VirtualHeaven

by Ann Lawrence

  “I think I’m going to faint,” Maggie whispered. It wasn’t a complete lie. Not really. If this was a dream, he couldn’t hurt anything, could he?

  And if it was real, he might fry them both in a heartbeat.

  Nausea knotted her stomach and fear twisted her bowels, but her words served their purpose. Kered dropped the gun to the table and swept her into his arms. She felt as if she’d been gripped by a giant vise.

  Then, with a gentleness that belied his size, Kered placed her on the bed. He touched his hand to her cheek and then encircled her throat with warm fingers. “Cool. Sweaty. You are suffering more from fear than anything else. We will not hurt you.”

  “Oh? Slit lips, cut off—” Maggie bit her lip.

  Kered touched her arm, briefly, gently. “Your master will decide your punishment.” Then he leaned back, withdrew as if he had overstepped some boundary. “Now, the weapon?”

  Maggie could see he needed an explanation. But before she gave it, he stood up, banging his head and swearing a string of strange words, then picked up the gun and pressed a button.

  A large hole appeared in the wooden table. The edges smoked.

  “Nilrem’s beard!” Kered turned to her in astonishment. “Beyond the ice fields? Am I correct? You came through the ice fields!”

  Maggie stalled. “Do they have weird weapons over there?” She massaged her temples. How could she get the gun away from him before he made Swiss cheese of the cabin?

  “I have no true knowledge of the people beyond the ice fields, but legend has it they exist and have much to offer.” He peered about the hut as if looking for toys on Christmas morning, searching for expendable objects to shoot.

  “Then that’s where I’m from.” Maggie closed her eyes. Better an ice field than telling him he didn’t exist, was part of a virtual reality game—a virtual reality nightmare.

  He smoked a hole through a water bucket, sending a stream of steaming water rolling toward the hearth. Maggie jumped off the bed, regretting it instantly as she swayed on her feet. Just before he created a new window in the hut, she grabbed his wrist.

  “You’re wasting it.”

  That stopped him. He accepted the comment with ill grace, his brows drawing together over his perfect, straight nose.

  “Let me have it,” Maggie cajoled. She had to get the weapon away from him.

  Kered shoved the gun into a leather pack by the door then stomped back to her, his boots raising a small cloud of dust. “Slaves do not bear weapons.”

  Slave. She had to go home. Now. Before he began to play master. If she could distract him, perhaps she could make a break for it. Perhaps outside she’d find some answers.

  Without thinking, Maggie reached across the small distance that separated them and touched the sleeve covering his upper arm. The atmosphere became charged. His biceps jumped taut at her light caress.

  Arm rings—under the cloth. Her fingertips explored. Three.

  “You’re a warrior, aren’t you?” Maggie held on tightly.

  Warriors meant war.

  She felt a little faint and it had nothing to do with the blow to her head. Perhaps going outside was foolish. Maybe if she went to sleep, she’d wake from this nightmare in Ocean City, New Jersey, with Gwen hovering somewhere nearby.

  Just as she slipped to the floor, he caught her. His arms locked about her waist, drawing her body against his. Her eyelids fluttered as her eyes rolled up into her head.

  “Dancing?” Nilrem cackled as he opened the hut door.

  Kered growled. He should lay the slave down. He should. When he placed her in the furs, he straightened her skirt, lingering over her delicate bones, stroking them with his fingertips and overlapping her ankle. He picked up his fur-lined cloak and tucked it about her shoulders. Unbidden, his hand caressed her downy cheek.

  Nilrem stomped about his hut, then stuck his staff into the hole in his table. “My son, you leaned here, did you not? You broke my bucket!” Nilrem whined and whimpered over the now useless container.

  “Halt!” Kered retrieved the gun from his pack. “‘Tis this curious weapon that did it!”

  “She used a weapon on you?” Nilrem peered around Kered to where Maggie lay sleeping.

  “Hmpf. Women do not use weapons on me.”

  “Ah, ’tis true. Women beg you to use your weapon on them!” Nilrem slapped his knees and bent double with his chortling, then he sobered. “Let us see this weapon.”

  Nilrem’s gnarled fingers examined the gun as closely as he had examined Maggie’s body. He missed nothing. “What do you make of it?”

