The Barsoom Project

As the seal’s transformation ran to completion, the sea began giving them more gifts. Max heard another splash to his right, and a gigantic walrus crashed up onto the land. It rolled onto its side and began to melt away. A killer whale thrashed painfully out of that black and restless ocean, humped across ten meters of ice, and died. While the Gamers shuffled toward the great, gross corpse the wind flensed the flesh, then etched away some of the bones, until only six naked, gleaming ribs protruded from the spine.

The ribs were pointed, grooved… spearlike.

Max touched one of them, ran his hands along the smooth, polished length. The other Adventurers gathered around, reached out and grabbed ribs, pulled and torqued until, one at a time, the ribs detached from the spine.

Clubs. Spears. Each rib was carved, covered in runes. Max examined the side of the rib he had chosen. Pictoglyphs carved by no human hand (There he was, popping out of reality again. He sighed, and resigned himself to ride the illusion out to the end of the Game. If they put him away afterward and gave charge of his finances to Orson, well, he was riding with Eviane.)

— depicting the marriage of earth and sky, hardy men and women battling the elements, the denizens of the sea sacrificing themselves that frail humans might live.

Trianna had reached the whale too late to get a spear, and was kicking at the spine in irritation. Max handed her his and examined the walrus.

Already the beast was half etched away. Its intact eyes gleamed at him blackly. Also intact was an enormous, obtrusive erection. Must be mating season, Max thought.

Eviane was beside him, and her eyes flashed from the walrus to Max and back again. Max began to blush.

“ Usik,” she said flatly.

“What? Here in front of everyone?”

“The genital bone. It’s magic…” Her voice was far away.

The walrus was gone by now; only the one bone remained lying on the ground. He hefted it. A war club! And a magical one. He wondered if the Eskimos had ascribed any noncombative, more intimate powers to one who wielded such a mighty tool…

“No. Don’t take it.” Eviane pulled at his arm. The first note of a belly laugh emerged like a dog’s bark; Max throttled the rest. She didn’t notice. “If you do, you’ll die.”

“What?”

“I… saw someone…” Her eyes were getting that unfocused look again.

“Dear, it’s war.”

She stared up at him. Her red hair flagged in the wind. Ice frosted the collar of her coat. She looked absurdly like the archetypical little match girl. She shuddered. “I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered. “I’ve lost too much.” She leaned forward into his arms.

What in the hell do you say?

There was a pause. All weapons were checked. There were rifles and a few rounds of ammunition. Hippogryph still carried his flintlock. The rest of the tools-knives, clubs, spears-were all traditional. These were checked and made ready.

Yarnall raised his hand. “If none of you mind, I’ll take the lead.” He shrugged. “I’ve been on borrowed time here anyway. if anyone gets killed, let it be me.”

“I don’t know-”

“Listen.” Yarnall was grinning broadly through two days of stubble. His eyes squinted against the driving snow. “I got through the full day! I beat the Implementor! The only thing that I ask from you is that when you nail those bastards, do it good. Do it solid.”

Robin Bowles nodded soberly, black beard, black hair caked with ice until he looked like a mountain man. “All right.”

In a thin line they entered the maze of ancient ice.

Yarnall held up a hand to bring them to a halt. Frankish Oliver came up tight behind him, and they conferred. Max couldn’t hear. Then Yarnall turned.

“Let’s break into teams. I want one force to cross this open space, while the other team circles around to approach from the other side. A pincers. What do you think?”

Johnny Welsh raised his hand. “Listen, everybody. I’d like a chance to lead. I’m just a funny fat man, but if we’re coming down to the line… I’d like to be some use. There may not be another chance. If you need a decoy, what the hell-I’ve always been an odd duck.”

Kevin, a rifle in one hand and a spear in the other, raised a skinny arm. The skin from the deflated corpse of a sea lion made him look a little less like a walking skeleton. “Me too. First group.”

“Any other volunteers?” There were, and the group split into halves. Max moved forward to join the first group. Eviane hung back, pulled at his hand imploringly.

There was work to do, Max thought, squeezing Eviane’s small hand. Dangerous work, but they were heroes all.

Heroes all.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

THE MAZE

Max’s breath sounded rough in his throat. He was too aware of his hurts. Muscles hurt everywhere… as if he’d been in a match, a rough match against an inept and overpowered opponent, a match that had lasted for days.

He was worried about Eviane. Getting into a part-that he could understand. It came to him now that he had never seen her leave it.

How were the others doing?