Markman found himself standing in a luminous white hallway with a very low ceiling, no more than six inches above his head. The interior was so perfectly unblemished it was difficult to tell where the walls left off and the ceiling and floor began. In front of him, the hallway disappeared around a sharp corner.
A squeaky voice spoke from behind. “Master, the transport has been successful."
Markman turned and saw the page standing close by. Before he could speak, a bloodcurdling howl echoed down the corridor from behind him. “What the hell was that?"
"Master, it is the akida. We must not remain here long."
For a moment, Markman forgot he was alone in an empty room in an abandoned factory. The realism of his surroundings, combined with the threat of actual harm was an overwhelming mixture. He reached out a hand, hoping to prove to himself that the luminous walls were not really there, but yanked it quickly back when the touch produced a searing pressure.
"Master, be careful. Players can sometimes pass through walls, but frequently die doing it."
Markman rubbed his fingers and decided the wall was real enough. "What are the akida?"
"Master, they are vicious four-legged creatures. They come only to the knee, but their tails cut like razors, and their teeth are like sewing needles. They will kill us both if they catch us."
"So what do we do?"
"We must run away from the sound. There will be a gate somewhere ahead. If we can cross it, we will be safe from them."
"Okay. Let's go."
"Master, it is not safe to run blindly ahead. You must use the Eye."
Echoes of howling, slightly closer, came once more.
Markman started to ask for still another explanation, but the page was already digging in his satchel. He drew out a murky, glass sphere the size of a softball and handed it over. A pearl eye was embedded in its center.
"What do I do with it?"
"Master, throw it in the direction we travel, hurry!"
Markman stared with astonishment at the glass eye. He knew that in reality there was nothing in his hand, yet he could somehow feel the pressure of the heavy glass.
"Master, hurry!"
Markman shrugged and made a throwing motion in the direction of their planned escape, and the Eye flew off down the hallway. At the corridor's end, it veered to the right and disappeared around the corner.
"Now what?"
"Master, one moment."
No sooner had the page spoken than the crystal ball came racing back around the corner, stopping in Markman's outstretched hand. The eye had vanished, leaving a clear, round crystal.
Again the howling came, this time much closer.
"Master, the way is clear. We must run."
Markman did not question it. He handed the sphere to his nervous assistant and began a slow trot down the passageway. At the corner, he turned and kept the pace. The corridor continued a short distance and turned once more. Illy followed close behind. Another cascade of howls meant the pursuers were still closing. Markman picked up speed. Corner after corner, he ran along the luminous walls, sometimes brushing by them and feeling impact pressure from the suit. The illusory corridor began to seem endless. Each corner revealed only more passageway. The howling was becoming less frequent, as though the akida had picked up the scent. Markman began to perspire as he pivoted around corners and accelerated through the straits.
At last the passage gave way to a large, gold chamber with a domed ceiling that glowed. Roughly cut into the floor at the center of it was a fearsome-looking, wide chasm. A plain, white pedestal stood near the edge. In its cup, lay a bronze-colored, pulsating orb, similar to the crystal Eye. Markman dared the pit's edge and peered over. It was deep, a fifty-foot drop. And it was hot. Molten lava, which looked like liquid gold, bubbled at the bottom. He could feel the heat on his face as he leaned over. Unexpectedly he felt someone grab his arm and turned to find Illy, a synthetic creature from the mind of an alien machine, holding him fearfully.
"Caution, Master, things live in such soup. The hounds have stopped their howling. It means they are on the prowl and are close by. We must cross."
"How?"
"Master, it is a gate. Take the orb from its pedestal. You will see."
Markman looked again at the shiny sphere resting in the ivory cup. He went to it and reached out with his right computer hand. Once again, he was amazed to feel the gentle pressure from an impostor object. As he lifted the ball from its place, it began to pulse a soft silver light.
"Master hurry. Hold it in your open hand."
With a look of wonder, he opened his hand and the sphere rose to levitate slightly above it. Its colors became kaleidoscopic, and it rotated and drifted weightlessly in the digital air. At the same time, a row of silver stones suddenly appeared and formed a narrow bridge across the gulf. They were no larger than bricks, and they seemed to be made of nothing more than semi transparent light. They did not look safe.
