Extropia

by Robin Bootle

  He watched in wonder, unafraid, as the worms held a moment before shooting down his arms and spraying across his torso and down his legs. A sharp tingle exploded in his abdomen and surged through his body in a wave of ecstasy, leaving him gasping for breath. Then, as soon as it all began, the light began to fade and the feather was just a feather again.

  ‘I felt it again.’ Edward placed the feather on the table, watching it as if it might yet spring to life. ‘Whatever I felt upstairs, but stronger this time. Much stronger. I feel more… energised,’ he said, still buzzing from the feeling the feather had given him.

  ‘But you feel okay, right?’

  He nodded. He felt better than okay. He felt amazing. But the buzz was fading.

  He looked around the room, from the feather on the table up to the mezzanine and back to the staff that lay at his feet. From nowhere, James’s words on the night of the accident appeared in his head. Let him feel the heat of the fire, try some magic.

  He was certain he knew what the note meant. The feather had given him the power to move things. But how to try his new spell? Say abracadabra? Wave his hands and ask the oak bar to jump into the air?

  ‘You want to tell me what you’re thinking?’

  A smile broke out across his face. ‘The note read, Will things to move. Maybe it’s literally that simple. I just need to think.’

  She glanced back and forth between him and the feather, confused. He didn’t think he’d lost her, she just couldn’t bring herself to accept what he was telling her. What better way to prove it than to show her.

  He faced the door, his staff raised and his eyes focused on the centre of the bar. He imagined it lifting itself up and falling to the floor.

  Nothing happened.

  Why would it? He was staring at a piece of wood and somehow hoping it would fly into the air. He could feel Elizabeth watching him with her stony expression, and it only added to his self-consciousness. But also to his determination. Surely this had to be it.

  He took several steps forward, removing Elizabeth from his field of vision. All he could see now was the door and the bar. He gripped his staff, resting its tip on the surface. He tried to imagine the energy running down his arm, through the staff and into the bar. In his mind, the bar leapt into the air and the door opened.

  Something stirred inside him. A tingle in his stomach. Just like the one he’d felt only moments earlier. It wasn’t as strong as before, but it was unmistakeable. The tingle shot up to his shoulders and down his arms, making his muscles spasm once more as a wave of energy passed through. The beam started to shudder, rattling hard against the wooden door.

  ‘My God,’ he heard Elizabeth whisper. He glanced at her just as a look of awe vanished from her face, and she pretended to look on unimpressed.

  He smiled, her reaction fuelling his confidence. The tingle filled his arms, intensifying as it burst through his fingertips like a thousand pins pricking his skin. The bar sprang up and fell to the floor, filling the air with dust.

  A wave of nausea tore at the sides of his stomach, wiping the grin from his face and sending him tumbling to the floorboards. He retched, coughing bile onto the dusty wooden floor.

  Elizabeth knelt down beside him. ‘What was that? You okay?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m okay,’ he said, embarrassed. He forced himself to his elbows. ‘I don’t know what happened. I must have fainted.’

  ‘The magic, that was impressive,’ she said, although her sullen look portrayed no sign of being impressed. ‘But you need to toughen up if we’re going to survive out there.’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ he replied, taken aback.

  Beyond his feet, the door crept open under the force of a gust of wind. Cool raindrops splashed his face. He peered into the outside world at the dark clouds and thundering rain, with one question circling around his mind: why had Dad been happy to run the test, but not for anyone to venture outside?

  Elizabeth peeked outside, unaware of, or uninterested in his anxiety. ‘It looks clear,’ she said. ‘There’s a forest to our right. Stay low.’

  * * *

  They ran towards the forest with their heads bowed. The air was cool and the heavy rain clouds were dampening what was left of the daylight. The grass was long and wild, reaching up to his hips and catching on the tips of his shoes as he ran. The perimeter of the field was marked by the silhouette of a forest and a sudden wall of tall pines.

