Avatar of Light

by Dmitry Bilik

  “But Etzel — or Attila, right? — was killed by Omega, wasn’t he?” I said, remembering what the young Oracle had said.

  The Grand Master nodded. “That’s what rumors claimed. That was the first grain of discord between them. After that, the Horsemen couldn’t trust each other any longer. Especially not Morbian. They shunned him. That’s when Seers first came about. We created a powerful spell and synced it with the seal. At the right moment, Morbian invited the other three Horsemen to an island where he put them to sleep.”

  “He put them to sleep?”

  “A lot of people call him Pestilence but that isn’t his development branch. He specializes in sleep and dreams.”

  “Okay, so he put the others to sleep...”

  “...and we shut them up in elemental sarcophagi: one of Water, one of Earth and the third one of Fire. Many of the Seers were willing to go much further but Morbian insisted that his brethren should live.”

  “What exactly did you have to offer him?”

  “Lots of things. Spells, potions, dust. But most importantly, Gramr.”

  “You mean the sword that Hunter used to have in his keeping?”

  “At the time, there was no such thing as a sword keeper. They turned up much later.”

  “But if Hunter ended up with the sword, it means that Morbian didn’t get his reward, did he?”

  “Let’s put it this way: neither of the two parties stuck to their word. For that reason, we kept the sword and Morbian kept the seal. Actually, over time we discovered that it wasn’t such a bad thing. It was in his own interests that his brethren didn’t escape. And we got to keep the mighty sword. We actually almost forgot about him. Last time we saw him was a few years ago in Arghan, the world on the underside of the Universe. And now he’s back!”

  The Grand Master walked over to a side table with a few bottles, opened one, poured himself a glass and drank it in one swig. He didn’t even offer us any, the bastard.

  “Thanks for clueing us in,” I said, looking at the bottle. Holy Jesus, now I couldn’t stop thinking about its contents. “But what’s it got to do with me, anyway?”

  “Oliverio makes regular checks of every Player’s thread of life. Just so that we could stay safe.”

  “And last time you did it, you saw something that wasn’t very good,” Arts offered.

  He nodded. “Exactly. Every Seer saw different versions of the future but in every one of them, Morbian took me.”

  “Took you?”

  “That’s right. Not killed me but took me with him.”

  “So what’s the problem, then? Tell the Magister to find out how he can be killed,” I said.

  “In order to divine something like that, you need to really know the subject to be able to tune in to their mind. The better you can do that, the more accurate the information. But when we last saw Morbian, Oliverio wasn’t even born yet.”

  “So what the hell am I here for?”

  “Oliverio saw the conversation we’re having now. That’s why he tried to tune in to you. It didn’t go very well but he did see a few things. Like the battle with Morbian.”

  His words sent shivers down my spine. “So who won it?”

  “He couldn’t really tell. But whoever did, my life seems to depend upon it. And not just mine. If Morbian gets hold of either of the two Avatars you have in your possession, he’ll try to subjugate our world. There’s a strong likelihood that he might succeed. He’ll find himself new followers and start by killing off the Guards. And then...”

  He fell silent, biting his lip, then turned back to the table and poured himself another drink.

  “So what is it you want from me?”

  “We want you to kill Morbian. You two are bound to meet, anyway-”

  “We already have,” I interrupted him.

  “Have you?”

  “Just in passing. He’s got white hair, right? He also has this contemptuous glint in his eye which makes you feel like shit. He’s so haughty he looks like he’s got a poker stuck up his ass.”

  “Sounds like him.”

  “Arts and I were on our way to Paris. Or, whatcha call it...”

  “Lutum,” Arts prompted.

  “And we came across him as we flew there. You’d think it was pure coincidence but when we then came out of the cataco- er, just one place we’d been to, he was standing there watching. Then he just turned and left.”

  “As far as I know, he too has Insight, just like you do. Considering his current Intellect levels, it should be much higher than yours. You’re lucky he didn’t attack you there and then. He probably hadn’t yet decided what to do about you. But now he knows who you are. And you know now why he’s going to come to me.”

  I nodded. “In order to find me. How much time have we got?”

  “Not much. A couple of days, give or take. Our visions are never too accurate.”

  I scratched the nape of my neck. It didn’t look good. Currently, I had only two of my Avatar abilities available: Transformation of Liquids and Walking on Water. You couldn’t call them combat skills by any stretch of imagination. And this so-called Horseman of the Apocalypse was already on his way to see me.

  “In the Magister’s vision, was I alone or with friends?”

  “Let’s put it this way, it was the same team as you have now,” he gave Arts a long look.

  I frowned. “No Hunter? No Traug, nor Litius? What would that mean? How are we even supposed to prepare for this battle?”

