‘I fell down the escalator.’ Greg forced a smile. Judging by his tone of voice, this wasn’t the first time he’d told the story today.
‘Tripped and then went crashing down. But it’s not half as bad as it looks.’ He touched the crusty scrape on his nose and grinned wryly.
Half as bad would still be bad enough, Nick thought. Greg’s left wrist was bandaged, and he was limping slightly.
‘Want me to carry your bag for you?’ Nick offered, but Greg declined hastily.
‘No. It’s fine. No drama. See you.’
Nick watched him, and pushed aside the thought he couldn’t get out of his head since Greg had appeared.
Rubbish. Greg said himself that he’d tripped. As if that had never happened to Nick. After a collision at basketball he’d gone around for two weeks with bandaged ribs. There you go. Things like that happened.
‘Nick?’
It was Emily, and she was by herself. No Eric, no Jamie, not even Adrian was nearby.
‘Hi, Emily. Sorry I didn’t answer your text.’
‘Never mind. It wasn’t very important.’ She smiled.
‘Who’s this Victor you mentioned?’
‘That’s not so important either. Can I ask you something?’
‘Sure.’
‘Let’s go over there.’ She tilted her head towards the stairwell, where they could talk undisturbed.
Nick followed her. He could sense Brynne’s gaze on his back, threw her a quick smile and silently called himself a coward. ‘What do you think?’ Emily began straight off. ‘Do you think it’s true, what Aisha said about Eric?’
She knows, Nick thought, and felt himself going red. She knows about my wish crystal.
But there wasn’t the faintest reproach in Emily’s eyes, only genuine interest in his opinion.
He made a gesture of puzzlement with his arms. ‘No idea. Maybe. I mean, I don’t know him that well . . . so . . . I . . .’ He began to stutter under her steady gaze.
‘Knowing is always relative, anyway,’ she rescued him. ‘You know, ever since yesterday I keep wondering whether there is something more behind Aisha’s assertions. At first it all seemed totally absurd to me, but who knows.’
Nick was stupefied. ‘You believe Aisha?’
‘No. Maybe. I don’t know. People do the most unbelievable things. Things one would never have thought them capable of.’
Bull’s eye. Nick’s face felt hot; he must be bright red by now. She does know.
If Emily noticed his embarrassment, she hid it very adeptly. She looked thoughtfully over to the coat racks, where Brynne was still standing and staring at them doggedly.
‘I don’t know Eric so well either. We both love English literature and that’s what we mostly talk about. He’s very smart, and I like that. I would have thought he was too smart for something like this, but now on top of everything a witness has turned up who claims to have seen —’
‘Who?’
Emily shrugged her shoulders. ‘No idea. Mr Watson told Jamie about it this morning. Jamie was absolutely livid. He thinks it’s a put-up job.’
It would not be a bad thing if Aisha had a witness. Nick closed his eyes. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’
Emily lowered her eyes. ‘What did you want that time, on the Sunday morning, when you rang me?’
Nick couldn’t help smiling. I wanted to give you a world, he thought. A cool, unbelievable, exciting world.
Thrilling. Mystical. Terrible. Nightmarish. All of those put together.
‘You can probably guess, can’t you? I didn’t want Adrian’s phone number, it was about . . .’
‘Got it.’ She nodded. ‘I was pretty dismissive, I know. It wasn’t personal. I’d probably react differently today. You know, if you think the thing’s good, there must be something to it.’ She smiled at him once more and walked away.
Nick looked after her, speechless. If that was the effect of the wish crystal, he was really getting scared. Things like that just didn’t happen. Besides. Emily and Erebos? How come, all of a sudden? He ran his hand over his hair, astonished at how little the thought appealed to him. After all that’s what he’d wanted. A cat Emily or an elf Emily, maybe even a vampire Emily at his side. But he’d already copied the game for Henry Scott, so that was that. He wouldn’t be able to offer it to Emily, even if she wanted it.
‘It’s so sensitive of you to flirt with Emily when I’m standing right there!’ Brynne had planted herself behind him. Anger was making her voice unpleasantly high pitched.
