by Robin Bootle
‘I am sorry. But no one else left the hut that night.’
A knot of anxiety was building in Edward’s stomach. Vanderboom had claimed that Dad had jumped just before the storm hit. He remembered how he’d felt when he’d jumped into Extropia, trapped in limbo and unsure if the jump was going to work. What if that was what had happened to Dad? Struck by a bolt of lightning and now trapped in a state of purgatory between Extropia and the real world with nothing but his own thoughts for company? ‘Where was my brother going when you saw him?’
‘The boy ran through the field, screaming and shouting as if his life depended on it,’ replied Hasgard. ‘A very foolish thing for a boy of his age to be doing. Of course, it was only a matter of time before he fell into the hands of the enemy. He is most likely imprisoned in the village of Hawkshead.’
‘Hawkshead? I know that name.’ Hawkshead was in Cumbria, where Dad had taken him fishing for the first time. His lips pursed in a bitter half-smile, wondering if it were possible that the whole of Extropia had been inspired by Edward’s favourite part of England. ‘Is it far?’
‘Hawkshead?’ Hasgard looked surprised. ‘It is the nearest of the villages of the Circle that surround Skelton Tower. Two days to the north. Surely you must…’
‘Why is he in prison?’ Edward interrupted deliberately, not wanting to give Hasgard too long to stew on his lack of knowledge of the local area. ‘What did he do wrong?’
‘Wrong? Your brother has done nothing wrong! He is imprisoned for the same reason as every other male under twenty-five years of age!’
‘What reason could there possibly…?’ He stopped, realising too late that Hasgard had said something that he was simply expected to understand.
‘My boy, surely you must know the prophecy of the ancients?’ Hasgard seemed fascinated, peering at Edward like he was studying a newly-discovered species. ‘Where exactly did you say this Greywell was?’
Edward buried his head in his hands, pretending he hadn’t heard. But Hasgard’s silence dragged on, every second leaving him more and more certain Hasgard’s anger would return.
‘I wonder,’ Hasgard whispered at last. ‘Do you even know the name of the tyrant who rules this land?’
Edward’s heart seemed to stop. Hasgard had him cornered. The question demanded a knowledgeable answer.
‘Should I assume from your hesitation that the answer is no?’
Edward stayed hunched in his chair, his body clenched tight, knowing it could only be seconds before Hasgard decided enough was enough and hurled him against the wall. When nothing happened, he lifted his head with one eye open, the other still shut tight and expecting to be clouted.
‘Praise the Skylar!’ Hasgard whispered in disbelief, a smile stretching across his face. ‘It seems you are from further away than I had let myself believe. But how could I have been expected to believe your friend when she told me she was from another world?’
Edward tilted his head to look Hasgard full in the face. ‘I don’t understand. You’re not angry?’
‘Ha ha! Not at all, young man. Clearly this world is foreign to you, what kind of hospitality would that be? Better still, why don’t I fill you in?’ Hasgard got to his feet and began pacing the little room. ‘Our country, the once peaceful Lands of the Sun, is overrun with evil. Dēofol, or the Beast as many call him, was the ruler of Ejüll, the lands to the east. For centuries we batted away their pitiful attempts at invasion. But then came the mage, Dēofol. And with him a tide of darkness that infected even the most honourable men in the Lands of the Sun. Through treachery and deceit, he dismantled the king’s court from within. The invasion was swift and unstoppable. Now he rules with an iron fist. He knows neither mercy nor kindness. He loves nothing, and nothing loves him. He lives only to inflict suffering.’
‘But why are you telling me this?’ asked Edward.
‘Because it was foreseen many years before the time of Dēofol,’ continued Hasgard, ‘that a great evil would conquer the land, smothering it in choking clouds of anguish. Years of destruction and fear would follow. But one day, as if from nowhere, a boy would appear, a boy who knew nothing of war or magic, and who knew nothing of the Lands of the Sun. He would rescue the Great Warrior, and together they would come to unite the people.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Edward was still confused, still certain Hasgard’s lightened mood could turn at any second. ‘What has any of this got to do with me?’
