Following the group of night-travelling soldiers through the forest, Delta-Six had gathered data supporting his theory that they were trapped in a virtual prison. The soldiers were showing changes to their physical appearance picked up by his sensors. Growth spurts, increased bone density and bizarre mutations, which suggested a degradation of the virtual world. The night group discussed other events which suggested similar glitches: arrows acting like birds; flying sharks; extinct beasts.
Despite the evidence though, the world still felt real to Delta-Six.
‘Maybe my emotions are warping my judgement?’ he told his log as he kept out of earshot of the soldiers. ‘I try to concentrate on the facts. But it doesn’t tie up. I’m the most advanced soldier here, but is that because the virtual world doesn’t have the capacity to create more advanced beings or, judging by how my war was advancing with avatars in the asteroid belt… am I the last soldier to fight on Earth?’
When Delta-Six found a safe place to rest, he thought about how he had changed since arriving in this land. His suit and body had started to merge, his thoughts felt less restricted and even his dreams were different here. Back home he would have the same dream every two or three nights: a dream of resting in the sunlight on a veranda overlooking the green fields of recolonised Europe with a gorgeous woman; children playing in the long garden with a retro-dog; a warm sun; a good life.
Delta-Six’s logs didn’t record the last time he’d had that dream.
Now he thought about it, the dream was clearly tied to the performance rewards that led to their retirement package. If Delta-Six completed his allocated tours with distinction he would have a pretty, fertile wife and a villa on the Elysium plains. Perform below par and he would end up in a regen-colony on the edge of the wasteland with a stick-thin, toothless wife, spending the rest of their lives drawing out toxins on a reed farm.
As Delta-Six dr ifted off to sleep in his night hammock, he wondered about the other Deltas and the original soldier all Deltas had been cloned from. What happened to him? Did he retire to Elysium? Did Elysium even exist?
Mihran was at point, leading the wedge of soldiers across the beach to attack the giant wasps. He would show Samas he could fight as well as command, he thought, as his feet pounded the sand. Ahead, the cloud of huge wasps harangued the humans stuck in their rock fort and light from explosions turned the wasps to silhouettes as two shapes ran from the rocks to the trees. Mihran recognised the short men from the obelisk hill and noted their bravery as they drew several wasps away from the swarm.
Mihran was ready to join in. He had left his long cloak with the ration bags and injured soldiers, and his shoulders felt loose, his arms strong.
‘Release!’ he shouted and the archers and riflemen he’d distributed on the flanks of the battalion fired their wild array of missiles.
Li’s rifle was by far the most efficient, and wasp carcases were soon falling from the sky. As a result, the wasp swarm spilt and a section turned to focus on Mihran’s army. He pulled his sword from its sheath and felt the strength in its weight. His energy was high as the thought of previous battles surged through him and he relished the feeling of being one with his weapon again.
The first few wasps flew straight over Mihran and his compatriots, homing in on the archers, who gravitated towards Li for cover.
‘Left wing!’ Mihran shouted as he ran, but nobody looked at him. ‘Olan!’ he shouted, and the big Viking caught his gaze. ‘Defend the archers!’
Olan grimaced before breaking his run to head back, taking a couple of men with him.
Then the second wave of wasps came, diving in sting first at Mihran and those about him. Mihran kept running and only swung his sword at the last second. He missed, but so did the wasp, which hovered menacingly above, ready to attack again.
Mihran swung his sword, in defence as much as attack. He could see the wasps’ weak point was their waist, but it was midway between their sting and jaws. A second wasp joined the attack as the sound of wild buzzing and people shouting grew around Mihran. He parried, ducked and jabbed until he saw his moment – a quick slice and he took off one wasp’s wing, sending it spiralling away. He turned on the second and, with a quick feint and slice, cut its abdomen off. The scream was almost human, he thought, as the creature flew away to crash into the sea, leaving a trail of brown liquid in its wake.
Mihran caught his breath and scanned the battle around him. He watched his soldiers fight and observed how the warriors who fared the best were those who had naturally paired with another. Those on their own were easily picked off and those in larger groups got in each other’s way. It was the fighting pairs who were turning the tide. More wasps had come, but they were too few now and were being chased by the humans who had escaped their fort.