‘Pardon?’
‘Didn’t our date mean anything to you?’
‘But . . . I . . .’ Damn it. He was stuttering again.
‘Do you think you can mess around with a different girl every day? Do you think I don’t have any feelings?’
‘I did not mess around with Emily!’ Nick said, outraged. ‘I just talked to her!’
‘Yes, and ignored me! Do you think I haven’t noticed how you gawp at her?’ Brynne threw her hair over her shoulder in a theatrical gesture. ‘I’m so disappointed in you, Nick!’
She left him standing there. Nick rubbed his eyes and sighed. He was an idiot. He had actually justified himself for talking to Emily.
It was a day of strange conversations, as soon became apparent. In one of the next free periods Mr Watson approached Nick and asked him if they could have a quick chat in one of the empty classrooms, which immediately caused Nick’s heart to race.
The gun. He knows I have something to do with the gun.
‘I want to talk to you because I think you’re a smart person,’ Mr Watson declared. He put his thermos down on the table and looked thoughtfully out the window. ‘But I think you’ve got caught up in something that’s no good for you.’
He’s going to mention the weapon any minute.
‘I now know that heaps of students at our school are playing a computer game by the name of Erebos. I think you know me well enough to realise that I don’t have anything against computer games. I’ve even given one of my classes an essay topic set in a World of Warcraft scenario. But this is different. It’s dangerous, and I have to do something about it.’
Nick looked at him silently. Colin, Rashid and a few others were bound to have noticed that Watson had collared him. So he wasn’t going to be able to keep any of this a secret from the messenger.
‘I would like you to help me, Nick. I’ll be frank with you: I haven’t been very successful in my campaign so far. A few of the students who have been eliminated have talked to me. But the game is no longer to be found on their computers. I think the police experts might have better luck with that, but I can only call in the police after something has happened.’ He sighed. ‘I’m worried that something will happen. Aren’t you?’
Nick made an indefinable noise, somewhere between a snort and a cough. ‘So what do you think might happen?’ he said, since Mr Watson was obviously expecting an answer.
‘I don’t know. You tell me.’
‘Well, I don’t know either.’
Mr Watson gave him a sharp look. ‘I think what’s happened to Eric is bad enough. Of course you can say that it’s his own fault if he molested Aisha. But Aisha doesn’t want to go to the police. Not for anything. Don’t you think that’s strange?’
Nick shrugged his shoulders uneasily. ‘She’s probably too embarrassed; that’s understandable. It’s her business, after all.’
‘Yes. Sure. Everybody around here is minding their own business, right? Except your friend Jamie, who’s resolved to do something about it. Or hadn’t you noticed?’
‘Can I go now? I really don’t know how I can help you.’
Mr Watson nodded resignedly. ‘You can come to me any time if you need support, okay? You and the others.’
Nick left the classroom. He was hurrying too much to appear calm and cool, he knew. But he didn’t care. Mr Watson hadn’t mentioned the gun. That was the main thing.
‘Do you have any news to report to me?’
Sarius is facing the messenger in an utterly unfamiliar place. He’s never been here before. It’s a hill dominated by a decaying tower. The tower has a disturbing fascination for Sarius. It gives an idea of the grandeur of the castle it must once have been part of, but at the same time looks ready to collapse at any minute. To its left yet another peculiar hedge runs through the barren landscape. It is divided in two lengthwise: half green, half yellow. The yellow comes from the funnel-shaped flowers growing on the left half of the hedge in unbelievable profusion, while leaving the right side completely bare.
Sarius can’t help thinking of a deranged gardener giggling insanely as he plants his peculiar shrubs in the middle of this grey, stony land.
Sarius doesn’t want to mention the conversation with Mr Watson, if he doesn’t have to. He gives something else a try. Something positive that he can’t understand.
‘I got the impression that Emily Carver has started becoming interested in Erebos. She hasn’t been so enthusiastic about it, but today she indicated that she’s changing her mind.’
