Loki's Game

Samuel Locke’s fingers clicked across the keyboard, stopped, and then clicked again. The essay was not due for another three weeks, but he had already fallen behind on his preferred schedule. Tramping around the Unconscious Realms with Hope Emerson had eaten into his study time. Now though, he sat with his laptop at a table in Athens University Indiana’s coffee shop, where the quiet hubbub of brewing machines and student customers kept his mind focused.

In the middle of a word, his right hand cramped up, causing the next couple of words to come out missing half their letters. He cursed, and broke from his task to massage his fingers one by one until their mobility returned. More and more, the discomfort in his hand was becoming a constant distraction. Sometimes it smarted as if his fingers had just smacked into something. Sometimes it ached without relief as if the nerves along his arm were pinched somewhere.

In the Realms, his skin was covered black with some kind of infection called Corruption, creeping up his arm in mottled spots, and stinging constantly, as if burned by acid. A realm-dwelling being called the Deceiver had tricked him into touching a mysterious black liquid he could not wash off, and which had been spreading ever since.

Samuel stuttered the backspace key, and started his sentence again.

When he had gone to the university health center, the physician had taken an x-ray of his hand, and then told him to stay hydrated and get plenty of sleep. It was the kind of treatment prescribed for phantom pains dreamed up by fools who could be cured with a magical pill made of sugar. Humiliating.

He had not told his parents about his pain. His father would tell him to buck up and do his work, and stop making excuses for laziness. His mother would listen quietly and blank-faced as he complained, which would almost be worse. No, the only people who knew about his trouble were Professor Eli Berkeley, Hope, and Berkeley’s two assistants.

Samuel glanced at the clock in the corner of the screen. It was approaching ten twenty, which meant it was time to go to Shelley Hall. The Deceiver held the only known cure to Corruption, and at their last run-in had told Samuel and Hope to meet him where it had all begun, the Serpent’s Gate, in one week’s time. But he had not told them when, so they assumed he meant exactly one week from that very moment.

Samuel packed up his laptop, and after a quick walk he arrived at Shelley Hall. He scanned his ID, and the door unlocked with a click. He hesitated, his gaze lingering on the handle as it waited to be opened.

He didn’t want to touch it. Something inside him made him want to leave, to turn and walk away and not look back. That frightened him. Turning away would mean turning his back on his schedule, and then where would he go? Walk the campus, not knowing where his next step would take him? Return to his apartment and wither in regret, even as he made the choice again every moment not to get up and do as he knew he should?

No. He would make his choice now. With a swift motion, he yanked open the door and swept down the hallway to the delving room.

Berkeley sat at his desk, holding an article in his hands, as if to read it. But behind his glasses, his eyes were still. Samuel cleared his throat, and Berkeley twitched as if coming out of a stupor. The professor looked at him and hastily donned a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Ah, good to see you again, Samuel. How are you doing?”

“Fine,” Samuel said. He looked at Hope, sleeping in her delving cot. “Things are going according to plan?”

“As far as I can tell,” Berkeley said. “You know all I can do is sit here and worry.” He chuckled nervously.

“Mm-hmm.” Once a delver was under, she was basically in a coma. There was no external sign of anything that happened to her in the Realms. Not even perspiration or a change in heart rate.

Samuel lay down on his mattress. “I guess it’s time for my part.”

“Good luck,” Berkeley said, his brow wrinkling, his fingers laced together on the desk.

Samuel closed his eyes, preparing his mind and body to separate. As his last conscious action, he said, “You know I don’t rely on luck.”

A burning pain washed over his right hand, spreading most of the way to his elbow. He hissed sharply, his whole body tensing, his eyes snapping open. Colors materialized before him, air replacing the pressure of the cot on his back. He was in the Realms. With a deep breath, he pushed the pain aside and collected his focus.

He stood next to a beacon, one of the tall, gray pillars used as checkpoints for returning to the Realms. At its top, an orange flame burned under a pyramid-shaped cap shielding it from the weather. The grass was soft beneath his shoes, and the sounds of a river gurgled quietly from nearby.

Putting his mind in mission mode, he walked toward the river, where he found the boat he and Hope had left there earlier, a small wooden dinghy drifting against the bank, tied to a spot farther up the shore by a long rope. He got into it and pushed off from the bank with one of the oars. Rowing across was a bit of a challenge, the rope making him have to fight the current. When he got to the far side, he stepped out, and let the rope and the river carry the boat back to where it had started.

Next, he made the journey to the city realm of Rome, following the snowflake-like road map symbols through several different realms along the way. Full of humble, single-storied buildings, Rome was a hub for travelers, containing portals to many different realms throughout the Unconscious. Samuel made his way to what he considered the city’s east entrance, though cardinal directions did not seem to exist in the Realms.

“Samuel!” a jubilant voice called out. “It’s wonderful to see you back in Rome again! How have your travels been? Where’s Hope? Did you two break up?”

