The Time Master

by Dmitry Bilik

  “He said it was up to me. Then he added that I’d die in my student’s arms. That’s exactly what he said.”

  He paused, then added as if in a trance,

  “You’ll die in your student’s arms. It was a long time ago. A very long time. I am who I am now. And I haven’t had a student in centuries.”

  I almost stopped breathing, afraid of disrupting his flow. My next-door neighbor — or was he my mentor? Didn’t he teach me the ropes and train me as best he could?

  “It wasn’t until I spoke to the Chorul,” he said. “He explained it to me. He told me everything. In the end, I thought it would be stupid trying to escape one’s fate.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “That old story of Perseus and his grandfather King Acrisius, remember[20]? Meaning you can’t escape fate. Everything’s predetermined. The Choruls, they have a very special relationship with time. He told me about your mission. And I saw his point. I knew he was right.”

  I leaned forward. “So what’s my mission, then?”

  “That I can’t tell you. If I do, I’ll disrupt the natural flow of time. I can only do what I have to do: namely, try not to let you croak before your time comes. Despite your best attempts to the contrary. Come on now. We’re getting off on the next stop.”

  The next stop? That was quick. Surely the traffic-free morning hour must have had something to do with it. As well as the subject of our conversation, which was entertaining to say the least.

  Hunter didn’t say another word for the rest of our trip. I had a funny feeling he would now keep radio-silent for at least a month. Only when we’d reached our house did he motion me to stop.

  “Wait two minutes, then go in. I don’t want any commoners to see us. I cast Oblivion on my wife — it’s a nasty old spell but I had no choice. And you still have a training practice tonight, don’t forget.”

  I glanced at the interface clock and groaned. I’d missed the night’s sleep. Trying to catch a few brief Zs now would be an offense to my exhausted body. Doubtful I’d be able to get out of bed afterward, let alone be fully functional.

  I lingered, waiting, then staggered toward our house. Hunter and his paranoia! There was no one in the yard. I could hear a single car motor warming up, and even that had been started with a remote control, bless this wonderful invention.

  I climbed the stairs to my floor, unlocked the door and turned the lights on.

  “Alive, thank God,” Bumpkin gasped, inspecting me. “What happened to your coat?”

  “I’ve been hiding in the bushes peeping at some naked ladies. When they saw me, I had to fight them... off.”

  “Very funny,” the house goblin shook a disapproving head. “One-liner of the century. Come on, boss, take it off. Those ladies must have been very angry with you. They’ve ruined everything — your coat... and look at your jumper... I mean, the sweater! It’s ripped right through! Come on, take everything off now.”

  Too tired to protest, I peeled off the damaged clothes and stumbled into the bathroom. I spent some quality time in the shower, washing away the dust of Purgator, then cleaned the bathtub and turned the taps on. While the water was running, I walked over to Bumpkin busy mending my trench coat and retrieved my cell from the pocket.

  Holy moly! Thirteen missed calls? Two of them were indeed from my mom. The remaining eleven, from Julia.

  I wrote my mom a lengthy text message, telling her that I was perfectly fine and reassuring her that it was my defective phone playing up. I already knew from experience that a brief “I’m fine, thanks” wouldn’t cut it with her. Been there, done it, suffered the consequences.

  Now Julia was a different matter entirely. I hated starting a new relationship with lies. And still that was a better option than making her think I was a total nutcase. “Sorry babe, I just popped out to this parallel world and got a bit tied up there fighting demons...”

  Oh, no. I texted her saying that I’d had to go on a business trip and that I’d left my phone at home. I apologized for not letting her know. Now if only I could come up with a sufficiently believable job.

  Before I could think of anything, I saw that my message had already been read.

  Your Liar skill has improved!

  Current level: 5

  Talk about luck! Because this was an incredible, formidable piece of luck. Julia didn’t nag or preach to me, she just said she’d been worried, that’s all. Said she’d been afraid I might have changed my mind. I tried to turn it into a joke, saying that it’s against a gentleman’s code of honor to dump a girl before he’d seduced her. In the end, we set up another date for tonight.

  Just think that only a few hours ago, I’d been on the run from the minions of the Community’s Governor, surprised an Archalus, wounded an Alpha and smoked two rachnaids. And now here I was, asking a girl out as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  The funny thing was, I wasn’t really surprised. For some reason, it just felt normal. My life seemed to have gained a bit of color, that’s all.

  “Here you go,” Bumpkin carried the trench coat pompously into the room as if offering me the crown jewels.

  I studied his handywork. It was indeed very neat: if you didn’t know it was there you wouldn’t notice anything. I spent another couple of minutes fingering the sweater’s sleeve but couldn’t even find the place where it had been ripped.

  “Nice boots,” Bumpkin’s voice rang with envy. His eyes glinted wetly.