The battle would be over soon.
As the last few wasps were being cleared up, Mihran cleaned his sword on a cloth, resheathed it and walked to meet the soldiers they had saved.
A tall man carrying a longsword was first to greet him – Sir William Lavalle , he recognis ed, the man who ’ d argued against travelling at night.
Lavalle gave a nod and said, ‘I see you travel during the day now.’
‘It’s lucky for you we did,’ Mihran replied and gave a wry smile, ‘I doubt you would have lasted until nightfall.’
‘So the bird’s feathers give the arrows the power to think?’
John heard Lavalle’s voice and kept his eyes closed. He wasn’t in pain, but his head felt numb.
‘Yes.’ A voice John didn’t recognise answered the knight. ‘But only in flight.’
A new voice joined in. ‘You should have seen the first arrow hit the shark!’
‘You fought the shark too?’ Althorn was with the group.
John opened his heavy eyes and saw dancing daggers. Steadily, his eyes focused on wafting palm fronds lit by a fire. It was night and they were still on the beach. Images of the wasps came to John and he closed his eyes.
‘What did you say your name was?’ the new voice asked.
‘Sir William Lavalle, and you?’
‘Mark Bowman, archer.’
‘Yes, I can see that,’ Lavalle replied.
‘But did you see my arrows?’ Bowman asked. ‘After Marodeen’s arrow hit the shark I re-fletched mine and, well… you saw the flames, didn’t you?’
John remembered the orange trails across the sky and the soldiers advancing. He’d recognised some of them from the obelisk hill – the ones who’d wanted to travel by night.
‘They were your arrows?’ Lavalle sounded impressed. ‘A useful weapon.’
John tried to move but his right arm was stuck to the ground. He licked his lips and pictured a glass of cold, fresh water.
‘Hey, John’s awake!’ Crossley was soon by his side. ‘Can you hear me, John?’
‘Quick, get Euryleia,’ Lavalle said.
‘Hey, give him some air,’ Crossley said.
John blinked a couple of times. ‘Water…’
‘Here you go buddy.’ Crossley lifted John’s head and brought a canteen to his lips.
The water gave John strength. He looked at the faces around him: Mata, Althorn, Lavalle, Crossley and some people he vaguely recognised. The weakness in his body pulsed up and down both arms.
‘Thank God you’re better,’ Lavalle said.
‘You’ve been talking in your sleep,’ Crossley said. ‘You kept saying “Don’t call me Johnny”. I didn’t realise you found it so annoying.’
John managed a smile but the dizziness was returning.
‘Euryleia’s been looking after you,’ Althorn said.
‘Don’t worry,’ Mata said. ‘She’s not using the red root she used on me.’
John nodded but his eyes weighed heavy and darkness fell.
Mihran had been quiet since the battle with the wasps. His thoughts had taken him to the dunes of his youth and the cities of his war days. His memories were fresher now – more real. He had dwelled in them for days, but now he played mental games in his head: mathematical conundrums; memory tests; battle formations. He developed a game of duels between members of the expanded group, to see who would win. The more he practised, the more he became lost in his solitary world.
‘So you’ve changed your mind?’ Samas appeared next to Mihran.
He took a breath before answering, ‘Yes.’ What was it about Samas that riled him so? An image of a former – and totally incompetent – captain came to him. ‘Our original logic was flawed – we have lost thirty soldiers, the Day Watch twenty. If we had travelled in daylight we would number more than our current 160.’
Mihran wondered what the Babylonian was thinking and felt a wave of light rush through his mind.
‘So day travel had benefits?’ Samas asked.
Mihran examined the light around Samas’ head and picked out shapes, then replied, ‘The uniform temperature makes day travel comfortable and the random threats here are difficult to defend against during the night.’
‘You mean it’s better when we can see our enemy?’
‘Yes,’ Mihran saw an image of the elephant they had fought in the light around Samas’ head.
Samas moved to sit on a rock and Mihran fought to keep hold of the light link. He watched the image flicker from the elephant to a dusty battlefield and then to Li’s face.
‘Did you have any idea Li is a woman?’ Samas asked.