‘Everything, Edward. How many people are there in the Lands of the Sun, do you imagine, who do not know the prophecy of which I speak?’ Hasgard came to a stop in front of Edward, took hold of his hands and lifted him to his feet. ‘Don’t you understand? There can be only one person in this land who would not know Dēofol, who would not know the prophecy. A boy who would appear from nowhere. But never did I think it would be from inside the walls of Home Leigh Hut!’
‘But you can’t think…’
‘Yes, Edward. You are the very boy of whom the prophecy speaks.’
The way Hasgard had been building it up, Edward had been expecting some kind of revelation that would help them in their quest to find James. Instead he found himself laughing with despair at the ridiculousness of it all.
But Hasgard continued to look at him, defying his laughter, and slowly it began to sink in. The prophecy wasn’t a prophecy. Extropia was only a year old. The prophecy was just a made-up story, something created by Dad and James. An invented history to give the game more depth, to set its backdrop, even to tell the player what the goal of the game was – to rescue the Great Warrior and to defeat Dēofol. And so Hasgard was absolutely right. The player of the game was the boy from the prophecy, and that was Edward.
‘You said that this Dēofol keeps every young male locked away. It’s because of the prophecy, isn’t it? He keeps them all imprisoned to keep himself safe?’
Hasgard nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’
Edward pulled his hands from Hasgard’s and trudged towards the far wall. It was all so horridly ironic. Dad and James had created a fictional world where the player was meant to stand up against this beast, Dēofol. But it had all backfired so awfully, to the extent that Dēofol had become so afraid of the prophecy that he had imprisoned James. ‘I have to get him out. Will you help me?’
The smile faded from Hasgard’s lips. ‘Perhaps I have given you the wrong idea. We have no army, and no weapons. To stand against Dēofol is to volunteer one’s death, but also the death of those around you. For every man of his you kill, he will kill ten of ours in vengeance. Your brother’s situation is grave indeed. But I will not give my men into certain death.’
Edward frowned. How could this character ignore what was certain to be the commands of his programming and refuse to help the player of the game? ‘But you have me, the boy from the prophecy. If you won’t fight now, then when? You say you don’t have an army – you have hundreds of men!’
‘The prophecy means nothing, not any more!’
‘Nothing? What do you mean?’
‘For years it gave us hope. But while you may be the boy, Edward, the boy is nothing without the Great Warrior. And the Great Warrior is dead.’
‘Dead? How?’
‘It is a long and tragic tale, but suffice to say that he was banished to the mountains, never to be seen again.’
‘So that’s it?’ Edward stood tall and raised his voice. ‘Just because this mystical warrior is dead, you give up? I am the boy and I am ordering you to help me!’
‘Enough of your arrogance, child!’ With two strides Hasgard met him in the centre of the room, making his huge frame appear even greater as he towered over Edward. ‘You are not the only one whom Dēofol has wronged! Long have I desired to break free from the confines of our little underground world, but you cannot stand against Dēofol. It is madness!’
‘No, it i
sn’t! Madness is to stay here, to live in a hole and never to see the daylight!’ He looked away, angry with himself for letting this thing, this binary being, get him so worked up. He marched to the table, took two more apples for Elizabeth and headed for the door. ‘Please, release my friend.’
‘For your own good I should lock you up right now!’ Hasgard called after him.
Edward hurried down the lakeside track towards the prison. Just because Hasgard had given up, it didn’t mean everyone else had.
Opposite the tunnel that led to the prison, a group of men stood erecting market stalls. He marched towards them until he was just a few yards from the group. One of the men stood out clearly from the others: six foot, muscular and handsome, with long golden locks reaching down to his shoulders. Edward pictured the man with a sword. This was the man he was looking for. The stereotypical warrior character. The kind of character that might have been designed to ally with the player of the game.
He walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Excuse me, sir.’ He swallowed hard as all six men stopped and stared. ‘My name is Edward. My brother is imprisoned by Dēofol, at Hawkshead. I’ve come to ask for your help.’
