Extropia

by Robin Bootle

  ‘Enough of your lies! Tell me the truth, or, I swear it, you will suffer the wrath of the Skylar and will not see it through this night!’

  ‘Sir.’ It was Elizabeth’s turn to try. ‘We haven’t seen an army.’ It was a relief to see Hasgard’s focus shift, no matter what she was about to say. ‘Edward is telling the truth. We’re not spies. We’re lost and looking for his family.’

  ‘You’re lost? Ha! How can it be that you are in these lands and yet you know not where you are?’

  ‘We arrived in the hut, out in the field.’

  ‘This I have seen for myself! But how did you come to be in Home Leigh Hut?’

  ‘We… we just arrived there.’

  ‘You just arrived there? We watch Home Leigh Hut day and night. None can pass through its door, and yet you and this boy just arrived there?’ He paced back to stand by Unwel and faced his prisoners. ‘There are few young men roaming the lands these days and most who do are spies of the enemy. You have until the break of day to tell us your purpose, or by the Skylar I swear it – to the gallows you will go!’

  Hasgard stormed out, leaving Edward to collapse back onto the dirt floor and cover his face with his hands.

  * * *

  Edward’s forehead was drenched in sweat, his breathing rapid and erratic. Hasgard’s threats had made it impossible to think. He imagined himself being dragged screaming to the gallows, a noose around his neck, and the chair beneath him kicked away. Then Oriel, watching Edward’s neck turn crooked in his port, and praying that Elizabeth might be spared.

  He inhaled the dank air and held it in for three seconds, then slowly released it. Twice more he repeated the process. His mind began to settle. He sat up. Unwel was still watching him, face wicked and grinning.

  There had to be a way to reason with these people. But what more could they say to change Hasgard’s mind? They’d told him the truth and had not been believed, and when Edward had tried to lie it had still gotten them nowhere.

  He tried to think what he would do in a regular game. After all, this world had been created by James, the very same person with whom he’d played hundreds of games. Every scenario in those games had some kind of way out. In a prison, there would be a secret escape route, or a bribe could be paid.

  But the cell walls were nothing but solid mud, and they had no currency. Just as there was no script to their dialogue, there were no clues or quest logs in an on-screen journal telling him how to proceed.

  Were they meant to fight their way out? The idea seemed unfathomable. The only fight he’d ever been in was little more than a scuffle in the schoolyard. He’d laughed, cruelly he knew now, at Simon’s inability in IT to code even a simple dot on his screen. Simon and Josh had come for him after class. Cornered though he might have been, he’d only received two half-hearted thumps before he’d worked his way free and run off. Neither Josh nor Simon had been armed even with a stick or a stone. Neither had been much bigger than him, and certainly no wiser.

  So how could he possibly hope to escape Hasgard and his doubtless hundreds of armed men? The very thought stamped an image in his mind’s eye – James floating in his port, a bleeding wound in his side. If they tried to escape, there was every chance Lord Hasgard would kill them there and then.

  Even so, he found his gaze drawn towards the lock on his cell door. Who knew what opportunities might present themselves through the night.

  The jailor leapt out of his chair. ‘Don’t get any ideas!’ He marched over to Edward’s cell. Edward scampered back to the wall. ‘You ain’t going nowhere. The only way out of that cell is with these keys!’

  Now Edward didn’t know what to think. Was that the game trying to give him a clue about how to get out, or just the logical response of the jailor to Edward staring at the lock?

  It didn’t matter, because it had given him an idea. ‘I wasn’t doing anything, I promise. I’m just hungry,’ he said, and as if on cue his stomach rumbled loudly. ‘We haven’t eaten for hours. Could you spare any food?’

  ‘Ha! No point wasting food on someone that ain’t gonna see morning.’

  ‘Water then, please?’ His voice was so dry it was croaking.

  ‘You ain’t getting nothing. Now be quiet!’

  Edward sank back against the wall. Getting the jailor to leave the room that easily had been a long shot to say the least. But it was only a matter of time until the oaf would fall asleep, he told himself. Then he’d make his move.