  “The slave says she is from beyond the ice fields. The weapon is probably her master’s. It makes holes in wood!”

  “Ah, think of the possibilities,” Nilrem gloated.

  Kered snatched the gun before Nilrem could touch the blue or red button. “I have thought of the possibilities. They frighten me.”

  Kered and Nilrem stared at each other.

  Nilrem spoke. “Your responsibilities weigh heavily?” Suddenly his demeanor changed. A subtle metamorphosis took place. His back grew straighter, his voice less rusty. “Tell me.” Nilrem reached across the space and placed a hand on Kered’s knee.

  “The time has come for peace,” Kered said in the silence, turning the gun end over end.

  Nilrem merely nodded.

  “Tolemac has been fighting the folk of Selaw long enough to know they raid out of starvation. It is time we aided them, instead of slaughtering them!” Kered rose and paced, head bent to avoid the low rafters. “My father will not last much longer. Peace must be made before his death, for we all know ‘tis only his hand that stays a massacre. There are few on the council who would respect any peace offer from the Selaw once he is gone. They need grain. We waste in one harvest more oats than their entire tribe could use in a year! For what reason do we make war?”

  “Ah, my son, you truly have earned the right to a seat on the council. Were you Leoh’s true son, you would sit there already.” Nilrem glowed as if he alone had raised Kered and not Leoh, Kered’s adoptive father and the leader of the council.

  “Seat on the council? Hah! If I cannot hold one border against starving men, what chance have I to earn the right to a council seat?” Kered struck his fist into his palm.

  “Starving children make fierce warriors of their fathers.” Nilrem sought to pacify Kered.

  Their voices roused Maggie. For some moments she lay there disoriented, frightened. Then sense returned. She remembered. Grief cut deeply. Cyberspace, Gwen had said. Maggie faced the fact that somehow she had been transported to somewhere in cyberspace. A nonexistent thing or place—just gobbledygook from technogeeks. Until today, until this moment.

  The scent of the two men seeped into her nostrils, mixing with the wood smoke that stung her eyes. She narrowed them to slits and breathed shallowly. The men’s voices hypnotized her into a dreamy state until she heard the word war. Her ears pricked; she was jolted out of her stupor.

  Tolemac Wars. Wars meant fighting, death, and annihilation. Maggie shivered. There must be some way out of this nightmare—some way to end the game.

  She poked her nose deep into the fur, then realized why the men’s scent was so strong. She lay beneath a heavy fur cloak. It needed a good dry cleaning. Even a thrift store wouldn’t take it in its present condition.

  “What brings you here, son?’’ Nilrem sipped from a goblet of water. Maggie’s throat scratched, but asking for a drink would alert them to her wakefulness.

  “I come to seek your wisdom. By all that is holy or wise, there must be some answer.”

  “Lifemating?” Nilrem suggested.

  Kered slumped onto the stool. It groaned dangerously beneath his weight. “Another failure. The fair Einalem rejected my proposal after Leoh spent weeks negotiating the lifemating contracts. With Einalem’s wealth, I could have accomplished much. Yet she turned her hand palm down.”

  “By the heavens, why? You have known each other since chil
dhood, not to mention that you are a legend from the ice fields to the Scorched Plain!”

  “It seems my ‘legendary’ ways did not meet with her approval. The stink of blood is too strong upon my hands, she said. I am too much a man of war.”

  “And pleasure!” Nilrem said with jestful tones. “Hold your ire. I know you have little of pleasure in your life. So, she rejected you… ‘Tis more like her father found something amiss in the distribution of wealth or power and used her option of rejection to slip out of the agreement.”

  “Leoh said as much, yet the end remains the same! The Selaw border is breached in two places, and I am rejected before the council. After this humiliation, what hope have I of forging a treaty or negotiating peace?”

  Nilrem and Kered sat silently by the fire. Occasionally, Nilrem sipped from his cup, slurping the water and dribbling it down his beard. “My son, your father is a wise and noble leader, but old and sickly. It is time for younger heads to rule. I have watched you for many years—always you temper your words and think of others. Even as a boy you offered words first and weapons second. The council needs you. Samoht craves your father’s power. He wants ice for Tolemac and the Selaw stand in the way. He will decimate them when Leoh dies. It is time.”

