Erebos

by Ursula Poznanski

  ‘And watch out for the messenger with the yellow eyes.’

  CHAPTER 4

  Nick sent his character along the stream, always keeping its throaty gurgle on the left, at an easy trot that didn’t strain the stamina meter too much. Stamina, Nick was discovering, wasn’t his nameless character’s strong suit. After the smallest climb he started gasping and had to take a rest, wait until the bar on the bottom right-hand edge of the screen started glowing blue again, then go on. Clambering over stones, jumping over obstacles, keeping a look out for the ravine. Nowhere was there a messenger with yellow eyes.

  The land to the right and left of the stream was gradually rising, and the dark forest floor was giving way to stony ground. Again and again scree slowed down Nameless’s progress, and more than once caused him to fall. It was only when the terrain on both sides was twice as high as his figure that Nick realised that he was already in the middle of the ravine. Moreover, he noticed that he was not alone. There was rustling in the dry undergrowth to the right and left of the path, something was moving, and then – as if at an inaudible command – small toad-like creatures leapt out and fell upon him. Their feet were equipped not just with webbing, but also with claws, with which they did considerable damage to Nick’s Nameless. It took a few awful seconds before he remembered the staff his figure was holding in his hands and began to defend himself.

  Two of the toads took flight. One died at Nameless’s feet from a well-aimed blow with the stick.

  ‘Strike,’ Nick murmured.

  But there was one last toad clinging to Nameless’s left leg and a bloodstain was spreading beneath its claws. Alarmed, Nick noticed that the red life meter was only a bit over half full. He struck at the space bar, which made Nameless jump, but didn’t impress the toad.

  Finally, the escape key achieved the desired result. Nameless executed a lightning-quick turn, shook the toad creature off and, at Nick’s command, finished him off with the stick.

  In the meantime his life meter had plummeted to way under half. Nick made sure that there were no more attackers in sight, then he moused over the toad’s carcass, and the information ‘four meat units’ appeared.

  ‘That’s something at least,’ he grumbled, put his exhausted figure back on it’s feet, and got it to collect the meat, before he continued on through the ravine. He was on his guard, and had his stick at the ready to clobber any clawed toad that turned up. But no further adversaries appeared. Instead a noise became audible in the background, rhythmic and rebounding off the ravine walls. Hoof beats.

  He made Nameless slow down and creep very cautiously around the next curve, behind which, however, nothing more than further precipitous rock walls and even more scree was revealed. A few moments later the hoof beats broke off. Nick sent Nameless skirting along the rock wall, past thorny bushes as tall as a man. On further, until another rock wall rose up in front of him. Halfway up the wall – but still way above Nameless’s head – a wide over-hang towered over the ravine. At the back was the narrow mouth of a cave. In front of this entry, on a giant armoured horse, sat a gaunt figure in a grey tunic, who beckoned to both Nick and Nameless. Nick noticed only in passing the figure’s bald, pointy head and the excessively long, bony fingers. All his attention was focussed on his pale yellow eyes.

  ‘You have been very skilful.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘However, your life force isn’t looking too good.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You need to be mindful of that in the future.’

  The messenger’s businesslike way of speaking stood in bizarre contrast to his gruesome appearance.

  ‘It is time for you to be named,’ he continued. ‘Time for the first rite.’ With an unhurried gesture he indicated the cave behind him. ‘I wish you luck, and the right decisions. We will meet again.’ He turned his horse around and charged off.

  Nick waited until the hoof beats had faded away before he took his figure over to the rock face. Steep steps, cut into the stone, led to the plateau. ‘Time for the first rite.’ Why were his hands damp again? He left-clicked on the darkness of the cave entrance. Nameless marched up to it and disappeared. The next moment the screen went black.

  Darkness. Silence. Nick shifted around on his chair. Why was it taking so long? He hammered at the keyboard just in case, which achieved precisely nothing.

  ‘Oh come on,’ he said, and banged the monitor. ‘Don’t flake out.’

