Sample translation of "Erebos": Bestselling #1 German YA Thriller since 2010 by Loewe Verlag

EREBOS By Ursula Poznanski

14,0 x 21,5 cm, no. 6957 480 pages, soft-cover with flaps Publication Date January 2010 Readers aged 12+

Sample Translation from the German

It always begins at night. At night I’m feeding my plans with darkness. If there is something which I have in abundance, it’s darkness. It’s the soil that will nurture what I want to grow. If faced with a choice, I would always have chosen night over day, basement over garden. Only after the sunset my crippled imaginary creatures dare to leave their bunkers, to breathe some ice cold air. They are waiting for me to lend their misshapen bodies some kind of grotesque beauty. Bait has to be beautiful, so that the prey will only notice the hook when it has been driven deep into its flesh. My prey. I almost want to hug it, without knowing it. And in a certain sense, I’ll do just that. We’ll be one in spirit. I do not have to search the darkness, it always surrounds me, I spread it as if it were my breath. My body’s odours. By now they are avoiding me, and that’s a good thing. They are all prowling about, whispering, uneasy, afraid. They think it’s the stench that keeps them away, but I know, it’s the darkness.

1. Ten past three already and Colin was not to be seen. Nick bounced his basketball on the asphalt, catching it with his right hand, left hand, then right hand again. A short, singing noise with every time the ball touched the ground. He tried to keep a rhythm. Twenty repetitions – if Colin wasn’t there by then, Nick would go to practice without him. Five, six. It wasn’t like Colin not to turn up without an explanation. He knew only too well how fast you were thrown off coach Betthany’s team. Colin’s cell phone was turned off, he’d probably forgotten again to charge his battery. Ten, eleven. But that he should forget basketball, too, his mates, his team? Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. No Colin. Nick sighed and took up the basketball. Fine with him, it would be him now who scored the most points today. Practice was super-exhausting and Nick bathed in sweat after two hours. His legs aching he hobbled under the shower under the hot water jet and closed his eyes. Colin had not turned up and Betthany had lost it, as expected. He’d let go of his anger and blamed him, Nick, as if it was his fault that Colin had not turned up. Nick spread shampoo on his head, washing his hair – which in coach Betthany’s eyes was way too long – and pulled it back into a ponytail with a worn out ribbon. He was the last to leave the gym, darkness was already falling outside. On the escalator down to the tube station Nick took his cell phone from his pocket and pushed the speed dial for Colin’s number. After only two signals, the voice mail answered and Nick hung up without leaving a message. Mum was lying on the couch, reading one of her hair-style magazines and watching TV. “There’s only hotdogs for dinner tonight” she said as soon as Nick had closed the door behind him. “I’m totally wiped out. Could you get me an aspirin from the kitchen?” Nick flung his bag into a corner and threw an aspirin plus C into a glass of water. Hotdogs, great. He was starving. “Dad’s not home?” “No, he’s coming home later. It’s a colleague’s birthday.” Without getting his hopes up Nick scanned the fridge for something more pleasant than wieners, but couldn’t find anything. “What do you think about Sam Lawrence?” Mum was calling from the living room. “Unbelievable, isn’t it?” Sam Lawrence? The name rang a bell, but he had a hard time placing a face to it. When he was this tired, Mum was pushing his buttons with her cryptic messages. He presented her the antiheadache-cocktail and deliberated popping a pill himself. “Were you there when they took him? Mrs Gillinger has told me the story today while I was doing her highlights. She’s working in the same company as Sam’s mother.” “Help me with this. Sam’s in my school?”

Mum looked at him disapprovingly. “Sure he does! Just two years below you. He’s been suspended from school today. Don’t tell me you missed all the commotion.” He had indeed, but his mother was delighted to fill him in, details and everything. “They found weapons in his locker! Weapons! They say it was a gun and two flick knives. How the heck does a fifteen year old get his hands on a gun, I’d like to know! Don’t you?” “I do”, Nick said truthfully. The whole scandal, how his mother called it, had escaped his notice. He was thinking about American high school kids running amok and shook involuntarily. Were there really sick people like that among them? His fingers were itching to call Colin who might know more about all this, but Colin Mr. Lazy wasn’t picking up his phone. Probably better this way, because Mum might just as well have exaggerated the entire story, and all this Sam Lawrence guy had really had in his locker was a water pistol and a pocket knife. “It really is a tragedy, the things that can go wrong when children grow up”, his mother said, bestowing a look on him that said “my cuddly bear, my sweetie, my baby, you wouldn’t do something like that, would you? It was this expression on his mother’s face that made him think about moving in with his brother from time to time. “Were you sick yesterday? Betthany was not amused!” “No, everything’s cool.” Colin was glaring with reddened eyes at the school corridor’s wall next to Nick’s head. “You sure? You look wild.” “Sure. I just didn’t catch a lot of sleep last night.” Colin’s gaze met Nick for a fraction of a second, then moved stubbornly back to the wall. Nick suppressed a snort. Lack of sleep had never been a problem for Colin. “You’ve been out?” Colin shook his head, making his dreadlocks bounce. “Alright. But if it’s your father, who’s again…” “It’s not my dad, ok?” Colin squeezed past Nick and walked into the class room – but didn’t sit down in his place, but strolled over to Dan and Alex who were standing next to the window, totally absorbed in their conversation. Dan and Alex? Nick blinked in disbelief. These two were the opposite of cool, Colin usually called them the Knitting Sisters. Knitting Sister no. 1 (Alex) switched colours from never seen sunlight-white to signal red in no time at all, every time someone addressed him. Every time. Was Colin planning to apply for the position of Knitting Sister 3? “I so don’t get that.”

“Talking to yourself?” Jamie had appeared behind him, clapped a hand on his shoulder and flung his worn-out schoolbag across the classroom floor. He grinned at Nick and revealed a set of the worst teeth one could find at their school. “That’s not a good sign. Actually, it’s one of the first signs of schizophrenia. Hearing voices, too?” “Bullshit.” Nick playfully punched his shoulder. “But Colin’s fraternizing with the Knitting Sisters.” He glanced at them once more and halted. Stop. This wasn’t fraternizing, that was subordination. Colin’s face wore an unprecedented pleading expression. Without meaning to Nick drew nearer. “… can’t see what’s the problem if you share some inside knowledge”, he heard his friend say. “I just can’t. Come on now, you know yourself I can’t”, Dan said and crossed his arms in front of his big belly. The tie of his school uniform was adorned by a piece of egg yolk. “Oh come on, nothing particularly important. And I’m not going to tell on you, for sure.” While Alex glanced hesitantly at Dan, the face of the latter showed quite bluntly how much he enjoyed the situation. “Forget it. Not your usual grand self today, are you. Just get your own ass saved this time.” “At least…” “No! Just shut up, Colin!” Anytime now. Any second now Colin would grab Dan and send him flying across the aisle. Anytime now. But Colin just lowered his head and stared at his feet. Something was seriously wrong here. Nick strolled over to the window and joined the other three. “What’s up?” “You need anything?” Dan asked aggressively. Nick looked from him to the other two. “Not from you”, he replied. “From Colin.” “Are you blind? He’s in the middle of a conversation here.” Nick gasped. Who’d he think he was? “Oh really, Dan?” he asked slowly. “What could he be talking about with you? Knitting patterns?” Colin threw him a quick look from his black eyes, but remained silent. If his skin hadn’t been so dark, Nick could have sworn he had turned red. Nick couldn’t believe what he saw. Was Colin in trouble, and Dan knew something about it? Was he blackmailing him? “Colin”, Nick said loudly, “Jamie and I will meet a few friends at Camden Lock. You’re coming, too?” It took a long time until he got a reply from Colin. “Don’t know”, he said, staring fixedly out of the window. “Don’t count on me.” Dan and Alex exchanged a meaningful look which made Nick’s stomach flip. “What’s all this about?” He grabbed his friend by the shoulder. “Colin? Hey man, what’s up?” © 2010 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de Web: www.loewe-verlag.de/rights