Samuel closed his eyes and took a breath. Forcing a tight-lipped smile, he looked at the blond, curly-haired girl behind the greeting desk. “Hi Belle. And we’ve told you a million times, we’re not together.”

“What brings you back here?” The realmling’s smile was almost so bright it was painful to look at, and her head bobbed as she talked, making her curls bounce. “You have to tell me all about the shenanigans you have been up to.”

“We told you yesterday,” Samuel said. “I’m going to face the Deceiver.”

The light drained away from Belle’s face. “Don’t,” she said. “Not him.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Samuel said, showing his blackened hand. “Send me to the Old Ruins.”

“Do you have to?” Belle pleaded. “Is there really no other choice?”

“I’ve tried everything else,” Samuel said. “This is the only option left.”

“If you must.” Belle pressed a panel on the desk, and a double door of white marble materialized on the wall on the other side of the street.

“Thanks.” Samuel walked to the door and pushed the left side open.

“Don’t let him get what he wants,” Belle called. “That would make things even worse.”

“Do you even know what he wants?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Belle replied. “It’s just his way. He snares you, and then reels you in, and then keeps slowly putting webs and chains around you until you can’t even breathe. And even when you think you’ve beaten him, he comes back and shows you that it was just another trap all along. That’s why I keep telling you to just run away.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Samuel said, “but I don’t intend to let him win.”

He stepped through to a cool forest path, pale with dust. Instead of grass or underbrush, the ground on either side of the path was covered in spongy dark green moss. The air smelled especially clean, taking him back to the moment he had first awoken in the Realms.

“Deceiver, are you there?” he called to the empty road.

In answer, the air shimmered about eight feet above the ground. A figure dropped down from it, his long black hair fluttering after him. He landed on one knee and one fist, and looked up at Samuel with yellow slit eyes and a grin that showed prominent canine teeth. A bag hung at his hip from a strap across his shoulder. “Well well,” he said, standing. “The lamb comes willingly to the slaughter.”

“Hand over the cure,” Samuel said, holding out his hand.

“Samuel, Samuel,” the Deceiver said, shaking his head and closing the distance between them. “No Hope today?” He chuckled. “Fitting, in more ways than one.”

“She isn’t part of this,” Samuel said. “It’s just you and me. Now tell me what it is you’ve put me through all of this for.”

“The Gate of the Serpent,” the Deceiver said. “There is something valuable on the other side. I want it.”

“Wait,” Samuel said, tilting his head forward and looking at the Deceiver through the tops of his eyes, “you want me to go through the Serpent’s Gate now?”

“Yes.” The Deceiver held up his right hand so that Samuel could see the black yin printed on its back. “With our combined Mark of Truth, your Sigil of Knowledge and my Sigil of Wisdom, we can pass through it unharmed.”

Samuel turned this new information over in his mind. In all of his time spent with Hope, Berkeley, and the twins during the week, not one of them had considered the possibility that the Deceiver would want to go through the Serpent’s Gate.

“Come on,” the Deceiver said. “Get that door open. Chop chop.”

Samuel turned. The door he had come through had disappeared, the path now ending at a blank rock sticking out of the ground like a giant’s thumb. He approached the nook where the key stones were kept, and shuffled through the rocks. Finding the one with the snake fangs symbol for the Serpent’s Gate, he turned it upside-down, keeping his face neutral. He moved the rest of the stones around for another twenty seconds or so, before straightening up. “It’s not here,” he said.

“What do you mean it’s not there?” the Deceiver said with a frown. “Of course it is. Those stones can’t be taken away.”

“Well it’s not there now,” Samuel said, giving the Deceiver a look and sprinkling a little frustration into his voice.

“Yes it is,” the Deceiver said, snarling. “You must have missed it. Check again.”

Samuel sneered at him, and turned back to the stones. He shuffled them around for another minute or so, before turning around and planting his hands on his hips. “I tell you, it’s not there.”

“Pah,” the Deceiver said, stepping forward. “How useless can you be?”

Samuel stepped back and let the Deceiver take his place. With the Deceiver’s attention occupied, Samuel reached for the bag on his adversary’s hip.

“Uh-uh,” the Deceiver said, shoving him away without looking. “Keep your hands to yourself.” He swung the bag around to his other side.

“All right,” Samuel said, “I won’t try to be a hero.” He smiled inside. The code word had been spoken.

“Yoink,” said a voice from around the side of the big rock.

The Deceiver cried out, catching the strap of his satchel as Hope appeared and tried to snatch it away from him. But Samuel was ready, and hooked a kick into the Deceiver’s side. With a grunt, the Deceiver let go. Hope disappeared back to Reality, the satchel vanishing with her.

After a moment’s hesitation, the Deceiver turned and lunged toward Samuel. “Why you---”

Samuel grinned and waved, touching the invisible eye on his forehead and vanishing before the Deceiver could reach him.

He awoke in the delving room to the sound of a cheer. Hope stood in front of Berkeley with her fist held high in the air. She didn’t have the satchel here, of course, because it wasn’t real. But when they returned to the Realms, far away from where they had left, the bag would still be in her hands. And hopefully, the cure to Samuel’s infection was in the bag.