Mihran broke the link with a shallow gasp. The images were his thoughts? ‘No, I had no idea… but we are stronger with her.’
Samas frowned.
‘And we’re stronger with the day travellers in our ranks,’ Mihran continued.
The overview of the group in the back of Mihran’s mind had expanded to include the Day Watch, taking in skills, weapons and age, just as he had done with the Night Watch.
‘So who will lead us now?’ Samas asked.
‘I will.’ Mihran straightened his back.
‘And what about Lavalle? He leads the Day Watch.’
‘I will lead,’ Mihran whispered. ‘I am the Commander.’
Samas stood up, apparently ready for an argument. ‘We are all fighting men. None of us are used to hiding in tents or lookout hills.’
Samas was right, and he’d commanded and fought well during the battle. If Mihran was to weigh up the true strength of this battalion, he would have to be honest, put personal feelings aside.
‘And yet we are changing, aren’t we?’
‘Yes . ’ Samas’ shoulders dropped.
‘Our positive attributes are being enhanced and our weaknesses strengthened,’ Mihran said.
Samas looked along the beach and Mihran followed suit. Scores of men and women. Ultimately, everyone was out for themselves, Mihran knew that, but by working together they increased their chance of survival.
Mihran opened his mind to Samas’ thoughts. Images of ships and rough seas appeared. Obviously no sailor. New pictures emerged: children saluting him; an army bigger than any Mihran had seen before; metal clashing; arrows piercing; yells; blood; hooves thundering; spears thrusting… and a light Mihran remembered all too well. Samas was haunted by his last moments on the battlefield. How many others still dwelled in their past? Mihran sniffed. He had cut his last day off with ease – it was just another battle. These men had to do likewise if they were to fight effectively as a unit.
He turned to focus on another soldier: a Russian swordsman, whose head was mostly filled with images of naked women – real memories or daydreams, Mihran couldn’t tell. How about someone else? John Greene was nearer now, so he focused on his thoughts: a young boy surrounded by fruit and vegetables, laughing; an old man in a chair, shouting; symbols on a medal; a body under a bloody sheet; a woman’s scream; silhouettes crawling towards him.
Mihran pulled away and fought to catch his breath. He blinked, unaware how much energy it had taken out of him. He smiled: it was exhilarating. Like the first time he had ridden a horse.
‘Is this God’s will?’ he asked the sky. ‘Why have I been given this gift?’
A blur of movement caught his eye and Mihran instinctively reached for the mindlike casting out a fishing net. Pictures came: an obelisk hidden beneath rocks; water lapping around its sandy base; a dark room; a knife; a woman; blood and a flash.
Very interesting, Althorn, Mihran thought,and walked to where the blur was heading – to a group of Day Watchsoldiers.
The swirl of sand slowed to form the shape of the Celt cut-throat . ‘ Lavalle , I have found something you need to see.’
Lavalle raised his head.
Mihran joined them. ‘Is this something I need to know?’
‘I’m sure I can handle it, thank you . ’ Lavalle turned away.
‘No, I insist,’ Mihran said. He had to know everything if he was going to be in charge – and in control. Information was a weapon and he needed to be well armed. ‘We are one group now.’
‘Right, yes. ’ Lavalle turned to Althorn. ‘So, what have you found?’
Althorn spoke quietly and Mihran already knew what he was going to say.
‘I have found another obelisk.’
Olan was sitting on a log with Bowman, watching the sea lap against the sandy shore, when he heard Li calling, ‘Gather round!’
Small groups of warriors moved up the beach towards Li, who stood away from where Euryleia tended the injured soldiers. Olan studied the group and recognised more faces from the obelisk hill. Since the battle , they had foraged and eaten as one unit , but many kept to their original friendship groups.
‘Listen up!’ Li’s voice was clear without shouting. ‘We have decided to continue to travel by day.’
‘But there’s nowhere left to travel to!’ a voice shouted out, sending laughter around the crowd.
‘Which leads me to my second point,’ Li replied. ‘We have new information. Mihran…’
Mihran stepped forward, hands on hips , revealing his sword. Now Olan had seen him in action, his respect for the Arab had gone up several notche s .