‘And why should we help you?’ snapped a voice from the far side of the stall.
He looked at the blond man in front, his assigned saviour, but the man just looked blankly back. He addressed the group, his confidence forced back down his throat in a gulp. ‘Because in return I can help you.’
‘Oh yeah?’ The man at the back stepped around the side so Edward could see him in full. He wasn’t big, but he looked mean, with only a few teeth remaining and a scar down his cheek. ‘How are you going to help us?’
‘Because I can help you defeat…’ He couldn’t bring himself to finish. It suddenly sounded so absurd.
‘Who? Dēofol?’ The man burst into laughter, and the rest of them followed suit, save the man at the front, who looked warily at his companions. ‘Who do you think you are? The boy from the prophecy?’
‘I…’ Yes, thought Edward. But they clearly thought that was the stupidest idea ever. But he was the boy from the prophecy. And they were meant to be his allies. ‘Let me show you. I can enter Home Leigh Hut.’
‘It’s true, he can enter,’ one of the men confirmed. ‘I was there with Lord Hasgard.’
‘Shut up, Alfred! That doesn’t mean anything!’ The man with few teeth stomped towards Edward and poked him in the chest. ‘Now you listen here, the prophecy is a load of crap! Your brother may be in trouble, but what about my two sons? You think I wouldn’t help them if I could? Now piss off to the crazy bin you came from!’
‘You know what…’ Another man stepped forward, bare arms stained with black grease and a hammer in his hand. ‘I bet he’s with him! Walking around so openly like that. Who could get away with that except one of his spies?’
The blond man, who had been silent up to this point, stepped forward urgently. ‘Go boy, now, if you know what is good for you.’
‘I don’t understand. What happened to you?’ he asked the blond man almost rhetorically, before turning quickly to the rest. ‘What happened to all of you? When did you forget who the real enemy was, since you abandoned yourselves to a life in hiding?’ He couldn’t stop himself; they looked shocked, and a shock was what they needed, something to rescue them from the quagmire of their defeat. ‘You think you can just stay here forever, below ground, until you die? I’m offering you a way out, a new beginning.’
‘Enough of this blasphemy!’ The man with few teeth glanced over his shoulder, nodding for those behind him to round on Edward.
‘Hold! I command you!’ The floor sunk quickly away from Edward’s feet as an invisible force hauled him ten feet back. Hasgard’s huge frame was now between him and the men. ‘Unwel! Release the prisoner. Fetch their weapons!’
‘At once, me Lord,’ replied a voice hidden somewhere inside the tunnel.
‘Out of our way, mage. I’m warning you!’ shouted the man with few teeth. ‘You can’t take us all on!’
‘Edward is a friend! State your charge!’
‘He blasphemes!’
‘Blasphemy? Who cares?’ shouted the man with the hammer. ‘This little runt has brought Dēofol on us! And he expects us to follow him out and just hand ourselves over!’
‘Dēofol’s camps are always on the move!’ barked Hasgard. ‘What makes you think this has anything to do with Edward?’
‘They’ve never been this close!’
‘And that is the evidence upon which you would attack a child? Would you have yourselves commit the same evil as your enemy?’ Hasgard took a step forward, an orange energy growing from the tip of his staff. ‘Now stand down!’
Nothing was said as the men seemed to weigh up their options. A few of them looked hesitantly at one another, not wanting to receive a battering from Hasgard.
Behind Edward, footsteps were approaching quickly down the tunnel. ‘Elizabeth?’
She was running, a sluggishness in her step and their equipment stashed around and under her arms. On the right side of her head was a bloody patch smothered with dirt. ‘You okay?’
‘Fine,’ she said, although she couldn’t possibly have been after taking such a hard knock to the head. She passed Edward his staff and dagger and gripped the butt of her sword. ‘I see you’ve got everything under control.’