"We must go, Master. They are nearly upon us. You must cross with your hand open and the orb balanced. Drop it, or close your hand, and the bridge collapses. We both will perish should that happen."
Markman closed his hand around the sphere. Instantly the silver bridge of light fell to the superheated river below. He reopened his hand, and silver stones again formed a precarious-looking path across the gulf.
They went quickly to the narrow passage. The illusion was so real Markman again forgot the empty room in which he actually existed. He stepped onto the first of the stones and began crossing. Heat was rising in waves from either side. Carefully placing one foot in front of the other, he inched along, keeping his knees bent and the brilliant orb balanced above his open palm. No further warnings from the page were necessary. Markman knew that to step off the thin line of bridge stones was to burn in the lava bed below.
Halfway across, the akida came. They were creatures of black, no more than shadows on the floor and walls. They came directly to the bridge but seemed fearful to cross. They took turns testing it with one foot, then retreated to pace in irritated circles.
Something began to bother Markman, a sensation in the ears. A radiation from the suit was being used to simulate precarious balance. He stopped to collect himself and had to bend farther at the knees. The akida paused from their restive stalk to watch. The orb jittered above his hand, so badly that he had to divert all of his attention to keep it under control.
With one arm outstretched at his side, he braved another step, then another. The end of the bridge was near. The hounds began to howl in a last desperate effort to fall their intended victim.
With a final jump, he crossed onto the adjacent floor and thought to close his hand around the orb and pause in relief, but remembered Illy. He turned with cautious balance and watched his strange companion step to safety. His hand closed around the orb and the bridge disappeared.
A single hound barked a short, congratulatory bark, and the pack disappeared back down the incandescent corridor, searching again for real players to kill. Markman started to relax but quickly realized that was probably an unwise thing to do. Nervously, he looked around for any new danger and spoke to his page. "What now?"
"Master, throw the gate orb back."
Markman turned and tossed the sphere out over the abyss. Immediately it turned a brilliant bronze and floated gently back to its resting place.
The way ahead was a circle of darkness at the end of a large funnel-shaped entrance. Without being asked, Illy drew the eye from his satchel and held it out. Markman took it with an appraising stare and threw it in the direction of the ominous doorway. It sped into the opening, disappearing through the blanket of darkness, returning a moment later as a clear, round lens.
Without hesitation, they proceeded into the darkness. Markman moved sideways, with his left hand extended outward for protection. He shuffled along the smooth floor, listening for signs of trouble, groping his way through the blackness. Ahead, a small circle of faint light appeared. A few steps later, they e
merged into an arena of blacklight and fluorescent-color overlooking a sunken labyrinth. They walked onto a green, glowing, platform that jutted out over a four-foot drop to the flat dark hue of a floor that seemed to move. Slithering, winding, snakelike forms cloaked in oily-black scaly skin covered most of it. Their heads were fat, with beady, red-glowing eyes and they writhed their way around and over each other in a twisted frenzy, searching for escape. Occasionally one would stop and rise up and flare like a threatening cobra, its flattened, fanged head striking just below the platform's edge.
There was no visible ceiling to the chamber. Darkness shrouded the highest parts. Shadows filled the farthest reaches. A large alcove, blanketed in a force field of sparkling light, waited on the opposite end of the pit.
A way across had been provided. It made the hair on Markman's neck bristle, and his stomach turn. He remembered when he, as a child, had idled away the time in a faraway land, jumping from fence post to fence post around the corrals that held the yaks that waited to pull plows for their Tibetan masters. Never could he have guessed that such a childish skill would someday be needed in a game of life and death.
A broken line of waist-high, square columns zigzagged across the serpent-filled pit. They varied in size, some providing a generous ten-inch surface to jump to, though many were less than that. As Markman went to the edge of the platform, his movement excited the slithering mass further. The first post stood four to five feet away. The jump would not be a problem. The landing probably would be. There would be a tendency for momentum to carry him forward past the landing point and into the pit. Of the columns that lay beyond, some appeared less of a jump, but the farthest were impossible to judge.
He took a wide, sideways stance at the edge and began rocking back and forth in the direction of the first jump. He pushed off, crossed over the carpet of snakes and landed on one foot in the center of the first pedestal. He bent sharply at the knees and kept his arms outstretched to keep from falling over. Daring to breathe, he worked his other foot onto the post and stood upright to gather himself as the serpents struck futilely at the sides of the column beneath his feet.
