Epic (35 page)

Chapter 32

EPICUS ULTIMA

The tower stood
at the nexus of an enormous, writhing concentration of ethereal threads, like a giant needle thrust through a ball of silvery wool. Inside, it was utterly bare, a tall hollow tube that narrowed to a distant black point; but outside, it connected the entire universe. Throughout the planet, ethereal threads wove their way, unseen by normal eyes, merging and splitting, forming great knotty robes and minute fibers—the warp and weft of the world. And at their greatest concentration, where massive cords of ether fastened themselves all the way along its length, this shimmering tower.

Now that he was standing at the center of the world, Erik could understand how the pathing worked. If, somehow, you took ethereal form, you could travel along this cord, as a pulse of moonlight, and you would be in Cassinopia; along that one and you could visit the undersea city of King Aquirion; or that one, and you could dance on the surface of Sylvania, just for the fun of pirouetting in the low gravity.

Cindella whistled aloud with admiration. It was an extraordinary position from which to appreciate how vast and detailed was Epic. It was a shame that the others were not here to experience it. Similarly, it was tempting to continue the game, to explore the endless realms that had now suddenly become available. But of course there was no question of that, not now that the game had become an instrument for C.A. to misrule the real world.

Cindella walked across the wide floor; her tread was soft, but nevertheless echoed into the distance. A glance showed that she had not disturbed Sir Warren. The brave paladin had dragged himself into the tower moments after Cindella; torn and burnt, he was barely alive. But she had helped him into a sitting posture, in which he remained, meditating and praying, restoring his depleted spell-casting capability. It would take several hours, though, to recover to the point of casting “heal” spells of sufficient strength to cure all his wounds.

Returning to his explorations, Erik was increasingly anxious that there seemed to be no sign of a lock for his key. Then he stopped Cindella, curious. A channel in the floor was partly filled with a milky silver liquid; it stretched right across the chamber, crossing over the center. Where the channel met the walls of the tower, at either end, it was white. But some twenty feet in the center of the line remained dark and empty.

Erik was puzzling over this when a sudden metallic-sounding set of footsteps made him look up. Sir Warren gave out a groan, but the noise was not from him. Into the chamber had staggered Svein Redbeard, wearing his great blue warhelm. He quickly uncorked a healing potion and restored himself before looking up.

“Svein, what are you doing here?” Cindella ran over to him.

“I could not resist the opportunity. Once I saw you had summoned the tower, I had to see for myself. It was a risk, but with fire resistance up, those hounds aren’t so bad.”

The warrior walked around, gasping with amazement at the shimmering tendrils of ether that floated in innumerable quantities from the walls of the tower. “Hell’s death! This is incredible.”

“Why didn’t you help us?” Erik accused him.

“I wasn’t sure I wanted you to succeed. After all, this world might finish now?” Svein walked around the chamber, footsteps loud.

“Yes, if I can find the lock.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. In fact, I think it is probably a very bad one. Better if I take charge of things, now that you’ve destroyed the rest of C.A. But I don’t suppose I can stop you if that’s what you want.”

Neither of them spoke for a while, as Svein strode around, like Erik had done, sending his vision along the ethereal pathways as pulses of moonlight, to see into the realms that they penetrated.

“I wonder where the princess is being held?” Svein mused aloud.

“That one, I think. I saw it earlier.” Cindella pointed partway up the north wall, to a thread that would eventually lead to a magic chamber accessible only via ethereal pathways.

“Hmmm. Yes, I see. I’m tempted to go and rescue her. I have the other quest parts. The poor creature must have been there for years.”

“Go ahead. Sir Warren needs peace and quiet to recover his healing spells.”

“Oh, never mind. Perhaps later if the world survives.”

“What do you make of this?” Cindella ran over to the line in the floor, which glowed silver at either end. Sir Warren gave a weary glance at it, but said nothing.

“Curious,” replied Svein, and then looked past Cindella through the wall of the tower.