It was Dan, this ridiculous fat guy who pulled Nick’s hand away from Colin’s shoulder. “Nothing that concerns you. Nothing you know anything about.” Half past five and the Northern Line was full to burst. Nick and Jamie, on their way to the cinema, stood in a mass of tired, sweating people. At least Nick was taller than most of them and could thus at least breathe some fresh air, while Jamie was locked between a man in a business suit and a matron with an enormous chest. “I’m telling you, man, there’s something seriously wrong”, Nick insisted. Dan treated Colin like his personal assistant. And me like a baby. Next time…” Nick paused. What’d he do next time? Punch Dan in the face? “Next time I’ll teach him to show some respect” he finished his sentence. Jamie shrugged; there was no room for a bigger gesture. “I think you’re imagining things” he said indifferently. “Maybe Colin’s hoping Dan will help him out in Spanish. He’s giving remedial classes for lots of people.” “Nah, that’s not it. You should have heard them!” “Maybe he’s planning something.” Jamie’s smile spread further, right up to his molars. “He’s pulling their leg, you get it? Like last time, when he made Alex believe Michelle fancied him. Whoa, that was a lot of fun!” Despite himself, Nick laughed. Colin had been very convincing, so that Alex had almost started to stalk poor shy Michelle. Of course the whole thing was uncovered and Alex failed to change colour for a couple of days. He remained stuck on red. “That was two years ago, we were barely 14 years old”, Nick said. “And it was a childish stupid joke.” The doors slid open, a few passengers got off, and even more squeezed in. A young woman in high heels stepped on Nick’s foot and the pain chased the thoughts about Colin’s strange behaviour for a few minutes from his brain. Later on, however, as they were sitting in the darkness of the cinema and watched advertisement flicker across the enormous screen, the image of Colin next to the two weirdoes was back on Nick’s mind. Alex’ eager glowing gaze, Dan’s superior smile. Colin’s embarrassment. They had not been talking about remedial Spanish. Never. Neither hide nor hair were to be seen of Colin all weekend, and on Monday, too, he only spoke a few words with Nick, never staying in one place too long. During one of the breaks, Nick watched him as he handed over something to Jerome. Something flat, made of glossy plastic. Jerome looked mildly interested, while Colin talked at him, emphasizing his words with hectic gestures, and eventually leaving him standing alone. “Hey, Jerome”, Nick walked over to him, beaming at him. “What’s that Colin just gave you?” A shrug. “Nothing special.” © 2010 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de Web: www.loewe-verlag.de/rights

“Why don’t you show me?” For a moment it looked as if Jerome was about to reach into his pocket but then he thought better of it. “Why are you interested?” “No reason. I’m just curious.” “It’s nothing special. And anyway, why don’t you ask Colin.” With these words, Jerome turned around and walked over to a group of other kids who were discussing football results. Nick took his English textbooks from the locker and wandered over to the classroom. His gaze immediately found Emily, as always. She was drawing, concentrating, her head bent. Her dark hair fell like a curtain onto the paper. He pulled his eyes off her and walked over to Colin’s table – only to face Knitting Sister Alex sitting there. He and Colin had put their heads together and whispered. “Oh, sod off”, Nick muttered darkly. The next day, Colin did not come to school. “There are lots of explanations! Hey, isn’t it usually me who’s super-wary?” Jamie noisily shut the door of his locker, as if to underline his words. Has it crossed your mind that Colin maybe has a crush on someone? Most people get a bit weird when that happens.” Jamie rolled his eyes. “Maybe he has a crush on Gloria, for example. Who knows? Or on Brynne. Oh no, she has only eyes for you, Nick, you old womanizer.” Nick was hardly listening, as a little way down the hall, just in front of the toilets, two boys from seventh grade were standing. Dennis, and… a boy whose name Nick couldn’t remember try as he might. Dennis was hectically talking to the other boy, waving something in front of the other’s nose: a slim, square package. It looked really familiar to Nick. The other boy grinned and pocketed the thing quickly. “Maybe Colin has a crush on the cutie Emily Carver”, Jamie rambled on. “She’ll be a tough one, no wonder he’s pissed off. Or maybe, it’s our all-time favourite, Helen!” Jamie slapped the curvy girl who was just squeezing past them on the backside. Helen turned around and gave him a push that sent him flying down the corridor. “Hands off, asshole”, she hissed at him. After a second of shock Jamie recovered quite quickly. “Oh surely. But it will be hard, considering your assets. I’m totally into pimples and flab.” “Leave her alone”, said Nick. Jamie looked at him dumbfounded. “What the heck is up with you? Have you joined up with Greenpeace lately, save the walrus, or what?” Nick made no reply. Jamie’s teasing Helen felt to him like shooting with fireworks at a petrol can.

The Simpsons were on. Nick was sitting on the sofa, wearing his saggy pants and eating lukewarm ravioli from the can. Mum wasn’t home yet. She must have been in a hurry, packing in a rush, as half of her “toolbox” was spread across the living room floor. Nick had almost slipped on a curler when he came into the room. Chaos-Mum. Dad was snoring in the bedroom and had put up the sign “Please don’t disturb, I’m catching some preventive sleep”. The can was empty and Homer had just driven his car into a tree trunk. Nick yawned. He already knew this episode, and he had to head off for basketball practice in a few moments anyway. He packed his things unenthusiastically. Maybe Colin would turn up today, since he had missed the last practice session. It couldn’t hurt to call and remind him. Nick tried three times, but all he got was the voicemail, which Colin listened to only twice a year. “Anyone who doesn’t take the game serious cannot be part of the team!” Betthany’s yelling easily filled the gym. The few remaining members of the team stared at their feet. Betthany was yelling at the wrong people, they had least had turned up for practice. But there were only eight instead of seventeen of them. With eight players, you couldn’t build two teams, no thought about substitute players. Colin, naturally, had not turned up, but Jerome had not come, either. Strange. “What’s up with these losers? Are they all sick? Is there an acute brain-softening virus among you?” Betthany would soon lose his voice, Nick hoped. “If his mood is going to stay like this, I won’t turn up next time either”, he muttered, and was rewarded with twenty-five push-ups. On his way back home, Nick called Colin again, twice, but no answer. Dammit. Why was he so nervous? Because Colin acted strangely? Nah, he thought after reflecting shortly. Strange he could have tolerated, but it seemed as if Colin had erased Nick from his life from one day to the other. At least he owed him an explanation. At home, Nick threw his backpack into a corner, sat down on his wobbly chair in front of his desk, and started his computer. He opened his mail program. From: Nick Dunmore <nick1803@aon.co.uk> To: Colin Harris <colin.harris@hotmail.com> Re: Everything ok? Hey, mate! Are you sick, or what’s wrong? Did I piss you off? If so, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. And hey, what’s going on between you and Dan? The guy is crazy, I thought we agreed on that… Will you be at school tomorrow? If there is a problem, let’s talk about it! CU Nick © 2010 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de Web: www.loewe-verlag.de/rights

