‘You could at least get cleaned up; you look bloody disgusting,’ Arwen’s Child says, and moves away from them.
Drizzel ignores her. ‘Well well, Sarius. I thought you were done for. So those giant blue females at the river didn’t finish you off after all?’
‘Obviously not.’
‘And was it a total massacre?’
‘If you hadn’t nicked off, you would know.’
‘You’ve got a big mouth for a Two.’
Sarius doesn’t respond. The others can see his level, but he can’t see theirs. Suddenly he feels naked.
‘Leave him in peace. Otherwise I’ll tell him a few things I know about you,’ Arwen’s Child puts in.
‘Go for it. You know how much the messenger loves big mouths,’ Drizzel retorts.
At this moment Lelant comes round the corner. He stops abruptly and in a flash pulls his morningstar from his belt.
‘Oh shit, it’s an elf invasion,’ Blackspell groans.
‘Shut your face,’ Sarius responds. Lelant is one of the people he’s most pleased to see here. I know who you are, mate. He moves over and gestures an invitation so Lelant will come and join him. But he doesn’t seem to want to. He’s keeping a distance from the fire. Then he sees Feniel and Grotok, who are still busy with the dead scorpions, takes a step towards them – and changes his mind yet again. Finally he comes over to the fire, but stays as far away from Sarius as possible.
‘Hi, Lelant,’ Sarius greets him.
‘Are the two over there looking for wish crystals?’ Lelant asks in place of a greeting.
‘Yeah,’ Blackspell says. ‘But they’re not having any luck. The critters haven’t got anything in them.’
‘Oh, that’s too bad. Because I did quite well.’ Lelant reaches into his bag and draws out a crystal that gives off a green light. ‘Wicked, isn’t it?’
‘Where did you get it?’ Arwen’s Child asks.
‘None of your business.’
Sarius stares at the glowing stone and gets a hot feeling inside him. He doesn’t have to ask where the crystal is from. It was his scorpion, his prize that he left Lelant with, and he’s taken advantage of that. That’s just plain mean.
‘I guess you realise that the stone belongs to me?’
‘And why would that be?’
‘Because I finished off the scorpion by myself, that’s why. If you’re fair, you’ll hand the thing over.’
‘Dream on. I’m not that bloody stupid.’
Sarius draws his sword before he’s even had time to think. Now he stands there, at a loss. He doesn’t actually want to attack Lelant; he just wants the crystal that he’s entitled to. If you knew who I was, you would just give it to me.
‘Hey, no duels outside the cities,’ Drizzel yells.
‘Oooh, I’m so scared. The Two wants to have a go at me,’ Lelant sneers. ‘One stroke with the sword and the messenger will come and take you away. Go for it. Do me a favour.’
As a matter of form Sarius keeps his sword pointing at Lelant’s chest for a few more seconds, before he puts it away again, secretly happy to have got out of it without a fight.
‘You know perfectly well you have no claim to the stone.’
‘Why not? Can I help it if you nick off and only take the stinger and the claws with you? Guys, you should have seen it! Cuts the claws off the brute and stuffs his inventory full with them. What are you going to do with them? Play dress ups?’
Sarius stares at Lelant. The dark brown skin, the stubbly black hair, the gleaming dark eyes. I’ll get you back for this, you bastard. ‘Then keep it. You’re a bloody coward.’
‘Yeah, a bloody coward with a wish crystal. Does anyone already know what direction the city is?’
‘Why don’t you ask your wish crystal?’ Sarius snipes. ‘Or do something for yourself for a change.’
He doesn’t wait for Lelant to respond. Instead he turns his back on the fire and marches into the first passageway of the labyrinth he comes across. He would actually rather continue on by himself than hang around with idiots like them.
He was so close to finding a wish crystal – so close. It’s still dark in the passages, but the thought of that damned Lelant propels him on. If a scorpion gets in his way right now, he’ll make mincemeat out of it. He keeps going, and going. He still has plenty of time to reach his destination, and tells himself that the others will soon be eating his dust.