‘Earlier today, while scouting this… endless coast, Althorn discovered a set of obelisks.’
A murmur rose from the soldiers and Olan stared down the coast but could see nothing .
‘Subsequent surveys show these obelisks are scattered along the shoreline and the message is clear – if we are to reach the silver gates we must cross this sea . ’ Mihran gestured and Olan turned to stare at the placid waters.
‘Where to?’ someone asked.
Li replied, ‘The obelisk says we must leave the safety of our homeland to venture to lands anew.’
‘And what’re we going to sail on ?’ asked another.
‘We can build rafts,’ Crossley’s voice cut above the others, ‘but is this what we want to do? Seriously?’
‘What do you mean?’ Lavalle asked. ‘The obelisk says – ’
‘I get what the obelisk says,’ Crossley replied, ‘but I wanna know why we’re being pushed around like toys ? Why are we agreeing to that? I mean, who’s really in charge here? ’
A silence fell and Olan stared across the open water again. He had ventured out to sea a hundred times and the thought of taking a new voyage excited him. Maybe some of the men around him were scared of the ocean? Many of his crew had been on their first voyage, but had been taught to hide it.
‘There’s nothing to fear,’ Olan said and stepped forward so everyone could see him. ‘The sea looks calm and – ’
‘I’m not scared,’ Crossley replied, ‘I’m just asking why we should go in the first place? I mean, we read the first obelisk and trotted off the hill like good little B oy S couts, following some – ’
‘And what happened next?’ Mihran cut Crossley off. ‘The hill was demolished. I th i nk the message was clear. We move on or suffer the consequences.’ He waited for a response but got none. ‘I resent these orders we are forced to follow, a s much as you,’ Mihran said, ‘but until we are in a position to negotiate our position, I suggest we obey.’
‘I agree,’ Samas said and was followed by several other soldiers.
‘So I suggest we get to work on our craft,’ Mihran said . ‘Crossley, we could use your expertise, but if you would rather stay behind, that is your decision.’
Olan watched the short American , who said nothing and lit ano ther of his cigarettes . He was right to argue, Olan thought. They could keep marching and fighting but , without any reward or purpose, even the most loyal soldier would soon start questioning their orders.
A crash of timber woke John.
‘…coming along well. Li has been cutting palms with her rifle,’ Crossley was saying. ‘The density’s as low as balsa, so we’ll need less wood.’
‘And the other soldiers?’ Lavalle asked.
‘All good workers – Olan’s pretty handy with the axe,’ Crossley replied.
An odd silence followed.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ Lavalle sounded angry.
John turned his head and managed to open his eyes to watch the men.
‘Well, he’s a Viking, isn’t he?’
‘Yes.’
‘So he could be your ancestor – Li told me they settled Normandy and then conquered England, so…’
‘Ah, yes,’ Lavalle looked over at the large Norseman. ‘I hadn’t thought about it like that.’
‘It’s quite neat when you think about it,’ Crossley continued. ‘I mean, he could be your great, great, great whatever and any of you could be my ancestors, what with all the Europeans who–’
Lavalle shook his head. ‘No. I don’t think so,’ he said vehemently and walked off.
John smiled. His head and body felt less heavy now and he wondered how long he had been asleep.
‘We need to speed up!’ a deep voice shouted.
John caught a glimpse of Mihran’s maroon robes flowing in the sea breeze. Olan was nearby, binding palm trunks with green vines, while other soldiers were laying out poles and collecting purple bladders from the high-tide mark. Beyond them, a soldier with a clay cast on one arm was talking to the future soldier with the mask. John looked at his arm: it was almost all gun now. We’re all changing, he thought, and remembered Mata and the wolves. But why?
‘You’re awake!’ Mata’s voice drew his attention.
John eased himself up onto his good elbow. ‘Yes.’
‘Take it easy.’ Mata helped John to sit up against a palm. ‘Drink?’
‘Thanks.’ John took a sip from Mata’s canteen.
He could see more now. Three other soldiers lay wounded beside him with missing limbs or with Euryleia’s poultices strapped to wounds.
‘How many dead?’ John asked.