The next jump was shorter but had to be made from the ten-inch square post, and that afforded much less of a base to jump from. The column after that was even smaller, no more than eight inches square. Markman pushed off once more, with both feet, and landed squarely on the upright. He stood on one foot waving his arms for balance, feeling slightly more secure in the effort.
The next three jumps were easy, though the columns continued to shrink in size. He worked himself around and looked behind. Illy stood on the nearest post looking as worried as ever. Behind him, something had changed. The glowing columns that had been used to get this far were gone. There was no way back. The horde of snakes was following and growing ever larger. They were gathering in such numbers that he feared they would form a mound high enough to give them striking distance.
In a controlled panic, he braved all but the last of the pedestals. As he prepared for the last two jumps, alarm set in. The final column was large; probably a twelve-inch square surface. But, it was clearly out of reach. No one could hope to make such a vault, ten feet or more. The serpents continued to gather, more casually this time as though they knew victory was at hand.
"Master, it is a test of faith. Jump, you will make it!"
With both hands out for balance, Markman pivoted on one foot and cast a look of skepticism at his follower. He turned back to the gap that separated him from the last post and shook his head in dismay.
"Master, you must jump, time is short!"
The mound of snakes was growing beneath his feet. Some of the bolder ones were slithering straight up the side of the column, coming within inches of the top and then falling over backward into the pile.
He looked around for an alternative solution. There was none. He reconsidered the leap and fear swept through him. With his eyes closed, he summoned all of his inner strength. In desperation, he jumped with all his might, knowing the touchdown would fall well short. But the jump immediately felt unnatural. It was as though there had been a running start. Wind was in his face and he was much higher than he should have been. He waved his arms frantically in an effort to maintain balance, and crashed down hard on the next column, so fast that he nearly fell forward. With windmilling and twisting, he steadied himself and crossed over to the other side of the pit.
A moment later, Illy appeared beside him. Together they looked back with relief at the expanse of the snake pit. A new kind of fear began to trouble Markman. There had been no time to rest or eat between the paintball contest and entry into the unforgiving realm of the Sensesuit. Fatigue was creeping in, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Without speaking, he led the way to the brilliant force field that concealed the next chamber. With a quick shrug to his partner, he faced the glimmering curtain of light and tapped at it with one hand. Nothing happened. He pushed his hand into it and found no ill effects. Without asking for advice, he stepped through the glitter, forcing Illy to chase after him.
An oval, copper-colored room that resembled a lobby came abruptly into view. In the center of it stood a cloaked figure, his dark hood pulled well over his face. In his grasp, he held an extremely beautiful long sword that rested on its tip on the copper floor. The man's long, unadorned sleeves covered his hands. Behind him, three large, deeply-engraved copper doors were embedded in the arcing wall.
A deep, reverberating voice spoke at Markman. "Ah, of course, another incompetent come for the Coffer. Tired am I of the wanting, bereft, excuses for warriors that are portioned to me."
Markman forgot himself for the moment and blurted out an indiscreet laugh. The gatekeeper remained motionless and somber.
Illy offered no advice and gave the impression of someone ready to run. Markman shrugged and returned to his role-playing. With a calculated step forward, he spoke to the grim figure. "What is on the other side of these doors?"
The gatekeeper's raspy voice answered without delay. "Two contain certain death. One, is the Way."
"How do they open?"
"With this very sword."
“Ah, the sword. I see." Markman made an oafish face. He looked to Illy for support and spoke under his breath, keeping an eye on the untrustworthy guardsman.
"Have you got anything in your sack that might, you know, be useful against a guy like that with a sword?"
Illy's blank stare was answer enough. There did not appear to be anything in the sterile confines of the room that would serve as a weapon, either. The cloaked figure seemed reasonably deserving of respect, even without the long sword. It left Markman sincerely hoping for a peaceful negotiation for the sword. He wondered if the crystal Eye could be considered fair trade for it.