“I take it the pilfer was successful?” Berkeley said.

“Smooth as can be,” Hope said. “We’re basically done.”

“I don’t know for sure about that,” Samuel said. A voice in the back of his mind whispered, reminding him that when the Deceiver was involved, nothing was ever that easy.

Hope left the room to do her morning wake-up stuff, having staked out her position all night to be sure she got there before the Deceiver started watching. Exactly twenty-eight minutes later, she returned full of breakfast, teeth brushed, and bladder emptied, eager to dive back into the Realms.

The two of them awoke near the river as planned, far away from where they had left the Deceiver. Hope handed the satchel to Samuel. “It’s all yours.”

Samuel undid the clasp and opened the bag. The Deceiver’s traveling book lay inside. He gave it to Hope, and then searched for a bottle, or anything that felt like a cure of some sort. There were a few tools, a pen, and a small mirror, but no cure.

Samuel looked up at Hope. “I don’t think it’s here.”

“Where, then?” Hope asked.

Samuel looked at the book in Hope’s hands. “If we’re lucky, he’s hidden it somewhere in one of those realms. If not . . .” He sighed and shook his head. “The smart thing for him to have done would be to have carried it in his pocket instead of in the bag.” If it even exists at all, he thought.

After a pause, Hope said, “We could try looking anyway.” She turned and sat down, opening the book and setting it on the ground. Lights swirled out of the pages into the air, an image appearing in the midst of them of a boardwalk winding between trees in a swamp.

Samuel patted his head with the heel of his hand, trying to get his brain to work. Where would the Deceiver have hidden the cure? What criteria could they use to narrow down their search using only what they could see through the portal? And what could they do if he had hidden it not in one of his realms, but on his person?

As Hope turned the page, there was a sound that reminded Samuel of a plasma torch, and the scene through the portal changed to a view from high in the mountains, the sky a fiery red.

Maybe they could steal something of the Deceiver’s and hold it for ransom. Heck, they already had his traveling book. That could do it.

Hope turned the page again, and---

A booted foot shot through the portal the instant it changed locations, hitting Hope square in the face. She cried out, the force sending her sliding on her back a few feet. Through the portal stepped the Deceiver, his mouth turned downward in annoyance.

Samuel dove for the book, but the Deceiver kicked him in the side, making him tumble into Hope. As Samuel rolled off of her, he noticed her upper lip was smudged with blood.

“You are so easy to predict,” the Deceiver said, shaking his head. “I had hoped we might have a little game going, but it looks like it was one-sided. As expected.”

Samuel mentally kicked himself. Of course the Deceiver would make a beeline to the nearest realm close to the beginning of the book, and stand ready for them to open a portal. “We should have started at the back.”

“Wouldn’t have done you any good.” The Deceiver reached into his pocket and pulled out a glass tube full of swirling pearl liquid, swished it around, and then put it back.

 So Samuel’s worry had been right all along. If only his mind had worked faster, and he had stopped Hope from searching through the book’s portals. If only Hope and her damned curiosity had not led her to use the book. That was right, it was her fault. If she hadn’t---

He felt a shift, as if the warmth in his body were draining out through his skin, and realized he was stroking his corrupted right hand with his left. Instead of hurting, his hand had tingled with a pleasant feathery sensation. Now, the prints on his fingertips felt like sandpaper. He let go, his right hand tensing and twitching with pain. There was no reason to blame Hope. Although browsing through the book’s portals had been her idea, he had gone along with it without a second thought. They were both equally to blame. Regardless, the plan was a bust, and only improvisation could save the day now.

The Deceiver slid a few pages over with a practiced swipe of his boot, the portal changing to reveal the path to the Serpent’s Gate. He moved to the side and gestured, keeping one foot on the book. “In you go.”

Samuel looked at where hope had been lying, only to find she had disappeared. Understandable; he would have done the same in her position. Reluctantly, he walked past the Deceiver into the portal.

The black doors of the Serpent’s Gate were already there, standing tall, decorated with the image of snakes coiling around iron bars. Two of the snake’s heads extended out of the door, holding rings in their mouths for handles. The Deceiver reached toward these rings and pulled. Without a sound, the gate swung open, revealing a standing pool of dark oily liquid blocking the entrance. “Here we go,” he said, holding his right hand toward it, the black yin of wisdom on its back standing out against his pale skin.

Samuel’s right hand hurt more than usual, and he looked down to find it clenched into a fist. His stomach churned. The blight covering his hand and forearm had come from that puddle of sludge, and that mark on the Deceiver belonged on his hand.

“Hurry up,” the Deceiver said over his shoulder. “I’m sure you haven’t got all day.”

“Actually I do,” Samuel grumbled. Nevertheless, he stepped up beside the Deceiver and raised his clean left hand next to the other’s right. The symbols on the backs of their hands began to glow, and little tongues of flame appeared and swirled around them, orange from Samuel’s, black from the Deceiver’s. Before them, the rippling liquid pulsed and separated, creating a pocket in front of them. It was high enough for them to step into without ducking, and wide enough for them both to stand comfortably side by side. The gray clay of the ground showed no residue of the vile substance that had just covered it.

