by Dmitry Bilik
The surviving monsters wisely decided to retreat. Only one of them, apparently not quite understanding what was going on, spread her talons and went for Arts, squawking viciously. Just you wait!
My sword blade missed its target — but the harpy’s attack didn’t. Arts fell to the ground with a shriek, bleeding. I felt like a child who’d tried to catch a falling vase, failed and busted the television as well. How embarrassing.
[ ∞ ]
Bang! The Katzbalger wasn’t the same as moon steel. I felt the blade give a little as it pierced the harpy. Still, it was enough to take her wretched head off.
Arts screamed.
I swung round. Had she been attacked again? No, she was standing there as right as rain, in spite of being covered in blood courtesy of the harpy that hadn’t quite made it to her.
“You’re welcome. You’d better just tell me how many times I’ve saved your butt now.”
“Don’t worry, I have it all notched up,” she pulled a rag out of her sketchbook and started wiping her face. “You’ll get it all back in one lump payment.”
“Where are they going now?” I asked, pointing at the few harpies who’d survived and were now heading to sea.
“No idea. They’ll find some island or other and hunker down. There’re too few of them.”
“Have you cleaned yourself up? Good. Could you please go and fetch the Oracle while I gather all the remaining talons? We’ve carried out our side of the deal. Now it would be good if he could enlighten us about certain things we need to know.”
Chapter 20
FAILED EXPECTATIONS can be a terrible thing. You’d have it all so nicely envisioned and planned in your head, and then it all goes to the dogs. You’d meet a girl on the internet and arrive at your first date, and then... well, your date’s face is the same but the rest of her might not live up to your expectations. Or you start reading a heroic fantasy book and in chapter three, the author introduces a virgin that has a bunch of heroic kings swooning after her for the rest of the book. Or your parents might invite you to a BBQ at their country house and when you arrive, they ask you to help with the gardening and fix a busted window or a listing fence.
As I opened the lighthouse’s sturdy door, I must have expected to see something extraordinary. At the very minimum, a branch of the legendary ancient Alexandrian Library. But I found myself inside a — a lighthouse?
A spiral staircase led upwards. The smell of brine and wet wood tickled my nose. Dust crunched underfoot: not magic dust, but the natural stuff. So where do you look for the old Oracle’s journals here?
“Over here,” Sakis called us.
He walked over to a small ring in the floor and pulled it, opening a trapdoor. Thank God for that! I’d already begun to worry that the fabled journals were just a fat dog-eared exercise book.
A rough staircase had been cut into the rock. We went down and found ourselves in a large room. It must have been badly ventilated, judging by the fact that the oil lamp in Sakis’ hands just refused to be lit. As he fiddled with it, I activated Light and looked around me in surprised amazement.
How much work had it taken to cut this room out of the rock? Years or decades? Had the old Oracle toiled alone or had he had a team of hired workers helping him? How had he managed to bring all the bookcases down here, which were now groaning under the weight of ancient tomes? He must have put the bookcases together down here.
“All done,” Sakis raised the oil lamp in his hand, looking terribly pleased with himself. The light fell on my arm. His face fell when he saw it. “Sachem say I can study spells too. But I need ash.”
“Dust,” I corrected him in Spanish.
“That’s right. Dust. But I gave the last dust I had to the Syndicate. They promise to find Seekers who can kill the harpies.”
“All Seekers visit the Oracle sooner or later,” Arts said pensively, studying one of the book spines. “You could always charge them for your services.”
The suggestion of such a simple scheme surprised him no end. He froze, open-mouthed, then nodded quickly. “Good idea. If I do this, I don’t need money. How much would you like to pay?”
I frowned. “You’ve got a cheek, dude. We’ve just given you your lighthouse back and even suggested a relatively honest way of making money. And you seem to be just on the make.”
I wasn’t sure if I’d managed to convey the entire scope of meaning in Spanish, but he must have got the gist of it because he raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture, turned round and began fussing around the bookcases.
“This is about Savior. But it’s boring. It’s about all the magic he used when he lived among people. In those days, the rules did not apply to Seekers. Now they do, Sachem told me. And this book say about Savior traveling between worlds. Do you know when he came back to Cesspit?”
“When he was thirty-three years old?” I offered a guess.
“Yes,” he smiled, turning back to the bookcases. “And this book is about what he did later. About his disappearance. Here, I found it!”
If the truth were known, the loose pages in the Oracle’s hands could hardly qualify as a book. More like a couple of manuscripts covered in neat handwriting. The language was like nothing I’d ever seen before. I couldn’t work out a single word of it, so I turned back to Sakis. “What’s it about?”
“This is record of things that haven’t yet happened. Sometimes I see things like these too. My thoughts hard to control. Sachem say it’s normal. He say it will come with time.”
