Expedition- Summerlands

by Nathaniel Webb

  Magpie blinked, then kicked the rock at the end of the rope and let it tumble into the darkness as the rope slid loosely through his hands. His palms were a bright, angry red, rubbed raw as he’d clung so tightly to my lifeline.

  “George!” I called down into the pit. “Grab on!”

  A silent moment passed, then something in the darkness gave the rope two sharp tugs, and Magpie began to pull. I climbed to my feet to help and saw that behind Magpie, also hauling with fierce concentration on every face, were Noah, Cass, Merric, and his two new Angels from the night before, as well as the two we’d met on Hard Pass.

  I ran for the end of the line, but before I could even get my hands on the rope, St George appeared at the mouth of the pit, red-faced and spitting dirt. Magpie hooked him under the armpits and hauled him the rest of the way out, until they collapsed in a clatter of weapons and armor a few feet from the hole.

  “Ah,” Magpie said between gulps of air.

  St George stood, straightening his sword belt and brushing filth from his heavy armor, which I noticed he hadn’t bothered to take off. His tabard was stained and torn, the wide red cross dulled and the white changed to a blotchy brown. He flipped down the visor of his helmet, then flipped it open again.

  “My thanks,” he said to Magpie. “What brings you to this wood?”

  “Uh,” Magpie said. He sat up and blew on his hands. “Ow.”

  “What brings you here?” asked Cass, stepping forward. She’d never liked St George on the streams; she thought he was too violent and way too crazy.

  “I seek to slay Hell’s demons, as ever,” the knight replied. “I assume that is not so for you, archer, as you travel with a witch.”

  “Oh, here we go,” Cass said. “Spare me the sermon, buddy. If the next thing out of your mouth isn’t thank you, we’re leaving.”

  “Magic is the Devil’s—” St George began, and Cass spun on her heel, gave us a round-’em-up wave with her hand, and set off into the forest, watching where she put her feet.

  ***

  “You really should carry rope,” said Merric, spearing a sausage on a long stick and holding it out over our campfire. “Fifty feet at least. Silk if you can afford it, hemp if not.”

  “Thanks again for the assist,” said Cass and Merric shrugged.

  We’d made camp at the first place the unchanging forest showed us anything other than a perfect grid of identical trees. A single trunk had been carved with an image that reminded me of the pictures we’d seen in the treasury near Wyatt Falls. It was a simple relief of an elf, with long hair past his shoulders, one thin hand held up palm forward, covered with what looked like spots or sores.

  I was studying it and wishing I could turn my camera on for just a second when Dahlia, one of Merric’s new Angels, came up behind me with a tin plate of food.

  “He looks sad,” she said.

  I cocked my head. There wasn’t much detail in the carving, but there was something about the lines around the elf’s eyes, the set of his mouth, that made me think Dahlia was right.

  “Here,” she said, offering me the plate.

  “Thanks.” I took it and gingerly touched a sausage, which was sizzling hot. Dahlia looked back at the carving. Her hair was long and blonde and plaited into a single thick braid that she pulled over her shoulder and rested on her chest. She began to stroke it idly.

  “When’s your next lecture?” she asked.

  “Oh,” I said, “I don’t know. We’re kind of on hiatus.”

  “Until when?” Dahlia’s eyes were a deep brown and her eyebrows were thick and dark. She wore white leather armor like the other Angels, and there was an ornately carved shortbow and a quiver of arrows with her pack.

  “Whenever we get back to Wellpoint, I guess,” I said.

  “Where are you headed?” she asked.

  I opened my mouth to answer, but caught myself. Instead, I gave her what I hoped was a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, I can’t tell you.”

  “I understand,” Dahlia said. “I’ll leave you alone—oh, wait, one more question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Have you and Magpie talked about his feelings?”

  “His what?” I blinked.

  “His feelings,” she said. A moment passed. “For you.”

  “We’re friends,” I said. “So what?”

  “So, you should have seen him when you were stuck in that pit. He was this close to melting down. That’s more than just friends.”