The Deceiver took a step forward, and Samuel followed suit. As they moved, the pocket in the liquid receded, keeping the foulness from touching them. The bubble closed behind them, leaving them surrounded in blackness, the only light coming from the glow around their Mark of Truth.

Samuel could not keep his hand from trembling, trapped for the moment in the worst of his nightmares. He had to keep moving, had to keep his hand near the Deceiver’s. If he panicked, if he did not hold steady, the darkness would crash down on him and destroy him. An image surfaced in his memory, playing tricks on his eyes in the undulating darkness. A pale face shrouded in a dark hood, eye sockets empty gateways into an infinite black abyss. For a moment, Samuel couldn’t tell whether he was imagining it, or if Death had really appeared in front of him to claim his life.

The next instant, the bubble opened up in front of them, and light poured in as if through a pair of separating curtains. Samuel rushed forward and leaned over with his hands on his knees, gasping for breath.

Once he had collected himself, he stood again, and checked out his new surroundings. A large, gray sea lay under a dark gray sky. He stood on a a path of solid ground leading several hundred feet straight ahead to an island, which was covered in grass and trees, and lit by a beam of sunlight. Its contrast with the darkness behind it was surreal.

The Serpent’s Gate, only a frame on this side, was set into a wall the color of the sky. When he tried to see how far and high the wall went, he realized he had made a rather large mistake. The featureless cloud stretching from horizon to horizon was, actually, an extension of the wall, curving over and around the sea in a giant, cavernous dome.

He heard a ruffling sound, and he turned to see the Deceiver standing up from a crouched position. “What are you doing?” Samuel asked.

“Nothing,” the Deceiver replied. “Let’s get going.”

“Uh-uh,” Samuel said. “We’re through the Serpent’s Gate. You’ve gotten what you wanted from me. Now hand over the cure.”

The Deceiver cocked an eyebrow. “Who ever said getting here was all I needed you for?” He started down the land bridge. “Come on.”

Belle’s warning rang in Samuel’s mind. “He keeps putting chains around you until you can’t even breathe.” His lower lip felt uncomfortable, and he brushed it with his finger, which came away bloody. He must have been biting it again.

The land bridge gave way to a grassy path through a grove of trees, the bright green of their leaves contrasting with their dark trunks. The air was cool, and the plants were soft and damp as if with morning dew.

A clearing appeared in front of them, and in its center a beam of sunlight cast a shimmering aura upon a knee-high stone. From the stone protruded, of all things, a longsword. The blade was polished to a mirror sheen, and the leather-bound grip was topped with a carved silver pommel.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” Samuel asked.

“What? Heavens no,” the Deceiver replied. “That’s the Sword of the Hero. Only those capable of embodying the Hero can pull it from the stone. Which means not me,” he jabbed a finger toward Samuel, “and definitely not you.”

Samuel cringed inwardly at the Deceiver’s insult, but then chided himself for it. All he wanted was to get the pain in his hand to go away so he could focus on his life again. This sword, and whatever responsibility was guaranteed to be foisted upon whoever drew it, could stay here and rust.

Still, he found himself walking toward it, the damp grass rustling softly under his footsteps. He didn’t know why, but something made him reach for the sword’s hilt. He let his left hand rest on it for a moment, and then, curling his fingers together tightly, pulled upward.

Nothing happened. He tugged again. He added his other hand, the infected one. He tried to wiggle the sword this way and that, but it would not budge at all, as if it were of a single piece with the stone.

“Told you,” the Deceiver said. “Let’s stop wasting our time.”

Samuel followed him to the other side of the clearing and down a path.

“Do you know,” the Deceiver said, “what happens to a delver’s physical body when they bleed in the Realms?”

Instantly, Samuel’s guard went up. “Are you threatening me?”

“What? No. Just a little light conversation.”

“Hell of a topic, don’t you think?”

“Ha.” The Deceiver waved his hand dismissively. “Have you heard the topics you humans casually toss about? Compared to them, a little blood is child-friendly.”

“I still feel threatened,” Samuel said.

“That’s your problem.” The ground to the right of the path rose in a hill so steep it might as well have been a cliff. The Deceiver continued. “Anyway, you still haven’t answered my question.”

“About bleeding in the Realms?” Samuel had never considered the question. “Nothing, right?”

“Wrong,” the Deceiver replied. “Pain happens. They don’t bleed physically---that wouldn’t make any sense---but they feel it. Not as bad as the wound itself, but enough to make them suffer. And there’s nothing they can do about it. Salves, painkillers, physical therapy, none of that stuff works.”

“How would you know that?” Samuel asked. “You don’t have a physical body.”

