The Renegades Read online

  “Is this so, my dear?” Astilba’s eyes alighted on me. I don’t know how the devs managed this effect, but I felt goosebumps pop up all over me. There was no menace in the Sixth’s look—only a silent question adulterated with inexpressible bitterness. And beyond that festering wound, I sensed a vacuum and something terrible striving to fill it.

  Once again the sequence from the Twilight Dream flashed before my eyes. I could see through the Sixth’s eyes. A series of failed rituals, the summoning of the mightiest demons, the search for ancient manuscripts with long-forgotten spells…All in vain. The dead have no place in the world of the living. All she managed to achieve was to keep the soulless vessel from rotting. The thirst for vengeance filled the abyss in her soul day after inexorable day and was strengthened by her determination to spare her kind the same fate. I saw Geranika, presenting her with a source of immense power that could forever protect the Hidden Forest from dangerous incursions. I sensed Shadow, softly creeping to fill the hollow in her heart.

  Attention! Through Bardic Lore you have recovered lost information about the Sixth.

  “Y-yes,” I managed. The vision refused to relinquish their grip on my mind.

  Damn. I’m going to end up with a dour diagnosis from a shrink when all of this is over.

  “Do you understand that both races of both empires will turn their backs on you? You shall become their eternal foe,” Astilba’s voice rang like an alarm bell in my head.

  “I understand.”

  “Do you understand that Sylvyn shall turn his back on you as soon as you adopt Shadow? Are you prepared to be separated from the Forest Father?”

  “I have seen much through your eyes in my dreams, oh Sixth. I am prepared to pay this price.”

  For an instant, bitterness and…compassion?…flashed across Astilba’s face.

  “I am sorry,” she said quietly looking me in the eyes. And in the next instant, the Sixth’s face took on an aloof expression and her voice grew in volume. “Geranika! Heed my summons!”

  Tongues of fog twirled upward spinning in a whirlwind, and several moments later, a tall dark-haired man with a jovial face and smug smile appeared in its midst.

  “Oh, am I to understand that one of the free has decided to join our ranks?” he asked in a business-like tone.

  Unlike the Sixth, Geranika reminded me of someone from my own time: He was quick, to the point, full of self-indulgence and overflowing energy.

  “Grant her the strength, Geranika,” Astilba asked, calmly and evenly.

  “Are you prepared to accept Shadow into yourself, Lorelei?” Geranika asked in the voice of a kindly wizard and with the smile of a serial killer. In his clenched hand I noticed a tiny fragment oozing the same old dark fog.

  Attention! If you agree, your pain filters will be deactivated and your race will be changed to ‘Blighted Biota.’ Your reputation with the Empire of Malabar, the Dark Empire of Kartoss, the Biota and the Pircs shall be changed to Hatred status.

  A chill coursed down my spine, but its cause wasn’t so much the in-game penalties as Geranika’s stare. There was some kind of malicious anticipation in it.

  “I am ready,” I managed all the same.

  In the next instant, a dagger appeared in Geranika’s right hand and with one swoop he cleft my breast-cage open. I don’t know how this might feel in real life, but here, a hellish pain pierced me. I screamed as loudly as I could, my legs wavered, but Geranika had grabbed my shoulder with an iron grip (the dagger vanishing, mysteriously, from his hand) and made sure I remained standing. I have no idea whether biota have bones but something inside of me cracked perceptibly. Geranika paid it no attention. He stuck the tiny fragment into my cleft torso and unclenched his grip. I collapsed to the grass, ignoring the sharp thorns that pierced my body. These scratches were nothing in comparison to the pain that had pierced my essence. Hundreds of thorns tore their way from within me, rending my body and piercing my skin.

  It seemed like my agony lasted many hours and when the pain at last abated, the in-game clock suggested that only a minute had gone by. But I didn’t care. A euphoria enveloped me. What’s the old expression? To do someone good, you first have to hurt them and then return them to their prior condition. The pain departed and I felt happy.

  Quest completed: Shoots of Shadow.

