Avatar of Light

by Dmitry Bilik

  “There’s always a choice,” Arts said. “But if you want us to hold a beauty pageant among potential candidates, that might take a few days. And time is a luxury…”

  “…that we don’t have,” I finished her sentence for her. “Very well. What does he want?”

  “We haven’t discussed it properly yet. He normally charges a hundred grams a jump but we might come to an agreement.”

  “Very well. Call him over.”

  She nodded to the feathered kid who climbed awkwardly to his feet. Jesus, he was limping as well. I felt pretty uncomfortable about my doubting him.

  “Hi,” he said with a light bow.

  “Come sit down,” I said, wistfully watching Litius pour the remaining beer into his mug. I wasn’t really greedy but he shouldn’t be drinking like this. “Do you know what the mission implies?”

  “Your girlfriend — oh, your friend — oh — this lady here,” the Archalus pointed at Arts, “said we might need to go to Lutum.”

  “To do what?”

  “I suppose you want me to steal some charmed artifact or other. And the first person who takes it in their hands will be cursed. Which is why you need me. Am I right?”

  “No, not exac- Wait a sec. You mean you would agree to something like that?”

  “Players like myself are used to it. Also, curses tend to weaken over time.”

  “There’s no curse involved. We just need to find something. And we need an Archalus to do it. You guys can sense Kabirid presence, can’t you?”

  “I’m not going to fight any of those Kabirid bats,” Kaf’s voice filled with fear.

  “Don’t worry. The kind of Kabirid bats we’re talking about aren’t interested in Archali anymore. They’re more interested in maggots.”

  “Grave robbing?” Kaf asked warily, the fear in his eyes replaced by concern. “We are going to discuss it before we close the deal, aren’t w-”

  “In your dreams,” Arts cut him short. “Stop your scheming nonsense. This is a scout contract. Don’t even think of fixing us with negative karma for grave robbing.”

  “Hey, hey, hey, I only asked!” Kaf threw up both his hands appeasingly in front of him. “I don’t think it’s gonna be a problem. I’m hated by both Kabirids and Archali, anyway. An extra grave won’t really matter. So you want to hire me as a scout?”

  “A scanner, rather.”

  “In that case, let’s discuss my fees,” he said, looking each one of us pleadingly in the eye as he spoke. “I would like… a hundred and fifty grams for my services. A down payment of a hundred and another fifty after the mission.”

  I mentally converted it to rubles and gasped. He didn’t want much, did he? I might have to bring this little angel back on earth.

  “From what I heard, this isn’t your usual fee. We’re gonna pay you a hundred grams. Half of it now and the other half once the job is done.”

  “Deal,” he agreed with unexpected ease.

  The expression on Arts’ face was the silent equivalent of a facepalm. That’s when I understood that he’d had me, curbing any potential attempt at bargaining on my part. By demanding 150 grams, he’d been bluffing all along.

  I tried to suppress any irrelevant emotions, feeling my neck turn hot and crimson. Just forget it, I said to myself. You should think about Traug. Think about him.

  “Deal,” I said. “Here, take it.”

  I poured fifty grams of dust onto the table. Kaf hurried to scoop it up, as if afraid we might change our minds.

  “Very well,” I said. “Time to get going. We need to get to Paris as fast as we can. See Paris and hopefully not die! What do we do next?”

  “We take the Gates to Londinium,” Litius said, “then rent a flyback to Lutum.”

  “Why? Can’t we get there directly?”

  “They’re on a maintenance break now. The Gates of Lutum will only reopen in four hours’ time. It’s one in the morning there now — which means that we’ll only arrive there at daybreak. And we still need to get down the catacombs and find the sulfur.”

  “Wait a sec. Do you want to say that some Gates actually close?”

  Arts shrugged. “Sure. It’s normal. About ten years ago, we noticed a drop in Gatekeepers’ numbers here in Cesspit. So some neighboring Gates had to switch to a rota. Gatekeepers won’t tell us why. What do you want? This is Cesspit! Something like this would have been unthinkable in a place like Mechilos or even Ullum.”

  “Okay, okay. Londinium it is. Let’s get going!”

  The weather outside must have been way below zero, judging by the tingling sensation in my nose and cheeks. Even I could feel it, not to mention all the others. Litius wrapped his jacket tighter around himself and stuffed his tail between his legs. Arts rushed forward, almost running, while Kaf hobbled along, trying to keep up.

  Very nice, I thought. The least they could do was wait for the poor cripple.

  The Gatehouse was quiet like a mosque on an Easter night. Normal. The rumors of the Darkest One’s death had spread fast, even though there hadn’t been many people to spread it: both Litius and Arts had been locked up, and Hunter wasn’t the blabby type. The only other eyewitnesses were the antalopes. Most likely, the Seers must have divined it somehow, just like they had when I’d killed the Chorul. Oh. I still had those Choruls to sort out. Never mind. At the moment, rescuing our hapless grave robber was our top priority.