“I’m older than I look,” the Deceiver said. “I’ve heard plenty of stories, enough to---Ah!” There was a glint of silver, and the Deceiver stumbled back against the steep hillside, a long blade held to his neck. Behind them stood Hope, her arm outstretched, holding the sword they had just left behind.

“Give up the cure right now,” Hope said, her face muscles tight, “and you get to live.”

In an instant, it all made sense. Since Hope had a full Mark of Truth, she could come and go through the Serpent’s Gate on her own. She had pulled the Hero’s Sword, and he found he was not surprised. It looked heavy, though, and Samuel wondered how she managed to hold it out so far, and with one hand no less. Maybe the green wisps swirling around her hand had something to do with it.

Samuel stepped forward to search the Deceiver for the cure, but stopped when the Deceiver reached into his pocket of his own accord. Without removing his hand, he glanced sideways at Hope. “So you’ve arrived at the party,” he said, “but aren’t we still missing someone?”

“And who would that be?” Hope asked. Samuel looked around quickly, worried some hidden figure might ambush them. But all was quiet and still.

“Let’s see,” the Deceiver mused, “who was it?” He turned his eyes upward and screwed up his mouth exaggeratedly, apparently not the least bit put off by the blade pressing on his throat. Then he smiled. “Oh yes. Death.”

Samuel blinked, his heart sinking. The absence of the cloaked, pale specter could only mean the Deceiver was in no danger of dying.

“It would seem,” the Deceiver said, pinching the blade between his thumb and forefinger, “that although you were able to pull the sword---” he gently moved it away from his throat--- “you don’t have what it takes to use it.”

“Hope, come on,” Samuel said. “Don’t falter now. You can still do this.”

Hope’s arm quivered, and then the sword fell, its tip thudding into the dirt. Her eyes dropped. “No. I can’t kill.”

The Deceiver got back to his feet and took a step toward her. “Here, let me have that sword before you hurt yourself.”

Hope stepped immediately away, raising the blade at him.

“Let me have it,” Samuel said. “I’m not afraid to use it.”

The Deceiver stepped between the two of them, raising one finger toward each. “I don’t think you want to do that. Remember, you need me in order to go back through the Serpent’s Gate.”

“No we don’t,” Samuel said. “We can just tap out to Reality.”

“Oh can you?” The Deceiver gestured to the sword. “Check out your reflection.”

Hope turned the blade and looked into it. Then she frowned, and held it out. “Why didn’t you just say so in the first place?”

Samuel stepped forward to look at himself in its mirrored side. As he feared, his third eye was closed.

“Because that wouldn’t have been any fun,” the Deceiver answered.

With the Deceiver’s head turned away from him, Samuel took a shot at picking the Deceiver’s pocket. But before he could get in more than his fingertips, the Deceiver twisted sharply and elbowed him in the face. The Deceiver tried to step forward, out from between his two opponents, but Samuel clung to his pocket, making him stumble.

There was a loud crack as the Deceiver was struck, square in the side of the head, by the flat of Hope’s sword. He fell to the ground, clawing at the dirt. Samuel tried to step on his leg and pin him down, but he managed to slip out of the way, crawling with astonishing speed. He stumbled to his feet and ran into the woods. Samuel tore after him, but the Deceiver was too fast, and soon escaped out of sight.

Stopping to listen, Samuel heard footsteps and rustling behind him, and turned to find Hope jogging awkwardly after him, holding the sword to the side.

She smiled abashedly. “Running with this thing is like running with scissors, except ten times worse.”

“We don’t have the luxury to worry about that right now,” Samuel said. “If you can’t sprint with it, then give it to me.”

“I don’t think I should,” Hope said. “I mean, I was the one who pulled it from the stone. Sharing it around doesn’t feel right.”

Samuel sighed. “Whatever. We’ve lost him. We should figure out what to do now.” The Deceiver’s next move would be to double back and find his mysterious treasure.

“We should stick together,” Hope said. “The two of us with a sword seem to be more than the Deceiver can handle.”

“Agreed,” Samuel said. “All right, let’s go find that treasure before he does.”

They made their way back to the path as quickly as Hope was comfortable with her sword. Samuel looked down the path, then up the steep hill, and then at Hope. “What do you think?” he said, pointing up the slope. “Short cut?”

“Could be,” Hope replied. “At least we might get a better view of the land from up there.”

They started climbing, shoving the toes of their shoes into the dirt to make footholds, and steadying themselves with roots and branches. Hope could stick her sword into the ground for an extra handhold. Before long, the slope lessened so they could walk instead of climb. Ahead of them, the hill rose most strongly to their right, and Samuel could see signs of a path continuing up it.

“Looks like our gamble payed off,” he said. They jogged onto the path and headed farther uphill.

“This treasure you mentioned,” Hope said, “what is it?”

“No idea,” Samuel replied. “The Deceiver wouldn’t tell me.”

“What will we do if we find it?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Samuel said. He stopped running and bent his head toward her, speaking quietly, in case the Deceiver was hiding nearby. “In order to leave this realm, I need the Deceiver’s cooperation, and I’m sure he doesn’t intend to give it unless he gets his hands on this treasure. But if the treasure weren’t here, it would be another story.”