He clicked “send” and opened his browser to enter the basketball team’s chat room. But no one was there, so he surfed onto to deviantart. To Emily. He checked if she had posted a new manga or a poem. She was incredibly talented. Today he found two new sketches which he saved to his hard disc, and a short weblog entry. He hesitated before reading it. Every time he sort of needed to cross an invisible barrier, because he knew, this was not meant for him to read. Emily had tried to stay anonymous, but her girlfriends were too chatty. He shook off the thought. Here, on this webpage, he could be close to her. As if he was reaching out to her in the dark. Emily wrote in her weblog that her head felt empty. She wished herself away, to the country, away from the giant Moloch of London. Nick felt her words like needle pricks. It was unthinkable that Emily leave his city, his life. He read the entry three times before closing the site. Checking emails once more. No word from Colin. No new tweet, not for days. Nick sighed, slammed the mouse down onto his desk and shut down the computer. Chemistry was a pain in the butt. With growing desperation Nick hung over his textbook trying to understand the task which Mrs Ganter had set them for this lesson. If only a C at the end of the year would have been enough. But nothing below a B would be good enough, and it better be an A, anyway. Medical schools were not keen on taking on losers in chemistry. He looked up. Emily was sitting in front of him. His dark plaid fell down her back. Not one of these slim, elf-like backs, but one that looked formed by swimming practice. As did her legs, long and muscular, and… He shook his head to get rid of the thought. Dammit, how many mol were 16g CH4? The end of the lesson came much too soon. Nick was one of the last to hand in his sheet, quite convinced that Mrs Ganter would not be amused. Emily had already left; Nick automatically scanned the room looking for her and indeed found her only a few paces down the hallway. She was talking to Rashid, whose enormous nose threw a beak-like shadow onto the wall. Nick walked easily over towards them, pretending to look for something in his bag. “You can’t tell anyone about it, understand?” Rashid held something up in front of Emily, a flat package, wrapped in a newspaper. Square, of course, again. “It’s important. You’ll be amazed, it’s simply fantastic.” Scepticism was etched across Emily’s face. “I have no time for such nonsense.” Nick stopped a few steps away from them, looking intently at the chess club’s notices. “No time, bullshit! Try it! Here.” Nick risked a short glance to see that Rashid was still offering the package to Emily. But she didn’t take it. She took a backward step, shook her head, and left. “Give it to someone else”, she called out to Rashid over her shoulder. © 2010 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de Web: www.loewe-verlag.de/rights

Yes, give it to me, Nick thought. What was up? Why was no one talking about these packages that were circulating here? And why the heck was he not yet in possession of such a package? He usually was in the middle of everything! Nick observed how Rashid pocketed the package and scuffled down the hallway. He was now walking towards Brynne, who was just saying goodbye to a friend. He talked to her, pulled the package from his pocket… “What are you staring at in this dreamy manner?” A hand came down on his shoulder. Jamie. “How was the awful chemistry lesson?” “Awful”, Nick muttered. “What did you expect?” “I just wanted to get some first hand experience.” A few students had stopped in the middle of the corridor and blocked Nick’s view onto Rashid and Brynne; Nick tried to get closer, but the transaction seemed to have taken place. Rashid was scuffling away, and Brynne, too, had disappeared behind a corner. “Shoot”, Nick cursed. ”What’s up?” “Ah, I don’t know. Something strange is going on. A few days ago Colin has handed something to Jerome and they were incredibly secretive about it. Just now, Rashid has tried to do it with Emily, but she turned him down, so he went for Brynne instead.” He smoothed his tied-back hair. “And I missed the rest. I would just love to know what all this is about.” “CDs”, Jamie said dryly. “Some kind of illegal copies, I reckon. Only today, I’ve seen it twice how someone pulled someone else into a corner and offered them a CD. It doesn’t matter, does it?” CDs. That was a possibility, that would fit the form of Rashid’s package. An illegal copy, passed on from student to student, maybe indexed music. No wonder that Emily wasn’t interested. Yes, that was possible. The thought satisfied Nick’s curiosity a bit, but on the other hand… If it was only a CD, why was there no talk about it? The last time that a prohibited movie had been handed around, it had been the talk of the day. Anyone who had already seen it had rambled on about it, while the rest listened enviously or ostentatiously feigned disinterest. But now? As if they were playing Chinese whispers, as if a secret slogan was passed on. The insiders were silent, whispered, isolated themselves. Lost in thought, Nick made his way to his English class. The following lesson was boring, Nick kept on turning these thoughts in his head, and noticed only after twenty minutes that not only Colin but also Jerome were absent today, too. Warm autumn light was falling onto Nick’s desk, bathing the chaos of textbooks, notebooks, and worksheets in a golden glow. The English essay, which Nick had been contemplating for half an hour now was only three sentences long. But he had adorned the margin with circles, lightning bolts and lines. Shoot, he simply could not concentrate, his mind started drifting all the time. He heard Mum rummage in the kitchen, switching between radio stations. Now Whitney Houston was singing I Will Always Love You – what had he done to deserve this? © 2010 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de Web: www.loewe-verlag.de/rights

He threw down his pen, jumped up and closed the door with a bang. He could not go on like that, he simply could not get the CDs out of his head. Why had he not been offered one? And why was no one telling him about them? Once again, he tried to call Colin, but he didn’t answer, what a surprise! Nick left some rude words on his voicemail, scrolled down to Jerome’s number and pushed dial. He got a dialling tone, once, twice, then the call was rejected. Dammit! Nick heaved a sigh. This was ridiculous. He wanted to throw his cell phone into his backpack with a big gesture, but stopped in the middle of it. An idea tickled him with wings soft as feathers. He had Emily’s number in here, too. Before he could think about too many reasons why he should not call her, he had pushed the button. The dialling tone again, once, twice – “Yes?” “Emily? Eh, it’s me, Nick. I just wanted to ask you... It’s just, you, today, at school…” He squeezed his eyes shut, breathed in. “The chemistry test?” “No. Err, I happened to see how Rashid tried to give you something. Can you tell me what that was?” Emily remained silent for a few moments. “Why?” “Well, it’s just, a couple of people at school are acting really strange lately. A lot of them are skiving off, too, haven’t you noticed?” Finally, he talked in full sentences. “And I think it’s all connected to these things that are being passed around at school. That’s why. You see. I would just like to know what all this is about.” “I don’t know either.” “Didn’t Rashid tell you anything?” “No, he just started interrogating me, about my family, stuff that doesn’t concern him. If they grant me a lot of freedom, and so on.” She gave a short and mirthless laugh. “And if I have my own computer.” “Ah. Ok.” Nick tried in vain to make sense of this information. “Did he tell you what you’d be needing the computer for?” “No. He just said he’d be giving me something really special, better than anything I’d ever seen, and that I needed to look at it alone.” Emily’s tone of voice made it quite clear how she thought of that. “He was rather hectic and pushy. But you have seen that yourself.” The last sentence sounded rather snappish. Nick felt his cheeks redden. “I did”, he said. There was a pause. “What do you think it is?” Emily asked eventually. “No idea. I will ask Colin, once he’s back at school. Or… maybe you have a better idea?” No answer. “No”, Emily said finally. “To be honest, I haven’t been thinking about it that much.” © 2010 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de Web: www.loewe-verlag.de/rights