  But the jailor didn’t leave and he didn’t fall asleep. He simply sat there, grinning wickedly from ear to ear. Edward pretended to sleep, occasionally checking through a discreetly raised eyelid, but the jailor remained wide awake and staring.

  Finally, with his eyes closed in pretence for too long, Edward dozed off into a half-sleep of exhausted fear.

  * * *

  He woke with a start, a kick of adrenalin as some part of his brain reminded him he was in danger. It took him a moment to remember where he was. The bars of his cell came into focus. Through them, he could see Unwel asleep in his chair, snoring with his head tilted back.

  Now was his chance. He examined the lock to get a better idea of how it opened. It looked like a simple device. The bolt would slide when the key was turned. So I have to be the missing key, he thought.

  He focused on the empty keyhole, picturing the cogs turning and the bolt sliding out of its socket. Nothing happened.

  What was missing? Did he need his staff? He hoped not, because it was leaning against the wall near the entrance with the rest of their things. And as far as he could remember, in most games wands and staffs normally only increased a mage’s power, rather than being the source itself.

  So what had he done in the hut? He remembered being filled with confidence at Elizabeth’s disbelief. Was confidence the key?

  Open the cell door, he thought. Run through the tunnels and escape, passing that rage-infested piece of code that called itself Lord Hasgard. He laughed inwardly at the thought, and then centred all his energy into moving the lock. From deep within came the tingle, somewhere near his solar plexus.

  The lock began to rattle.

  The jailor’s foot kicked up from the ground. His whole body tensed up as though something was attacking him in his dream.

  The lock stilled as Edward’s focus shifted. The jailor relaxed back into his chair and began to snore. Edward looked back to the lock, blotting out the world around him so that all he could see was the dull grey of the lock. It rattled again, the bolt sliding slowly out as a dizziness swayed through his head. He put an arm against the mud wall to steady himself.

  Again he was feeling sick, just like he had in the hut, only not as severely. It could be no coincidence. Something about using magic was causing heavy side effects. Was it a deliberate design of the game, or some kind of bug? In a regular game, players could only use a certain amount of magic before they ran out of magic energy, known as mana. But this felt like a savage punishment compared to a normal game where the blue bar indicating one’s reserves of mana simply took a little time to recharge.

  He focused on the lock again, but this time, even as the sickness rose, he refused to let his eyes fall from the lock. Finally, the bolt clicked loose. He swung the cell door gently ajar and crept out on his tiptoes.

  Two cells over, Elizabeth was curled up against the muddy corner of her cell, her arms locked around her shins and her forehead on her knees. How different she appeared compared to the confident, angry agent she had been earlier. He imagined himself by her side, arm around her shoulder, whispering in her ear that everything was going to be okay. Maybe she wasn’t so thick-skinned after all.

  He reached his hand through the bars and pinched the toe of one of her boots.

  She jerked back to life and scrambled to the cage door. ‘Keys?’ she mouthed, grabbing onto the iron bars with
both hands.

  He shook his head and focused on the metal lock. It began grating a high-pitched ring. As Edward’s breathing became heavier, Elizabeth looked past his shoulder towards Unwel. When the door came loose, Edward collapsed to his knees, his head spinning.

  A short, sharp grunt erupted from Unwel. Edward heard him shift in his chair. But he couldn’t turn to look. Two spells in less than a minute was too much. He fell sideways, knocking the cell door against a rock in the wall. The clang of metal on stone shattered the silence.

  ‘Lord Hasgard, come at once!’ shouted Unwel.

  Edward rolled over, the nausea lessening but unable to pick himself up and certain he would see Unwel’s great fists swinging towards him.

  But Elizabeth was already upon the jailor. The butt of her sword connected with the side of his head and he crumpled to the floor.

  ‘Damn it!’ she whispered, hauling Edward up. ‘We need to go. Now!’