She turned around. Epic’s first moon, Sylvania, had risen halfway in the star-filled sky, glowing silver through the translucent walls of the tower. Similarly, Aridia, her smaller companion of the night, was rising on their opposite side. Cindella glanced down again. The part of the line that was empty had shrunk! As each of the moons was gaining height, the channel was filling with silver light from either end of the hall. Soon they would converge in the very center of the chamber floor.

“That’s it!” cried Erik delightedly. “That’s where the lock will be.”

“Probably.” Svein sounded regretful, but did his best to pretend otherwise, walking around the inside of the tower, exclaiming from time to time as the threads revealed the missing connections that once had puzzled him so greatly.

A shiver passed through Cindella as if an earthquake had suddenly rocked the tower. The quality of the light changed, tainting the silver glow all around them with corruption. It was as though the ancient decay of the standing stones had somehow seeped through the ethereal stones of the tower. Looking up, Erik was stunned and nearly paralyzed to see the vampyre standing behind Cindella—a vicious, confident smile playing on its evil lips.

“We meet again, for the last time, I think.” The count shot out his arm, and Cindella barely rolled aside, evading the grasp. She leapt to her feet and began to run.

The chuckle of the vampyre filled the tower with malicious glee. “Run, run little girl. Let fear grow in your heart.”

A wave of immobility struck her; the count had cast a spell, but she was able to shake it off. Then an ominous silence. Was the creature flying now, swift but silent? Was it right behind him? Involuntarily Cindella flinched, imagining a blow between her shoulders.

Should she take one of the ethereal paths? To a realm where the sun was up? But how was that done? And what about using the key?

In an instant, it no longer mattered, for the count appeared right in front of Cindella, having been invisible while he overtook her. His eyes were extraordinarily intense black furnaces, pouring out a dark heat that seemed to warm Erik physically. He could feel the sweat pouring from his body back in Hope Library.

That was it! He would unclip for a moment while the moons moved into position and talk to the others. Perhaps they would have a suggestion. But it was strangely difficult to raise his hand.

“Be still,” the vampyre whispered soothingly, coming closer, all the time transfixing Erik on the points of his stare. Even though Erik knew that the words were poison, sapping his strength, he found himself relaxing his muscles. This was an extremely disturbing experience, and yet he could not bring himself to look away. It was like the time he had been feverish in the hospital, seeing his body lying on the bed as if from the outside.

“Ahhh, Cindella, you are a rare beauty in this drab world.” The count caressed her cheeks with the backs of his gnarled fingernails, slowly drawing them down her neck. Erik was conscious of the beating of his heart; he could see reflected in the black mirrors of the Count’s eyes each beat of his pulse as it swelled the arteries of his white throat. And the pulses were growing faster.

“No!” Sir Warren was blazing gold with the presence of the Avatar. “She is our friend. Leave her.”

With a snarl, the count hurled Cindella across the chamber and whirled to face the paladin.

“We have no friends—certainly not among these creatures. For are we not one? But they, they are millions. We are alone.” The count was attempting to be placating now. But Erik, restored to his senses once more, could detect a tone of genuine nervousness in the vampyre as Sir Warren strode towards it.

“No!” cried the count. “You will destroy us!”

“So be it.” Sir Warren suddenly reversed his blade, and, holding it upside down, as a great silver cross, thrust it forward. “I banish you, foul creature of evil.”

“Argghhhhh!” A terrible scream resounded about the chamber, causing Erik to clamp his hands over his ears. The vampyre flinched, collapsing to one knee and cowering, arm above its face. Golden light poured from the figure of the knight, its streams scalding the count, who howled with the voice of a thousand tortured prisoners.

Yet the vampyre clung to its existence, and would not be banished from the tower. Gradually the screams ebbed away and were replaced by a silent struggle. The count stiffened and astonishingly fought his way back to his feet. Aghast, Erik saw that the pure gold light flowing from the paladin was becoming tainted, subtly altering, a particle at a time, turning to copper, as a blood stain seeped into the air around the vampyre.

“Death and destruction!” swore Svein. “What are they?”