  Your reputation with the Renegades of the Dark Forest has grown.

  Current status: Friendly.

  Your race has changed. Current race: Blighted Biota.

  You acquired a passive ability — Sharp Thorns: Counter any close-range attack with 5% damage.

  You acquired a passive ability — Ironwood: +(Character Level × 2)Armor. Thorns, brambles and needles and similar, pointy objects cannot pierce your epidermis.

  New ability acquired — Shadow Film: Target area is covered with a film of impenetrable Shadow in which only creatures who are aligned with Shadow can see.

  New ability acquired — Shadow Protection: The fog of Shadow envelops the target, keeping other Shadow creatures from attacking it.

  Achievement unlocked: ‘Shadow Spellcaster Level 1.’ +1% to Shadow spells. Learn 19 Shadow spells to reach the next level. This achievement is available only to players with Shadow alignment.

  Your reputation with the Malabar Empire has decreased.

  Current status: Hatred.

  Your reputation with the Dark Empire of Kartoss has decreased.

  Current status: Hatred.

  Your reputation with the Pircs had decreased.

  Current status: Hatred.

  Your reputation with the Biota has decreased.

  Current status: Hatred.

  Due to the current scenario, you may record video in this location.

  “Now you are a part of Shadow, Lorelei,” Geranika announced with a satisfied smile. It was the last thing I saw as I exited the game.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I spent several minutes in my capsule, stilling my thumping heart. What kind of monster made the race change mechanic so painful? What idiot even had the idea of forcing others to suffer such torment? Maybe convicts had earned what was coming to them, but normal players? What for?

  I could hear a hushed conversation in the neighboring room. Pasha…I need to get out, eat dinner and explain myself. And also I have band practice coming up…Unlike normally, the thought of this did not improve my mood. I clambered out of my capsule with a little difficulty, my trembling hands located my clothes, I managed to get dressed somehow and opened the door.

  I was met with friendly laughter: Pasha and Sasha were slamming tea in the kitchen, exchanging jokes. Seeing me, Pasha greeted me with his paw:

  “Why hello there, oh Brutus! Would you like some tea?”

  “Uh-huh, and let’s have it—who were the other senators that were in on the plot,” Sasha joined him, getting a cup for me from the cupboard.

  “Why are you so pale?” Pasha asked, noticing my condition.

  Hearing this, Sasha squinted, examining me and then, with a care I had never seen from him before, helped me to a seat.

  “Hey…What’s with you?” he asked without a trace of his former mirth.

  “I overplayed it…”

  Judging by their faces, my explanation didn’t make anything clearer. The half-full mug of tea, shamelessly appropriated from Sasha, returned me to life and I briefly summarized my last hour in Barliona.

  “What are you, Mata Hari?” Having made sure that I was okay, Sasha returned to his earlier sarcastic disposition. “You have nothing better to do, or what? At least set your filters so that when it hurts, it hurts less, you salad-head. Or are you one of those who like the sting of the whip on their bottoms?” He squinted suspiciously.

  “Really, Kiera, you need to be more careful,” Pasha echoed him.

  “How’s it my fault?” I objected. “My pain filters are at 90%. Ordinary death hurts as much as sparrow’s sneeze. In this case, it’s the devs who cooked up this torture—may heartburn keep them aw
ake all night. First they warned me that in this scenario the filters might be disabled and then they forced me to sign a release that it’s my fault if I get hurt, and finally, well, I got it with a whip to my bottom. I never imagined that these damn marquises de Sade would arrange that execution. It’s supposed to be a family-friendly game after all: humanism, socialization, all that.”

  “Sure, it’s super-duper friendly,” Sasha grinned maliciously. “It just oozes friendliness from all its nooks and crannies. The same friendly guys who own it were betting on whether I’d make it when they sent me behind enemy lines.”

  “The game’s friendly enough, it’s the humans who are jerks,” I quoted Straus.

  “Check out this philosopher,” Pasha scoffed. “Why don’t you tell me this: What are you planning on doing next?”

  The question was an interesting one. Very much so.