  She ran to the prison entrance and peered into the dark tunnel. Edward stood beside her, leaning against the muddy archway for support. Ahead, the floor flickered in the sparse torchlight. The tunnel curved and disappeared only thirty feet away. He remembered their walk down. Before they’d reached the tunnel they’d heard a great many voices in some kind of hall. Would those people still be there? It didn’t matter. By striking Unwel they had committed themselves. There was no turning back.

  He picked up his staff and dagger, swung his rucksack over his back and followed Elizabeth into the tunnel. They kept to one side, hoping the walls might provide some shelter should someone appear around the bend. The muddy ground was firm and uneven, and in the darkness he stumbled time and again, his desperation taking over.

  Somewhere down the other end of the tunnel voices echoed. And if he could hear them, then the chances were that every single one of them had heard the jailor’s cry.

  ‘We need to find a side door,’ he whispered. ‘Anything!’

  But there were no side doors and nowhere to hide. It was a catastrophe, the final moments of his life spent knowing he was rushing headlong towards certain death.

  And then it happened, all too quickly.

  The corridor ahead was still empty of any enemy when Elizabeth was hauled into the air and thrown against the tunnel wall. Her head crashed into the side of a rock. She collapsed in a heap, a government agent laid to one side before she could even have known what was happening. Her bow lay hooked awkwardly around her arm, her sword loose by her side.

  Edward ground to a halt and flung his hands in the air, knowing it could only be seconds before it was his turn to be thrown around like a rag doll.

  A foot appeared first, the size of a giant’s. Then the rest of Lord Hasgard. With two more steps his colossal frame nearly filled the tunnel ahead. A ball of energy pulsated around the spiked tip of his staff.

  He thrust his hand forward and the tip of Elizabeth’s sword flew straight for Edward’s throat.

  9

  A Tide of Darkness

  ‘Wait, please!’ In a flash the blade came to a halt inches from Edward’s neck. ‘I can explain!’

  ‘Quickly, boy! Any sign of trouble and your life will be at an end! Who are you and what do you know of the army encamped near the forest?’

  ‘The army?’ Edward repeated in order to buy some time. ‘I… I think the same people took my brother captive. He appeared like I did, in Home Leigh Hut, a year ago. Now he’s in prison. I’m just trying to find him!’

  ‘Impossible!’ growled Hasgard. ‘Home Leigh Hut is cursed. None can pass through its door.’

  ‘But it is possible, isn’t it? You saw me and my friend leave. Is it so hard to believe there could have been someone else?’ Hasgard’s staff lowered a few inches and the energy swirling around it subsided ever so slightly. Edward allowed himself to glance at Elizabeth. Her body remained still. But he didn’t yet dare go to her side. He had to keep pushing. Why would Hasgard watch the hut day and night, he thought, unless… ‘The hut frightens you, doesn’t it? Because you saw a boy and his father leave, but when you try to enter you can’t, even such a powerful mage as yourself!’

  Hasgard’s staff rose again, the energy around it intensifying. His voice grew loud and deep. ‘I am not afraid of you, boy! Or of any wooden hut!’

  ‘Please, you have to believe me. I’m so far from home. I don’t know these lands and I don’t even know how I ended up in the hut, but I did, and all I want is to find my brother and father and take them home!’

  He didn’t think he’d said anything compelling or concrete, yet to his surprise, the swirling energy about the tip of Hasgard’s staff lessened once more. ‘You really know nothing of these lands?’

  Edward nodded hysterically.

  Hasgard looked pensive for a moment, and then his staff-bearing arm began to relax. ‘There was a boy, it is true. Exactly a year ago.’

  ‘So you’ve seen them? You’ve seen my brother and father?’

  ‘No. The boy I saw was alone.’

  ‘Alone? Are you sure?’

  Hasgard looked over his shoulder as two men appeared by his side, panting.

  ‘Take the woman back to the prison. And if you know what is good for you, you will not let her escape again. We shall hear what this other one has to say in my quarters.’