  “I don’t know. I simply considered it my duty to warn you.”

  “And you? What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to take my wards somewhere safe so that none of them suffer from this. The Seers have already lost too many members as it is. Then I’ll just wait for Morbian.”

  “And if he kills you?”

  The Grand Master froze. Then he turned away and refilled his glass. He stepped back from the table, swished the amber liquid around his glass and downed it. A bitter smile spread across his face. “Do you know what happened to the old Oracle?”

  “Talsian killed him.”

  “And how old was he?”

  I shrugged.

  “Ancient,” the Grand Master said. “At one point I even thought that he’d offered himself up. Like, he was tired of life. But not really, no. He really couldn’t kill the blood mage.”

  “But he did know Talsian was going to come for him. He could have avoided death.”

  “He could have,” the Grand Master agreed. “Oliverio’s development branch is similar to his — if you omit the fact that the Oracle was a hundred times stronger. He can track the potential life scenarios of hundreds and thousands of people. Or he could, rather.”

  “Then I don’t understand.”

  “I think he tried to provoke Talsian. He did tell him the truth that he’d be killed by a half-blood Korl. And because of that, Talsian stayed put, waiting for you to arrive. Had the Oracle escaped, Talsian might have fled too. He would have laid low, performing his blood rituals — and who knows how many more victims would that have entailed? You know what I mean?”

  “The Oracle sacrificed himself in order to stop Talsian.”

  “That’s just one of my hunches. Who knows what really happened between them? All I know is that being responsible for people’s lives always implies the ability to sacrifice oneself, regardless of who you are: a parent, a lover or just a sympathetic passerby whose heart is full of Light. Which is why I’m quite prepared to die knowing that my team of Seers is safe. Know what I mean?”

  I nodded even though, in my mind’s eye, not all the pieces of this jigsaw puzzle were in their right places. He must have had a point. I could understand the desire of a father or mother to sacrifice their own lives so that their child survived. It made perfect sense for me. But the fact that the Oracle had allowed himself to be killed just to save the lives of simple commoners... he hadn’t even known them! Just in order to stop Talsian and prevent him from committing more crimes?


  Never mind. All this was just pure speculation on my part.

  I chuckled. So that’s what the Oracle had been up to, as well as Oliverio and lots of lesser Seers. They were trying to second-guess their enemy, attempting to divine one particular scenario which would have a higher probability than all the others.

  Was that what the Oracle had really counted on? Had he really placed himself on the chess board with all the pawns just so that we could win the game? I really didn’t know.

  “We’ll be off, then,” I said unexpectedly for myself, getting to my feet.

  “I hope you can use what you’ve just heard.”

  “I hope so too. Honestly, I still don’t know what to do with all this information. Not the slightest idea.”

  To my surprise, he walked over to me and shook my hand. He only spared a curt nod to Arts, then headed straight back to his bottle.

  That’s how real men do it, I thought sarcastically. When the whole world goes to the dogs and you just don’t know what the hell to do, it’s time to get sloshed.

  “Oliverio will show you out,” he said without turning back to us.

  He hadn’t needed to mention it. The Magister had already opened the door as if he’d been eavesdropping the whole time (he might have been, in actual fact) and motioned us to follow him. I still liked Oliverio more than any of this bunch of empaths, soothsayers and other imba Seekers. He knew better than to stick his nose into our business. Even now, he just asked non-committally,

  “How long are you staying in Prague?”

  I smiled. He used the city’s commoner name, not the game’s appellation. Either he understood that for me it was easier this way, or the name of Prague meant more to him than Porog.

  “Until they kick me out,” I joked.

  “Why, you won’t even stop for a beer?” he grinned. “I highly recommend their Budvar half and half. They serve it in the Syndicate. If you don’t try it, you’ll be kicking yourself for the rest of your life.”

  “For the rest of my short life, whatever’s left of it.”

  I must have spoiled the moment like a lover of beans spoils the air in a crowded elevator. The rest of our journey through the posh mansion was spent in silence. Arts looked completely zoned out as if she was searching for something in her interface. Then again, she could just have been pensive.

  “Good luck,” the Magister said in all seriousness. His earlier cheerfulness was completely gone.

  I shook his hand. “Same to you.”

  “Home?” Arts asked as soon as the door closed behind us. “My leg is giving me hell. We need to buy some ointment.”

  “You’re talking like an old woman. Oliverio has a point. We need to at least try some of the local brew. When are we ever gonna be in Czechia again? I could close my harpy quest while we’re at it. Or take a stroll around the community and see how the other half live.”