Beyond Hasgard, the war of words raged on. The blacksmith stepped forward from the rest of the crowd, tapping his hammer against his palm. ‘Hand him over, Hasgard! The boy is ours!’
‘You are fools! All of you! To turn against one of our own without due evidence! I will not let you become your own enemy!’ And with a swipe of Hasgard’s hand, the blacksmith was sent flying back into the crowd. ‘The rest of you, stay back!’ He glanced over his shoulder and shoved Edward in the direction of a tunnel just twenty yards down. ‘Head for the hut. Hawkshead is two days to the north. You will find your brother there. But know that Dēofol will show no mercy if he finds you. Now, go!’
Edward turned without delay and, together with Elizabeth, swung into the earthen tunnel. Ahead, the light from the surface was a distant pinprick. The tunnel rose steadily all the way to the surface, a dark and narrow throat leading them from the cavernous belly of Force Crag to the open air.
All the way, his head reeled. How could these men, certainly created to help him, be so against him? And on top of it all, he felt like such a fool. Trying to convince them that he was their saviour. Even if he was the boy from the prophecy, what had he imagined was going to happen? That they would rush forward and lift him up onto their shoulders, cheering and celebrating?
When the jeering crowd had become little more than a gurgle, he tugged on the sleeve of Elizabeth’s tunic to bring her to a stop. ‘You sure you’re okay?’ he asked, gasping for breath as he studied the sticky-looking patch of blood in her hair.
She nodded. ‘What about you? What happened back there?’
He shook his head, still trying to make sense of it all. ‘They’re meant to be our allies, I’m sure of it. I just don’t understand, it’s like they’ve decided for themselves that they don’t want anything to do with us.’
She frowned, worried. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘Can’t believe what?’
‘Oriel and I had always assumed the game characters would be like robots, subject to basic logic, confined to rules.’
‘It’s like they can think for themselves,’ he said at once, relieved that she too was ready to accept how advanced they were. ‘They’re smarter than any AI I’ve ever heard of.’
She looked at him as if he’d hit the nail on the head. ‘Smart enough to communicate with the real world?’
That was when everything began to slide into place. Maybe Hound and Vanderboom had been right. What if one of the game chara
cters really had found the Tartarus Stone? He pictured Hasgard, a being apparently able to act and speak of his own accord, Tartarus Stone in hand. The Tartarus Portal in front of him, open, somehow enabling a way to engage with the real world. ‘And if they can do that…’
‘Then they could in theory orchestrate anything, all from within the confines of Extropia.’
A sharp, suffocating pain rose in his chest. ‘When Hound told you about the character he believed was behind the accident, did he give you a name?’
‘He did. He said his name was Dēofol.’
10
Windermere
They reached the entrance to the tunnel, a hole dug into a moss-covered mound of rock, and stopped, exhausted. All around them, golden light filtered through the trees in long beams that stabbed like translucent amber blades into the earth. Edward drew the morning air deep into his lungs, partially cleansing his mind of the maddening frustration that had gripped him since being set upon by those in the mine, not a group of programmed-to-fight rebels as he’d expected, but a hopeless and divided rabble. He’d become so caught up in the way he believed the game would work that he hadn’t accounted for the ability of these characters to think for themselves. Their AI was too powerful, enabling them to develop a fear of anyone and everything, even to become the player’s enemies.
‘I really think I should take a look at that.’ He reached to the right side of Elizabeth’s head where the blood had begun to congeal in her hair.
‘It’s fine,’ she said, flinching to avoid his hand. ‘Nothing that won’t heal.’
So she was still mad at him then, he figured. ‘Listen, I’m sorry I lied to you about coming in here. But I didn’t force you to come after me. You can wait in the hut for Oriel if you want. It’s a safe house, just like I guessed. Hasgard confirmed it. I’m going to go find my brother.’ And with that he turned and walked off.
‘Edward, wait,’ she said after only a few steps, just like he knew she would. He stopped but didn’t turn, inviting her to continue. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t want you touching my wound. It hurts, and, unless I’m missing something, you don’t know the first thing about medicine.’