  The darkness continued, and Nick’s nervousness increased. He could take the DVD out of the drive and put it in again, or he could press the reset button, but that was risky. That might mean he’d have to start again right from the beginning. Or the game mightn’t start again at all.

  Suddenly there was a sound. Tap tap. A knocking sound, like a heartbeat. Nick opened the top drawer of his desk, got out headphones and plugged them into his computer. Now he heard the noise more clearly, and he thought he could make out something else in the background too. Horns that were playing a succession of short notes. It reminded him of a hunting call. It sounded full of promise. As if, in the background, the game was in full swing without him. He turned the volume up, feeling annoyed that he hadn’t thought of the headphones earlier. Perhaps he had missed important information – warnings or hints. Perhaps he hadn’t caught the one crucial tip about how you kept the game running!

  More from impatience than in the hope that it would speed things up, Nick hammered on the enter key.

  The tapping stopped, and now the red letters started to emerge out of the black background again.

  ‘This is Erebos. Who are you?’

  Nick made a quick decision. He would choose the same name that he had already used in a few other computer games.

  ‘I am Gargoyle.’

  ‘Tell me your name.’

  ‘Gargoyle!’

  ‘Your real name.’

  Nick was stunned. What on earth for? Fine. Then he would supply a first name and a last name, so he could finally move on.

  ‘Simon White.’

  The name was there, red on black, and for a few seconds nothing happened. Only the cursor blinked.

  ‘I said – your real name.’

  Nick stared at the screen in disbelief. Once more he had the feeling that someone was staring back. He took a deep breath and had another go.

  ‘Thomas Martinson.’

  Again there was no response to the name for a moment, before the game answered.

  ‘Thomas Martinson is incorrect. If you wish to play, tell me your name.’

  There was no sensible explanation for it. Maybe it was a software glitch and the game wouldn’t accept any name whatsoever. The writing disappeared; only the blinking red cursor remained. Suddenly Nick got worried that the program might have crashed, or shut down at the third incorrect answer, like a phone after three incorrect PIN entries.

  ‘Nick Dunmore,’ he typed, half expecting that the truth would be rejected as well.

  Instead the program whispered his own name in his ear. ‘Nick Dunmore. Nick Dunmore. Nick. Dunmore.’ Over and over again the words were passed around like a chant from one whispering being to another. The welcome greeting of an invisible community.

  The feeling of being watched was scary, and Nick groped for the headphones to take them out of his ears. But the writing was disappearing already, just like the voices, and an enticing melody began playing – a promise of mystery and adventure.

  ‘Welcome, Nick. Welcome to the world of Erebos. Before you start playing, acquaint yourself with the rules. If you don’t like them, you can end the game at any time. Okay?’

  Nick stared at the screen. The game had caught him lying. Knew what his real name was. Now it seemed it was impatiently awaiting an answer – the cursor was blinking faster and faster.

  Nick typed ‘Yes’ with the vague feeling that everything would go dark again if he took too long. He would think it over later. Later.

  ‘Good. Here is the first rule. You have only one ch
ance to play Erebos. If you waste it, it’s over. If your character dies, it’s over. If you break the rules, it’s over. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘The second rule. When you play, make sure that you are alone. Never mention your real name in the game. Never mention the name of your player character outside the game.’

  How come? Nick wondered. Then he remembered that even Brynne, who had never been troubled by self-restraint, hadn’t blabbed anything about Erebos to him. ‘It’s incredibly awesome,’ – that had been it.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Good. The third rule. The content of the game is secret. Do not speak to anyone about it. Especially not to people who are not registered. You can converse with players around the fires while you are playing. Don’t pass information on to your friends or your family. Don’t post information on the internet.’

  As if you’d ever find out, thought Nick, and typed ‘Okay.’