  “Well—” I cleared my throat. “Well, what’s the deal with Merric? Are you guys, like…”

  “His harem?” Dahlia laughed. “Hell no. That’s all marketing. He has a wife back on Earth.”

  “Seriously?” I felt my eyebrows go up.

  “Her name is Karen,” said Dahlia. “He talks about her all the time. Sends her all his money. Hey, if whatever you guys are up to doesn’t work out, you should find me. Being an Angel is one of the most stable gigs in the Summerlands.”

  “Linnaea!” Magpie called from the fire. “Did you get food?”

  “Think about it,” Dahlia said.

  ***

  The campfire had long since died to embers and the straight trees all around us trembled with Merric’s noisy snoring. A surreptitious glance at the handheld showed me the time, about five minutes after what would have been midnight on Earth.

  Time in the Summerlands was strange. Every day was exactly the same: the sun rose at 5:14 AM and set at 9:07 at night. It was like the same day looped over and over again, but with an added wrinkle: thirteen o’clock. Days in the Summerlands were twenty-five hours long, with an extra hour of darkness between 11 PM and midnight. The time from 12 to 13 AM, also known as Summerlands midnight, simply didn’t exist on Earth. During that hour, feeds and other data sent home were simply lost. On Earth, when the clock ticked over to midnight, anyone watching a feed would see it jump ahead an hour instantly.

  So even if I’d had my camera on, nobody back home would have seen Magpie sit down beside me at the glowing remains of the fire, scoot in until our legs touched, and twine his warm fingers with mine.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “What’s your real name?” I asked, my eyes on the campfire.

  “Magpie,” he said.

  “No, really,” I said. Despite the warm night air and the embers a few feet from us, his leg felt hot against mine. “What was your name before the Summerlands?”

  “Magpie,” he repeated.

  “Really?” I said. I still couldn’t look at him.

  “That’s what the boss called me,” he said. “I never thought to ask why. I was so happy just to finally have a name.”

  We sat like that for a few minutes, our fingers interlaced, our legs pressed together with unnecessary closeness.

  “Dahlia said the funniest thing before dinner,” I said.

  “You too?” He snorted a little laugh and shifted his weight against me. “What do you think?”

  “About what she said?” I was hedging, stalling, and we both knew it. Magpie squeezed my hand.

  “About what she said,” he agreed.

  “I think…” I started, and then I looked at him at last, and his face in the firelight was a mask of flushed red and shadowed black, with a wide-eyed stare of fear and hope that made him look so young that all I could do was put my free hand on his cheek and my lips on his.

  After that we were a tangle of limbs and clutching hands, locked together as we stumbled off into the dark forest. Eventually he picked me up—he was stronger than I’d guessed from his slight frame—and I wrapped my arms around his neck as he carried me to a private spot far from our sleeping companions.

  I was still wearing my dirt-stained, sweat-infused armor and as Magpie fumbled with the laces I pushed him away and dragged his ragged linen shirt over his head. In the green dimness I ran my fingers down his chest and over his lean, flat stomach, letting snatches of his tattoos catch my eye in single words and chunks of numbers that I forgot as soon as
I read them.

  Until I saw something that stopped my heart. The blood it put out to my body with its terminal beat was ice water, freezing my limbs and making me shake. My gentle fingers became rigid claws that jabbed Magpie’s flesh.

  “What?” he whispered. Just above his hip in sharp black ink were three lines that wavered before me like the remnants of a nightmare that cling on in the darkness long after the dream has ended.

  Brayden Porter - HECZ

  USD 40.000

  Jason Keats - HECZ - Assassination

  The Wall

  “Explain this,” I said, standing. “Now.”

  Magpie didn’t need to look to know which tattoo I meant. “Emma, I’m sorry—”

  “Oh my God, there’s another.”

  There was. A second tattoo, not far from Jason’s, had caught my eye. It was another name I knew.