“If the treasure weren’t here?” Hope asked.

“You can come and go from here as you please,” Samuel said. “If you took the treasure with you, the Deceiver would be forced to follow.”

Hope brightened. “You’re right!”

“But there’s a problem with that,” Samuel continued. “What’s to stop him from using his traveling book, and leaving me stranded here?”

“Oh, right,” Hope said. “So I guess I’d have to take both the treasure and the traveling book, right?”

“It won’t be easy,” Samuel said, “but it’s a plan.”

At the top of the hill, the path ended at a scene of three stone figures, each completely different from the others. The one on the left stood facing forward, slouching under a thick robe that hid the shape of its body. Its sleeves drooped down over its hands, and its face was covered by a round, smiling mask. On the right, a vague human shape held its hands up over its featureless face, as if warding off a bright light. Between them sat a more ordinary human of ambiguous gender, wearing pants, boots, and a shirt. Its head was uncovered, but its face was flat, as if it had been carved away. Its forearms and hands were bare, lifelike in their craftsmanship, and holding a wooden box the size of a laptop.

“Looks like we found it,” Samuel said.

“I wonder what this means?” Hope said, gazing at the statues. “Hattie and Skull will be ecstatic when they hear about these.”

Samuel approached the figure in the center and tried to open the box, but the lid wouldn’t budge. The statue’s thumbs dug into the box’s sides, preventing him from just taking it without opening it. Thinking it might be locked, he inspected it for latches or mechanisms. On its front side, he found a thin slot, about an inch long. A keyhole?

He looked at Hope, who was still appreciating the statues. “Hey,” he said, “can I see that sword?”

“Um,” Hope stepped back and held it a little closer.

“Never mind,” Samuel said. “I think we can open the box by putting it in this slot.”

“If that’s the case,” Hope said thoughtfully, “then do we really want to? I mean, if we don’t, the Deceiver won’t have any way of getting to it.”

Samuel shook his head. “If we leave it, he could still open it if he gets his hands on the sword, or coerce you into doing it for him. Given no other options it would be the rational choice, but as things stand we’re safest with our original plan.”

“All right,” Hope said, “let’s try it.” She lifted the sword, supporting the blade in the palm of her right hand to guide it into the hole. It went in smoothly, making a click, and the lid popped open half an inch. She removed it, and Samuel opened the lid to find a single sheet of paper with the words, “Realm of the Shadows” written at the top in large script.

A slow clap made him jump, and he turned, freezing when he saw the Deceiver standing less than ten feet away.

“Wonderful!” the Deceiver said with a grin. “I was just puzzling over how to get that open. So kind of you to do it for me.”

Samuel slammed the lid closed, but instead of clicking into place, it bounced open again. He held it down, but it wouldn’t latch. Arcs of black electricity danced around the box, and Samuel jerked his hands away in surprise.

“Uh-uh,” the Deceiver said, wagging a finger. “You don’t think I’d let you undo such an important mistake, do you?”

Samuel snatched the page out and held it toward Hope. “Trade and run,” he whispered, trying not to move his lips.

Hope took the paper and, thankfully, handed him the sword. It was a lot heavier than it had looked in her hands, and Samuel almost fumbled it, managing to grab it with his second hand and take a stance in front of the Deceiver, who tried to lunge after Hope as she sprinted away. “If you really want that page,” Samuel said, “you’ll have to go through me.”

The Deceiver sighed and shook his head. Then he did the unexpected, and turned and ran in the opposite direction as Hope. Samuel charged after him, not worrying about the risk of falling on the sword and hurting himself. Hope was off on her own, and he wasn’t going to allow the Deceiver the chance to corner her.

The Deceiver leaped down the steep hill. Samuel skidded after him, holding the sword so if he fell, he could stab it into the ground and catch himself. At the bottom, the chase continued through the woods.

After a minute or so, they burst out of the trees, and Samuel saw with dismay that they had come to the land bridge leading to the realm’s entrance. The Deceiver stepped onto the bridge, turned around, and looked Samuel in the eye. What was he doing? Had he guessed their plan? Hope would have to pass this spot in order to leave, so Samuel would have to get the Deceiver to move away from here. Which meant he would have to act like he wanted him to stay. He raised the sword in front of him in a two-handed stance, his arms already tired.

“The game is over,” the Deceiver said. “The page has been found. The only way off the island is through here, so all I have to do is play gatekeeper.”

“Joke’s on you,” Samuel replied. “Hope is destroying it right now as we speak.”

The Deceiver threw back his head and laughed. “A likely story, considering it’s the only way you’ll ever get the cure for your pain. All I would have to do is pour the bottle onto the ground, and your fate would be sealed.”

“Not if I run you through first,” Samuel said. He readied himself to lunge at the Deceiver, and hopefully drive him into the water, off the bridge. But then he noticed that the satchel the Deceiver usually carried by his hip was absent. Had he lost it somewhere? Maybe it had fallen off when Hope had struck him.