  “Time for what?” Kered rested his chin on a fist. Maggie peeked at the men from beneath her eyelashes. Kered looked discouraged and depressed, Nilrem younger and more vigorous.

  “Time to make the quest. You must make the quest.”

  “‘Tis legend, a tale for children.” Kered swept a hand out in dismissal.

  “You bear the sign. ‘Tis why Leoh adopted you. Do you deny it?”

  Kered shook his head. “I bear what Leoh and you consider a sign. I prefer to think ‘tis just a blemish, nothing more.”

  “I only ask you to hear my words,” Nilrem said with a quiet urgency.

  Kered nodded, but his face arranged itself in impatient lines, deep grooves forming about his mouth, and Maggie thought he had aged in the last few moments.

  “You have come to seek wisdom. Now you must let go of your doubts and accept what you hear.” Nilrem tapped a gnarled finger on Kered’s chest. “There are few symbols so sacred as the one you bear. Surely, this entitles you to the legendary sword of your ancestor, the esteemed Ruhtra. If you retrieve the sword and bear it as your own weapon at the council conclave, you would earn another arm ring.”

  Kered straightened on his stool. “Four arm rings will not gain me a seat on the council.”

  “A second arm ring can be earned by journeying to the Forbidden Isle of N’Olava and bringing back the sacred cup of Liarg. Both the sword and the cup are symbols of peace, not just to Tolemac, but to every neighboring chiefdom. If you can secure the two symbols and attain the status of five arm rings, your acceptance to the council is guaranteed and your peace proposals sure to be taken seriously by each councilor. Even Samoht and his cohorts will be forced to bow to your power.”

  A stiff silence reined. Maggie watched Kered ball his fists on his knees before he spoke. “And if this be just the stuff of legends or the ramblings of an old man?”

  “You wound me, son. Only the one who bears the sign will successfully make the quest—gain the sword and cup. Is peace not worthy of the effort to seek the truth of the ancient legends?” Nilrem rose. He brought the goblet of water to Maggie’s bedside. “I know you listen, child. Drink.” He helped Maggie to a sitting position; she sipped with guilty pleasure.

  Kered spoke as if she were not present, as if no interruption had occurred. “I offer my humblest apology. I meant no insult.”

  “I know.” Nilrem nodded. “You walked here. You abased yourself for wisdom. It is admirable. That is why I will help you. Samoht, too, has been to my mountain and will soon return.”

  “No!” Kered smote the table with a fist and Maggie jumped, spilling water on the cloak.

  Nilrem slapped at the drops. “Samoht, too, seeks a way—a way to eliminate every man, woman, and child of the Selaw who stand between him and the ice. You must not delay. The council will elect Samoht in Leoh’s place, should he die. If you are on the council, Samoht’s every decision will be tempered by your wisdom and compassion. If you are not, blood will stain the earth.”

  Maggie shivered despite the heavy fur about her shoulders.

  “So, I must seek the sword and cup.” Kered rose and paced, head bent.

  Nilrem groped beneath the fur cloak and Maggie yelped as his hand touched her breast. Kered spun around and stormed to Maggie’s side as Nilrem lifted the pendant. “See. This slave’s appearance is an omen. The sword and the cup, they bear this image—eight rings about our earthly home hanging in the heavens. The sacred eight.”

  Kered went down on one knee and clasped the pendant, his knuckles grazing Maggie’s breast. She froze. His nearness, the heavy weight of their words, their serious demeanor frightened her into silence.

  Nilrem covered Kered’s hand. “You know she must go, too.”

  Maggie and Kered both stared at him open-mouthed.

  “Aye.” The old man nodded. “She appeared at the conjunction. She is a rare, exotic find and somehow part of this. She bears the sign. It is fated.”

  Nilrem began to age before Maggie’s eyes. Whatever vestige of youth had made him speak and move with ease now deserted him. He groaned and crabbed away, taking Kered’s stool by the hearth, rocking and extending his hands to the warm flames.

  Maggie and Kered studied each other in silence.

  “You heard our words?” Kered asked, his hand still fisted about the pendant.