‘Seven,’ Mata replied. ‘Myrcin the lancer and Jarha the Egyptian.’
‘How many of us will make it to the gates?’ John asked.
Mata looked to the sea horizon and shrugged, then nodded at John’s arm. ‘Euryleia thinks the poison from the sting sped up your changes.’
‘Changing into what though?’ John raised both arms with a wince. ‘This’ll never fire again, that’s for sure.’ The gun-arm was only a few inches longer than his left arm now. ‘It feels lighter.’
‘He’s awake then?’ John recognised the voice of the archer who had been talking to Lavalle. ‘Li tells me you’re English like me. I’m Bowman.’
John dropped his arms and looked at Bowman. He could easily have been one of the lads back in his battalion. ‘Yes, London born and bred. How about you?
‘Wisbury, south of Lincoln. Not that I’ve spent much time there recently.’
John smiled. ‘Tell me about it – I’ve been the wrong side of the Channel for years.’
Bowman smiled back. ‘I would shake your hand but…’
John instinctively moved his coat to cover his arm.
‘No it’s alright, friend, I’ve seen stranger, believe me!’ Bowman said.
Mata stood up.
‘Have I been asleep long?’ John asked.
‘One night since the battle,’ Mata replied.
‘So we still have time to get to the silver gates?’
‘Depends how big this sea is.’ Mata stared out to sea again.
‘And how far the gates are once we find land,’ Bowman said.
‘I’d like to see the rafts,’ John said.
‘Come on then,’ Mata helped him to his feet.
They took it slow across the beach and John rested, leaning against Mata as they watched the hive of activity, the soldiers strapping leaf-wrapped packets of food, spare weapons and gourds of water to the rafts.
John felt his energy come back. ‘Let’s get closer.’
Mata helped him over to where Olan worked the last trunks into place. ‘You must be John,’ he said, with a glance at his arm. ‘I’m Olan.’
‘Hello,’ John said.
Olan smiled, and looked at Mata. ‘Have you got shorter?’
Mata’s face was like carved stone. Then he burst out laughing: his tattoos wrinkling.
‘What?’ Olan looked at John. ‘What did I say?’
John shrugged.
Mata’s laugh slowed to a smile. ‘Of all the changes, you ask if I’m shorter? Ha! No, my friend,’ Mata patted the Viking on his shoulder. ‘You have grown.’
‘Really?’
John stared up at both tall warriors. They both looked huge to him.
Samas came over, having heard the conversation. ‘We can’t have grown – our clothes would be too small.’
‘Well, we couldn’t have shrunk or ours would be too big,’ Mata replied.
‘I know who can settle this.’ Samas beckoned Li over. ‘Li – you scanned us when you first arrived on the hill, correct?’
‘Yes.’ Li’s visor stayed down.
‘Well, how do we look now?’ Olan asked, opening his arms.
Li’s visor sent a blue, criss-cross pattern across Olan. ‘Interesting…’
‘Well?’ Samas asked.
‘Mata and John have the same dimensions as before,’ Li replied. ‘While you, Samas, are ten percent larger than when we arrived.’
‘And me?’ Olan asked.
‘Even bigger – fourteen percent extra body mass.’
Lavalle was drawn over too. ‘Excuse me, madam, but how do you know this?’
He drew strange looks.
‘Madam?’ John looked at Li.
‘I can only suggest it was the…’
‘Elephant steaks!’ Olan shouted.
‘Well, it could have been the food. Who’s to know what’s driving these changes?’ Li said. ‘When populations of a species diverge, environmental forces work differently on each group, causing them to change physiologically as they adapt to their new environment – but that’s over several generations, not individual lifetimes.’
An array of blank faces stared at Li and a silence held until she turned to Olan. ‘It could have been the elephant meat, yes.’
Mata turned to Lavalle. ‘More importantly, why did you call Li a madam?’
Lavalle smiled. ‘Well, my painted friend, where I come from, ladies are treated with respect and I merely…’
‘Is it true?’ John turned to Li. ‘Are you…?’
‘A woman?’ Li said, with a glance at Samas, ‘Yes.’ And her visor slid back to reveal a truly beautiful, feminine face.