by Robin Bootle
It really would be a fate worse than death. Edward couldn’t help but imagine Vanderboom inside his own head, speaking to the people he knew – to Elizabeth – through his own lips. Vanderboom reaching out to touch her soft skin with Edward’s own hands. He shuddered at the thought. ‘But they have James and Dad already – why do they need me?’
‘The Tartarus Portal was built with one important rule: The user’s mind can return only to his own body. It means Vanderboom must return to his own body, but also that Dēofol cannot even leave Extropia. Your father must have realised the Tartarus Stone was dangerous so he encrypted the code that governs it. And so far your brother has refused to hand over the encryption key.’
‘But what has that got to do with me?’
‘Because they will use you, Edward. They will hurt you until James surrenders it.’
‘Oh God,’ he said, his stomach sick. ‘They’re going to torture me?’
‘I’m sorry, Edward. But I’m glad you at last see what is at stake. Once they have the encryption key they will be free to alter the Tartarus Portal, free to enter the real world. But that’s not even the end of it. There is a second element to their plan. From what little I have gleaned intercepting their communications, it’s not just a case of choosing the bodies to which they wish to return. They have found some kind of bug which they plan to exploit, which I do not yet understand.’
‘What am I supposed to do?’ Edward demanded. ‘If I try to save them, then Dēofol will use their bodies. If I don’t, they’ll die anyway! You have to help me. I’ve seen what you can do, how you can fight. And you’re the one who knows how to get out of there! We could vanish the moment we run into trouble.’
‘I’m sorry, Edward, but leaving Extropia simply takes too long. The enemy could reach you even when you’re inside the portal. Just like your friend Hasgard did to me.’ Hound tapped gently above his knee. ‘And in doing so he’s left me incapable of standing up to the likes of Dēofol.’
‘At least let Oriel know how you’ve created this hack. Let us have the option!’
‘It’s too dangerous! You’ll only get yourself captured. You have to wait. It’s only a matter of time until Oriel can send in more men.’
‘You know I don’t have time for that. I’m going after them. It’s my life, my family. Now let me go!’
‘There is more to this than just your family!’ Hound pointed towards the TeleWall where Dēofol’s pale soldiers still marched their modern day prisoners. ‘This is the future, Edward, if Dēofol is allowed to escape. Dēofol will be made man, but his programmed foundation of evil will remain! The darkness that reigns in Extropia must not be given a chance to enter our world. Vanderboom has already promised him billions. Do you know how large an army of criminals can be bought with that kind of money?’
‘So you’re happy to let my family die instead? Why not just wait to see if Dēofol makes it to the real world? He’d return to one of our bodies back at the NCCU. You could end it then!’
‘And let Dēofol emerge within the walls of the only organisation that knows he exists? You can bet Vanderboom will have a small army waiting to rescue him! We’d be handing Dēofol his freedom on a platter!’ Hound shook his head, agitated. ‘No! I can’t let you!’
Edward’s jaw clenched. Inside, he knew Hound was right. Allowing Dēofol back would be risky, no matter how well they planned. Besides, Oriel would refuse point blank, understandably, to execute whoever’s body they believed to be infected by Dēofol’s mind, and Hound would never be allowed into the NCCU to do the job himself.
But it was Oriel’s job to solve that problem, Edward thought stubbornly. It was Edward’s job, his duty, to save his family. How could he possibly be expected to just abandon them?
‘Stay away from him, Michael, or I swear to God I’ll make you suffer!’ Oriel’s voice seemed to come from all around, as though every particle of every wall was a miniscule speaker.
Hound reached around and pulled a knife from behind his back, his face riddled with uncertainty. ‘You can’t touch me, Oriel. You don’t have any ports!’
‘Things change, Michael. Now stand down! Edward, hang in there, we’re almost in!’
Oriel clearly didn’t understand what Hound was trying to do. He couldn’t have been listening in for long or he would have realised that the rogue agent didn’t want to hurt Edward, just to keep him away from Extropia. A goal that Oriel no doubt shared.
It didn’t matter. Edward needed to escape – from both of them. He pushed his hands apart with all his strength as the pain shot like a needle through his wrists and up his arms. Still the knot refused to give.
‘Put the knife down!’ screamed Oriel. ‘I’m warning you!’
Hound again looked up as though there were speakers in the ceiling. ‘You never understood, Oriel! There’s too much at stake!’ He turned to Edward, his face reluctant yet fierce, and leant forward to grab him.
Edward launched himself with all the strength of his legs shoulder first into the right side of Hound’s waistline – forcing Hound’s weight onto his left leg. He hopped two-footed towards the double doors as Hound stumbled back. Through the glass in the doors he caught a glimpse of men in black combat uniforms charging towards the theatre. He hopped again, this time swivelling his back to face the door and bending forward.
The legs of the chair smashed hard against the inside of the doorframe. Shockwaves of pain attacked his back and his legs. His body continued revolving under its own momentum, clattering his head into the opposing doorframe. Everything went dull, except for the excruciating pain on one side of his skull.
Gunshots whizzed overhead. The hazy black silhouette of Hound dashed to the side of the room. ‘Please, Edward, you must let your brother go!’