Then a new thought came into his mind. If Hope could find the Deceiver’s traveling book, she would be able to use it to leave, and not have to worry about the entrance at all. He should try to keep the Deceiver here, not get him to move.

Or, he could stab the Deceiver right then and there. Why not? The sword felt good in his hands. Really good. He let go with his left, holding the long handle in his blackened fingers, which tingled with a pleasant energy. All it would take was one stab, right through the heart.

“Samuel,” came a soft, pleasant voice. “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Samuel replied. “Great, actually.”

“What do you want to do?” the voice asked.

“To kill the Deceiver.”

“I can kill the Deceiver,” the voice said. “Here, let me have that sword.”

Samuel started to hold his sword arm out, but something within him held him back.

The figure in front of him held out his hand, palm up, in a friendly gesture of openness. “Please,” it said. “I know what’s best.”

“I know,” Samuel said. “It’s just . . .” Why did he want to keep the sword, again? He couldn’t remember. It seemed silly; what would he do with it? He looked at the hilt, pondering for a moment longer, and then held it out.

The weight lifted from his hand. Then, out of nowhere, a crash of pain washed over him, spreading in waves across his body, emanating from his corrupted hand. He had been struck, adding microfractured bone to the pain that never left him alone.

The point of a blade intruded into his vision, and he looked up to see the Deceiver standing over him, Hero’s Sword in hand, contempt written across his face.

In an instant, Samuel’s body went numb. He heard no sound, forgot to breathe, and even his heart seemed to stop. What had he done? Their one advantage over their enemy was gone. His reason had slipped away, giving him not a chance nor a choice. In that moment, a single foolish action had undone everything. As, in the back of his mind, he had always feared it would.

“Things would have been so much easier if you had just cooperated with me from the start,” the Deceiver said, in the tone of a disappointed parent.

Was he right? Had the outcome of this game been decided before it had begun? Now the Deceiver would get what he wanted, what he always knew he would get. It was over.

No. He was Samuel Locke. He didn’t think like that. There were still moves left. He could still win.

“Come out, girl,” the Deceiver called, his voice loud enough that Samuel wanted to cover his ears. “The sword is mine, now.”

“She’ll think you’re lying,” Samuel said.

“Maybe she will,” the Deceiver said, “and maybe she won’t. It doesn’t matter. You two have bodies waiting up in that fraction of existence you call Reality, and that puts a limit on how long you can spend in these realms. I, on the other hand, can wait a very long time.”

“Empty words,” Samuel said, forcing himself to smile, “because right now, Hope is leaving through your very own traveling book.”

“Is that so?” the Deceiver said. He looked a few degrees to Samuel’s side, and beckoned with his free hand.

There was a rustling sound, and Samuel glanced hesitantly over his shoulder to see Hope emerge from the underbrush, empty-handed, looking sheepish. This couldn’t be happening. Things were falling apart much too fast. The only hope left was if, against their plan, she had hidden the page somewhere. But no, he could see the outline of a folded piece of paper in the fabric of her pants pocket.

“The game’s over,” the Deceiver said. “There is only one set of actions left. You give me the page, I’ll give Samuel the cure, and then we all walk out of here together as good sports.”

“Give us back the sword, too,” Hope said. Samuel gave her a covert thumbs up.

“Don’t push it.” The Deceiver poked Samuel with the tip of the sword, lightly enough not to tear his shirt.

Then, Samuel saw it. Near the trees, to Hope’s left, stood a tall, hooded figure, staring at him with empty eye sockets as dark as the abyss. The Deceiver was serious.

Death had arrived.

What could be done? If Samuel told Hope to run for the traveling book, the Deceiver would certainly kill him. If he tried to wrest the sword from the Deceiver’s hand, the Deceiver would probably kill him.

What if he jumped in the water and swam away? He was not bound, and the Deceiver couldn’t follow him with the sword weighing him down. That might be the only choice left.

No sooner did he make his decision, than Death moved. Not much, just a slow turn of the head, until he was looking no longer at Samuel, but Hope.

Of course. How could he have been so stupid? If Samuel fled, the Deceiver would just attack Hope. And if both of them swam away, there was nowhere to go. The Deceiver would just pick one of them and guard the shore.

“All right,” Hope said. She put her hand in her pocket, removing the folded piece of paper.

Samuel wanted to stop her. To tell her to wait, to stall for just a little more time. He felt like the answer was there, the key to turn this whole thing upside down right in front of him. All he had to do was reach out and grasp it.

But nothing came. Even as the Deceiver stepped toward Hope, keeping the sword aimed at Samuel’s neck. Even as the Deceiver reached forward, and the paper was released into his hand. And just like that, time was up. It was over. They had lost.

The Deceiver let the blade fall, transferring it into the hand holding the paper, and reached into his pocket. He withdrew the glass tube of silvery-white Corruption cure. “Catch,” he said, tossing it toward Samuel. Surprised, Samuel lifted his left hand reflexively and caught it. He had half-expected the Deceiver would not give it up even now.