Nick took a deep breath before the next sentence. “Would you like me to tell you in case I find out something? Only if it’s something interesting, of course.” “Sure”, Emily said, “why not. But I have to go now, I’m busy.” The conversation had made Nick’s day. Screw Colin. He had found a way to talk to Emily. And he had a pretext to talk to her again. Once he knew more. Colin was back. Leaning against his locker as if nothing had happened he grinned at Nick and threw his dreadlocks over his shoulder. “I had the sorest throat ever”, he said, indicating the scarf. “No way to talk at the phone. Absolutely no voice.” Nick searched Colin’s face for a trace of a lie, but couldn’t find anything. “Betthany lost it like never before”, he said. “Why didn’t you tell him you were sick?” “Ah, I really felt awful. No need to lose your head about it.” Nick carefully selected his next words. “Must be really contagious, your illness. We were only eight players last time. Absolute low record.” If Colin was surprised he didn’t show it. “These things can happen.” “Jerome was missing, too.” It was only the slightest twitch of the eyelids which betrayed Colin’s suddenly aroused interest. Nick followed up at once. “And while we’re talking about Jerome: what was it you gave him the other day?” The answer came without hesitation. “The new Linkin Park album. Sorry, I know I should it copy for you, too. You’ll have it tomorrow, okay?” And he banged his locker door shut, took up his math books, and looked at Nick expectantly. “Shall we?” Nick shook off the numbness which Colin’s answer had caused. Linkin Park! Was he only imagining a conspiracy? What if his imagination had gotten the better of him and it was merely a flu that had caused all the students to stay at home? It weren’t so many after all. Nick did a quick count as he entered the classroom just in time before the bell rang. Knitting Sister number 2 was missing, Jerome, Helen and silent Greg. The other students were sitting at their desks, more or less awake. Ok, Nick thought. So it was just my imagination. No big secret, just Linkin Park. He grinned, and turned around to Colin, to talk about Betthany’s tantrum in more detail. But Colin wasn’t paying attention, he was staring over to Dan who was standing in his usual spot next to the window. Dan was raising four fingers, half hidden behind his belly. Colin raised his eyebrows appreciatively and raised three fingers. Nick gazed from one to the other, but before there was an opportunity to ask him what that was about, Mr Fornay entered the class room. For one hour he plagued them with such difficult mathematical problems that afterwards Nick had no time to think about such a trivial thing as three or four raised fingers.

2. Money and a shopping list of gigantic proportions were lying on the kitchen table. Mum was away on a large-scale perm operation. As if autumn had awakened a desire for freshly curled hair in London’s women. Nick scrutinized the list with knitted brows. Frozen pizzas en masse, lasagne, fish fingers and noodles. This didn’t look as if Mum were planning to do some cooking in the next few days. He sighed, grabbed three large shopping bags and was off to the supermarket. He started thinking about Dan’s hand signs once more, and Colin’s silent answer to them. Was he imagining things? That was what Jamie thought. “You’re bored, big one”, he had said. “You need a hobby, or a girlfriend. Want me to set up a date with Emily?” Nick took a shopping trolley and shook off all thoughts about school. Jamie was right, it was better to think about real problems. Such as, for example, how he was supposed to bring home twenty bottles of water like his mother had noted. When he entered school the next day there was a buzz of excitement in the air. More kids than usual were standing in the entrance hall, most of them in groups of four or five. The were whispering, muttering, their chattering melting to a layer of sound out of which Nick could make out to single words. All eyes were upon two policemen who were heading down the corridor leading toward the headmaster’s office. In a corner not far away from the staircase, Nick saw Jamie, deep in discussion with Knitting Sister Alex, Rashid and another boy whose name Nick didn’t recall. Ah, yes, he did, Adrian was his name, he was thirteen and usually did not hang out with the older boys. But Nick recognized him, because his family history had raised some attention when he came to the school two years ago: they said his father had hanged himself. “Heya” Jamie beckoned Nick with a large gesture. “Big day today!” “What are the police doing here?” Jamie showed his teeth. “There are criminals here. Scoundrels. Thieves. Nine computers have been stolen, brand new notebooks, all bought for IT classes. They’ll check the computer room for fingerprints or traces.” Adrian nodded. “And it was locked”, he interjected shyly. “Mr Garth told the police, I heard…” “Shut up, kid”, Alex droned. His pimples were glowing, with excitement, probably. Nick had suddenly the irrational desire to hit this idiot. Not to be forced to look at him anymore he turned toward Adrian. “Has the door been broken down?” “No, that’s just it”, he said eagerly, “it was opened with a key. Somebody must have stolen the key, but Mr Garth says, that’s impossible because all three are where they are supposed to be, and he’s even carrying one of them himself-“ “Nick?” A low voice interrupted Adrian’s speech, a hand with transparent nail varnish was put onto Nick’s shoulder. Emily, Nick thought immediately, but he corrected himself at once. Emily did not wear three rings on each finger, and she did not smell so … oriental.” © 2010 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de Web: www.loewe-verlag.de/rights

He turned his head and looked into Brynne’s light blue eyes. Like puddles of water. “Nickydarling, can you… I mean, can we – just for a second, in private…” Alex smirked and licked his lips which made Nick want to clench his fists. “Ok”, he told Brynne, “but only for a minute.” His unfriendly tone did not bother her, or if it did, she did not show it. She was pretty, no doubt about it, but she was also awfully chatty, and, in his opinion, quite brainless. Now she was dancing along in front of him in her high heels and swaying her hips, leading him to the stairs that led down to the gym. This early in the morning, it was quite deserted. “So, Nick, I want to give you something. It’s awesome, believe me.” She put her hand into her purse, hesitated, than pulled her hand back. Nick stared at the bag. Slowly it came to him what this would be about, and he just almost smiled at Brynne. “I need to ask you something in advance.” She pushed her hair back in a slow movement. If you want to do yourself a favour, don’t ask me what I think of you. “Ask away.” “Do you have a computer? Your own computer, in your own room. That’s important.” There it was, finally! “Yes, I do.” She nodded, satisfied. “Err, and your parents, do they often go through your stuff?” “My parents are no freaks.” “Oh. Ok.” She screwed up her face in concentration. “Wait, there was something else. Yes.” She stepped closer, lifting her face towards him. Her bubblegum breath and the harem perfume made for a strange combination. “You can’t show it to anybody. It won’t work if you do. You have to take it and never tell anyone that I gave it to you, understand?” That was ridiculous. He pulled a face. “Why?” “These are the rules”, she said imploringly. “If you don’t promise, I can’t give it to you.” Nick gave a loud, peevish sigh. “If you say so. I promise.” “And no kidding, ok? Otherwise I’ll be in trouble.” She held out her hand and he took it. Felt how hot it was. Hot and a bit moist. “Ok”, Brynne whispered. “I’m relying on you.” She gave him a look which he was afraid was meant to be seductive, then pulled a flat, square plastic case from her bag and placed it in his hand. “Have fun”, she murmured, and left. He didn’t watch her leave. His attention was exclusively focused on the thing in his hand, a blank DVD in a case with no label. Nick opened it, bursting with curiosity. Linkin Park my ass.