‘Aha. Good, Sarius. That’s enough for today, you’d better go now. You must realise that we are drawing near to Ortolan’s stronghold. You need to take the utmost care. If you follow the hedge westwards, you will come upon a statue – a monument, no less.’
He giggles, which sends shivers down Sarius’s spine.
‘There you will find friendly warriors – but possibly also a few enemies who must be defeated. Good luck.’
The hedge glows in the dark – how very practical. It runs through the countryside, straight as a ruler. For a moment Sarius thinks he sees something else in it, as he might in a puzzle picture: a truth concealed behind the obvious. But the impression disappears as quickly as it came.
It seems like a long way to Sarius. But he must be headed in the right direction; the glowing hedge proves that beyond doubt.
Then he sees something gigantic in the far distance – probably the monument. Except that it’s moving. As he approaches, Sarius can make out what it is – a well-known Greek sculpture of a man whose name escapes him, and his two sons, who are being strangled by massive sea snakes. The three stone people on top of their pedestal high above are fighting for their lives as the snakes wind their way around their bodies.
A whole crowd of warriors is standing around the base of the pedestal. Drizzel is there, and LordNick, Feniel, Sapujapu. Lelant, Beroxar and Nurax are further back, waiting to see what happens.
Sarius stands next to Sapujapu. Together with the others he watches the agonising drama unfolding above their heads. He would like to ask Sapujapu what it’s supposed to mean, but there’s only a small fire burning, and it’s too far away to make conversation possible. Nonetheless it’s sufficient to throw an eerie flickering light on the writhing statue.
Perhaps the task involves killing the snakes? But how is Sarius to get up on the pedestal? The others aren’t trying either, not any more at least.
There’s something hypnotic about the movements of the stone figures. Every time the snakes wrap their bodies tighter around the three men, Sarius gets the feeling that he can’t breathe.
A gnome with snow-white skin arrives. One of the messenger’s messengers.
‘A pretty sight, isn’t it?’ he says, and shows his teeth. ‘Do you understand what it means?’
No-one speaks up. Is it supposed to be a riddle? Is there a reward for solving it?
‘No, you understand nothing. That’s exactly what my master expected. Then go, run into the forest and slay orcs. He who brings me three heads will be rewarded.’
Sarius sets off at a run, happy to escape the spine-chilling spectacle. As so often before, wonderful music starts playing that convinces him he is invincible.
Three heads are child’s play.
CHAPTER 19
Wham! The ball bounced off the board a good foot from the basket. Bethune cursed, and Nick gave the wall a kick. Rubbish, complete rubbish. He didn’t feel like all this pointless leaping round in the stinking gym any more, he wanted to be home seeing to it that things finally started looking up for Sarius.
The last four days had brought only disappointment. A fight against a nine-headed dragon, another against poisonous giant slaters, and yesterday a battle with very alive skeletons in a very dark tomb. Sarius had got through all that quite well, but he hadn’t particularly distinguished himself. He was still an Eight. Nothing more had come of all his efforts than a small quantity of gold, some healing potions and new gloves. No orders from the messenger. No chance to prove himself.
Nick ran after Jerome, poached the ball from him and dribbled across the court. Aimed. Shot. Wham! Missed again.
‘Should I hold you up to the basket, Dunmore, or do you need a stepladder?’ Bethune bellowed.
No. He needed a new sword and an upgrade of his special abilities. The Arena fight was getting closer and closer, but whereas the others were getting stronger, Sarius was marking time. If only the messenger would give him a chance, a task, so Sarius could show what he was worth.
Jerome had intercepted the ball again and ran past Nick with long strides. Almost automatically he ran through Jerome’s possible gamer identities. Lelant? Nurax? Drizzel? Stronger than Sarius? Weaker?
‘Having a nap, Dunmore? Would you like to do some sit-ups to wake yourself up?’
Nick was grateful when training was over. He’d be off home. Of course, he did have an English essay waiting to be written, but that was a piece of cake. What was the internet for? Copy out two pages, and it’s done. After that he’d turn the game around and finally end his run of bad luck. Tonight could be the night – he could feel it.