  * * *

  Hasgard made him walk in front as they continued down the tunnel. Edward tripped repeatedly, distracted by the sight of Elizabeth being carried the other way back to the prison. The men held her arms over their shoulders, and her feet dragged limply over the rough dirt. She groaned, and the sound filled his heart with relief. She was alive then, at least.

  She disappeared round the bend and his thoughts jumped to what might have happened to Dad. Was he imprisoned like James? Or could it be worse? Could he have mistakenly appeared in some inaccessible location, some field so far away or some mountain even, and still be stuck there?

  The tunnel soon opened into a vast cavern. Edward stood at the entrance, his breath taken away by the beauty of his surroundings. The ceiling was almost one hundred yards high. In the centre, a great lake shimmered, two hundred yards across and surrounded by a track that ran all the way around the cavern. Here and there the track divided, with one part continuing on the same level around the lake, the other part ramping up the side and circling all the way to the top. Beside the track were small caves, carved into the muddy earth. In those nearest him, he could see people wrapped up asleep in their beds, while others were beginning to rise in the early morning, candles and flame torches lighting their abodes.

  He looked up, wondering how the cavern itself could be so full of light. ‘Wow,’ he said, seeing the air was dotted with sparkling balls of white energy. ‘It’s incredible.’ He stepped forward, glancing at Hasgard to check he was permitted to do so, and then crossed the lakeside track to the water’s edge. It was as clear as a mountain spring. Just a few steps down, a man stood fishing, three fish already lying in a wicker basket at his feet. In the water, large red, gold and dark-skinned fish darted around, pecking at crumbs tossed onto the surface of the lake. ‘You built all this?’ he asked as Hasgard came to stand beside him.

  ‘Oh no,’ chuckled Hasgard. ‘This is Force Crag Mine, one of the last refuges still undiscovered by the enemy. Much of it was here when we found it. The ancients must have built these caves to house their miners in aeons past.’

  But of course they hadn’t, Edward knew. Extropia had only been in existence for a year. It was all part of the game. The beauty of it, the impossible-to-build layout – it was an underground lair designed by the game’s makers. Even the name James and Dad had given it, Force Crag, sounded familiar, as if it was somewhere they had visited on their holidays. Then, as a ripple warped Hasgard’s reflection in the water below, Edward gasped with excitement.

  You idiot, he though
t. How could you have missed something so obvious?

  He gazed up at Hasgard, his long beard, his staff and his robes. Even his size, his age and his voice – he felt like he’d met this character before. Hasgard was Gandalf, Dumbledore, designed to look like a character the player would at once grow to trust. Hasgard was meant to be, programmed to be, the player’s ally.

  More likely than not, there’ll be a friendly force nearby.

  He struggled to contain his excitement as they kept on a little further up the track to a wooden door built into the dirt wall of the cavern. With a subtle wave of Hasgard’s hand, it was open.

  ‘Please, take a seat,’ Hasgard said once inside. The room was small and furnished with a bed, a desk, chairs and a torch hanging on each wall. On the desk was a bowl of apples. Edward must have looked ravenous because at once Hasgard offered, ‘Help yourself.’

  He grabbed an apple, luscious and golden, and chomped into it again and again before he’d even chewed the first bite. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. ‘Are you the leader of these people?’ he asked as he wiped the apple’s juice from his chin and went to grab another.

  ‘I was a lord once, at the king’s side. The people cling to the happiness of the past, so they still call me lord. They are good people fallen on hard times, trying to get by while everything about us is clouded in misery and rot. And in your village of Greywell, how fare the people?’

  ‘Oh, times are hard,’ replied Edward, eager to change the subject away from something that might make him look like a liar once more. ‘A year ago, are you sure you didn’t see another man? He would have been fifty-four at the time.’

  ‘I am sorry. There was only one young man. His hair was as black as yours, now I come to think of it.’

  ‘It has to be my brother. My father could only have been a few minutes behind,’ he said, remembering how Vanderboom had said that Dad had gone after James.