by Phil Tucker
“What class did you pick?” I asked, moving over to sit on a stone.
“Charlatan,” she said, sounding distracted as she waved her hand over a small gem pressed into the bag’s clasp. “Awful name, isn’t it? So negative, when all it means is that you like to socialize and have fun.”
The gem glowed and then fragmented.
“There,” she said. “Perfect. Now, let’s see what my friend left me.” She reached in and pulled out a curved, slender blade that was far too long to have fit inside the bag. It was gorgeous, and glimmered gently as if glimpsed at the bottom of a fast-flowing stream. The grip was just long enough for one hand, and the crossbars and basket hilt curled with incredible artistry, depicting a field of platinum flowers that protected her hand completely.
Sylvana raised it and sighted down its length, and a shimmer of light undulated down its blade before forming a star at the tip and disappearing.
“That’s… that’s some blade,” I said.
“Yup. It’s a Frostflower Saber.” She sounded smug. A scabbard had appeared at her hip, and with surprising skill she slid the blade into it. She gave me a wink. “Don’t leave home without it.”
“That’s some friend you’ve got.”
“The best. Now, what else?” She drew up a folded bundle of shimmering white cloth, which she unfurled into a rich and sumptuous cape. It was made of some thick, luxurious fur, like mountain goat or polar bear. This she swept around her bare shoulders and tied beneath her chin. It fell perfectly to her heels, and immediately gave her a regal presence, like some kind of Russian princess.
“A Tastivan Cloak,” she told me. “Level thirty, with protection against enchantments, curses, hallucinations, cold effects, or mind control spells.”
I sat back. “Holy shit.”
“Language,” she said with an impish grin, and crouched once more beside her bag. “Ah, now this is nice.” She pulled forth a long black velvet case, which she opened to reveal four ornate silver rings, each with a jewel embedded in its center.
“Four rings of ethereal armor,” she said, setting the case down so she could pluck her gloves free and then slide each ring onto a long, delicate finger. “Each with a host of side benefits. There. Now I don’t feel quite so naked.”
“You sound like you know your stuff,” I said. “I thought this was your first time playing.”
“It is.” She snapped the velvet case shut and tossed it over her shoulder. “But I’m not just looks. I’m smart enough to have done my research before entering the game in Death March mode. Surely you did the same?”
I hesitated. “I never told you I was in Death March mode.”
“What?” She recovered so smoothly I barely noticed. “I meant before you entered the game. Didn’t you watch any documentaries, read the FAQs, the player interviews…?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “But I didn’t have a friend who was willing to hook me up with insane gear.”
She cocked her head to one side. “You didn’t?”
“No. Why would I? I mean, there was this one girl who said she’d hook me up, but that all turned out to be lies. Anyway. Doesn’t matter now.”
“Hmm,” she said. “Sounds like there’s more to that story than you’re letting on. Either way.” She returned to her bag, and in short order drew forth a dozen more objects. “Will you look at that. My friend was far, far too generous. There’s no way I could use all of these items.” She eyed me speculatively. “Would you be interested in some?”
“Uh, would I be interested in artifact-level gear? Yes.” I paused. “But I’ve got nothing to offer you in exchange.”
“Oh, that’s fine.” She beamed at me, and my knees went weak. If she had that smile in the real world, she’d make a fortune in advertising. “Just a little gratitude and company is all I ask for. After all, it seems like we’re both stuck here alone, doesn’t it? I’d really appreciate benefiting from your wisdom and guidance.”
“Sure,” I said. “We’re both stuck here, like you said.”
She moved to kneel before me, and took my hand in both of hers. Her eyes were large, and her expression was suddenly sincere and vulnerable at the same time. “Thank you, Chris. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I slowly pulled my hand free. “How’d you know my name is Chris?”
She froze, then cracked a smile. “What? You told me when I introduced myself.”
Had I? I was pretty sure I hadn’t.