“That’s great news. Do you think you can read some of this to us?”
“Yes.”
His voice changed. Now it was strong and dignified, sententious even. “A second Savior will arrive in the first one’s wake. The Avatar will find him, the worthy one amidst all the vain, cowardly and power-loving, the one who will step into a god’s footsteps and will follow a god’s path. But soon he will become doubtful, because his life will be full of trouble and despair. His loved ones are only mortal and will soon expire like matchlight in a forest fire. The Savior needs to rise above his kind: a Seeker who blazes his own path amid the confusion. In order to find what he seeks, he needs to reject beaten trails and make his own. Many will attempt to stand in his way, and they will be from among the strongest and most powerful. First the White One, who will gouge the path for the other three: Red, Black and Pale. And after the second Savior meets them all, his spark will expire. A new flame will be born-”
“Which flame?” I asked, licking my suddenly parched lips.
“No comprendo,” Sakis replied in his old apologetic tone. “Page is missing.”
I turned to Arts. “So what do you think of all this?”
The expression in her eyes made my blood run cold. She stared into space like she’d just seen a ghost.
“You okay?”
“This is bad,” she said. “This is really, really bad.”
“Can you explain?”
“I know who they are. The ones who’re gonna stand in your way. They’ve been our biggest nightmare for a long long time. Every Player knows their names: Morbian, Slayer, Austerius and Omega. You can’t imagine the things they did! Even the Commoners shudder when they hear about them.”
“Do I know them too?”
“Oh yes, you do. Wait a sec,” she pulled out her cell and dialed a number. “Shit. No signal. I’ll have to step out for a moment.”
I turned to Sakis. “Do you understand any of it?”
“No. But I know the name. Morbian... wait.”
He began rummaging through the manuscripts, muttering under his breath. Looking at him, I wondered if he’d been made the new Oracle for a reason. A Greek fisherman of Spanish origin (or vice versa) who had probably never paused to think about the futility of existence and other such highbrow metaphysics, was now frowning his brow in concentration as he leafed through the ancient records of one of the most powerful creatures who’d ever graced Cesspit with their presence.
According
to Hunter, you could only become a Seeker by sheer chance. You had to be somewhere nearby a dying Player in order to harvest his or her identity. But now — right now at this very moment — I was beginning to doubt his words. What if it wasn’t chance at all?
“I found it,” Sakis said. “A very old record. Not easy to read. Only a few little bits. I can try.”
I nodded. “Please.”
He spent some time staring at the page mouthing the words, then began reading out loud.
“He’s not the strongest of the four brothers but definitely the canniest one. His family nickname is Conqueror, as scornful and sarcastic as only one’s family members can get. But it was Morbian, the blond brother, who surpassed his other siblings in what they call the Tourney: a turf war which made the bigger part of this world shudder from their power games. It was Morbian who’d empowered Etzel, the Seeker better known to commoners as Attila. Had it not been for Omega who’d had Etzel killed as part of his plot against his own brother, Morbian might have achieved some remarkable... I can’t read what it says here. There’re two more lines in the end: in view of what Morbian has done to his own brothers, he’s considered the most dangerous of any Seekers conspiring against the Order. Signed: Proboboscus, the Seer.”
I scratched the back of my head. “It’s as clear as mud.”
“Sergei, we need to go,” Arts said, returning to the room. “I can’t get through to Litius. If there’s anyone who might tell us more about it, it’s him.”
“Wait a sec. I’m still waiting to get the answer to my question from the Oracle. True, I haven’t asked it yet but...”
“You helped me. Now my turn. But,” Sakis said with begging notes in his voice, “I don’t know how it happen. I see pictures and words. They just come. I can’t explain.”
“We could try. So,” I took in a lungful of air, still reluctant to utter my question aloud. Or rather, too wary of hearing the actual answer. Still, I forced myself to say it. “How do I find the Choruls?”
The Oracle just stood there for a while, staring at me incomprehensively. I got the impression that he simply hadn’t heard the last word I’d said.
Then something happened. His eyes glazed over. The fear which used to cover his face in a fine web of wrinkles had crumbled to ashes. His shoulders straightened, his chest swelled up. Now he did look the part of a majestic Oracle who spreads age-old lore with his words of wisdom.
“You have half of what you need to take the path which will lead you to them. In finding the rest, you’ll also find the key.”
I waited for more words — for something more specific, maybe, — but his eyes were already alive again. He blinked fearfully, deflating, his back stooping, as he cast glances at me and Arts.
“The old Oracle was a bit more generous with words,” Arts said.
“Don’t push him,” I said. “He did warn us, didn’t he? I think I know what he means, anyway. Well, thanks, Mister Sakis. You’ve got your home back. Good luck! You’ll need it.”
“It’s me who should thank you. You help me very much.”