  Arts didn’t argue. Either she too was curious, or she’d simply given up. I opened the map, located the place where we’d left the Gates and set up a marker. Now we could safely go anywhere without being afraid of getting lost in the meandering maze of crooked medieval streets.

  I did like Prague, I have to admit. All the little houses with stern Gothic roofs straight off a postcard; an impossibly high distant spire of what must have been a major cathedral; crowds of gawking tourists. The whole place was so clean and well-tended you were literally afraid of touching anything.

  We took a nameless old bridge across an equally nameless lazy river and started wending our way past three- and four-story houses. For some reason, it made me a little sad — simply because this picture-perfect luster was everywhere, in every one of the inner courtyards. Not for one moment did Prague lose its magical charm. Not a single crumbling house in sight; no dilapidated roofs or listing back doors the moment you turned off the main thoroughfare.

  In one such little courtyard we found the entrance to the local Community. I could describe it as being somewhere between the one in our city and that of Paris. It was a cluster of several houses, one of which offered all kinds of services throughout its four stories. The Syndicate was located in a squat building which stood apart from the rest. Arts didn’t mention what was in the other ones.

  The Syndicate itself was almost the same as ours. A bar took up all of the first floor. The mission boards were upstairs on the second floor although even there you could still see an occasional Player nursing a beer mug. But as far as I could work out, they still had to go back downstairs in order to get a refill. Next to the mission board was a desk where you could redeem a mission.

  I ordered a beer. Not only did the bartender pour it immediately but according to him, it was beyond compare. The only thing I understood from his soliloquy was that their Budvar half-and-half was made with the best Žatec hops and Moravian malt. No idea whether it was supposed to be a good thing but the beer was indeed excellent. Once again it made me feel sad. Whenever was I going to taste it again in my hometown? I could, of course, come here every time I fancied downing a good brew but it would work out rather expensive in the long run.

  Arts hadn’t ordered anything. Without saying a word, she hobbled upstairs with me and pointed at one of the small tables next to the mission board. I sat down, enjoying my beer while casting an occasional glance at the missions posted.

  Rabid Gargoyle

  Mission from the Order of Guards

  Charged with: attacking commoners

  Sentence: death

  Proof of completion: tail

  Location: Prague, city center

  Reward: 150 grams

  Missing Snapdrakes

  Mission from the Order of Drivers

  Required: locate five snapdrakes gone astray

  Location: Midland Russia

  Reward: 300 grams

  Salamanders

  Mission from the Order of Alchemists

  Required: catch 3 salamanders

  Location: Purgator Wastelands

  Reward: 800 grams

  Fluorite Infestation

  Mission from the Order of Guards

  Charged with: manifesting themselves to commoners, encouraging unwanted superstitions and rumors of their supernatural origin.

  Sentence: reduce the fluorite population at least by half

  Proof of completion: wings

  Location: the outskirts of the city of Nizhny Novgorod

  Reward: 200 grams

  There were also a few other interesting missions but it was this latter which caught my eye. It’s not every day you chance upon a mission in your own town. Also, the sheet of paper was virtually snow-white. Apparently, no other Player had wanted to get involved.

  But me, I was going for it.

  “Don’t,” Arts said over her shoulder. “It’s not worth it. If they say it’s an infestation, there must be hundreds of them there. Also, they’re especially strong during their mating season. You’ll have to dose the whole lot in fire. It’ll cost too much for the small return that it’ll give you. Really not worth it.”

  I shrugged and pulled the paper off the board. “There’s no harm in checking it out. What a shame we hadn’t accepted the mission to kill Talsian! The reward was great — was it two kilos? Unfortunately, it was all a ripoff.”

  “What makes you say so?”

  “They wanted his head as proof, didn’t they? And how are you supposed to obtain the head of a dead Player if his body crumbles to dust?”

  She nodded. Then her eyes opened wide in the kind of look one gives to a doctor who says he’s gonna give you a three-gallon enema instead of a regular one. Only that her surprise was of a slightly different nature.

  “You know what?” she said. “I think I know how we can close this mission.”

  Chapter 24

  YOU CAN MAKE MONEY on practically everything without actually breaking the law. Bookies and casino dealers are my witnesses. The problem is, not everybody has this kind of commercial acumen. In my case, it was virtually absent d
ue to two things: my parents’ altruistic influence and a relatively comfortable childhood. But Arts, she absolutely shone in the money-making field.

  She started by cadging Talsian’s butterfly brooch off me, after which she made herself scarce and started talking to all the other Players, approaching them one by one until finally she spoke to an Abbas with a Biolocator tag hovering over his head. She spent a long time talking to him, even showing him the brooch a couple of times. Finally, the Abbas took the item and headed for the desk while Arts came back over to me.