  Pablo X - EU

  EUR 31.000

  Terra Almeida Santos - EU - Assassination

  Terra, Jason’s friend, the one who’d sent him that mysterious file the day before he died. She was dead too. In my growing panic a lurid scene played out across the screen of my mind: the assassin standing over Terra as she bled to death, her phone cradled in red-smeared hands, pressing send on the email that would immediately condemn Jason to the same fate. A thousand questions buzzed like wasps through my head, making me stumble dizzily. I needed answers before I passed out or puked. I jabbed a shaking finger at Magpie.

  “Explain this!”

  Magpie slumped. “Okay. But please believe me, I was going to tell you. I just… After we lost Hero’s Bane, you asked me what changed. Why I decided to go on the run. Well, it was because of your friend.”

  “Because of Jason?” I whispered.

  Magpie nodded. “When you’re a contract boy, you’re invisible. The bosses, they’ll talk about anything in front of you like you’re not there. So I heard everything… someone came from Expedition Games, a lawyer. They were looking for someone to kill a kid in America. I guess he found out something he shouldn’t have and they wanted him silenced. It happens all the time with the big corporations. Or maybe they just always came to us, I don’t know. The family I worked for has people all over the world and a good reputation for keeping our silence, so we did a lot of contract work for companies.”

  “So the police officer who killed Jason…” I was shaking.

  “Was a hitman.” Magpie nodded, his eyes on the ground. “Hired by Expedition Games. And I’m the contract.”

  “That must be why they want you back so bad,” I said. Then another realization came like an aftershock. “And Expedition must be helping them. But I still don’t understand why you ran away.”

  From his seat on the ground, Magpie shrugged. He still wouldn’t meet my eyes. “They were going to kill a kid. I couldn’t do it anymore.”

  “But you knew, this whole time.” I could hear my voice getting louder and I couldn’t stop it. “You knew it was Cass’s brother, our friend. And you didn’t say anything! You weaseled your way into our friendship. We made you a part of Hearthammer—you took Jason’s place—and you knew the whole time!”

  “Emma—”

  “Don’t call me that!” I screamed, and that’s when the rangers appeared from the trees all around us, silent in black leather, swords painted black, their faces grim in the wan moonlight.

  “I’ve got them!” one called over his shoulder. “Right where he said they’d be.”

  “Who said?” I said, squaring my shoulders as a half-dozen rangers made a circle around us. Half the lacings of my armor dangled loose and Magpie was holding his stained shirt over his bare chest with one hand; the other was moving slowly through the rotting leaves on the forest floor, looking for anything to use as a weapon.

  “The Jesus freak,” said the ranger. He gestured to Magpie with his sword. “You there, get up.”

  “St George sold us out?” I shook my head. “So much for chivalry.”

  Magpie stood and started to pull his shirt on, but three rangers stepped forward at this motion and he stopped with his head through the neck and the shirt dangling over his shoulders. The rangers herded us back towards the camp, where another half dozen had Noah, Cass, and Merric and the Angels on their feet with their hands on their heads. The rangers began lighting torches that sent shadows shifting across the camp.

  “Where the hell were you?” Cass asked as we came in sight, then she caught a glimpse of Magpie with his shirt half-off. She shut her mouth, but her eyes stayed wide.

  “What’s going on?” Merric said. “We didn’t do anything.”

  “Hearthammer is wanted for player-versus-player violence and player-killing,” said the ranger nearest him. He looked like a model dropped down incongruously into the wilderness, with thick black hair, black stubble on a square jaw, and deep-set eyes of a piercing light blue.

  “That’s bullshit!” shouted Cass. “We were attacked; we defended ourselves. Check the feeds if you don’t believe me!”

  “Shut it,” said the ranger. “We have our orders. Merric, you and the girls are free to go. Hearthammer, you will come quietly.”

  “Like hell we will,” Cass muttered.

  “Angels, get your gear,” said Merric. “We’re outta here.” They packed slowly, taking their time tidying up their campsite to the obvious annoyance of the rangers, but eventually the Angels set off between the trees, heading south. Dahlia was the last to leave and as she passed between two wide trunks she turned back and gave Magpie a leer.

  “Nice tattoos,” she said, and was gone.