  “First I’m going to find out what I can about the renegades, Geranika and everything related. This is pretty incredible material, after all! I can already see the album title: The Lord of Shadow. Doesn’t it have a nice ring to it?”

  “Uh-huh,” my companion nodded. “Just like the nickname of the scariest baboon in the zoo. Ow!” The juice bottle lid bounced off Sasha’s forehead. Pasha, who had thrown it, rubbed his chin and nodded:

  “As a draft title, it’ll do. Only, it’s a bit banal, don’t you think?”

  “Outside of Barliona, it is,” I agreed, “but among the fan base, it’ll strike a chord! Who knows anything about Geranika? The latest update is obviously about him, so everyone wants to know something.”

  “Listen, you macabre minstrel, what’s drawing you to the Dark Side anyway?” Pasha asked.

  “Cookies, booze and babes,” Sasha replied in my place. “So you may as well start calling her Darth Lori, my young Padawan!”

  I did my best imitation of Vader’s hiss, but it didn’t come out too convincing.

  “I’m curious,” I replied seriously. “I have a pretty good idea of what a young Jedi Knight would find there: We will struggle against evil, overcome it in honest battle and receive a medals for our efforts.”

  These last words prompted uproarious laughter from the soldiers and I continued my thought:

  “And when it comes to the villains, things aren’t so simple. This Vex fellow isn’t some Hannibal Lector, and Astilba ain’t Sauron. I’m not so sure about Geranika though. This isn’t looking like your run-of-the-mill battle between absolute good and abominable evil. The vibes here are a bit more tragic. The renegades are clearly convinced that they are doing the right thing. And their goal is to protect their people.”

  “Experience shows that this is seldom the full truth,” Alex objected. “If the claim is that this game is as realistic as possible, then the villains are unlikely to be the idealists you make them out to be and are probably just looking out for their own hides.”

  “Same crap. I just want to see this story from the other side,” I dismissed the generally-reasonable explanation.

  “Well take a look, take a look,” Sasha began munching a cookie, while Pasha took over the questions:

  “And then? What are you going to do later when your reputation is in the dumps with everyone?”

  “My rep is already in the dumps,” I corrected. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll become one of Geranika’s palace minstrels? And why not? He seems like an ambitious fellow. Before you know it, he’ll get his own empire—blackjack, hookers and all. And if not, I could always delete my character and start over. I’m not trying to be the top player in the game. I’m just looking for inspiration. Plus, there’re always the Free Lands. I don’t think that my rep with the empires matters at all out there. Though, what am I going to do out there at my newb level?”

  “It’s okay. I’ll adopt you,” Sasha consoled me and laughed.

  “Uh-huh, to work as bait in your traps?” I asked suspiciously.

  “Nah, I’ll give you work as a DDD,” the ranger shook his head. “As it happens, I have a vacancy I need filled.”

  “What’s a DDD?” I asked, against my darkest suspicions. And the camouflaged bastard instantly replied, happily explaining the acronym:

  “A disposable, demining device.”

  “Idiot,” Pasha summarized with a sigh. “Can’t you at least make up some new jokes?”

  “A joke told twice is twice as funny!” Sasha brandished a finger with a smart look on his face.

  “Strictly speaking, this joke is quite new to me,” I remarked for fairness’ sake. “And I’d never refuse such an enticing offer. Plus, in Barliona I’d hardly be disposable. By the way, Pasha, why did you get into the capsule to begin with? If you hadn’t popped up, spewing threats, I wouldn’t have had to kill you.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Pasha waved a fist jokingly. “But to answer your question, I got tired of sitting around and decided to go for a walk. I wanted to invite you along but when I entered the game, I came upon that evil cactus…”

  “Isn’t there like some button on the capsule…?” I recalled the instructions that the technicians had read us when they installed the device. “You push it and the player in the capsule receives a notification that someone wants to talk to them out in meatspace.”

  “Really?” Pasha asked surprised. “I had no idea.”