Without answering, Erik came to his senses and looked at the center of the floor. The two lines of light were nearly touching. Cindella ran over to the point at which they would meet, and took the key out of its box, holding it ready. Only then did Erik risk looking back at the struggle.

Now the vampyre was closing on Sir Warren, one labored step after the other. The paladin was braced, one foot stretched back for support, both his hands thrusting forward his upturned sword, blazing like a star. But tendrils of corruption were snaking back along the golden paths, casting deep red shadows that made sinister shapes on the walls of the tower. Another step and the vampyre could nearly touch the sword, its face twisted in agony, sharp incisors gleaming from a jaw stretched wide.

Almost whimpering aloud with urgency, Erik pleaded in his mind for the silvery lines to fill up the last of the channel, and touch. They were only inches apart.

The vampyre placed both his hands over those of Sir Warren and slowly the sword began to lower. Throughout the tower, the blaze of light grew noticeably dimmer, and darkness crept down from its distant roof. Then, more hopefully, a pulse of golden lightning and renewed, hideous screams from the vampyre. The two of them were locked together, torturing one another.

All that Erik could do was to look away, to beneath his kneeling figure, where the silver liquids stretched their convex surfaces towards each other and, finally, kissed. Moonlight flowed in the channel from one side of the tower to the other, and at the center, directly beneath Cindella, the words
finem facere mundo
appeared in glowing silver, encircling a small keyhole.

“Erik!” Svein was beside him, a look of eagerness on his face. “Let me. Please. I’ve spent my life working for this.” He held out his hand.

Cindella shook her head.

Svein sighed. “Still, if it should be anyone else, it should be you. You are a great player, very sharp, exciting to watch, intelligent too. I was watching the battle. Your team was incredible. In all the years I’ve taught at the University, I’ve never seen such daring but accurate moves.”

This was all very well, but Erik refused to reply, hurriedly scrambling to get the key to fit properly.

“Stop what you are doing!” Now Svein drew his sword. But they both knew that the threat was idle. Nevertheless he chopped down onto Cindella’s wrist with a blow that could have cut off her hand. If he had hoped that the tower was a kind of arena, in which player could attack player, Svein was disappointed; Cindella was totally unharmed.

“Of course! Why didn’t I think of this earlier?” Svein abruptly sprinted to where Sir Warren and the Count were locked together, and smashed the hilt of his sword into the back of the paladin’s head.

Sir Warren’s sword fell to the ground with a clatter, and his body collapsed into the arms of the vampyre, who tossed it across the chamber with disgust, turning his evil eyes immediately to where Cindella had finally managed to settle the key in the lock.

“Desist!” All the powers of command that the vampyre could summon were focused in that one word.

“No.” Cindella grasped the key firmly and turned it as far as it could go.

 

In the far distances of the universe, stars crumpled, their light and matter sucked into the tiny hairlike endings of ethereal threads. The threads themselves drew inwards, tiny fibers retreating into the body of the great coils. Above the tower, slowly at first, the glittering lights disappeared and darkness grew. Not the dark of a night sky, but an absolute black. Nothing.

Faster now, and light ebbed from the sky, shrinking the universe until the moons themselves were caught, collapsing like punctured balls, sucked from the inside into nonexistence. Faster still and the clouds poured themselves away, while the great mountains melted and shrank to tiny hills and then to nothing. The seas drained, as if an enormous whirlpool were drawing the water down in upon itself.

Faster still and the far side of the planet flowed towards them, bringing all remaining color and sound in a great crescendo of motion.

“What have you done?” Tears streamed down the vampyre’s face.

All light and noise imploded at the point beneath Cindella’s fingers, and a door slammed.

 

With a stretch, Erik unclipped, still dizzy from watching the destruction of the game world.

His friends were gathered about him, looking at him anxiously.

Erik managed a tentative smile.

“Well, is it over?” asked Bjorn.

“Aye. It is finished.”

Injeborg ran to him and embraced him tightly. “Well done, Erik. Well done.”