‘Just tell me what you did with Elizabeth!’
‘I’m sorry, Edward,’ Hound replied with a knowing shake of his head. ‘You’re on your own now.’
‘What do you mean? Where is she?’ But Hound was already gone, vanished through the door to the side. ‘You bastard! Get back here!’ Edward’s legs kicked out, thrashing until all the energy he once had was exhausted.
‘Edward, Edward, are you okay?’ Oriel’s obscure, upside-down face appeared at the top of his vision. Several men in combat uniforms skipped past into the operating theatre, their guns poised to fire, then disappeared the way Hound had gone.
‘How did you find me?’ Edward asked, almost too exhausted to speak.
‘We traced your whereabouts from the log on your port. You’re lucky we know Hound well enough to find a way through his defences.’
‘Please, don’t take me back to the real world. I have to help my family. I have to help Elizabeth.’
‘Unfortunately, there’s little I can do to stop you. Much to my displeasure, the rules of VirtuaWorld technology mean you’ll be sent back the way you came, to Extropia. But goddam it, Edward, Elizabeth needs me in there, not some stupid kid!’
‘It’s not like you ever intended to go in,’ Edward said. He coughed, his anger tightening his throat and making it hard to breathe. ‘Besides, you have more ports now, what’s stopping you?’
‘We practically had to steal the ports off Vanderboom. He must have changed the password the moment we got them. More ports or not, you remain the only one who can get in.’
And like that, what little hope there was that they could blast their way to the tower was gone, just as quickly as it had arrived.
Oriel’s men reappeared in the operating theatre. ‘He’s gone, sir. No one here.’
‘Forrester, get back to the NCCU. See if you can trace where Hound went. And find us a doctor willing to enter virtual reality. We need someone to look after this one until he’s ready to go back to Extropia.’
‘Don’t pretend you care about me.’ Above Edward, Oriel’s face blurred fu
rther into obscurity.
‘I’m sorry, Edward. I really am. I may not be as cruel as you imagine. The simple matter is, I have those in my care, and you have those in yours.’
Edward began to roll his eyes, but the movement sparked a new wave of pain in his skull. My brother and father are in your care too, you coward, he thought. ‘Just tell me what happened to Elizabeth and Ivandell.’
‘The battle was nearly won. Then a new troop arrived led by Vanderboom himself. Vanderboom was carrying a staff, Edward. He’s a mage like you. I don’t know where Ivandell is. But I fear your friend may share the same fate as Elizabeth.’
‘Where is she?’ Edward croaked, as everything slid further out of focus.
‘She was captured. Vanderboom’s taking her to the tower.’
20
Solitude
When at last Edward returned to Extropia, he was standing inside the burnt-out shell of a house, its floor covered in rubble. The air was cool. White flakes were falling all around, even where he stood, inside the house; the roof was almost entirely collapsed. A flake caught in his eyelashes. Snow? No, it may have been cold, but not that cold. He wiped it off. It was finer than dust as he rubbed it between his index finger and his thumb. And grey, like the sky.
Ash.
Ash was falling everywhere. Through the half-intact walls, he saw the dirt road was tainted grey and white. He stepped over the smashed-down door into the street, and every cell in his body shrieked in horror.
All about him, ruined buildings were still burning, many already reduced to smouldering embers. Amidst the haze he could see the church, black smoke still spewing from the steeple’s windows.
This was Hawkshead. Or whatever was left of it.
His knees folded as he tried to tell himself the people who had once lived here weren’t real, that they were just signals in his brain, but this time it didn’t seem to help.
What am I, standing here in Extropia? he thought. My mind here is nothing more than code. Yet I can still feel these emotions, tearing me apart from the inside.
His chin sunk to his chest, the truth undeniable. If Dēofol or any of Extropia’s characters were to successfully enter a body in the real world, what difference would there be between their feelings and anyone else’s?
And whether they had been happy or not, these people had been content, able to love, to live. But along had come Edward, storming the prison and triggering a sequence of events that had destroyed what little lives they had left. He pictured them crying as they fought to the last to save their town. Each of them reacting, aching, as any human would. Each of them fleeing in terror.
He clutched at the ash-smothered dirt. What have I done?
Oh God, what have I done?
* * *
When he finally picked himself up again, he stumbled towards the central square, aiming to scour it for survivors, anyone who needed his help, or anyone who could help him. It occurred to him that Hound could be nearby, or could reappear at any moment, but there was little he could do; if Hound was after him again, then so be it. Edward would just have to do his best to fend him off, targeting Hound’s leg as a weak spot.
Burnt-out houses bordered the street, occasionally interrupted by narrow alleys that led to parallel streets. Ahead was the fountain and, before it, the spot where he’d found Elizabeth’s unconscious body. She’d risked everything for him and he’d repaid her by shoving her to the ground and ignoring her pleas to find safety. Now she was imprisoned in the tower, alone and afraid. He squirmed with self-loathing. He had to make it right. Dad, James, and now Elizabeth. Ivandell too, a man whose mind, at least, was as real as anyone’s. He owed them all his life.