  “Band practice is in an hour and a half, so if the building elevator is working today, we can go for a walk,” I took up the reasonable offer. It wouldn’t hurt to get some fresh air.

  “I’m with you guys,” Sasha announced calmly. “We’ll come back. Kiera will have her music date and then we can eat.”

  “Sounds good,” I nodded. “And then I’ll dive in one more time to see what they turned me into.”

  * * *

  The summer stroll through Pyatigorsk was a sheer pleasure. The city roiled with green, the leaves languishing in the day’s heat, and by afternoon, the weather made us wish we’d headed to the mountains of which there were no less than ten nearby, forgetting all about apartments, VR capsules and other miracles of technology.

  “Listen, is it true that you have mineral water that comes bubbling up from the ground and you can drink it for free whenever you like?” I recalled a far-fetched legend.

  “Yeah,” replied Pasha, skirting in his wheelchair a puddle that a street-cleaning car had left. “But I’ll tell you right away—it’s an acquired taste. Each spring has its own taste, smell and mineral composition. Some of them are pretty good, but others stink like rotten eggs.”

  A flock of students passing us stared at him like he was an alien. Pasha blushed deeply and pushed the accelerator, forcing us to catch up to him.

  “They got to me,” he muttered, once Sasha and I were finally beside him again.

  “Forget it,” Sasha waved. “Civilians, what do you want? They probably don’t even know that there’s a war on in far-off Africa.”

  He had a point here: The media rarely reported on the insurgencies and other conflicts of the continent, preferring to broadcast news about celebrities’ weddings and happenings in Barliona. Armed conflicts made the news only when people’s attention had to be distracted from economic troubles or political scandals.

  “Well,” I tried to comfort my friend after the unpleasant encounter, “at least they’re not taking selfies with you. When the guys and I dress up and go to concerts, every drunk mug tries to take a photo with us for posterity. And they always have to hug you and breathe booze breath all over you.”

  “You don’t like sweaty guys and warm vodka? You should vacation in the winter,” Sasha quipped. “Okay, so what were we talking about? That’s right, the mineral water…If you ask me, most of them don’t taste so great. But if you like, we can swing by a well-room and you can try it yourself.”

  “Swing by what?” I asked suspiciously. “It sounds like a place Edilberto goes after he’s lost his mind on booze.”

  “Oh you dim northerners,” Sasha scolded me. “A well-room is something constructed over a
mineral water source. Sometimes it’s no more than a gazebo, other times a large facility—a tasting room where you can try different types of mineral water. As for Edilberto, well, that’s his punishment for gluttony. He drinks so much that even I’m worried about him. Like last time—he simply slams one shot after the other like a seagull slams fish. You uh…well, you should tell him to slow down. After all, health isn’t exactly made from composite armor.”

  “When’d you become such a straight-shooter?” Pasha even sounded little taken aback. “You haven’t overheated a little, have you Sasha?”

  “No brother,” the other replied. “I was simply watching that moose down booze and I started thinking that I wouldn’t like to see him become as decrepit and defunct by the age of 35 as I am.”

  I couldn’t help but look at Sasha askance. He didn’t look quite decrepit or defunct, but didn’t seem in the best of health either. A guy like any other—you’d walk past without noticing him, unless you encountered his eyes.

  “I’m not his momma. I told him once and he heard me. He can decide for himself. Although, I do have one evil idea…” I lowered my voice conspiratorially. “One time when he gets really drunk, I’ll set up a scenario for him so that when he wakes up, he’ll freak out and quit drinking for good.”

  “Go on, go on,” the ranger replied with curiosity.

  “Come on, Kiera,” Pasha prompted me, doing his best to ignore the stares of passersby.

  “I’m still considering the details, but the general idea is as follows: I’m going to make a deal with the owner of a gay club, take Edilberto’s drunkbody over there, take off his clothes, put a g-string on him and stuff it with cash. After that, the fellows there will advise me on where to go next. When he starts coming to, I’ll slap him awake, yell at him a bit and start pleading with him to get out of there before his new friends come back to continue their little party. Something like that.”