The Time Master

by Dmitry Bilik

  Oh well. At least it would give me a chance to look at death from the other side, so to say.

  The darkness enveloped me completely; all I could still see was a thin strip of light right in front of me. I stood there waiting but nothing seemed to change.

  Finally, I got bored and started walking toward it. Strangely enough, the light seemed to grow brighter. Even stranger, I felt no pain as I walked. I touched my stomach but found neither sword nor wound. Which meant I hadn’t been teleported here. What was it, then?

  Suddenly I realized what it reminded me of. My dream. It had been just like this. A path filled with darkness and desperation. The black mouth of a portal.

  The realization made my whole body shudder as if electrocuted. So that’s what it looked like? Until now, I’d had no idea what this black portal was. Was it like a tunnel which a Player could pass through? What was the problem, then, and why was I so uncomfortable here?

  Never mind. It would have to wait. If this was the portal, then I was about to face the Choruls. Wasn’t it ironic that I would only see them just before I died? You never know, I might even find out their true nature. Because for some reason, it looked like my life had been closely connected to them.

  I started running. And this was the strangest thing I’d ever experienced in my life. My feet felt as if they were being sucked into something spongy while my body was still moving. It made me think of the Red Queen’s race on the spot from Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking-Glass.

  And still the light was getting brighter, the figures far in front more tangible with my every step. There were three of them, just like in my dream. But I'd hoped for too much: I couldn't make out their faces from under their broad hoods. I wasn’t destined to discern their race.

  “Am I dead now?” I asked the one in the middle.

  “No. And I hope you’re gonna do everything you can to avoid it.”

  The speaker’s voice sounded human, even though I couldn’t be sure of anything anymore. It also seemed calm and leveled, giving me the impression that we were mundanely discussing the best water temperature for making green tea.

  “In that case, how is it I’m able to talk to you?” I asked, feeling the anxiety disappear from my voice. It would be weird to scream and freak out with such imperturbable company.

  “Let’s put it this way: we can control time, to a degree. So now we’ve paused it in order to speak to you.”

  “Does that mean that I’m still over there, dying?”

  “If you’re talking about your physical body, then yes, it’s critically close to shutting down. Humans usually call that death.”

  “You could have just as easily said ‘yes’.”

  “All right, then. Yes.”

  “But in that case-”

  “You have to survive,” he went on.

  “Why?”

  “Because too much has been put at stake for you. You’re the one who can either plunge reality into the kind of chaos it has never seen before, or bring all the worlds back into equilibrium. We tend to err on the latter. The Chorul you killed went willingly to his death in order that you inherit his power. Once that happened, the worlds came back into balance.”

  “It’s too complicated,” I grabbed at my head in a gesture all the more comical because I couldn’t possibly have a headache here. Or any other kinds of aches and pains, for that matter. “What’s in it for you? You seem to keep yourselves to yourselves.”

  “Any planet — or a world, as you call them — makes up part of a single Multiverse. The disappearance of a stone in Cesspit might change the direction of a trade route in Elysium. The murder of a Queen in Purgator does affect the distribution of royal court positions in Noggle. And something as petty as a mechanoid’s rusty joint might-”

  “I got it, I got it. The flap of a butterfly’s wing can cause a tsunami on the other side of the world.”

  “You could say that,” he agreed eagerly. “In any case, with time you’ll understand everything. Some things you’ll find out yourself, and some we’ll tell you. But not yet.”

  “Okay, okay. Now I need to survive despite being disemboweled by a Divine sword. I have less than 30% Health left. Do you really think it’s possible?”

  ‘When you finally become a wise and experienced Seeker, you’ll know that even the most improbable things are in fact quite doable. Depending on the angle from which you look at them.”

  “All this is great but please let’s leave all these expensive notions for some other time. Let’s focus on the problems at hand. Like how can I survive.”

  “Use that which Two-Face is after. It’s not for nothing he’s been waiting for it to resurface all this time.”

  I didn’t get the chance to reply. I still had a gazillion questions to ask them, dammit! Still, they must have decided they’d done their bit for today. Their figures started to blur. The darkness began to fall apart, revealing patches of light. I was going back, that little was perfectly clear.

  The far-off white noise turned into the mocking voice of Jan. My belly was almost exploding with pain.

  Two-Face was leaning over me, holding the sword by the hilt, and whispered something jeeringly into my face. Still, I had neither the strength nor the time to listen to him.

  Instead, I checked my interface, desperately scrolling through my stats, until I finally saw it.

  The Avatar. In fact, it looked like a white wax mask like those used on theater logos. Nothing too fancy; it was mesmerizing in its simplicity.

  It hung suspended in the air. The one worn by the Savior. The one that had made him what he was. The one that had allowed him to work miracles.

  The one which, if the Chorul were to be believed, might save me.

