“Wait!” Urdun shouted in a hurry. “The counselors never talk on the real holophone!”
Urdun’s breath exhaled an undeniable smell of fear… fear that Gill would leave the imaginary world! The empathy that Urdun played could prove to be a sarpan with two heads, making him vulnerable to sensitive nostrils, trained in Guk’s canons. I’ll make something you won’t like. Let’s see what happens then.
“You have to tell me who these counselors are.”
“Twenty-seven architects, the parhontes of Ropolis. They rule both worlds, hidden behind the wall of fire.”
“What are you talking about?” he burst out incredulously.
“Why do you wonder? They had built one here to avoid being disturbed. Go to the edge of the meadow and see for yourself. The island with sharp mountains floating a bit higher than ours,” he said, pointing the direction.
Gill walked around a bush and immediately saw the island. It was even larger than the ice world and had several lofty mountain ranges with sharp crests covered in eternal snowcaps, surrounded by forests of indescribable beauty, even greener than the land under his feet. One mountain range ran perpendicular to the general outline of the rocky cliffs; between two of its tallest peaks, the deep valley was blocked by a shining wall of fire. Judging by its appearance, it was part of a huge dome of flames that seemed to have fallen from the heavens, right behind the mountain peaks.
“Do you see it? You can’t pass through the firewall unless you have a direct tunnel. They’re so busy… but if there’s an emergency, you can ask for a meeting at the passerby’s tower in Hriballa, the underground city in Borelia’s ice canyon. Or make a complaint from your portal sphere, and if you’re lucky, in several days, an architect will contact you. Anyway, you need a sphere. And you don’t have one.”
It became clear that he wasn’t going to meet them there. The walls around him appeared impenetrable—mainly due to his ignorance. He felt like a feeble creature, a licant caught in a fragrance trap, unable to find the exit just a few steps away. The prospect of his physical escape through the skylight seemed to be the only chance to upset Ugo’s plans.
“Where can I find the council in the real Ropolis?” he snapped, throwing Urdun an angry look.
“They don’t gather that way. The counselors are artificially fed, and most of them never disconnect, so you can find them only here. Their shells are scattered through the catacombs—nobody knows where, not even how they look or what their real ages and sexes are. I’ve chosen a face to look like the real me, but few others did so.”
His companion’s voice remained warm, soothing, and conciliatory, as if he wasn’t affected at all by the sharp words probing his reactions. The semantic rapport deviated substantially from the “standard Guk percentile” for Gill to still have any doubts about the old Antyran’s role. Now he could smell Urdun like a box of seeds impregnated with the easy smell of evening. Any Antyran would have been enraged or at least betrayed the slightest trace of annoyance in his voice, but the old haggard couldn’t afford the luxury. He was conditioned with the purpose dictated by the jure, by the need to ensure Gill’s presence here, thus betraying his deceit. Obviously, he wanted something from Gill. What does he want from me? Or better to say, what does he think he wants?
Gill was hoping he had pushed his companion far enough to unbalance his tenuous control on events, to bring Urdun to the point when the revelations-for-the-sake-of-time would become increasingly damaging for him and he wouldn’t be able to judge their importance anymore. Therefore, he decided to rob him of the very thing that Urdun was trying to keep at all costs: his presence in the virtual realm.
“When you meet him, tell Ugo that he can’t keep me prisoner in here, and neither in the real world!” he shouted mockingly and grabbed the interface to pull it off.
“Wait!”
The almost-comical despair on his companion’s face told him that his deduction was correct.
“How do I get to the architects?” he said, pinning him with his eyes.
“I can’t get you there. If I’m caught helping you… it’s going to be my last stupidity in this world!”
“So you can leave the meadow!” he said, grinning, satisfied by Urdun’s disclosure.
Urdun didn’t reply, but he looked around as if he was afraid of something or waiting for someone to come.
“Please, don’t leave!” the old Antyran implored him.
“Will you help me?” he asked menacingly, convinced that he had discovered the way to control Urdun.
“No. But you can’t leave right now,” Urdun replied, looking at him strangely.
Suddenly, he felt an icy breeze sliding along his tail. He shivered and rubbed his hands together to warm them. Just when he thought it was over, the cold breeze came back behind him. He turned to figure out where was the frost coming from, but he couldn’t see anything. As he was about to resume his little chat with Urdun, the frosty wind caught him again.
He turned back, but he saw no one.
“Anyone here?” he exclaimed.
The coldness sensation caught him harder, squeezing his dorsal ganglions in a vice, and then it released them.
“Urdun, I feel something on my back. There’s something here with us!”
“Who do you think it could be?” he muttered, seemingly unconcerned. “There’s just you and me.”
No, it wasn’t just an impression. Something or someone was there, stalking him. For a brief moment, he thought he saw a ghost as the frosty air began to tremble with a different density than the one in the glade. Everything lasted for a mere fraction of a second, but Gill was sure they had some company.
“What’s there?” he barked at the old haggard.
Urdun avoided his eyes as if… as if he knew all too well what was happening!
The frosty claw caught the nape of his neck and began to run along his spine, paralyzing his muscles as it went, dizzying him completely. He felt several long fingers opening inside his skull like the petals of a poisonous flower.
“Help me,” he rattled, falling on his knees, his whole body trembling.
Urdun looked at him condescendingly.
“First times are always like that; bixan is giving you a weird out-of-body feeling like someone is controlling your muscles. Tarmon’s islands get numbed, and you lose the ‘inside’ balance. Just a side effect of the drug, really!”
“I have… to… get rid of…” he mumbled, barely moving his lips, while the spasms became unbearable. His muscles were so contracted, he couldn’t breathe at all.
“It’ll end quickly,” Urdun reassured him.
The fingers started to ransack his memory thoroughly. Flames of all colors crackled in his head, and the pain was harder and harder to bear. Something or someone was trying to break his kyi, to torture every cell, seemingly with the only concern of causing him suffering. Surely another one of the jure’s machinations!
He could barely lift his arm to grab the interface.
“Stop! Do you want to die?” Urdun exclaimed.
He stopped for a moment.
“Your nerve bundles are controlled by the interface. If you pull it out, the shock will be too much for your ganglions; a river of calcium will flood in and stop your hearts!”
“How… do I… disconnect?” he babbled, pierced by the invisible sarpans.
“Have a little patience, will you?”
Gill tried again to disconnect, unconvinced by Urdun’s words.
“Fine, if you don’t believe me, go ahead,” Urdun chided him, turning his back.
For a split second he almost believed him, but then he saw Urdun’s gills: they were scarlet and pulsed frantically in an effort to hide his panic.
“You’re lying,” Gill muttered.
“I’ll help you leave the glade if that’s what you want! We’re going to meet the counselors!” his companion said, making another attempt to buy time.