  Yeah right. Dream on. I’d won them in an honest haggle.

  I climbed out of the tub, toweled myself dry and pulled my clothes back on. After a moment’s hesitation, I put on the boots too, which by now were polished and shining. I just didn’t like how Bumpkin followed them with his watchful gaze.

  “Okay, show me what you’ve cooked. I need some reinforcements to face another training session.”

  Bumpkin made himself scarce. The rattling of pots and pans echoed through the kitchen. Seven minutes later, I was eating the best meat patties in my life, neat and so tender that I managed to bit the fork a couple of times. I’d love to know how he does it, the bastard.

  “Bumpkin, you’re too good for words. Thanks. Mind slicing some more bread for me?”

  The house-goblin turned crimson. “Oh, that’s nothing, boss.”

  Either embarrassed by my praise or for whatever other reason, he made a strangely clumsy movement. The bread knife slid out of his hand and dropped to the floor. Not dropped even — its tip actually hit my boot’s toe.

  Your Mid-Range Armor skill has improved!

  Current level: 1

  It was a good job the knife hadn’t pierced the leather!

  A new system message saved Bumpkin from my righteous anger:

  You’ve reached level 6!

  Points available: 3

  Strength: 26

  Intellect: 18

  Endurance: 20

  Agility: 21 (x3)

  Stamina: 15 (x3)

  Eloquence: 12 (x3)

  Speed: 16

  That was a no-brainer. They’ve made the choice for me already. I invested the points into Agility, Stamina and Eloquence. My Vigor had reached 40. I also received one extra charge.

  Every new level gave me this awkward feeling that my progression wasn’t going right. Where were my destructive spells? Where were my level-100 Intellect and my tons of mana? I had to buy it all for money — and the state of my wallet, although still in the black, was dangerously close to what meager capital I’d started with.

  On the other hand, I’d done a bit of traveling. I’d seen other parts of the world. I’d also earned some quite priceless experience. I really should check the task board. But as some book character used to say, they only thing you got through hard work was a pain in the butt. In other words, completing tasks was a long and tedious endeavor. I had to come up with something else.

  So that’s exactly what I did for the next few hours that were left till my practice, straining my poor brain un
til all the straw started coming out, bristling with needles. The best thing I could think of was come to my friends and humbly beg them for help.

  On the other hand, hadn’t Litius said he’d been happy to find a friend? I hadn’t forced him to say that! He’d just have to put his money where his mouth was, wouldn’t he?

  That was it, then. Once I’d left Hunter’s place, I’d give Litius a ring and try to extort... how much? Good question. I needed enough for all the skills and spells as well as the fare for the entire group.

  Apparently, fools seldom differ, because the moment I reached for the front door, my cell vibrated. The name, Litius, lit up under the generic caller’s icon (I hadn’t had the chance to take a picture of him yet, for obvious reasons)

  My need for him was pretty obvious. But what would he want from me?

  “S-s-sergei? Sergei...”

  “That’s not how you use this thing. First, you need to say “Hello, may I speak to-”

  “Sergei, p-p-please tell me it w-w-wasn’t you...”

  “Yesterday? I’m afraid it was. It’s still me now.”

  “Please t-t-tell me it wasn’t you who d-d-did it!”

  I tensed up. Whatever had just happened, Litius seemed to blame it on the humble me. “What did I do?”

  “Killed... the Seers...”

  “Are you kidding me? You know very well I just spoke to them. Everything was fine when I left. Didn’t Hunter tell you?”

  “Not then. Now. We’ve just heard that almost the entire Seers’ Order has been massacred. S-s-sergei, please tell me you’re not be-be-behind it? Because that would make me your ac-c-complice. Sergei...”

  I switched off the phone and slid down the hallway wall. What was it I’d said? My life seemed to have gained a bit of color?

  That was the understatement of the century.

  Chapter 21

  ACCENTUATE THE POSITIVE, as shrinks say. Like, if you lost your legs in a traffic accident, you could learn to walk on your hands in no time. Awesome, eh?

  I’m exaggerating, of course. Still, the idea had a point. Not in the leg-losing-traffic-accident kind of way — but positivity definitely had its fortes.

  Take the Order of Seers, for instance. According to Litius, it had been massacred, which meant that there was no one left to keep the Darkest One at bay. There was nothing positive about this, only negatives. But by the same token, Hunter had canceled my practice. He thought we’d better report to the Community and sort it all out ourselves. Just in case they did accuse me of stuff.

  Still, my mood was anything but rosy. In fact, I was so jittery I even started frisking my pockets for some cigarettes. Old habits die hard. Luckily for my wellbeing, the contents of my pockets had disappeared during my portal jump to Purgator.

  Hunter flagged a gypsy cab. The very first car stopped for us without even asking how much we were prepared to pay. He must have had some ace up his sleeve — a magic trick, maybe? And it didn’t stop there: as we rode, the cars in front of us hurried to change lanes, clearing our path. Talking about magic.