He reached a gap in the next house, where the walls had been all but destroyed, and he waited, searching and listening for movement. Voices were talking excitedly nearby. Not for a minute did he hope it would be the villagers; their growling nature told him who it was. He peered through the house. Four Greys stood in the middle of the next road, surrounded by piles of chests and weapons. He watched as one of them took aim and fired an arrow towards a metal cup perched on a broken wall.
They were playing a game. As though the whole episode meant nothing.
Blood rushed to his head. He pictured himself charging and using his staff to send them all flying hundreds of yards into the sky, leaving them to drop and hit the earth with a crunch. But of course, he didn’t have the power for that. He glanced down the road towards the fountain, then behind him through the houses on the other side, wondering if he could risk searching the town. But already he could see more soldiers, marching a few streets over.
The village was overrun. Any survivors were certain to have been taken or killed. And if he wasn’t careful, the same would happen to him. So he edged back towards the field, keeping an eye out for soldiers to make sure no one spotted him. Once he was free of the village, he dashed towards the hay-filled barn. At the huge wooden doors, he stopped to peek inside. No one there, so he continued through, hoping it would provide him some cover as he snuck away.
The empty fields sloped into a tree-laden, green valley set between two snow-capped mountains. Then beyond those mountains, the other two lay slightly to the north, the four peaks set in a diamond. He remembered what Ivandell had said – that there was only one path in and out of the mountains. This valley had to be it.
Somewhere up there, the Great Warrior and his band of outlaws were waiting for the boy from the prophecy to bring them into the game. Then together they would hurry down the mountain. The people of Extropia would rejoice at the sight of the general and his soldiers, and they would unite to take the tower. That was the theory at least. In the back of his mind Edward knew it was a long shot. A desperate shot. But he would keep that thought where it belonged, as there was nothing else to be done.
And so he began the long trek forward, knowing he had neither food for sustenance nor blankets for warmth. But as Ivandell had once suggested, his magic could be used to place a rabbit or a bird in his hands, and the green of the valley floor implied the temperature shouldn’t be too different from that of the village.
A mile later, however, as he approached the first tall pines of the valley, he noticed how rapidly the temperature was dropping. The sky was clouding over, the wind was turning icy, as if the mountain valley had an entirely separate climate from the village behind him.
His face flushed as he remembered an old game he’d played with James. Skyrim, or something. One moment the player would be walking in sunny fields of green, then, within minutes, snow could be falling. Given the relatively small size of these worlds, the weather could change drastically from one area to the next.
He glanced back, wondering how far it might be to the next village. There could be others who might help him. But why would anyone believe in him without Ivandell to tell everyone who he was? He didn’t even know where the villages were, and even if he did, the villages would likely be riddled with soldiers scouring for the boy.
He pulled his hood over his head and gripped the neck of his robe to keep out the breeze. His feet trudged over the wet valley floor, riddled with broken branches and pine cones, and all the while his eyes scanned the grey sky above as he prayed that this was as cold as it would get.
Before long the first, lightweight flakes of snow began to fall. Cold gusts of wind swept across his face. His nose began to burn. The valley floor was soon covered in several inches of powdery snow. The flakes built up on the tops of his shoes. His toes began to ache.
His shoulders dropped. The chances of finding the general and returning down the mountain before nightfall were remote. He would at least need a fire if he was to sleep out here. Damn it, damn it, damn it! He was lost, without a clue or a hope, in a world where even the elements were against him. And slowly all the muscles in his neck and upper back stiffened as he tilted back his he
ad and groaned long and hard towards the sky. He would have to turn back. Sooner or later the soldiers would have to abandon Hawkshead.
Footsteps crunched somewhere in the snow behind him, and he gasped. He should have known someone might follow him into the mountains. And then to have alerted the whole world to his whereabouts with that bloody scream. He dived behind a bush just as an ugly, grey face bobbed into view.
* * *
‘Where’d he go?’
They stood only two yards away on the other side of a dense and thorny bush: two Greys with their swords in their hands, searching the trees of the mountain pass, metal plate armour covering the top halves of their bodies, loose plates covering their thighs and shins. Their misty breath blew backwards in the breeze and left a trace of their stench in Edward’s nostrils.
He gripped his dagger in cold, bloodless fingers. He’d been holding his breath from the moment they’d come into view, afraid they’d be able to see it in the cold air. He glanced about, wondering if there was any realistic chance he could escape unnoticed. But the ground around him was simply too exposed. And they were so close he could almost reach out and touch them.
His lungs felt like a vacuum, urging him with every passing moment to draw the air in deeply. The first dots of an oxygen-starved brain pricked his vision. Whatever he planned to do, he needed to do it now.
A picture flashed through his mind. The captain lying on the dirt floor of the village.
His eyes locked on the soldiers’ swords. A rush of ecstasy exploded from his stomach out to his skin, burning like pins and needles. The two soldiers’ eyes met, filling with fear as their swords swung for each other’s sides, just above their hips. They howled as the blades dug in. They struggled to force them away but Edward kept on, channelling the sickness in his belly out through his hands and his staff, digging the blades deeper. His body finally sapped of energy, he gave in and collapsed into the prickly bush.