  ‘The fourth rule. Keep the DVD somewhere safe. You need it to start the game. Don’t copy it under any circumstances, unless the messenger asks that you do so.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Nick had hardly pressed the enter key when the sun rose. Or at least it felt like that. The blackness of the screen yielded to a delicate red, which soon changed to tones of yellow and gold. Nick’s Nameless appeared as a shadow, slowly taking shape, just like his surroundings – a forest clearing flooded in sunlight, in which long grass was growing and through which a beaten track wound its way. It led to a mossy tower, with a door that was hanging by only one hinge. On a rocky outcrop a little to the left sat Nameless, with his eyes closed and his face turned to the sun. Nick felt a twinge of envy, as if he were looking at beautiful holiday pictures. For a brief moment he thought he could smell the resin of the forest trees and the flowering herbs all around the tower. Crickets chirped, and the wind moved gently through the grass.

  The crooked door of the tower banged loudly against the wall and the figure, still in ragged clothes, stretched and stood up. He put a hand up to his face and removed it like a mask. Behind it there was nothing but smooth skin, bare as an eggshell.

  Another gust of wind unfurled the flag that was mounted at the top of the tower. It showed a faded number one.

  This was the way to the first level, Nick assumed, and steered his figure, whose missing face unsettled him more than he wanted to admit, to the tower.

  Inside everything is quiet, even the wind is silent, the gate is no longer banging. Among straw and scattered bones stand wooden chests with rusty clasps. Copper tablets on the wall gleam; there are words carved into them. The first word is always the same: Choose.

  He inspects the tablets in order.

  ‘Choose a gender,’ the first demands.

  Without hesitating he chooses the man. Only after his decision does it occur to him that playing as a women could have a certain appeal. Doesn’t matter – it’s too late.

  ‘Choose a race,’ he reads on the tablet.

  Here he pauses for longer. Rejects the barbarian and the vampire, although he slips their bodies on to try them out; at the sight of the barbarian’s shoulder muscles, gleaming with oil, he grimaces. He considers the lizard man for a few minutes – his body scales shimmer so seductively, changing colour in different lights. The human species is an option too, but it’s not worth considering. Too everyday. Too weak.

  Dwarf, werewolf, cat person or dark elf – these last four options are all tempting. He tries the dwarf body on: small, gnarled and strong. Not bad – the small stature appeals to him; the crooked legs and the pinched facial expression less so.

  In the end he decides on the dark elf. Medium height, but agile, elegant and mysterious. His decision is acknowledged. ‘Choose your appearance,’ the third copper tablet demands.

  He wants to resemble his real self as little as possible. So: short blond hair that sticks up from his head in spikes, a pointy nose and narrow grey eyes. He contemplates his newly created character, who no longer bears any resemblance to Nameless. Carefully he chooses clothing: a gold-green jacket, dark trousers, bucket-top boots. A leather cap that will be better protection than nothing, although he would have preferred a helmet. Unfortunately they’re not available to dark elves.

  He does some more work on his facial features – enlarges the eyes and the distance between the mouth and nose. Raises the eyebrows. Makes the cheekbones more pronounced and thinks that he looks like a king’s lost son.

  ‘Choose a vocation,’ it says on the fourth tablet.

  Assassin, bard, mage, hunter, scout, guard, knight, thief. Ample choice. The advantages of each and every class are explained to him. He learns that werewolves make particularly good mages, whereas vampires have a talent as assassins, and also as thieves. Dark elves too, like himself, make good thieves.

  He hesitates. And jumps when the hinges of the door suddenly creak. It swings open and someone enters the tower. A deformed shadow. A gnome with a hunched back and crooked legs, a red, bulbous nose and a dark blue growth on his neck. He hobbles closer, sits astride one of the chests and licks his lips.

  ‘Another dark elf, well well. A popular species, so it seems.’

  ‘Really?’

  That doesn’t please the new-fledged dark elf. He doesn’t want to be one of many.

  ‘Indeed. Have you already decided on a profession?’

  He looks at the list.

  ‘Maybe a thief or a guard. Or possibly a knight.’

  ‘How about the mage? They’re powerful, they’ve got the gift of magic.’

  He mulls over this possibility briefly before he rules it out. He’s not in the mood for witchcraft, he’s in the mood for sword-fighting. ‘No, not a mage. A knight.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Yes, he is. Knight sounds noble, almost like a prince.