  I had only one choice. I had only one chance.

  I reached out for the white mask and put it on.

  Interlude. A Good Day to Die

  THE CHORUL TOOK in a chestful of freezing cold air and closed his eyes. Suddenly he saw himself as a little boy all those years ago. A three-year-old child, staring in surprise at the white sheet covering the ground, catching large slow snowflakes with his mouth.

  “You don’t have to do what the Ephet says,” a woman’s voice snatched him back from his reverie.

  She stood right in front of him: anxious, freezing and in a foul mood.

  “The Ephet’s words reveal the will of all the others,” the Chorul replied calmly. “And they’re right. The council is unanimous in regards of this matter.”

  “But don’t you understand? It means you’re gonna die!”

  “We’re all gonna die someday. Even gods are mortal. Whether you live for a year, or ten years, or even a thousand, the outcome is always the same. The question is, how our death can affect the lives of others.”

  “But why do you have to leave me?” she flew at him with clenched fists.

  He patiently restrained her, but she showed no intention of attacking him any further. Instead, she burst into tears on his chest. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “You? You’ll only become the greatest and most powerful of all the Choruls. One day, you’re gonna replace one of the Ephets. Or you might go to some other worlds where we’re needed.”

  They stood there for a long time — if you could use such a term with creatures for whom time is just a notion. Finally, the Chorul eased himself away.

  “I’ll see you by the Gates in half an hour,” he said.

  “I’m already there,” she replied sadly.

  “I can see that,” he gave her a hint of a smile, then headed off.

  DeKhat whom they’d snatched from the clutches of the civil war and brought here to the safe haven of Archaeth, was busy whirring his gear wheels. Six steel spidery legs carried him around the room with a seemingly instantaneous ease while his perfectly human hands carried out any task with the utmost dexterity. Now DeKhat was busy with the charmed cube from the ruins of the Fortress of Hamerito which had been destroyed four thousand years ago in the wor
ld of Lotver.

  “Oh hi,” the mechanoid cheered up at the sight of a visitor. “Did you see what they brought me? It’s just as powerful as a quarter of an ounce of tartum from the central world. If it goes up, it’ll be curtains.”

  “DeKhat, I’ve come to get my order.”

  “Sure, sure. I’ll go get it straight away. If only I had more time! Then again, what do you care, hehe! But not everyone can afford to lead such unlinear lives as you do...” his voice trailed away as he realized the significance of the visit. “Wait a sec. Are you... are you leaving?”

  “I am indeed.”

  “By the holy crocuses of Velchoir, is it that time already? I didn’t expect it to happen so soon. No, please don’t get me wrong. Every Chorul must be ready to leave on their last voyage. You guys seem to take it for granted, so I-”

  “Sorry, DeKhat, but I need my order.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” the mechanoid dashed into a room next door on his spidery legs. The Chorul heard the crashing of things falling to the ground.

  Soon the mechanoid reemerged with a small cloth bundle in his hands. “Here’s what you asked for. Perfectly adaptable to the wearer’s level. For a middle-class mage. I could have made it stronger, you know, that way you’d have had God-class clothes. You know that our facilities are good enough for that now.”

  “That’s a bit over the top,” the Chorul said. “It’s good as it is. Thanks a lot, DeKhat.”

  “Wait,” the mechanoid jerked toward him and proffered his hand. “Good luck.”

  The Chorul shook his hand and walked out. He could sense dozens of pairs of eyes upon him. He even knew who was looking at him. Still, he didn’t look back. Calmly he continued toward the far Gatehouse where the girl was already waiting for him.

  The Gatehouse was always deserted as the portal led only to a few underdeveloped worlds. Cesspit was one of them.

  The Chorul removed his clothes unhurriedly, exposing his strong muscular body. He neatly folded his things and lay them down beside him, shuddering as his bare feet touched the stone beneath. Unpleasant.

  “Can you cast some clothes for me?” he asked the girl. “You know I’m not big on magic.”

  She was almost crying, the tears threatening to drip from her long eyelashes. Still, she did as he’d bidden her, handing him an ordinary long hooded cloak and a pair of high boots.

  The naked man got dressed, hid a blade in his sleeve and picked up the bundle and a small mirror.

  “No pants, but a great cloak,” he joked.

  “What am I gonna do now?” the girl stopped trying to conceal the tears which rolled down her cheeks.

  The Chorul walked over to her and gave her a warm sympathetic hug, gentle but brotherly. Then he eased himself away. “Please go now. It’ll be better that way.”

  She looked at him one last time, turned round and walked away in an unstable, almost drunken gait, sniffing her nose. Her shoulders heaved.

  With a heavy sigh, the Chorul turned to the Gatekeeper. “I need to go to Cesspit, to a place called Threshold.”

  “You know that this Gate doesn’t have a return option, do you?”