There was not much light down here, and Nick turned the DVD to see what was written onto it in Brynne’s ornamental handwriting. It was only one word whose meaning Nick did not know: EREBOS. Jamie made fun of him because of Brynne for the rest of the day – but that was typical of him, and did not bother Nick. Much worse was the temptation to pull the DVD from his pocket and show it to his friend. But he decided against it every time. He would take a look at it on his own first, and find out why everyone was acting so mysteriously. But he would never participate in the irritating secretiveness which had annoyed him so much. The day seemed terribly long. Nick hardly managed to concentrate on anything; his attention always returned to the unimposing object in his pocket. He could feel it through three layers of fabric. Its weight. Its edges. “Are you sick?” Jamie asked him before the bell rang for the last lesson. “No, why?” “Because you’re pulling such a strange face.” “I’m just thinking.” The corner’s of Jamie’s mouth were twitching. “Let me guess. Thinking about Brynne? Did you set up a date with her?” Nick would never understand how Jamie could even think he’d be into someone like Brynne. But today he wasn’t in the mood to contradict him. “What if I did?” he replied and ignored the “I knew it-“ expression on Jamie’s face. “I hope I’ll get details tomorrow.” “Yes. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe.” 3 The flat was empty and cold when Nick came home. Mum had probably been in a rush again and had forgotten to close the windows. He left his jacket on, closed all windows and turned up the heat to a maximum in his room. Only then he took the case from his bag and opened it: Erebos. Nick pulled a face. Erebos, that sounded a lot like Eros. Maybe it was a matchmaking program? That would be typical Brynne, and she could just as well forget about it. He stared at the computer and went to fetch a blanket from the living room to place around his shoulders while the thing was getting ready. At least four uninterrupted hours lay before him. Out of habit, but also because he wanted to create a bit more tension, he checked his emails first (three times advertisement, four times spam, and one bitter message from Betthany threatening dire consequences to anyone who dared skive off practice once more). © 2010 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de Web: www.loewe-verlag.de/rights

Just as he wanted to open his facebook account, his brother Finn approached him on ICQ. “Hey little brother, everything ok?” Nick smiled. “Yes, everything’s great.” “How’s Mum?” “Busy, but ok. How about you?” “Same. Business is really good.” “Cool.” Nick abstained from asking in more detail. “Nicky, listen. The shirt I promised you… You know what I mean, right?” Surely Nick knew. A “Hell Froze Over” shirt, the world’s best band, if you asked Finn. “What’s up?” “I simply don’t find it in your size. Not these next four weeks anyway. You’re simply too tall, little brother. They have placed an order in the fan shop, but it will take some time. Is that ok?” At first Nick did not know why he was so disappointed. Probably because there was a picture in his head of him and his brother at the concert in two weeks, both of them wearing HFO t-shirts, with the ice blue skull across their chests, singing along with Down the Line. “No worry”, Nick typed. “I’m still on it, I promise. Will you come around any day soon?” “Sure.” “I miss you, little brother, did you know?” “I miss you, too.” A lot. But he wasn’t going to tell Finn that, because he’d just have twinges of conscience again. After chatting with his brother, Nick took a look at Emily’s sketches at deviantart once more, but nothing had changed there since yesterday. Quite logical, Nick thought embarrassed, and went offline. An inner voice told him to better write his English essay first before getting started with Erebos. But it had no chance against Nick’s curiosity. He opened the case, grimaced at Brynne’s handwriting and put the DVD into the drive. It took some moments before a window popped open. No movie, no music. A game. The installation window showed a dark image. A decaying tower in the background, set against a burned landscape. A sword with a red rag around its hilt was stuck in the soil in front of the tower. The rag fluttered in the wind, like the last memory of life in a dead world. The word “Erebos” was written, also in red, over the sword. Nick’s skin tingled. He turned up the volume, but there was no music, only a low rumbling as if a thunderstorm was approaching.

Nick held the mouse pointer over the install button, with the uncertain feeling that he was forgetting something…, of course, the virus scan. He checked the files on the DVD with two different programs and sighed in relief when none of them found something. Here it goes. The installation bar progressed in painful slowness. Tiny, tiny steps. Several times it seemed as if the computer had frozen, nothing was moving. Nick moved the mouse, and at least that was moving. Nick squirmed impatiently in his seat. Twenty-five percent, he couldn’t believe it! He might as well go to the kitchen to get something to drink. When he returned to his room minutes later, the bar indicated thirty-one percent. Cursing he fell into his chair, rubbing his eyes. Crap! What seemed like an hour later the installation bar was at one hundred percent. Nick jubilated inwardly, but then the screen went black. Stayed black. Nothing worked. Knocking against the computer’s case didn’t, no combination of keys, no tantrum. The screen showed nothing but inexorable darkness. Just as Nick was about to give up and push the Reset button, something happened after all. Red letters peeled themselves from the darkness, words, pulsating as if they were fed by an unseen heart with blood and life. “Enter. Or turn around. This is Erebos.” Finally! Expectantly Nick clicked the “Enter” button. The screen went black for a change, for several long seconds. Nick leaned back in his chair. Hopefully this game wouldn’t stay so slow. This could not be his computer’s fault, everything was as good as brand new; CPU and graphic board were state of the art, and all his games usually ran perfectly. The screen turned gradually lighter and revealed a highly realist looking forest clearing bathed in moonlight. In its centre crouched a figure with a torn shirt and flimsy pants. No weapon, just a stick in his hands. That ought to be his character. Nick tried clicking to his character’s right, upon which he jumped up and moved to this exact spot. Ok, steering was really easy, and he’d work out the rest along the way. This wasn’t his first game after all. So on he went. But which direction to chose? There was no path or other pointer. Maybe a map? Nick tried in vain to access an inventory or menu. No clues to a quest or goals, no other characters to be seen. Only a red bar indicating his life status, and below that, a blue one. Probably it showed endurance. Nick tried different key combinations which had worked in other games, but here, they led to nothing. Probably this thing is full of software mistakes / Programmierfehler, he thought sullenly. He tried clicking his character. The writing “Nameless One” appeared above his head.