  Another horn bellowed through the evening air. It was close now, perhaps only a few hundred yards away. He glanced towards the far edge of the forest. The trees there seemed alive, leaves glistening in the fading light like an army of eyes, blinking inquisitively as they watched the new arrivals. The idea sent his legs into overdrive and he sprinted the remaining distance to the trees.

  The long grass fused into muddy, rotting foliage that squelched beneath his feet. All around them, thick-trunked pines, oaks, chestnuts and a multitude of species of which he didn’t know the name climbed high, blotting out the sky. They stopped beneath a large tree, protected from the rain. Ahead, the forest was pitch black and still.

  ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘Just give me a second, will you?’ she snapped, her eyes studying the field.

  He looked back across the field in the direction from which the horn had sounded, but could see little in the fading light. ‘What are you looking for? Maybe I can help?’

  She looked frustrated at the distraction. ‘Enemies.’

  ‘Here, I found a telescope,’ he said. But as he was reaching around for his bag, Elizabeth tugged on the loose sleeve of his robe.

  ‘Quickly, get down!’

  He dropped to lie flat, cold rainwater seeping through his robes. ‘What is it?’

  She nodded towards the far side of the field. ‘Twenty or so men, all armed.’

  His eyes strained again but he could see nothing. He pulled the telescope from his bag and put it to his eye. Now he could see them; a patrol of men were marching in formation a little way into the woods, dressed in armour. The skin below their helmets seemed dry and grey like an elephant’s. Gripped in their hands were torches, bows and blades.

  ‘Maybe we should go back to the hut,’ he suggested.

  ‘No way. If they see us, they’ll have us trapped. We stay put.’

  Stay put? What if another patrol was creeping up behind them? He shuddered as he looked back into the forest. The darkness was clawing its way closer with every second of the approaching night. Even the smallest rustle in the leaves drew his attention. ‘I don’t think the game characters can enter the hut.’

  She looked surprised. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Just think – the dust, the oak bar that even the player of the game can barely shift, the stash of goodies that were still there after a year. Surely they would have been pillaged if the game characters could get to them? My dad must have made it a safe house, a place for the player to acclimatise to the game.’

  ‘Maybe. But what if you’re wrong? It’s too dangerous.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘I said no!’

  Reluctantly, he put the telescope back to his eye and watched the patrol drift into the forest and out of sight. By the time they were gone, so was the daylight, with only a little moonlight penetrating the rare breaks in the cloud.

  ‘Please can we go back to the hut now?’ He looked back into the dark of the forest, his eyes playing tricks on him, making him think that things were moving all around them. ‘This place is giving me the creeps.’

  ‘And then what? You want to spend the night there? What do you think will happen if someone finds us?’

  ‘Then…’ His shoulders dropped as he realised she was right. ‘We could get penned in, I guess.’

  ‘Indefinitely.’ Suddenly, she spun round to face the nearby trees. ‘Did
you hear that?’

  His eyes darted back and forth through the trees. He tried to tell himself there was nothing there, that whatever Elizabeth had heard was just the leaves or the rain or an animal passing nearby. But it was no use; already he was struggling to breathe, struggling to think as he stared wide-eyed into the darkness.

  Then, out of the eerie quiet, a twig snapped.

  Elizabeth grabbed his arm. Her index finger gently touched her lips. Slowly, she got to her feet, removing her sword from its sheath.

  Another crack. Closer this time, as if it were on the other side of the nearest tree. Elizabeth motioned for him to get to his feet. He drew his dagger, its handle slippery in his sweaty palm, his feet making a relentless rustling sound painful to his ears. He tried to hold his breath as though a breath itself could end his life. Still there was no evidence of what had made the noise. Movement seemed to come from everywhere amidst the swaying leaves and dripping rain.

  ‘Oh, God!’ Elizabeth whispered, ‘I see them.’

  Edward gasped, searching the woods all around, but still he could see nothing. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Everywhere,’ she replied, as if she could scarcely believe her own words. Then, ‘We need to go! Now!’