The darkness is pressing down on the land as if it had mass and weight. The warriors are running; they are in a hurry. They must capture a bridge: those were the gnomes’ orders. The road they’re running along is dark blue; the colour resembles deep water.
Sarius is trying to be faster than the others; he overtakes three of his companions: Drizzel, Nurax and Arwen’s Child. LordNick is running level with him; Sapujapu, Gagnar and Lelant are following further back. A couple of new arrivals are bringing up the rear; Sarius doesn’t bother to remember their names. They’re Ones and Twos; they won’t be able to touch him in the Arena.
Now he can feel they’re nearing their goal. He’s tense, but it’s an enjoyable tension, full of curiosity and blood lust. Will it be orcs, scorpions or spiders they’ll have to wrest the bridge from? Whatever it is, it’s fine by him. This time he’ll fight so well that the messenger will have to reward him. There are still three days till the Arena fight. He wants to be at least a Ten by then.
Running hasn’t been a problem to him for ages now. He fleetingly recalls the time when he had to stop after every hill and take a rest. Now he can sprint uphill and downhill at full pelt without the slightest sign of exhaustion. It’s great to be strong. It’s great to be at a higher level.
A gentle, even uphill stretch lies before him. Too even to be natural. Sarius takes a closer look and sees that the road rises from the ground and stretches right out across the darkness like a watery blue rainbow. So that is the bridge.
In the darkness ahead, metal is striking metal. Has the fighting already started? Sarius draws his sword and sees that LordNick is following suit. If only they could see the enemy. But there are only a few gigantic silhouettes. Dong! A sound like a bell ringing. Something falls from the bridge. Something? Someone?
The sounds of fighting are getting louder; now gleaming outlines are silhouetted against the sky. Giant, silver-armoured knights who are defending the bridge.
Sarius’s enthusiasm evaporates. How is he ever supposed to defeat them? He throttles back his speed and sees Drizzel dodging the extremely long sword of one of the knights, dancing back and forth, but unable to land a blow. Nurax is in the same boat.
There must be a trick, Sarius thinks. A vulnerable spot, something. When I’m closer I’ll see it.
LordNick p
asses him, rushes at the next armoured giant, thrusts his sword into the back of his knees. The knight doesn’t even flinch and now LordNick has his work cut out to avoid being split in two with one blow.
I could try to get past them. The orders are to capture the bridge, not to defeat the knights.
Close up, their adversaries are as tall as towers. Their movements are enormously strong, but not very fast. Sarius runs past the first, and the second as well. The third one tries to stop him, lowering his sword. Sarius dodges him, that’s the edge of the bridge there. He must be careful. Dong! The knight takes another step towards him, lunges at him with his weapon, and that’s when it happens. The giant sword touches Sarius lightly, very lightly. It doesn’t injure him, but it throws him off balance. Sarius realises he’s not going to make it. There’s nothing he can hold onto, no parapet, not even a kerbstone.
He falls. Away from the knights, away from the blue bridge that’s now arching over him. Away from his dream of becoming a Nine tonight. He can’t even imagine what is below him. Water would be good, or at least soft grass. But in his mind’s eye he sees sharp stones and thorns. The air whistles around him. Still no ground.
Died from stupidity.
It can’t be happening, not now, not so soon. Not like this. Not just because of one false move.
When the impact comes, the injury tone sets in with an intensity that makes Sarius groan out loud. For a moment he wants nothing more than for it to stop, immediately. But the screeching is a sign of life; it means he has a chance. He has to wait. He must endure it.
So he waits, trying not to move at all. Soon his head starts to ache; the tone is sheer agony, drowning out everything, even the sounds of fighting from the bridge. Why is it taking so long? Are they even fighting on the bridge any more? Probably. But except for him no-one has fallen.
‘That was not exactly a masterly performance, Sarius.’
Finally. He’s never been happier to see the yellow eyes.
‘I assume you need my help?’
Erebos Page 23