  ‘Knight,’ he affirms.

  ‘Choose your abilities,’ the fifth tablet demands. Underneath, there is an overwhelmingly long list of characteristics. He chooses far sight, strength, stamina, and the ability to blend into the surroundings. Lighting fires. Speed. Jumping power.

  He is cautious because he doesn’t know how many skills he is entitled to in total. Even now every decision means that other options are lost to him. When he selects ‘slight healing power’ the ‘death curse’ option ceases to exist. For ‘shield of strength’ ‘iron-skin’ disappears.

  After ten choices it’s suddenly over. The writing dissolves into nothing, right at the moment when he thinks he can keep on going forever.

  ‘You will soon miss some of the things you have spurned,’ says the gnome, and smiles.

  ‘Maybe.’

  He wonders what this ugly fellow is doing here – he would actually prefer to be alone. The sixth tablet is waiting.

  ‘Choose your weapons.’ A massive chest opens underneath the tablet. Swords, spears, shields, several morningstars of various sizes. A few hideous-looking barbed blades, whips armed with claws, spiked clubs.

  ‘Would you like some advice?’ the gnome asks.

  So you can put one over me?

  ‘No thank you.’

  He wants to find the right things himself. Carefully he draws one sword after the other out of the box, and lines them up along the wall, then tests how well he can lift each of them, how quickly he can swing them. Finally his choice falls on a longsword with a narrow blade and a handle swathed in dark red that buzzes seductively when he swings it through the air.

  The shields are all made of wood, and don’t inspire much confidence. Besides, the bigger they are, the heavier – they’ll slow him down. So he chooses the smallest shield he can find: round, with a bronze shield boss and blue serpentine patterns painted on the wood.

  ‘You can strap it onto your back,’ the gnome advises him and swings his crooked legs energetically as if he wants to spur the chest on.

  The dark elf doesn’t deign to answer. He goes up to the seventh, and final tablet.

  ‘Choose your name.’

  Ni
ck is somewhat surprised to remember that not so long ago he intended to call himself Gargoyle. Suddenly that doesn’t suit him at all any more. He looks around to see whether another chest might not open, containing scrolls with suggested names. No. He’s on his own with the choice of a name.

  Almost, anyway, since the gnome has his own idea of helpful advice.

  ‘Elfintail, Elfinsnail, Darklingdithersmall! Pointy-Ear, Weasel-Fear! Or more classical? Momos, Eris, Ker or Ponos, not forgetting Moros! Something there you like?’

  Briefly he toys with the idea of taking his sword and doing away with the gnome. It can’t be all that hard and he would have some peace to think about it. But the thought of shrill gnomish death cries and pools of blood on the tower floor deter him.

  Classical, he thinks, is a good cue. Something classically Roman. Marius. No, Sarius.

  He doesn’t hesitate – the name is exactly what he was looking for. He enters it.

  ‘Sarius, Ssssarius, Sa-ri-us,’ the name is murmured through the tower. ‘Welcome, Sarius.’

  ‘Sarius? How boring! The boring ones die quickly. Did you know that, Sarius?’

  The gnome hops off the chest and as a parting gesture pokes his pointy green tongue out. It reaches down to his chest.

  Sarius follows him out of the tower, out into the sun-drenched meadow. Only when he sees the gnome limp off into the forest and disappear does he strap the shield to his back.

  CHAPTER 5

  Sarius reaches the forest’s edge and spots berries growing in the shade of the trees. They’re glowing red like small round rubies between the furry leaves. Can he pick them? He can. To his delight he notices that he now has an inventory he can use, in which everything belonging to him is stored. In it he finds the toad meat that he captured when he was still Nameless. Apart from that the inventory is empty, so he has enough room for berries.

  He straightens up when he hears a rustling. Are there snakes in the bushes? A quick look all around – no, there’s nothing there. No-one. Sarius turns his attention back to the berries. Surely they must be growing here just so he can stock up on food supplies.