  “You don’t need to empty your pockets when you use the Gates to jump within one world,” Arts said, watching me pull out my phone and wallet. “Your stuff will be all right. It’ll only disappear when you travel between worlds.”

  Good news. Excellent, in fact. Otherwise all these jumps would have cost me a fortune in socks and boxers. This way at least I could travel planet Earth in my own undies.

  I walked over to the massive book and started leafing through it, studying the lists of all local destinations. Had it not been for the places’ human names in brackets next to their Game ones, I’d have never worked out any of them. Moscow turned out to be Cyrillia, Lisbon was Olissipo and Athens, Aegis.

  Finally I found Londinium and whistled in amazement. 26 grams per person! That was 104 grams for all of us.

  My eyes filled with greedy tears as I dished out the right amount. We stood around the Gate and held hands as I uttered the name of our destination.

  I sensed a soft jolt to my chest. We’d arrived.

  This time I noticed the change. Not visually because the Gatehouse here was a carbon copy of our own. But the smell here was different: a humid, spicy blend reminiscent of an exotic sauce.

  “Judging by the map I acquired specially for this purpose,” Kaf said, “the flyback depot shouldn’t be too far away. It’s in the Royal Mews in Buckingham Palace. All we need to do is cross St. James’s Park and… wait a sec, I might need a moment to work it out.”

  “Or even better, we might need someone who’s been here before,” Arts headed for the exit without waiting for any of us. “Are you coming or are you waiting for this Pied Piper to make up his mind?”

  None of us were prepared to wait, not even Litius. We left the Community via some side alley and walked a little down it into the open.

  The view made my jaw drop.

  Before me lay an embankment complete with the Thames rolling its unhurried waters past us. The gigantic, impossibly blue wheel of the London Eye towered nearby; the lights of Big Ben’s clock face winked at us from the opposite direction.

  “Shut your trap before you catch a British cold,” Arts said. “We’re not here to gawk. You’ll do all the sightseeing you want some other time. Let’s go, quick.”

  I obeyed; still I was not so much walking as moving on autopilot staring at all the famous landmarks around me. The jump itself hadn’t been a problem; I’d traveled to Purgator before. It was the sheer contrast between my own little town and this famous English city. I just hadn’t been prepared for this kind of cultural shock.

  Despite the late hour, I could somehow
hear Russian speech all around us. It took me some time to realize that it wasn’t due to the Londoners’ exceptional polyglot talents; it was my own Linguistics skill kicking in, allowing me to understand everyone around.

  I pulled out the True Mirror and inconspicuously checked myself. My baggy trench coat was now slim with plenty of buttons — apparently in keeping with the latest local trend. My old pants were now a tailored pin-stripe brown tweed affair; my winter boots had turned into a nice pair of Oxford brogues. Shame my face remained the same. To a Commoner observer, I was still the same lug-eared self — then again, this way I might at least keep a low profile in the crowd.

  “Sergei,” Arts’ voice rang with impatience.

  “Coming,” I said, realizing they were a good fifty feet ahead of me, including Kaf with his limp.

  We walked along a narrow street past some kind of garden — or a park, I couldn’t really tell in the dark — when Buckingham Palace loomed out of the night before us. I recognized it straight away from the TV. The sheer majesty of it, distinct even through the surrounding gloom, pinned me to the spot. I tried not to look at the powerful edifice behind the railing that seemed to go forever, the gates and the guards.

  Arts, however, walked over to a man who was standing slightly aside and exchanged a few words with him. She seemed perfectly in her element, as if she’d been living here for quite a while. I tried to take a better look at him but my Insight was of little help:

  ???

  Assistant

  ???

  “Follow me,” the assistant finally said. “Just make sure you don’t stray. If someone in the palace sees you, you won’t be allowed to use this flying platform ever again. Got it?”

  We all nodded while I kept staring at the imposing gates. Was someone supposed to open them for us? The Queen’s belated visitors, just dropped by to use Her Majesty’s very own flying platform! Yeah right!

  It turned out to be much simpler than that. The assistant raised his hand, and a transparent dome formed around us. I could sense its presence with my very skin although I couldn’t see it. I kept turning my head, peering through the darkness, until Litius whispered,

  “This is a mass invisibility spell. It won’t fool a Player but it works well against Commoners.”

  The assistant waved his hand again. This time he wasn’t casting a spell, just motioning us to follow him. He headed for the railing and walked right through the ornamental bars. I was even more surprised when Arts did the same, followed by Kaf.

  Litius grabbed my hand and pulled me along. “These bars don’t exist,” he explained. “The whole place has been charmed by a very powerful Illusions master. No commoner will get anywhere near the railing. They’ll just walk past without even thinking.”

  “Please don’t hang around,” the assistant said, heading for a small tower with a clock. He walked through its Doric arch and waved to us, urging us to step up. How long was this supposed to take?