“Just as well”, Nick muttered. “The mysterious Nameless One.” He made his ragged character run straight ahead for a while, then turn left, then right. Every way seemed to be wrong, no one turned up whom he could ask for directions. “It’s awesome, believe me”, he mocked Brynne in his head. But on the other hand… Colin seemed to be into this game, too. And Colin was no idiot. Nick decided to let his character run straight ahead. This was what he would do himself should he be lost. Keep walking into one direction. Eventually he’d come across something, and there was a limit to every forest. He focused on his Nameless One who was quite good at dodging trees and knocking annoying twigs out of his way. You could hear very well every one of the character’s steps, the underbrush creaked, withered leaves rustled. When the character climbed over a rock, small pebbles got lose and fell down. Beyond the rock, the ground got wetter. The Nameless One progress slower, because his feet often got stuck ankle-deep in the mud. Nick was impressed. This was all highly realistic, there was even the sucking sound of someone wading through the mud. The Nameless One fought on, breathing hard. The blue bar had diminished by two thirds. At the next best rock, Nick made his character take a break. The character put his hands onto his thighs and lowered his head – obviously trying to regain his breath. Somewhere close by there had to be a creek. Nick heard the sound of water and terminated the pause. He sent the Nameless One a bit to the right, where he came indeed across a stream. Still breathing heavily, the character came to a rest in front of it. “Come on, drink”, Nick said. He pushed the down key on his keyboard and was delighted as the character bent down to scoop up some water. He could progress faster after that. The ground became drier, and fewer trees blocked the way. But he still lacked all orientation and Nick started to think that his idea to always run straight ahead might not have been so good after all. If only he had an overview, or a map… Overview! Nick grinned. Let’s see, maybe his virtual self could not only bend down but also climb! He chose a large tree with low-hanging branches, placed the character in front of it and pushed the up key. The Nameless One carefully put down his stick and pulled himself up to the branches. He stopped when Nick let go of the key and resumed climbing when he pushed the key again. Nick sent him up as high as possible, until the branches became too weak and the character almost slipped. Only as he could stand quite firmly, Nick dared to look around. The view was phenomenal. A full moon was high in the sky, glowing over a seemingly endless, silver-greenish sea of trees. To his left he could see a mountain range, and the plain continued to his right. Straight ahead he could see some rolling hills. Pin-prick sized points told him there were villages. See, Nick thought triumphantly, straight ahead is the right way to go. © 2010 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de Web: www.loewe-verlag.de/rights

He had already placed his finger on the down key as he noticed a yellow glow between the trees, quite close. This looked promising. If he turned just a little bit to the left, he would soon come across the source of the light. A house, maybe? Impatiently he made the character climb down where he picked up his stick and continued walking. Nick chewed his lower lip and hoped that he had correctly remembered the direction. After a short while Nick thought he could see the first signs of the light between the tree trunks. At almost the exact same moment he came across an obstacle: a fissure in the ground that was far too wide for the character to jump across. Dammit! The fissure continued to both sides and disappeared in the darkness between the trees. To go around it would make the Nameless One lose a lot of time and probably his bearings, too. Nick only saw the fallen tree after he had wasted some time with cursing. If he could bring it in the right position… The space key was successful. Nick’s character dragged, pulled and pushed the trunk into the direction the mouse pointer told him to. When the tree trunk finally lay across the fissure, the Nameless One panted again and the blue bar had become shorter once more. Very, very carefully, Nick made the character walk across the tree trunk, which made for a highly unreliable bridge, because at the character’s fifth step, it rolled a bit to the right, and Nick could only barely bring his character to safety by a hazardous jump off the trunk. The glow was now stronger than before – and it flickered. Directly in front of Nick there was an aisle in the forest, in whose centre a fire was glowing. A single man was sitting in front of it, staring into the flames. Nick let go of the mouse, and the Nameless One stopped at once. The man at the fire did not move. He did not wear any visible weapon, but this didn’t mean anything. He might be a wizard, his long black cloak indicated that. Maybe there was more information to be gained if you clicked at the man. As soon as Nick’s mouse pointer had touched the man, he lifted his head, revealing a thin face with a very small mouth. At the same moment, a dialogue window opened at the bottom of the screen. “Greetings, Nameless One.” The letters were silver against the black background. “You were quick.” Nick lead his character closer toward the man, but he did not react. He merely used a long branch to readjust the burning logs of his fire. Nick was disappointed; he finally met someone else in this deserted forest, and all they could manage was a meagre greeting. Only when Nick discovered the blinking cursor in the dialogue window he realised that they were expecting an answer from him. “Greetings to you, too.” He typed. The man in the black cloak nodded. “To climb the tree was a good idea. Not many nameless wanderers have been so imaginative. Erebos can expect much of you.” “Thanks.” Nick typed. “Do you think you want to go on?” The man’s small mouth formed an expectant smile. © 2010 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de Web: www.loewe-verlag.de/rights

Nick wanted to enter “Sure”, but his opposite was not yet finished. “Only if you team up with Erebos you can be successful. You ought to know that.” “Alright,” Nick replied. The man lowered his head and poked his branch deep into the blaze of his fire. Sparks went up flying. This looks real, so real. Nick waited, but his opposite did not seem to want to continue the conversation. He probably had delivered all the text assigned to him. Curious whether he would react if you approached him directly, Nick entered afsdjöY>>>f 89424>> into the dialogue window. This seemed to amuse his virtual partner. He lifted his head for a moment and smiled at Nick. He looks me directly into the eyes, Nick thought and fought back his unease. He looks at me as if he could look through the screen. Finally the man turned toward his fire again. Only then Nick realized that a low music had started, a delicate, yet vivid melody which strangely touched Nick. “Who are you?” He typed into the window. Of course there was no answer. The man merely tilted his head, as if in thought. But to Nick’s amazement a few seconds later words appeared in the dialogue window. “I am one of the dead.” He looked at Nick once more as if to check the impact of his words. “Merely one of the dead. You, however, are among the living. Nameless, to be sure, but not for long. Soon you will be allowed to chose a name, a mission, a whole new life.” Nick’s fingers slid of the keyboard. That was unusual, no, frightening. The game had made a sensible reply to an arbitrary question. Maybe coincidence. “The dead usually don’t speak”, he entered, and leaned back in his chair. This was no question, it was an objection. They could never have programmed a meaningful answer to that for the man at the fire. “You’re right. That’s Erebos’ Power.” He held the branch into the flames and retrieved it, burning. A bit uneasy, Nick made sure that the computer really was offline, or if someone was playing a trick on him. Nope. No connection to the internet. The branch in the dead man’s hand was ablaze, the flames reflected in his eyes. Nick’s fingers seemed to type the next sentence as if of their own accord. “What’s it like to be dead?” The man laughed, a panting, wheezing laugh. “You are the first Nameless One to ask me that!” With a distracted move he thres the remnants of his branch into the fire.