Behind the Deceiver’s back, Hope smiled and winked. Then she reached up and touched her forehead . . . and disappeared.

Samuel hesitated, the contradiction burrowing into his brain. If their third eyes were closed, they shouldn’t be able to wake. Which meant Hope’s disappearance . . .

“What?” the Deceiver cried, looking at the unfolded page. He turned toward where Hope had been. “What are you trying to---” He froze, and then slowly turned around, his face drained of color. “H-hold on a minute.” The Deceiver reached toward Samuel, his hand trembling. “Let’s talk.”

Samuel smirked and tapped his forehead.

The Deceiver’s eyes went even wider. “That’s n---”

And then Samuel was awake in his delving bed in Shelley Hall.

He sat up to find Hope, Berkeley, and the twins looking at him. “What just happened?” Samuel said. “I feel like we won, but I’m not sure how.”

“We did,” Hope replied. “That page I gave him was a fake, torn out of his own traveling book. I still have the real one in my pocket.”

Samuel lifted his eyebrows. “That was clever.”

Hope beamed. “When he showed up at the statues, I noticed he didn’t have his bag. And then when he didn’t chase me, I thought I would go find it, to use it as leverage. It was lying on the ground where we had that fight. But when I saw it, I thought I could use the book to escape, like in our original plan. But guess what? It didn’t work!”

“Didn’t work?” Samuel echoed.

“Yeah. No lights, no portals, nothing. I think it just doesn’t work in that realm. Oh, and that was also when I found out our third eyes had opened again, because I saw it in the mirror that was in the bag. I think they must have opened when we opened the box with the sword.”

“And that’s when you got the idea to trade him the wrong page,” Samuel said.

“Exactly!”

“And now, you have the treasure he was looking for, I have the cure, and he is stuck in that realm, because he can’t go through the Gate by himself and his traveling book doesn’t work.”

“Yeah.” Hope sighed. “I feel kind of bad leaving him trapped, though, even if he is a giant jerk.”

“From what I could tell, we did the Realms a favor. The only thing I’m not happy about is that we lost the sword.”

“I guess.”

Hattie cut in. “Care to share the story with the rest of us?”

“Go for it, Hope,” Samuel said, lying down once more. “I’ve got one more thing I need to do.”

“Oh, me too,” Hope said. “Be right back, Hattie.”

The soothing gurgle of the river met Samuel’s ears as he and Hope reappeared in the Realms, in the same place they had earlier that morning. In his hand, he held the cure. Before, he had gritted his teeth and borne the pain. Now, every second seemed longer than he could handle. He unscrewed the plastic lid, and looked into the container, frowning. “Do I drink this, or . . .” He tipped it, and let a drop of the thick liquid drip onto his blackened hand. Where it touched, he felt immediate relief. Drizzling more of it onto his skin, he methodically rubbed it everywhere the Corruption had spread.

He used up two thirds of the bottle. When he was done, everything that had been black had turned red. He closed his fist and opened it again, savoring the sweetness that was the mere absence of pain.

“Is it better now?” Hope asked.

“Still throbs,” Samuel replied, “but it feels like it’s healing.”

“That’s so good to hear.” Hope reached into her pocket, withdrew a piece of paper, and unfolded it. “Let’s see what the Deceiver was so interested to get his hands on.”

Samuel stepped next to her. “Realm of the Shadows,” he said. He read a little more. “It looks like a set of directions.”

Hope grinned at him. “Want to go on another adventure?”

“Nah.” Samuel shook his head. “I came to AU to get a business degree. This,” he waved his hands in all directions, “has just been a distraction.”

Hope opened her mouth in incredulity. “You still feel that way after all we’ve been through?”

Samuel shrugged. “I just can’t justify spending my time on something that isn’t real.”

Hope pointed a finger downward for emphasis. “To me, this is real.”

Samuel raised his eyebrows at her. Things could not be real to one person and not to another. Reality was reality. Still, he did not feel like arguing the point. Instead, he clasped Hope on the shoulder, using his right hand. “You did great today,” he said. “I’m sure after all you’ve been through, Berkeley will let you run around in here by yourself.”

Hope sighed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She looked at him. “Don’t be a stranger. Let’s at least hang out or grab lunch sometimes.”

“Sure.” He let her go, and with a final smile and a wave, touched his forehead and returned to the real world.

 

* * *

 

“---not the real cure!” The Deceiver tried to stop the boy, but he was already gone.

His arms dropped limply to his sides, the sword clattering to the ground. The stupid idiot had taken the dumb way out, and everybody had lost.

He walked down the path and sat on the stone in the middle of the clearing, his back slumped, his chin in his hand. Nothing could be more disappointing. He lifted his right arm, looking at the black swirl on the back of his hand. Useless. There was nothing left to do, nowhere to go.

He leaned back on his arms, gazing up at the crack in the sky. He supposed he should get used to that. After all, he wasn’t going to leave anytime soon.