  “Finally,” said the blue-eyed ranger. “Hearthammer, you will pick up your gear and follow us back to Wyatt Falls. You will not attempt to escape or resist.” As we gathered our things, he turned to address the other rangers. “Third ranger Group, keep them in line. Fourth, you’re running interference. I don’t want to see any other players on the way.”

  As if on cue, an arrow thunked into a tree trunk a foot from the ranger’s head. His men immediately dropped into fighting positions, scanning the dark forest for the source of the attack. With a whack, another arrow appeared in a tree across the camp.

  “Whoever’s out there, stop and show yourselves!” shouted the lead ranger. “We’re authorized to use lethal force in self-defense!”

  His only answer was two more arrows in succession, from opposite sides of the camp. I thought I saw a flash of white among the trees, but it was hard to be sure in the gloom. The ranger barked a command and his men began to spread out into the forest, heading toward the sources of the arrows.

  “I think they forgot about us,” Noah said. I looked around and realized he was right; the rangers were so focused on the new threat that they’d let their cordon around us come loose.

  “Time to go,” I said. I set off at a run and the others followed. The only plan I could think of was to get as deep into the wood as possible, opting for speed over stealth and hoping to lose the rangers in the darkness beneath the canopy, but we made such a clatter as we dashed between the trees that the rangers immediately realized what they’d done. Somebody shouted orders and a few men bolted after us.

  “Scatter,” Cass hissed.

  My hand was grabbed and I found myself running with Magpie at full tilt. We flew together between the trees, packs banging on our backs. I glanced back; the red torchlight at the camp was already diminishing into nothing.

  We pounded through the underbrush until Magpie skidded to a sudden stop and I crashed into his back, nearly toppling him.

  “What is it?” I whispered. Then I saw her, standing in a beam of moonlight that broke through the heavy canopy, dressed in white leather armor with a short sword in each hand, her long blonde braid hanging over her shoulder and down her chest: Dahlia.

  “Thank God—” Magpie began.

  “On your knees, traitor,” said Dahlia.

  “What?” Magpie’s voice was hoarse.

  “You think you can just walk away from the fam
ily?” She took a step forward, and Magpie moved to keep himself between her and me.

  “Who are you?” he said.

  “I’m the one they call when the regular goons can’t get the job done.” Dahlia smiled. “You know, I never wanted to go to the Summerlands. The whole thing is so stupid, playing pretend like this.” She shrugged. “The weapons aren’t bad.”

  “Leave him alone.” I stepped out from behind Magpie and slipped my pack to the ground.

  “So faithful.” Dahlia shook her head and tightened her grip on the sword in her right hand. “I thought for sure my little plan would work.” Her voice got high-pitched and sickly sweet. “Ooh, Linnaea, don’t you know how much he loves you? You should take his shirt off… I’m just sorry you didn’t get a chance to have a proper fight before those idiots from Expedition showed up and ruined everything.” She sighed dramatically. “Oh well. Out of the way, girlie. I don’t get paid extra for you.”

  I got the dagger from my pack just as Dahlia darted forward, leading with one sword and bringing the other back for a stab at Magpie. She must have discounted me completely, because she looked genuinely surprised when I sank my dagger into her ribs. She stumbled to the side and I fell with her, crashing down on top of her as Magpie jumped clear of our tangle.

  Dahlia said nothing, just looked up at me with a clenched grin that was equal parts pain and glee. Thin, watery blood showed on her white teeth. Her bloodshot eyes flickered to her left, and I followed their glance to see her fighting to free the sword arm I had pinned under me. I shifted my weight in that direction and immediately realized my mistake as she tugged her right arm free. Her sword flashed up in the moonlight and came down.

  It clashed against a black blade that appeared as if from nowhere and deflected down to plunge into the earth inches from my neck. I rolled off Dahlia and scuttled backwards through the leaf cover as she leapt to her feet, my dagger sticking from her side, and faced off with the handsome black-haired ranger from our camp.

  “Drop the swords,” he ordered, but Dahlia ignored him. Her eyes were locked on his and her bloody teeth still showed in her vicious grin.