Unfortunately all the passages here look the same again. There’s nothing that hints at the White City. He wanders on, meets no-one, no-one attacks him. After what seems like forever he halts. His anger has shrunk to a small glowing kernel inside him.
What now? He could kick himself for his impulsiveness. Why didn’t he at least ask Arwen’s Child to come with him? She was on his side – there was no need to leave her behind with the others. Then he’d be able to light a fire. Then he wouldn’t be all alone.
He has one more go at getting his bearings. There must be some sign. Perhaps white pebbles at the correct turn-offs, or a bell pealing on the hour. He strains his ears. Peers in every direction. Listens intently at every fork. And then, at the third crossroads he hears something – not bells, but a rushing sound. It’s only very soft, but it’s a sign. Something to guide him.
The rushing sound gets clearer the longer Sarius follows it. He has abandoned his caution – something tells him that no danger is threatening. He pauses for a moment to figure out why he feels so safe. It’s the music, he realises. Gently, imperceptibly its character has changed. It makes him confident, leaves him in no doubt that he is on the right path.
A few minutes later Sarius discovers the source of the rushing sound: an underground river. In the meagre light of the torches its waters appear almost black, but as he gets closer they prove to be blood-red.
In spite of himself horrible pictures start crowding into his mind. Battlefields, corpses stacked up in great piles, sacrificial rites. After all, the blood has to come from somewhere.
If it’s blood! He can’t quite tell. The colour of the water could be due to the stones on the river bed, or . . . It doesn’t matter. There’s no way Sarius is going to drink it anyway, even if he could do with some refreshment right now.
He walks over and stands at the stone edge, right by the water. It flows evenly, straight as a die, like a channel. Cities are often built on rivers, so he’ll take his direction from this one. But upriver or downriver? He examines his surroundings for clues, finds none, and resolves to go upriver.
After only a short while it gets brighter – braziers at the river’s edge illuminate the path at regular intervals. Suddenly it’s child’s play. Sarius runs, runs faster when he discovers a broad staircase that leads upwards, but has to stop shortly before it, because he hasn’t been paying attention to his stamina. He regains his breath and begins the ascent. Jubilant music surrounds him, daylight streams towards him.
The view that greets him when he finally reaches the top is magnificent. Walls, towers and archways of white marble are bathed in sunlight. Even the road that leads to the city gleams like ivory.
Sarius isn’t in a hurry any more. The city seems to be waiting only for him. He soaks in the sight of it and slowly approaches.
On his arrival the four guards at the gate lower their lances in greeting. A fanfare sounds, and the potbellied herald high above on the city wall announces the latest news. ‘Sarius has arrived. Sarius, knight, of the race of dark elves, is entering the White City.’
CHAPTER 9
‘Would you like some more rice?’ Mum was brandishing the heaped-up ladle enthusiastically over Nick’s plate.
‘No thanks.’
‘Don’t you like it? You’re just poking around at the meat.’
Nick was finding it hard to concentrate on his mother’s words. Sarius had taken a room in an inn in the White City, and the innkeeper there had prescribed three hours of rest. Wham – a black screen yet again.
‘Nick! Your mother asked you
something!’
‘Yes, Dad. Sorry. No, it’s tasty. I’m just tired.’
His father took a sip of his beer, and frowned.
‘You didn’t even have school today!’
‘No, he was studying Chemistry,’ Mum put in helpfully. ‘Let’s be glad that he’s taking school seriously. I was talking to Melanie Falkner yesterday. Her son is never at home any more, and apparently all he does at school is make trouble . . .’
Nick’s thoughts were drifting again. He wasn’t registered for the Arena fights yet. He didn’t even know where he needed to go to register. What if he didn’t find the right place or there were still tasks he had to complete before that? Then he mightn’t make it. Still, it was only a little less than an hour to go before the end of the rest period. Mum would doze off in front of the telly, and maybe Dad would disappear off to the pub for a third beer. It would have been better if Sarius could have taken his break later – after midnight, when Nick would have been tired anyway. He wondered whether the others had found the red river in the meantime, or whether they were still wandering through the labyrinth.