  Maggie nodded. A cold, hard lump formed in her throat.

  “I have sought the wisdom of Nilrem the old way. I trekked here on foot, brought nothing save one pack of necessities, and wore nothing new. I ate only bread and water—abstained from meat.”

  Maggie nodded again. She didn’t understand any of it. She would play their game—at least until she learned the rules, or woke up.

  “One may not deal lightly with a prophecy. One may not scoff at wisdom from an elder who has reached the twelfth level of awareness.”

  He stood and, still holding the pendant, drew her up. Not wanting the chain to break, Maggie went with it.

  “Will your master seek you?” His voice rasped like sandpaper in a hoarse whisper only she could hear.

  “I have no master.” She, too, whispered.

  “So you say. But I must know the truth. Must I guard my back? Will he seek revenge if I take you?”

  “I have no master. Where I come from, there are no arm rings, no slaves.”

  “So be it.” He opened his palm, and smoothed a finger along the delicate interlocking links of the chain. “I knew, when Nilrem beheld this bauble, you would entwine yourself in my life, just as these metals entwine the stone.” The pendant fell from his hand to lie between Maggie’s breasts. “We will rise with the sun.”

  Kered dismissed her. He took a fur from the end of the bed and after a short discussion with Nilrem about the best way to set out on the quest, he stretched out on the floor. Almost immediately, he began to snore. Maggie sat huddled on the bed, watching him.

  Nilrem came close, and she recoiled from his harsh breath.

  “Kered has a destiny. You are somehow part of it. Aid him. I sense wisdom in you and know that in some way you are crucial to his success. Whether you have a master or not, it is an omen that you appeared at the conjunction. Take the path he sets for you. To do anything else is to deny your fate.”

  Maggie pictured the fates as slavering dogs or large men with knives. She would not blindly accept the old man’s words. Some way must be found to return to Ocean City. Perhaps even now, a serviceman might be repairing the game. If she left Nilrem’s mountain, would she miss an opportunity to return home? The possibility chilled her to the bone. No man, not even one who looked like Kered, could convince her to leave if she didn’t want to!

  Wearily, Maggie stretched out on the bed and tried in vain to formu
late a plan. After a few minutes, she realized she needed to relieve herself. She waited until both men lay sleeping on the tamped dirt floor, singing an aphonic chorus of snores. As silent as a wraith, Maggie rose and went to the door.

  She lifted the latch, pulling Kered’s cloak about her shoulders. Beyond the door of the hut, the last of the red sun dipped huge and glowing below the horizon’s edge. The sky was not deep black, but tinged with purple and scattered with a handful of diamond-like stars, just as it had been in the opening sequence of Tolemac Wars. There were no familiar constellations to tell her where she was.

  Maggie stood in the clearing and stared at the same far peak that opened the game. Its jagged summit pierced the purple heavens, and off to one side, four greenish-blue orbs, not quite as magnificent as Kered’s eyes, traced a straight line. Tears blurred her vision for a moment. Wherever she was, it was not home. Gwen and Ocean City might still exist, but where? She thought of her parents, her brothers, and fought a lump swelling in her throat.

  Maggie sought a shadow and was glad she’d been a Girl Scout. She used a broad leaf for toilet paper and hoped it was not the Tolemac version of poison ivy. She stumbled along the path to the hut. Its candlelit windows called like home, but she turned her back. For many moments she examined the far stretching panorama of land, much like a wasteland, looking for some hint of humanity, some possible sign of habitation.

  There was nothing as far as the eye could see. Standing upon a green and flowered and tree-shaded mountain, her eyes searched a plain as dry and barren and rocky as the Painted Desert of Arizona. On the distant horizon she could see white. The ice fields?

  Should she hide tomorrow when Kered wished to leave? Would he force her to go on his quest—drag her if she refused? Part of her wanted to stay on Nilrem’s mountain and hoped that whatever technological glitch had sent her to Tolemac would be corrected. Perhaps like an e-mail message gone astray, she had been divided up into bits or bytes, or mils or mites, or whatever they were called, and accidentally sent to this place. And just like an e-mail message, perhaps she could be retrieved, unsent, returned home.