  Still, my reservations proved groundless. We were already there. The assistant motioned us inside what must have been the stables, judging by the smell. He didn’t follow us though but returned to his original post in the street outside.

  Well, what can I say? “Royal” was the word to describe it. Tall white columns supported the ceiling hung with gilded glass lamps on long chains. I could see a group of Players in livery-like attire talking at the building’s far end. The stables themselves housed wondrous beats which looked like a cross between dragons and force-fed winged lizards.

  “What’s this?” I pointed a shaking hand at the one nearest to me.

  “That’s a flyback,” Arts replied matter-of-factly.

  “How can I help you?” one of the liveried Players walked over to us. According to my Insight, he was a Master of the Flying Mounts.

  “We need to get to Lutum pretty quick,” Arts said.

  “Would you prefer some of our smaller flybacks? They require a down payment but they’re super fast.”

  “One of our friends doesn’t have a Riding skill,” Arts said, turning to me. “Which is why we need a carriage for four, and a coachman.”

  “That will be dearer but it can be arranged. Twenty-eight grams in total. You’ll need to wait a quarter of an hour while we wake up our biggest flyback and have him harnessed.”

  “Sounds good. Sergei, give me the money.”

  Still in a state of complete prostration, I handed her the dust. The Master of Flying Mounts gestured at what appeared to be a ginormous boulder. A few liveried coachmen ran toward it and began kicking him awake — rather rudely, in my opinion.

  Then I felt sick to the stomach because the giant boulder stirred and opened its eyes with vertical slits of pupils. I’d never been so scared before. Not during the rachnaids’ attack, nor when I’d fought the Alpha or even the Darkest One. Then, I’d been at least partly in control. And now…

  I slowly turned to the others and said in a quivering voice,

  “Sorry, guys. There’s no way you can make me fly this. Sorry.”

  Chapter 8

  THERE’S ONE SIMPLE WISDOM we normally don’t even stop to think about. If you want someone to feel good, make them feel bad first, then restore things to how they were before.

  That’s exactly what I was thinking while they were literally shoving me into a carriage strapped to the flying beast’s back. Not a carriage even: just a glazed wooden box which must have witnessed at least the grandmother of the ruling British Queen.

  Only twenty minutes ago, I used to think that our plan wasn’t up to much, that the Archalus we’d hired wasn’t very trustworthy, and that the whole escapade would only result in thinning out my wallet. Now I desperately wanted to get back to earth and for everything to be as it was before.

  Still, I had Litius’ strong arms wrapped tight around me while Arts was trying to calm me down, saying that this was a very safe mode of transport. Yeah right. Maybe it was, to some suicidal case who didn’t want to leave any trace of his mortal body back on this earth. Whenever the reptile moved, the carriage strapped to its hump began to rock, and us with it. I peered through the glass — which, according to Arts, had been charmed against any damage — watching the earth float by a good ten feet below and trying to suppress the will to throw up. We would have been much better off taking the train!

  The coachman was seated in a saddle on the beast’s neck while the mage below kept buffing him up with spells — which, according to Arts, made our driver impervious to the elements. Unlike us sitting in a weatherproof cabin, he was completely exposed.

  At last, the preparations were over. The beast growled, shaking his scaly head, and trotted forward, picking up speed. He then spread his wings sharply and flapped them a couple of times.

  The acceleration pinned me back into my hard seat. When I’d recovered from the initial shock, I peered through the glass again. We were flying! Flying!

  Below us, the city glittered with thousands of lights, dissected by the broad black ribbon of the river. From this height, the famous London Eye appeared no bigger than a cartwheel.

  I was just beginning to get a grip when a strange thing happened. The beast’s body began to tremble as if electrocuted. Everything around me came to a standstill. I heard a popping sound. My ears became blocked, so I didn’t understand straight away what was happening. I tried to take another look at the city but it was gone. Only when I’d completely recovered did I realize that all I could see now was the stars, the moon and the water below.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “Flybacks are teleporting dragons. They’re the result of many centuries of meticulous selection, experiments with dust and the hard work of their mahouts,” Litius pontificated like a tour guide who’d cornered a stray tourist. “At least that’s what encyclopedias say here in Cesspit. But I think that they’ve always been like that. Not all of them maybe, but at least a certain group, like a new branch in their evolution. As they fly, they excrete noradrenalin which in turn promotes
the production of a new substance which assists teleportation. Before, we used to think that teleportation by flybacks was of the same nature as using actual Gates but the Order of Alchemists disproved this.”

  “Litius, I already got it. Flybacks are dragons capable of teleportation,” I stopped him, unable to take my eyes off the black surface of the water below. “It’s just magic, pure and simple.”

  “But it has a more scientific explanation,” Litius said, dispirited.

  “Litius, as far as I’m concerned, this is magic. End of story.”

  Once again the window panes began to vibrate. A brief spasm ran through the dragon’s body as we teleported again. Now I could see the ground below: the meandering ribbon of a little river, the straight line of a railway track reaching for the horizon and a small stretch of woods.