He rubbed his burning eyes. The innkeeper had eyed Sarius’s armour and told him about the brilliant armourers in the White City. But Sarius didn’t have any gold or a wish crystal. He didn’t even know how he was supposed to pay for his room at the inn, but he had to take one. By written order of the messenger.
That damned Lelant. Come Monday Nick was going to have a go at Colin, the bastard.
‘. . . by next week?’
The sudden silence that followed this question led Nick to suspect it had been directed at him.
‘Er, sorry – can you repeat that?’
‘I said, is your Chemistry assignment due next week? For God’s sake, Nick, what’s the matter with you?’
Dad’s impressive belly bumped into the edge of the table as he leaned forwards angrily.
‘It’s not acceptable, the way you’re opting out of this conversation. It is about you, after all.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry.’ Please don’t start with the whys and what-fors. ‘I’m supposed to hand it in next week, but I think I’ve got it under control. How was work today?’
Asking Dad about his work was a safe bet. There was always something to talk about. Today it was a patient who’d slipped Nick’s dad five pounds so his trusty nurse would go and get him fish and chips from the shop round the corner.
‘What’s more, his cholesterol was about as high as Mt Everest,’ Dad informed them, and helped himself to some more chicken casserole. ‘You’d imagine that the fact that they’ve already eaten their way into hospital would give these people something to think about, but no.’ Nick gave a mechanical smile and wished he was back in the White City. ‘Can I leave the table?’
‘Of course,’ Mum said.
‘But help your mother with the dishes,’ Dad mumbled between bites.
Nick cleared the table briskly, hurriedly stuck the plates and glasses into the dishwasher, and ran up the stairs to his room. He tried to start the game even though he knew better. It didn’t work, of course.
That left forty-five minutes he could use for Chemistry. The thought had no appeal whatsoever. Come on, he urged himself. At least look at a few formulas.
He opened the book and was trying to fight the wave of glumness that engulfed him when Dad burst into his room.
‘I completely forgot to ask you about tomorrow. Are you . . . Hey, you really are working!’
‘Uh, yeah.’
‘Is it hard?’
‘You can say that again.’
Dad came over behind him and peered at the book, full of well-meaning interest that dissipated within seconds, to be replaced by paternal helplessness.
‘My goodness. I can’t be much help with that any more, Nick.’ ‘It’s fine, Dad. You don’t have to, I can manage all right.’
His father put a hand on his shoulder.
‘Sorry I interrupted you. I’m proud of you, did you know that? At least something will become of one of my boys.’
Nick suppressed the desire to shake his father’s hand off, and bit his lip. After a moment he felt the weight lift off his shoulder.
‘I’m going to the pub. Don’t work too long, Nick.’
The door closed behind him.
Still forty-three minutes to go. He rubbed his face with both hands before he bent back over his book and stared at the formulas. If he found at least a couple of sentences for his assignment, that would do for today. Nick shut his eyes and repeated what he had read. It was a shame that there were no wish crystals in real life – he could really use them for Chemistry. He was never going to get an A, never.
He took a piece of paper and wrote the title on it: The Identification of Amino Acids by the Use of Thin Layer Chromatography.
There, he’d made a start. Now he needed an introduction. Really though, working this way wasn’t worth it. If he was going to write, he may as well, do it properly. Take lots of time, preferably tomorrow, after breakfast. Then there would be no scorpions crawling through his brain, and his anger at Colin would have blown over.
Nick took one last look at his book, then he turned on the computer. Clicked over to Emily’s page on deviantART, out of habit. Nothing new though. Disappointment flared up in him briefly; then he had an idea. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? He opened Google and typed ‘Erebos’ in the search bar. There’d have to be a page for the company that had developed it, a forum, maybe even updates to download. Tips, cheats, the whole lot.
Nick found a Wikipedia entry at the top of the search results. There you go, the game was famous. He clicked on the link and read.