Sylvana returned to her bag and drew out an amazing looking sword in a bound leather scabbard. It was completely black, a matt darkness that drank in the light, and slightly curved at the tip. It was unlike any blade I had ever seen before; there was no cross-guard, and the hilt was wrapped in one large, continuous sheet of black leather, a silver bolt at the bottom and top affixing it in place.
Sylvana pulled the scabbard away, revealing the blade. It was sharp down one length, the side that ultimately curved up, and this sharpened slope glimmered black-blue, like the depths of the ocean. The rest was matt black but for a small sapphire imprinted at the blade’s base.
“A Void Blade,” she said, voice hushed. “Here. You should have it.”
Reluctantly, I accepted the blade from her. It was just a little longer than a short sword, and surprisingly light.
“Press your thumb on the sapphire,” said Sylvana, leaning forward, hands on her knees. “Then force one point of mana inside it. That will permanently key the blade to your essence, making it so nobody else can use its special properties.”
“I’m all out of mana,” I said. The blade felt lethal, much like sitting inside a Ferrari gave one the sense of its potential speed.
“Well, when you recover some, then.” She waved her hand impatiently at my objection. “It’s an insanely expensive and lethal weapon, but it only really comes into its own when wielded by a darkblade. Once keyed to your essence, you can activate its void power by simply willing it to shift; at that point, the blade will turn to shadow and bypass all armor, stealing the strength from your foes and granting it to you.”
I stared at the black sword, eyebrows going up in amazement. “You serious? That’s… that’s amazing. How…?” I lowered the blade and stared at her. “Why did your friend leave a Void Blade for you?”
“What?” She frowned at me. “Because it’s a killer sword, is why. Look, if you don’t want it I’m more than happy to dual wield.”
“No, I’m not saying that, it’s just…” Just such a coincidence that you’d have this. “Thank you, Brianna.”
“You’re welcome,” she snapped, then visibly relented and forced herself to smile at me. “Of course you’re welcome. We’ve —what?” She turned pale. “That’s not my name.”
“You sure?” I pressed the Void Blade’s scabbard to my hip. It shimmered, and leather thongs appeared, binding it to my belt. Holy crap. With a blade like this, I might just have a chance of hurting the Beggars.
Sylvana leapt to her feet, red hair swinging wildly from her ponytail. “I told you, my name’s Sylvana.”
“Sure. Sylvana.” I didn’t bother standing. “Who just happened to show up here loaded with high-level gear, some of which seems tailored for me, and somehow already knew my name.” I held her gaze. “Gig’s up, Brianna. But thank you for the sword all the same.”
Her jaw trembled and her hand drifted to the pommel of her Frostflower Saber. “You’re making baseless accusations. I strongly urge you to take back your insults.”
“Insults?” My own anger spiked. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“How dare you! Return my blade!”
“Just like you. Giving gifts and then taking them back.” I finally stood. “What was your plan here, anyways? Win back my sympathy by—what? Going on a suicidal six-month mission with me?”
Her eyes flashed, her pale cheeks flushing. “
I was willing to risk my life for you! And this is how you thank me?”
“Risk your life?” I grinned at her. “Who asked you to? Not only that, but if you were trying to earn my gratitude, what’s with all the lies? ‘Sylvana Ember’? Risking Death March to save someone you love? Did you deliberately try to copy my situation, or are you just not creative enough to come up with your own story?”
“It’s possible I came here to save your life, you ungrateful bastard!” She advanced on me, finger pointed at my chest like a dagger. “Don’t you think it’s possible I was worried about you? How weak and unprepared you were? Don’t you think it’s possible I set this all up to help you, to do my part in helping your brother?”
My anger grew flat and dangerous. “Don’t bring my brother into this.”
“And why not? Only you get to play at being the hero? Only you get to be all noble and self-sacrificing, and everyone else is either a bitch or your inferior?” She got right in my face, strands of copper-red hair falling across her eyes. “Admit it. You just can’t stand the idea of someone saving your ass. Of me saving you, because you insist on playing the victim, the noble martyr, screwed up by life, your family ‘cursed’, this whole pathetic drama you’ve created to make yourself feel important—”
I raised my hand to grab her by the throat. All my anger, all my frustration, all my despair came howling up and focused on her.