  I pulled out my earbuds and clicked on a random song in my playlist. It turned out to be Glen Campbell’s Southern Nights. Perfect. The reggae guitar had a soothing effect on my nerves. I even dozed off — for what felt like a brief moment.

  Hunter shoved me awake. I glanced at my watch: we’d made it here in no time. I even double-checked our driver but no, he didn’t look anything like Samy Naceri[21].

  The driver appeared sincerely surprised by our request to pull up by the house’s gateway without driving up to the front door. Still, he drove off without commenting on it.

  I pulled out the knife.

  “Put it back,” Hunter said.

  Okay, okay. Keep your hair on.

  I was about to enter when he motioned me to stop, pointing at a road sign attached over the gateway. Or rather, something that resembled a road sign. It was round, made of galvanized steel, but it had no pictogram on it. Instead, a warning ran across it:

  The players with The Darkest One karma reading are temporarily banned from the premises.

  I pulled out the pocket mirror and checked the message again. It was a regular No Entry sign. So it wasn’t my imagination.

  “Overcautious idiots,” Hunter grumbled. “You need Observation Skills to notice it, anyway. In any case, who do they want to fool with this message?” he shrugged, then walked in.

  And that was just the beginning of it. Two men stood in the archway marking the entry to the Community. One of them was easy enough to recognize: you don’t see black-masked dudes in long flowing robes very often, unless they’re Community guards

  And next to him stood... well, well, well. If that wasn’t Artan, the fake Jedi with his fiery sword.

  My heart raced; my skin began to prickle as if pierced by thousands of needles. I had a very bad feeling about this.

  And right I was. Artan’s pupils dilated; he stepped toward us. Despite Hunter’s warning, my hand reached for the knife; I’d all but rewound time.

  But instead, Artan did something I least expected him to: he bowed to Hunter. And his sword was still sheathed. Very well. It meant we could hope to have a talk.

  He turned to me. “The Grand Master and the Magister want to speak with you.”

  “I’ve got nothing to do with it.”

  “Nobody says you have,” he replied, apparently surprised.

  “Can we go, then?”

  “Absolutely.”

  As we walked, I turned back a couple of times, expecting him to change his mind. Still, Hunter’s composure seemed to have had a soothing effect on me.

  We entered the main square which was — how can I put it politely — a very unusual sight. The entire Community was swarming with Players. Archali, Abbasses, humans, Korls, even two Kabirids, dammit, and a very weird creature — either a cyborg or a human hung with tubes and steely parts. And Guards — Guards everywhere.

  “Come now,” Hunter grabbed me by the hand and dragged me through the crowd.

  For a brief moment, I thought I’d glimpsed Litius’ face — or his muzzle, rather. Was he here as well?

  We hurried down a street past the money exchange kiosk until we reached the Seers’ residency. Hunter knocked the front door which opened almost straight away, revealing Yulo behind it. The mute Abbas stepped aside, gesturing us to enter.

  What I saw made my blood run cold. The entryway was lined with neat stacks of clothing: some boots, a shirt, a few pairs of pants, a sweater, a pair of shoes... they took up the entire length of the corridor all the way to the stairs.

  I felt a lump in my throat. No points for telling whose clothes these were — they all had belonged to the dead Seers. I recognized a few items I’d seen on Nicholas, the unfortunate bastard whose nose I’d broken three times.

  A shiver ran up my spine.

  “He didn’t take anything,” the Magister’s voice came from the stairs. “He didn’t even bother to collect all of the dust. Come up here, please.”

  I hurried past the, how can I call them — remains? Not really. Once a Player died, he or she dematerialized completely, leaving nothing behind. These were more like tragic reminders of what one day could happen to any of us, especially those who travel between worlds.

  The familiar room wasn’t locked. I paused, waiting for Hunter, then the two of us walked in.

  The Magister was in the room. A Seer stood with his back to us, staring out the window. Mysterious, are we?

  ???

  Eternity Weaver

  ???

  ???

  ???

  The stranger turned round and looked at me, then at Hunter. He smiled.

  Against my best judgment, I was surprised. By simple elimination, if Yulo was here and Artan by the Community gates, this had to be the Grand Master, even though I’d imagined him as a frail ancient man — admittedly wise but suitably gaunt with age. But this man...

  Let’s begin by saying that he appeared to be at least
ten years younger than the Magister. He was fit, his complexion white with just a hint of crow’s feet around his eyes. His bespoke business suit added him an air of commandeering elegance.

  Dammit! I’d bet my last grain of dust that this was his in-game gear. I’d love to know the name of the tailor who could make something that awesome.

  “Nice to see you, Hunter.”

  “Likewise.”

  “How long has it been? Ninety years?”