“Just forget it,” I shook his hand and started back upstairs.
The two snapdrakes anxiously hooved the ground as if tethered to a burning tree. I looked around but saw no one. Strange creatures. They might be sensing the dead harpies’ blood.
“We really need to go and see the local Sachem,” I said. “He might post some guards over here. At least temporarily until Sakis is capable of defending himself.”
“Why would we do that?”
Her question floored me. I shrugged and opened my mouth to offer some kind of reply but failed to do so straight away.
“What if someone tries to do something to him?” I finally offered.
“It’s got nothing to do with us.”
“Hey, what’s wrong with you? Do you hate him so much?”
“What’s that got to do with it? He’s okay. It’s just that he’s a total stranger. Just yet another Seeker out of thousands.”
“Who am I, then?”
Unexpectedly for me, my question seemed to have flustered her. She turned away, pretending to be rearranging her snapdrake’s gear.
“That’s different,” she finally said. “Instead of trying to look too deep into it, you’d better ask yourself some really important questions.”
“Like what?”
“Like who could have killed the old Oracle who was a really ancient creature, one of the wisest and most powerful Seekers in the whole of Cesspit.”
That was a million-dollar question, wasn’t it? It had sort of escaped me. Arts had a point, actually. A Magister could see a very vague picture of a person’s future. A Grand Master could do the same with the person’s past. But the Oracle was capable of seeing all the potential development lines of every creature, Seekers’ as well as commoners’. To say that he’d failed to foresee his own death or recognize his killer would be preposterous. Just as preposterous as the Chorul’s death at the hand of a commoner.
The coincidence made me really uncomfortable.
I cast desperate looks around me, searching for any potential enemy, but discovered none. I still stood on the breezy shore awash with the soft rolling waves of the wintry sea. The place was deserted. Even the church door hadn’t opened as if there was no one inside, even though we’d already announced that the place was free of harpies. Or was I just being paranoid? I sure as hell hoped so.
“What are we gonna do now?” I asked Arts.
“Go home,” she said, untethering her mount. “I have a bad feeling about this cozy little getaway. I need to take the talons to the Syndicate. And we’ve got to talk to Litius. Why? You wanna stay here?”
“No, not at all,” I said, reaching for my mount’s reins.
Still, I had this nagging feeling that hadn’t gone anywhere, curling up like a treacherous snake in the deepest corner of my heart. I mounted my snapdrake and wound the leather straps nice and tight around my hands. I seemed to be getting the knack of it. Then I gently heeled the animal’s fat shiny flanks.
The air current tousled my hair which had by now grown quite a bit. My eyes watered; my neck felt fresh from the wind. Once again, Arts took the lead but I had no intention of either catching up or playing tag with her. I was too preoccupied thinking of other things.
How could you kill an unkillable Seeker? The answer was, only if he wanted you to kill him. That was exactly what had happened to the Chorul and what had most likely happened to the Oracle, too.
The question was, why?
We’d already passed the nearest town and come out onto the highway, overtaking an occasional car. Our route lay along the coast past the picturesque views of the grim sea mourning the end of the holiday season. It was probably already missing all the tourists. Sure, I’d choose a wintry Aegean Sea over the arctic Barents Sea in summer any day, but...
I must have slackened my guard, forgetting about the little worm of doubt that kept gnawing at me all this time, and regretted it straight away. My mount’s muscles tensed as if trying to overcome some resistance. The animal lowered his head and stopped in full gallop with his legs wide apart.
Predictably, this kind of emergency braking threw me out of the saddle, sending me flying through the air. Had it not been for the leather straps tethering me to the animal, I might have landed a good hundred feet away. As it was, I somersaulted through the air and slammed nice and hard against the mount’s powerful chest.
[ ∞ ]
“Arts, stop now!”
I reined my mount in so hard I must have almost suffocated him. He stopped in mid-flight, shifting his weight to his hind legs and rearing up. Had it not been for the leather straps, I’d have already been lying on the ground. As it was, I was still astride him, looking around me in panic.
Arts hadn’t been so quick to react. Her she-snapdrake collapsed as if someone had chopped her hind legs off and somersaulted forward, taking Arts with her. The poor animal landed on her neck and stopped moving.
Easy death. The Pilot would be absolutely livid though.
But that was nothing compared to Arts’ problems who was now buried under the animal’s multi-ton bulk. Judging by the grimace of pain on her face and her leg bent at a strange angle, she was in a bad way.
I unwound my tethers and got myself free. Still, I didn’t rush headlong to help her. First, I took a good look around.
I saw a small hill at some distance from the road and some cliffs by the water’s edge. Had I been some devious bastard wishing to attack unsuspecting travelers, I’d have set up a lookout on top the hill. Not only the view was better from there but it also made it way harder to get to me.