  Edward spun on his heels, but before he could take his first step, flaming torches appeared on all sides, flooding his wide-open pupils and blocking their path from the woods. All about them a circle of black-robed figures was closing in. Those who weren’t carrying torches were pointing taut bows straight at them.

  ‘Stand behind me, back to back!’ ordered Elizabeth. ‘Whatever happens, don’t lose your position!’ He scrambled to place himself behind her, lifting his staff and dagger into the air. ‘Who are you?’ called Elizabeth, trying to sound as if she were still the one in charge. ‘What do you want?’

  Their reply came in the form of an invisible force that wrenched Edward’s staff and dagger from his grip. His weapons landed with a crash next to Elizabeth’s sword and bow at the feet of one of their assailants.

  A figure stepped forward from the others. He wore a thick robe and carried a staff like Edward’s, its tip split into five sharp points. His voice was deep and commanding, his words few and haunting.

  ‘Bind them. Blind them. Take them to the mine.’

  8

  Force Crag Mine

  ‘Who are you? Get off me!’

  ‘Silence!’ snapped a voice, accompanied by two hands shoving Edward to the ground.

  He picked himself up, ready to lash out, as another pair of arms locked around his chest. What had they been thinking? No, what had she been thinking? He had wanted to go back to the hut. They would have been safe there, he was sure of it. She was the one who had delayed until it was too late. Some government agent!

  The man behind him yanked his arms behind his back as another slid some kind of bag over his head. The man’s torchlit face remained burned in his mind’s eye. The skin on his face had been that of a normal human being, different from the grey-skinned soldiers they had seen before. But that alone meant nothing. The grey-skins and these men could be allies. And if not, they could both be enemies to anyone but their own.

  His arms now bound, they set off deeper into the forest. His captors pushed and shoved him to keep him on the right track. When he stumbled to the ground, no one helped him up. Occasionally, Elizabeth let out a cry. Each time his blood boiled and he swore and struggled, yelling at them to keep their hands off her.

  He wondered if these were the same people who had captured James. At least then he and James might see each other one last time. Maybe he’d get a chance to tell James all the things he’d wanted to say for a year. How he’d regretted every day that they had drifted apart. He understood now that it was his fault as much as anyone’s, if not more. If only he hadn’t said the things he’d said.

  Sometime later the ground beneath his feet hardened. In the space of a few steps, the rotten mush of the forest floor had gone. The raindrops stopped pattering on the top of his hood. It was still raining, but the sound was fading. He assumed their arrival under cover meant that at any second someone would bark out orders, throw him and Elizabeth to the ground and finally reveal themselves. But they just kept on going. Instead of stumbling on fallen branches, now he felt stones stabbing into the soles of his leather boots. The air grew steadily warmer and from ahead came a distant murmur.

  He tried to picture the scene when his blindfold would be removed. How might he make a break for his freedom? But every time his imagination came up with the same result: they were surrounded and any attempt to run would end in death. Had any two people really ever escaped from the custody of twenty men? he wondered, as a sense of doom solidified deep within his gut.

  The distant murmur grew into a din of voices as if they were in a large hall. He was surrounded by chaotic whispers and excited questions but he couldn’t make out what anyone was saying. His breathing shortened as though a corset of nerves was crushing his diaphragm. He pictured his enemies drawing closer and closer. Poking and prodding him like a heaving mass of hungry animals, getting ready to tear him limb from limb.

  ‘Quiet!’ It was the same voice that had ordered their capture, and the chatter fell away. Someone pushed him from behind and step by step he stumbled further forward, guided roughly by an anonymous pair of hands.

  Then a harsh voice growled, ‘Lock them up. One to a cell.’

  The bindings around his wrists came loose an instant before he was tripped and thrown to the ground. He fumbled for the bag on his head and lifted it in time to see an iron cell door swung back in his face.