“Lonely. Or full of ghosts. Who can tell?” He wiped his forehead with his hand. “If I asked you ‘What is it like to be alive?’ what would you answer? Everyone leads his own life. So consequently, everyone has his own death, too.” As if to underline his words, he pulled up the hood of his cloak, hiding his eyes and nose in shadow; only the small mouth remained visible. “You’ll certainly know it one day yourself.” Certainly. Nick wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans. He did not like the topic anymore. “How do I proceed?” he typed and realized amusedly that he really expected a meaningful answer. “Do you want to go on? I’m warning you. It would be better if you didn’t.” “Of course I want to.” “Then turn left and continue along the creek, until you come to a gorge. Walk through it. After that… you’ll see.” The dad man retreated further into his cloak, as if he was cold. “And look out for the Messenger with the yellow eyes.” 4 Along the creek, its gurgling noise always to his left, in a slow run that did not take too much out of the endurance bar. Endurance, Nick discovered, was not the Nameless One’s forte. After the merest rise he began to pant and had to rest. Until the bar at the right bottom of the screen glowed blue once more. And on. Climb over rocks, jump over obstacles, looking for the gorge. And no messenger with yellow eyes to be seen. Slowly, the landscape to the left and right of the creek began to rise, the dark forest ground gave way to a rocky surface, and more and more boulders hindered the Nameless One’s progress and made him stumble several times. But only when the ground on both sides was twice as high as the character, Nick realized that he was now in the middle of the gorge. He moreover became aware that he was not alone. There was a rustling noise in the dry underbrush to the right and left of the path, a movement, and then – as if on an unheard command, little toad-like creatures emerged and threw themselves at him. Their feet not only possessed fins, but also claws with which they did considerable damage to Nick’s character. It took him a few shocked seconds to think of the stick which the character held in his hands, and to start to defend himself. Two of the toads ran away, one died to the Nameless One’s feet through a well-placed blow of his stick. “Strike”, Nick muttered. One last toad, however, was still clinging to the Nameless One’s leg, a blood stain growing beneath its claws. Alarmed, Nick realized that the red life status bar was barely half red. He jabbed the space key which made the Nameless One jump, but left the toad undisturbed. © 2010 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de Web: www.loewe-verlag.de/rights

The Escape key brought the desired success. The Nameless One turned quickly on the spot, shook of the toad like creature and on Nick’s order killed it with his stick. His life status bar was now way beneath half. Nick made sure that no further opponents were to be seen, then led the mouse pointer to the dead toads, upon which “Four units of Meat” appeared. “At least that”, he grunted, made his exhausted character get up to his feet and collect the meat before he continued his way through the gorge. He was wary and prepared to serve any toad that chose to appear a blow with his stick. But no other opponents turned up. Instead, a sound was audible in the background, rhythmic, and reflected by the walls of the gorge. The beating of hooves. He made the Nameless One proceed slower, and carefully sneak around the next corner, but nothing was visible beyond it except for more craggy rocks and further boulders. A few moments later the hoofbeats stopped. Nick made the Nameless One crouch close to the wall, along high, thorny bushes. And on, until a stone wall rose in front of him. Way above the Nameless One’s head, there was a ledge protruding into the gorge, giving way into a cave behind the stone wall. In front of this entrance, high on a giant, armoured horse, sat a bony creature in a grey frock, beckoning both Nick and the Nameless One to him. Nick noticed only shortly the bold, bony head and the abnormally long fingers. His attention was entirely focused on its pale yellow eyes. “You were quite dexterous.” “Thank you.” “But your life status is not at its best.” “I know.” “You should pay more attention to that in the future.” The businesslike manner in which the creature spoke made a stark contrast to its eerie appearance. “It’s time you got a name”, he continued. “Time for the first rite.” He leisurely

pointed at the

cave behind him. “Good luck, and may you make the right decisions. We’ll meet again.” He turned his horse and galloped away. Nick waited until the hoofbeats had died away before he led his character to the stone wall. Steep stairs, hewn into the boulder, let to the ledge. “Time for the first rite.” Why were his hands sweaty again? He clicked the mouse onto the black entrance. The Nameless One walked toward it and disappeared. The screen went black immediately. Darkness. Silence. Nick squirmed in his chair. Why was this taking so long? He tried hitting some keys, but nothing happened. “Come on”, he said, knocking at the Gehäuse, “Don’t die on me now.” © 2010 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de Web: www.loewe-verlag.de/rights

The darkness continued and Nick’s nervousness grew. He could retrieve the DVD, and start it again, or he could push the Reset button, but that was risky. Maybe he would have to start all over again, or the game wouldn’t run anymore at all. Suddenly, a sound. Tock, tock. Like the beating of a heart. Nick opened the upper drawer of his desk, got out his headphones, and plugged them into the computer. Now he could hear the sound more clearly, and moreover he thought he could hear something else in the distance. Horns, playing short sequences of music. He was reminded of hunting signals. It sounded promising. As if the game was playing, without him. He turned up the volume and regretted that he had not had the idea with the headphones earlier. Maybe he had missed important information, alerts, advice! Maybe he had missed the crucial advice how to keep the game running. More from impatience than because he expected something to happen Nick hit the Enter key. The beating stopped, and once more, red letters peeled themselves from the black background. “This is Erebos. Who are you?” Nick did not hesitate. He would use the same name he had used for several other computer games. ”I’m Gargoyle.” “Tell me your name.” “Gargoyle!” “Your real name.” Nick

paused. Why? Ok, so he’d give him a full name, as to be able to finally proceed.

“Simon White.” There was the name, red on black, and nothing happened for a few seconds. Only the cursor blinked. “I said: Your real name.” Incredulous, Nick stared at the screen and felt like someone was staring back at him. He breathed in deeply and tried again. “Thomas Martinson.” Again, the name stood there for a few moments without comment, before the game answered him. “Thomas Martinson is wrong. If you want to play, tell me your name.” There was no reasonable explanation for this. It probably was a bug in the software, and the game would accept no name at all. The writing disappeared, the blinking cursor remained. Suddenly Nick was afraid that the program was shutting down, or that three wrong entries would cause it to do so, like a cell phone after three wrong PINs. “Nick Dunmore.” He typed, half expecting that the truth, too, would be rejected. © 2010 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de Web: www.loewe-verlag.de/rights

Instead, the game whispered his name into his ears “Nick Dunmore. NickDunmore. Nick.Dunmore.” Again and again the words were repeated like a secret password from one whispering creature to the next.

An invisible community was welcoming him.

The feeling of being watched was overwhelming, and Nick felt for his headphones to pull them off his ears. But the writing was disappearing, as did the whispering, and instead a luring melody began, promising mysteries and adventure. “Welcome, Nick. Welcome to the world of Erebos. Before you begin to play, become acquainted with the rules. If you don’t like them, you can quit anytime you want. Ok.?” Nick stared at the screen. The game had caught him laying. Knew his real name. now it seemed as if it was impatiently waiting for an answer – the blinking of the cursor became faster and faster. “Yes,” Nick typed, sensing that everything would go dark again if he took too much time. Later, he’d think about this later. “Great. Ok, here is the first rule: you have only one chance to play Erebos. If you blow it, it’s over. If your character dies, it’s over. If you break the rules, it’s over. Okay?” “Okay.” “The second rule: only play when you are on your own. Never tell your real name in the game. Never outside the game tell the name of your character.” Why? Nick thought. And then he remembered that even Brynne, who definitely wasn’t a master of restraint, hadn’t wanted to tell him anything about Erebos. “It’s awesome, believe me” – that had been all. “Okay.” “Great. The third rule: the content of the game is a secret. Don’t tell anyone about it. Least of all with unregistered ones. You can talk to other players during the game, but only at firesides. Don’t spread any information in your family or among your friends. Don’t spread any information on the internet. As if you would notice, Nick thought and typed “Ok.” “The fourth rule: keep the Erebos DVD safe. You need it to start the game. Under no circumstances make a copy, unless the Messenger asks you to.” “Okay.” As soon as Nick had hit the Enter key, the sun rose. At least it felt like it. The screen’s black gave way to a delicate red, turning into yellow and gold shortly afterwards. Nick’s Nameless One appeared as a shadow in the middle of it, growing more solid, as did his surroundings – a clearing bathed in sunlight, tall grass through which a path meandered. It led to a mosscovered tower, whose door hung in only one hinge. On a boulder, a bit to its left, sat the Nameless One, his eyes closed, and the face turned towards the sun. Nick felt envious, like © 2010 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de Web: www.loewe-verlag.de/rights