In the instant it took for him to put on his most congenial face, an ear-ringing explosion erupted from behind the gatekeeper. The center copper door burst outward into hundreds of pieces and clattered loudly across the metal floor. A split-second later, a black-suited human figure was rudely thrown backward through the ruptured doorway, crashing into the midst of the litter, rolling several times from the force of it. Immediately behind him, a gruesome skeletal figure stepped disjointedly into the room, swinging a great, yellowed bone. Its hollow skull moved grotesquely on its exposed spine in search of the fallen man.
It was then that Markman noticed the blue triangle on the injured man's chest. He wore a hood with a slot for eyes and he back-peddled on the smooth floor as the creature of bones clattered toward him on ugly, exposed feet, its repulsive weapon raised high in the air.
Instinctively, Markman went for the gatekeeper's sword. A two-step leap carried him through the air toward the distracted guard. He plunged through the artificial air with arms wide open, hoping to scissor him between them and drag him down. But instead of colliding with him, Markman sailed through the image as though it were no more than a shadow. He plunged roughly to the floor empty-handed and slid al
ong indignantly on his stomach, crashing abruptly into the base of the left-hand door where he came to rest in a crumpled heap.
Across the oval room, the skeletal beast was beating its prey with relentless fury. The sickening thumps came at an unmerciful pace, though the battered player no longer moved to protect himself. His body lay a limp mass in the gutter of the far wall.
There was no time to consider helping him. As Markman recovered to his feet, the gatekeeper raised and leveled his sword. With silent deliberation, he began his advance in quick, long strides, like a macabre samurai. As the distance between them narrowed, the swordsman quickened his pace while keeping the sharpened point of his blade well aimed at Markman's heart. In the process of taking his last two steps, he thrust the blade forward and lurched into the motion, hoping to fell Markman with the first strike.
At the last possible instant, Markman twisted sideways. The blade sliced by his chest and with an eerie, screeching moan drove deeply into the engravings on the doorway behind him. Fractures spread quickly outward from the embedded blade until heavy chunks of door began to break loose and fall. The gatekeeper stepped back, releasing his hold on the sword as the door continued to collapse. Markman dove to the side, shielding himself from the falling debris with one hand. In a matter of seconds, the entire door had fallen in a pile on the floor. The longsword fell also, bouncing from end to end, ringing like a tuning fork, finally settling with a sustained, and ominous tone.
Bright light shone from the new doorway. Behind the frozen figure of the gatekeeper, Markman caught a glimpse of the skeleton monster, dragging its deceased trophy back through the center passageway. The long sword lay on the floor between him and the gatekeeper. Markman flinched forward in an effort to reach the weapon first, but as he did, something caused him to jerk to a stop and listen.
From within the dim blue light of the newly-opened chamber came a single, hair-raising bellow. An instant later, a reptilian head, so large it barely fit through the opening, shot outward toward the gatekeeper. It rotated its drooling mouth as it came, and clamped down with spiked teeth on him. Its huge, round eyes were tightly dilated and had a childlike expectancy about them. With its prey kicking and flailing, it swaggered back into its den, smashing the gatekeeper's head and feet against the sides of the doorway as it exited.
Silence returned. Markman lay stiffly on his right side, wondering if he would be the monster's second course. The long sword remained a few feet away amid the copper-colored rubble.
Nothing happened.
He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and shuffled forward to grab the blade by its point, and drag it to him. He backed away from the entrance to the creature's lair and stood, holding the sword ready in both hands. It had no weight at all, but strangely he could feel the pressure of the jeweled grip against his palm. He breathed a short sigh of relief and looked around. There was no sign of Illy. He turned to look back at the glistening curtain from which he had entered. The oval room was now completely empty except for smoke drifting through the broken doors, and debris scattered across the polished floor. Rotating to study the three doors, he immediately caught sight of something that sent a rush of fear up his spine. In the foggy light from the middle door, the skeleton had returned. Holding its heavy bone-club by its side, it stared intently with hollow eyes. Somehow the fleshless, barren teeth seemed to form a sickening little smile.
Markman thought to run but quickly realized there was no longer a path through the snake pit. The gatekeeper had warned that two of the doors contained certain death, and only one the correct path. One door still remained sealed, but the skeleton was a barrier to it. The two bad alternatives mattered little, for at that moment the skeleton began its approach. Since no retreat was available, Markman did the next best thing, he advanced.