  Beyond the bars of the cage a jailor sat staring, his sleeveless top showing off his grime-covered muscles. His head was bald, his beard thick. Tied to his belt was a set of thick keys, each one about six inches long.

  From what Edward could see, the room seemed small. Its uneven, muddy walls were lit by a solitary torch. He tried to tell himself he’d been here before a hundred times, that the man before him was nothing more than a game character and therefore easy to evade. But the snarl on the jailor’s face was so lifelike and his size so intimidating that the thought of even talking to him, let alone fighting him, seemed like a task that could only end in defeat.

  ‘Elizabeth?’ he called out, rising to his feet and pressing his cheek against the bars of his cell to get a fuller view.

  ‘Here, Edward,’ she replied, and he guessed she must be one or two cells over. ‘Right here.’

  ‘Silence!’ growled the jailor. ‘Lord Hasgard will see to you lot momentarily.’

  ‘Who are you people? Let us go!’ Elizabeth barked back.

  ‘Ha! We’re gonna have fun with you!’

  The jailor looked to his left as a pair of footsteps approached. He straightened his back and the smile disappeared from his face. He half bowed his head. ‘They’re ready for you, me Lord.’

  ‘Thank you, Unwel,’ came the reply.

  Edward recognised the same deep voice as before. A seven-foot man wearing a hooded robe came into view and stood next to the jailor. His thick grey hair dangled in waves over his shoulders.

  ‘Explain yourselves!’ he shouted, glaring at them in turn with his fists clenched on his hips. ‘You!’ He approached Edward’s cell. ‘Who are you? What is your business?’

  Edward stepped away from the bars of his cell and kept his head down, trying to block out Hasgard’s glare. He should have been prepping for an interrogation on the way down. But now, with his captor standing over him, he could hardly think.

  ‘Look at me when I’m speaking to you!’

  Nervously, Edward lifted his head, the thought of making eye contact seeming like the most dangerous thing in the world.

  ‘We’re searching for two men,’ Elizabeth declared. ‘The boy’s father and brother – Richard and James Founder.’ />
  ‘Never heard of them.’ Hasgard’s eyes snapped to Elizabeth’s cell. ‘Tell me at once or I will leave you to the will of Unwel; from where do you hail?’

  What were they supposed to say? That they were from another world? Surely it would make no sense. In a normal game, the only communication the player could have with the characters was through a predefined choice of phrases and questions, ones that the characters were programmed to respond to accordingly. Here, there was nothing. And worse, they seemed like they could think for themselves and were far more advanced than the simple, logic-based characters Elizabeth had described before they’d entered.

  ‘We’re from the real world,’ said Elizabeth.

  Edward’s head dropped. Hasgard strode towards her cell, his snarl intensifying. ‘The real world? You sit imprisoned and yet you dare have the impudence to mock me?’

  ‘Let’s just hang ‘em, me Lord,’ cackled Unwel. ‘Such insolence!’

  ‘I will ask you one last time,’ Hasgard shouted at the top of his lungs. ‘And if you wish to see it through the night, you will answer me at once. From where do you hail?’

  ‘I’m from Greywell,’ Edward piped up, hoping the truth might sound like it could actually be a place in Extropia.

  ‘Greywell?’ Lord Hasgard leant down, bringing his giant face an inch from the top of the bars of Edward’s cell. ‘I have never heard of such a place. But such a town could only exist in the lands of Ejüll, the land of the Greys! Be careful, boy! I can tell when a child lies!’

  ‘No, not Ejüll,’ he replied. But then Hasgard leaned in, ready to scream. ‘I mean yes! Yes! It’s in Ejüll!’

  ‘What? So you would admit it then? You are a spy!’ Hasgard straightened his back and nestled his fingers in the tangled hair of his beard. ‘And this army that since yesterday waits on the far side of the woods, have you shown them where we are?’

  ‘I… I don’t know,’ stuttered Edward. ‘I’m not a spy.’