In Greek mythology Erebos is the God of darkness and shadow, and its embodiment. According to the poet Hesiod he was created from Chaos at the same time as Gaia, Nyx, Tartaros and Eros. According to Hesiod, first there was Chaos (the gaping, hollow space) out of which the lightless darkness of the deep, Erebos, sprang. From the union of Nyx and Erebos sprang not only sleep and dreams but the evils of the world: doom, old age, death, discord, anger, misery and denial, Nemesis, the Moirai and the Hesperides, which appear here as threatening aspects of the moon goddess, but also joy, friendship (Philotes) and pity. According to later legends, Erebos was part of the underworld. It was the place that the dead had to pass through immediately after their death. Erebos was also often used as a synonym for Hades, the Greek god of the underworld.
Nick read through the text twice, and clicked it shut again. That might be fascinating if you were interested in Greek gods, but it was of no value to him. Not a tip in sight.
He kept looking. Just links to Greek mythology, and a few to a death metal band. It was the very last entry on the page that drew a subdued whoop of triumph from Nick: It said ‘Erebos, the game.’ Nothing else. Nick clicked expectantly on the link. It took a moment before the page loaded. Red writing on a black background:
‘Not a good idea, Sarius.’
Why not, he was tempted to ask for a second, then the enormity of the situation dawned on him, and he closed the window, closed the browser as if he wanted to lock someone out. That wasn’t real, he had imagined it. It wasn’t possible, the internet itself couldn’t talk to him. Perhaps he should call the page up again – he must have made a mistake. It was bound to be —
His phone rang, and Nick’s heart nearly stood still. Perhaps he shouldn’t have closed the page? He read ‘Jamie’ on the lit-up display and breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Hi! Did I interrupt something? You sound so rushed.’
‘No. It’s fine.’
‘Good. Listen, do you feel like going for a bike ride into the country tomorrow? We haven’t done that for ages, and the weather is supposed to be good.’
Nick needed a moment to think up a suitable excuse.
‘That’s a great idea, but I’m working on my Chemistry assignment. I’ve absolutely got to produce something decent, and I don’t want to take any chances.’
‘Oh.’ Jamie sounded disappointed. ‘You know what? I’ll help you. Come over tomorrow and we’ll do some research on the internet. Then you’re bound to be done quickly!’
Shit.
‘We’ll see. But I can probably concentrate better by myself. And that’s . . . kind of, uh, important.’
Nick squeezed his eyes shut. God that sounded fake. And stupid as well. There was astonished silence at the other end of the line. Nick could hear the telly squawking in the background.
‘Are you serious?’ Jamie asked after an unusually long pause. ‘That’s not what you used to say. After all, we . . . Oh!’ Jamie burst out laughing. ‘Nick, my boy, why didn’t you tell me right away? You’ve got a date, and you’re worried that Uncle Jamie won’t stop teasing you if you admit it.’
‘Rubbish.’
‘Oh come on, it’s fine. Have fun, and tell me every little detail on Monday. By next weekend I’ll finally make a move on Darleen, too, then maybe the four of us can go out somewhere?’
‘Darleen?’ Nick asked, interested despite himself.
‘Yes, the cute blonde from school orchestra. A year below us, plays the clarinet and wears her skirt really short. Darleen. Ring a bell?’
‘Sort of. Listen, I have to go. Mum’s calling me.’ The lie came readily to Nick since the clock on his computer said 8:55. He’d be able to start the game again soon.
The room is bare, and only has a tiny window that doesn’t open. The bed makes creaking noises every time Sarius moves – he’s afraid it’s going to collapse any minute and the innkeeper will put it on his bill.
He’s pleased to find that his stamina and health are everything he could hope for. The rest did him good. It’s only when he moves towards the door that he notices he’s not alone in the room. A gnome, the same dirty white colour as the walls, is sitting on a small stool, his arms around his drawn-up knees.
‘Hey ho, Sarius!’ he screeches, and grins. ‘I have news for you. From the messenger. I am the messenger’s messenger, so to speak.’