  “I know. Security measure. But I don’t intend to come back.”

  “Your last voyage?” the Gatekeeper asked.

  For a moment, the Chorul got the impression that the Gatekeeper’s voice betrayed a hint of sympathy. He nodded. “I have traveled a lot between worlds and I often wondered who Gatekeepers really were. But I couldn’t find the answer anywhere. Maybe you can tell me? Now. Just before my last voyage. Who are you?”

  “We are the spawn of the Game. We are those who brought it into being. We are the ones it needs.”

  “That’s too generic, I’m afraid. Are you Players?”

  “We used to be. And then... we just became Gatekeepers. We’re a bit like you, to an extent.”

  “Only we find ourselves at opposite poles.”

  “No,” the Gatekeeper slowly shook his head. “If anything, our understanding of reality is on a different plane. You believe that the worlds need equilibrium. We place our hopes on the connectivity within the interworld network, whatever it might bring. That’s the difference between us.”

  “No good me trying to compete with your rhetoric.”

  The armor-clad giant nodded. “That would be rather imprudent.”

  “Let’s leave it till later, then. It’s time for me to leave.”

  “As you wish, Chorul.”

  The Gatekeeper reached under his armor, produced a pinch of dust and threw it onto the stone. Instead of dropping, the dust hung suspended in the air and started moving, gradually gaining momentum.

  The Chorul touched the altar, as did the armor-clad creature opposite him. The next moment, the silence of the constantly overcast Archaeth was shattered by the pandemonium of Cesspit.

  The Gate was different. The exit the Chorul used wasn’t one of those in the Community, either. He stepped out into a deserted little lane and paused to find his bearings, then strode confidently toward the Order.

  Prague met him with a wave of chilly air. Still, he didn’t feel the cold, his mind focused on other things. He had to think what to say to the Grand Master. He was neither worried nor anxious about their conversation because he already knew how it was going to turn out. He’d already seen it. As the Choruls say, he’d “already finished the conversation without saying a word”.

  The Order occupied an age-old three-story building guarded by regular humans — trained professionals sworn to secrecy. The fencing master Oliverio — one of the Magister’s closest confidants — stood with them too. The group reacted to his arrival with suppressed anxiety. Although no one had said a word, he could see they were awaiting explanations.

  “I need to see the Grand Master.”

  “Who are you?” Oliverio sized him up.

  “I’m a Chorul. I am the voice of Ephet 76, from Archaeth.”

  That seemed to be sufficient. Oliverio nodded and disappeared inside. He hadn’t stood the guards at ease though, so they continued to stare at the strange man in the hooded cloak.

  The Chorul waited patiently, staring at the large cobblestones, until Oliverio re-emerged.

  “The Grand Master will see you now.”

  Oliverio showed him inside the lavishly decorated building, past dozens of Seers who stared at the Chorul in surprised curiosity. They walked through two rooms and into a third where the head of the Order was sitting.

  “Chorul,” the man said in surprise. He was fit and tanned. “Fancy seeing you here! Have you come to tell me something?”

  “There’re lots of things I’d like to tell you. For example, that in order to confuse me, you decided to see me here and not upstairs as usual. I could also tell you that the Magister is now listening into our every word in the secret room next door. Or I could tell you that I’ve arrived with an important proposition, next to which all your little tricks would pale into insignificance. So what do you want me to tell you, Numa?”

  On hearing his name, the Grand Master jumped. His real name, which had been lost through the millennia and buried within these ancient city walls destroyed by the Visigoths. Even his closest entourage who’d been with him during the fall of the Empire and had followed him through all the Crusades and hundred-year wars didn’t know it, either.

  “Leave us!” the Grand Master shouted. “You too, Oliverio!”

  The Chorul heard rustling coming from behind the wall, then the fading sound of footsteps. Apparently, Oliverio didn’t dare contradict his boss.

  “I knew that Choruls were powerful. But this...”

  “Yes, we’re powerful enough not to be affected by flattery. Now we should get down to business.”

  The Chorul spoke unhurriedly for a long time. The Grand Master who had once been called Numa listened patiently, occasionally trying to butt in. Every time he did so, the man in the cloak raised a commanding finger and continued elaborating on his plan: step by step, word by word.
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br />   When he finally stopped, the Grand Master of the Order of Seers couldn’t speak for a long time.

  “This is... atrocious,” he finally whispered.

  “It’s a necessary sacrifice.”

  “Half of my Order a necessary sacrifice?!”

  “Not half. Only a few dozen. It's either them or the whole of Cesspit. The moment the Time Master manifests himself here, so will the Darkest One.”

  “Well, then we need to make sure this snotnose doesn’t turn up!”

  “Too late. It’s already been destined, so it can’t happen any other way. All we can do now is try to alleviate the consequences.”