“Go on,” she whispered, smiling up at me. “Go on, you pathetic little fuck. Grab me and squeeze. Are you man enough to at least do that?”
Then it all came back to me. The tormented, crazy, abusive, out-of-control relationship I’d had with this woman. The way she could get under my skin in seconds flat and turn me into a monster. How she loved to see me enraged; how it turned her on. The hate sex we’d have after our terrible fights, so furious and punishing that I’d be unable to talk, to move, to do anything but lie there loathing myself for ages after.
Even in this gorgeous avatar I recognized that twisted gleam in her eye. This was what she wanted. To reel me back in. Have me shouting and infuriated with her. Involved once more.
“No,” I said, pulling my hand back and stepping away. “No. To all of this. I won’t let you suck me back into that madness.”
She reached up and touched her neck where my fingerprints were only now fading away. “Poor Chris. Such a disappointment. Can’t even act like a man.”
I pulled the Void Blade from my hip and let it drop. “Don’t follow me,” I said, backing away from her as if she were a swaying cobra. “Don’t search me out. You hear me?”
She froze, eyes narrowing, but I didn’t give her a chance to respond. I backed out the waystation door and then turned to take off at a limping run. I half expected her derisive laughter to follow me into the dusk, but nothing came. The grass whispered against my thighs as I charged toward the forest line where eons ago a pair of ogres had emerged and nearly ended my life.
A moment later I was under their dark boughs, racing beneath the canopy, leaving the highland meadow and Brianna’s madness behind me.
8
I climbed as the sun set far below me, spilling its last aureate rays across the rolling hills and lowlands that stretched out toward that conflagration of fire. The thick woods rose up the mountain slopes, their canopy blocking the last of the evening light so that I clambered in gloom, pushing myself harder and harder, seeking to escape the memory of what Brianna had just drawn out of me. Occasionally I stopped, reeling, and turned upon some outcropping or ledge that had a view over the forest and the distant sunset. Feldgrau far below and to my left. Castle Winter below me now as well. The highland meadow down and to the right, a shadowed plain.
But I couldn’t stop. I wasn’t even searching for the goblins. I was simply moving. What vigor had been gifted to me by my rage quickly burned out and became mechanical. The wound in the back of my thigh opened and hot blood seeped down the back of my leg. I gritted my teeth and pressed on. The slope became steeper, the forest thin, and soon I was amongst large boulders, their surface gritty and ice cold. The final fingernail rim of the sun dipped beneath the horizon and shadow descended upon the mountain.
Sweat stung my eyes. My spider silk shirt clung to my back. My fingers burned from grasping at countless rocks and roots. My wounded leg was heavy, barely responsive to my needs. Still I fought for height, but each time I stopped to peer upward, the distant peak mocked me. It would take me days upon days to even reach the snowline.
Finally, I collapsed into a small gulley of grass, falling hard onto my side. I lay still, panting for breath, and saw again my hand moving to close around Brianna’s pale throat. Felt the righteous rage, the urge to silence her, to still her tongue. Shame poured through me. I’d never struck her. Never slapped her as sometimes she’d demanded. But god damn, I’d wanted to. I’d fled her countless times, shaking with impotent rage, vowing to never speak to her again.
And somehow, every time, she inserted herself back into my life. Even here, in the depths of Euphoria, she’d found a way to return to me. To be valuable. Needed. Because I knew come dawn I’d not be able to turn her away. I had nothing left. No friends, no allies, no costly gear.
No.
I’d not work with her.
I’d sooner bite off my own tongue.
Shivering, I crawled out of the gulley. The rock face before me was cut by a diagonal cleft, dark like a scar cut into the abyss itself. I waited, trembling from the cold and exhaustion, and listened. Waited for Astute Observer to point out any dangers. Tracks. Spoor. Signs that the cave was occupied.
Nothing.
