hands and a well-weathered bronze skin, apparently unwilling to look like the powerful being he was.
To top it all, Arts continued flapping that it wasn’t the Oracle at all. Who was it, then? My Insight couldn’t lie.
I turned to her. “What’s he saying?” Greek hadn’t been on the list of most common languages offered to me with my Linguistics skill.
“He says it wasn’t his fault. It just happened. Something about books and scrolls. Then the harpies came. Wait a sec.”
She asked him a question. The Oracle paused, thinking, then replied.
Arts turned to me. “He is the Oracle. The new one. According to him, a couple of months ago something happened. He went fishing like he always did, when the world transformed around him. Everything changed. Then he saw lines of text scrolling before his eyes.”
“All it means is that the old Oracle is dead,” I all but groaned. “Just my luck! Why does it always have to be like this? Why?”
I grabbed the new Oracle by the shoulders and shook him so hard that his head bobbed. “Do you understand me? Why? Pochemú? Por qué?”
Arts hung on me, trying to stop me, but her strength was no match for a Korl’s. It was the Oracle himself who saved me from the impending fit.
“I do not know por qué, señor. I did not want this.”
“You speak Spanish?”
“A little. You not the first man who came here. And not only man. Others came too... not man, comprende? Many of them. They asked me questions and waited to see what I say. I say to them things that I know... things that I see. Some of them left. Others cussed. Life was much better when I lived in the lighthouse. Many books there. I read them all. Found many answers. I can read in strange languages but I do not know how to pronounce the words. Then the flying monsters came. They drive me out of the lighthouse. So I come here to live.”
“Wait a sec,” I stopped him, unable to follow his rapid-fire speech despite my Linguistics. “Did you say books? What kind of books?”
“Sachem say, they’re the last Oracle’s journals. They list everything that happens.”
“Happens when? You don’t mean in the future?”
“Yes. In the future. All the wars. Assassinations of great heroes. The fall of great kingdoms. Everything.”
“When did you say the Sachem came?”
“Three weeks ago. As soon as he heard that the Oracle dead.”
“Did you say great heroes?”
“Yes. I start reading some. But not all.”
“You don’t happen to remember reading something about Savior? Or Destroyer God?”
“Savior, yes, yes! The books say many things about him. But only the past.”
“Nothing about the future?”
“I need to look. Only...” he raised a sinewy arm and pointed in the direct
ion of the lighthouse. Not at the building itself, mind you, but at the murder of harpies circling it.
“When many people come, monsters leave for a while. That’s when people can bring food to us. In other times, they’re always there.”