With a groan I crawled across the rough, rocky ground to the cave entrance. It widened inside, but even so I’d not be able to call it more than a large crack. I tried to rise into a crouch, but my leg spasmed and I gave up with a grunt. On all fours, like a wretched wild beast, I entered the cave. I pushed in about a dozen yards and the crack at last opened into a bowl of a chamber.
The cold was starting to slip into me like daggers of ice. I activated Darkvision. Someone had used the small cavern before me; a pile of twigs with larger logs around them had been piled behind a shoulder of rock that would block it from view outside, while a small bedroll was set close by. A tattered notebook was laid on a natural shelf, with two small pairs of boots set neatly just below.
I whispered a prayer of thanks to the last occupant and approached the stack of wood. I’d no idea how I could light the fire, until suddenly I did: what looked like some random stones to one side were clearly a crude set of flint and steel. Unsure as to how I’d suddenly recognized them, I just as quickly realized how to use them and took up the rock and rod of metal. Heck yeah, Survival (Basic II).
It took me five minutes to strike enough sparks into the moss in the heart of the pile for it to catch, and then another five minutes of gently blowing to cause the cottony smoke to flicker into fire. Jubilant, I was reminded of Tom Hanks in Castaway, and while I didn’t want to leap around the cave bellowing my excitement I still felt the same level of primal pride.
The flames licked up the smaller twigs, and intuition told me to give them a little time before placing the larger logs. I did so, my hands guided by some unexpected wisdom, and after ten minutes I had a cheerful fire crackling and sending dancing hues of gold, umber and orange across the rough cavern walls and ceiling.
I turned off Darkvision. The walls were decorated with simple paintings; they depicted a goblin in a series of dramatic encounters. In one area, he tumbled into a great crack. In another, he rode what might have been a pony through a flaming landscape. Here, he sat smoking a pipe and smiling beatifically. There, he fought a rearing bear with nothing more than a dagger and a roguish smile.
I couldn’t help but be cheered by this goblin’s exploits. The last painting showed him being chased by a plump goblin woman. I wondered if she’d caught him. If she’d dragged him down
from this mountain and forced him to settle down.
My grin faded, replaced by a weary melancholia. Where was Lotharia now? What I wouldn’t give to have her here by my side. Helping me plan our next step, mocking me gently with her wry wit, the fire dancing in her eyes.
I sighed and sat on the goblin’s neat pallet and took down his book. It was unsurprisingly filled with what must have been goblin writing. Nothing I could make out. There were a number of amusing drawings scattered throughout, however, including what looked like a series of self-studies, portraits of the goblin making a variety of ridiculous expressions. I chuckled once more, set the book aside, then gazed into the fire.
I should be bandaging up my wound. I should be lying down to sleep, focusing on recovering my mana points. At the very least I should have been coming up with a new plan. But all I could do was replay scenes from my past. A life that I’d managed to forget in the immediacy of Euphoria, but which had finally caught up with me. I saw my mother in her hospital bed, moaning and tossing and turning, lost to me beyond a wall of drugs and cancer. I saw Eva’s eyes widening when I’d told her about my brother’s situation, told her how I’d not blame her if I had too much baggage to become friends with, and how she’d set her jaw and reached out to squeeze my hand. I thought for the first time in ages of Sarah, the girl I’d been kind of seeing up in Seattle, all punk attitude and toughness on the outside, but like everyone else looking for a connection, for understanding. Where would we be if I hadn’t picked up and left for Miami?
I thought of Brianna. The first time I’d seen her, standing at the bar looking so bored she might die. How she’d given me the once-over when I’d stepped up beside her to order a drink and then challenged me to tell her something funny. I’d told her the joke about the general and his armies and she’d laughed, surprised.
We’d talked gaming, she’d talked about herself, and after perhaps four or five drinks we’d left for another bar. I kissed her at the third bar, but she’d pulled away with a knowing, pleased smile and insisted on my calling a cab for her. I didn’t know it, not then, but that was to prove her M.O. – dole out intimacy at exactly the right pace, reeling me in then pushing me away, all to drive me ever more crazy with desire for her.