looking at too perfect vacation pictures. For a short moment he thought he could smell the resin of the trees, and the herbs around the tower. Crickets were chirping, the wind was wafting through the grass. The rickety door of the door hit the wall with a bang, and the character, still wearing his ragged clothes, stood up and stretched. He put a hand to his face and pulled it off, like a mask. There was nothing behind it but even skin, smooth like an eggshell. Another gust of wind unfurled the flag at the top of the tower. It showed a pale One. This way to Level One, Nick surmised and led his character, whose missing face unsettled him more than he admitted, to the tower. Inside everything is calm, even the wind is silent, the door is clanging no longer. Wooden chests with rusty hinges are standing amidst straw and scattered bones. There are copper plates at the walls, into which words are edged. The first word is always the same: Choose. He walks past the plates. “Choose a gender.” Demands the first. Without hesitation, he chooses Man. Only after he’s made the decision he thinks that playing as a Woman might have been fun, too. Doesn’t matter. Too late. “Choose a people.” He reads on the second plate. Here he tarries a bit. Refuses the barbarian and the vampire, although he tries on both bodies first – he cringes at the sight of the barbarian’s greasy shoulder muscles. He considers the lizardman for a moment, his scales are shimmering temptingly, changing colour depending on the way the light falls on them. He can also choose to be human, but rejects that at once. Too ordinary, too weak. Dwarf, werewolf, catman or darkelf – all four options are alluring. He tries the dwarf body: small, gnarled, strong. Not bad, the lack of height is tempting. The bent legs and strained expression aren’t. In the end he opts for the darkelf: medium height, but agile, elegant and mysterious. His decision is noted. “Choose your appearance.” The third plate demands. He wants to resemble his real self as little as possible. Short, spiky blond hair, a pointed nose and small, green eyes. He looks at his new character that does not resemble the Nameless One any more. He carefully selects clothes: a golden-green jacket, dark pants, jackboots. A leather cap which will protect him better than no head dress, although he would have preferred a helmet. But unfortunately it seems as if they aren’t available to darkelves.

Once more, he works on his face: makes the eyes bigger, and enlarges the distance between nose and mouth. Raises the eyebrows. Works on his backbones until they protrude slightly and finally thinks that looks like a lost prince. “Choose a vocation” the fourth plate says. Assassin, bard, magician, hunter, scout, guardian, knight, thief. Lots of choice. He takes a thorough look at the disadvantages of each respective vocation. Learns, that werewolves have an inclination to be magicians, while vampires are good assassins, and also thieves. Darkelves, too, can be talented thieves. He hesitates. And startles, as all of a sudden the door creaks in its hinge, swings open, and someone enters. A gnarled shadow. A gnome with a hunchback and bent knees, a red, round nose and a dark blue lump at the neck. He limps closer, sits down astride on one of the chests and licks his lips. “Another darkelf, see, see. It’s a popular race, it seems.” “Is it?” The freshly born darkelf does not like that. He does not want to be one among many. “It sure is. Have you decided yet for a profession?” He looks at the list. “Maybe thief. Or guardian. Or knight.” “What about magician? They are powerful, those who can do magic.” He thinks about it for a while, then shakes his head. He’s not feeling like magic tricks, he wants sword action. “Nah, not magician. Knight.” “Are you sure?” He is. Knight, that sounds noble, almost like prince. “Knight”, he confirms. “Choose your skills”, says the fifth copper plate. Below it hangs a confusing, long list of skills. Far sight, he chooses. Force, endurance, and the skill to melt into the background. Making fire. Speed. Springiness. He is careful for he does not know how many skills he can choose. Even now every decision leads to the disappearance of certain other opportunities. Choosing “minor healing power” makes "“deathly curse” vanish. “Force shield” makes “iron skin” go away. After ten selections it stops. The writing vanishes just as he thinks he could go on like that forever. “Some of the things you have scorned you’ll soon sorely miss,” the gnome says and smiles. “That’s possible.”

He asks himself what the ugly creature is doing here. He’d much prefer being on his own. The sixth plate is waiting. “Choose your weapons.” An enormous chest opens beneath the plate. Swords, spears, shields, several morning stars in different sizes. Some really nasty looking blades with barbed hooks, clawed whips, spiked bats. “You want my advice?” So you can fool me? “No, thanks.” He wants to find the right things on his own. Carefully withdraws one sword after the other from the chest, placing them next to the other against the wall. Checks how easily he can pick each one up, how fast he can swing it. He eventually chooses a long sword with a narrow blade which whirs enticingly when he swings it through the air. All shields are made from wood and none inspires much confidence. Moreover, the bigger they are, the heavier they seem, and will slow him down. So he chooses the smallest one he can find: round, with a copper boss, the wood decorated with ornamental blue paintings. “You can strap it on your back”, the gnome recommends and swings his legs as if wanting to spur on a horse. The darkelf does not spare him an answer. He walks toward the seventh and last plate. “Choose your name.” A little surprised Nick remembers that he so recently wanted to name himself Gargoyle. This doesn’t seem suitable now at all. He looks around if another chest will open with names to choose from. No. He needs to make this decision on his own. Almost on his own, for the gnome has his own way of helping him decide. “Elfenpink, Elfenmink, Darkwobblemignon! Pointearmini, Foxface! Or more classic? Momos, Eris, Ker, or Ponos, not to forget Moros! Heard something you like?” He shortly considers drawing his sword and finishing the gnome. That can’t be too hard, and then he’d have time to think. But the thoughts of the gnome’s death yells, and blood stains on the tower floor keep him from doing it. Classic, he thinks, that’s a good idea. Classic Roman. Marius. No, Sarius. No need to reflect further, that’s exactly the name he has been looking for. He enters it. “Sarius, Ssssarius, Sa-ri-us”, the air seems to whisper. “Welcome, Sarius.” “Sarius? How boring! Boring people die quickly. Did you know, Sarius?” The gnome hops off the chest and shows in a last gesture his green tongue. She hangs down to his chest. Sarius leaves the tower after him, stepping out into the sunbathed meadow. Only after the gnome has disappeared into the forest, Sarius straps the shield to his back. © 2010 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de Web: www.loewe-verlag.de/rights

5 Red like little round rubies they glow between furry leaves. Sarius has reached the forest and discovered berries, growing in the shadow of the trees. Can he collect them? He can. Delighted he realises that he now possesses an inventory which lists all the things that belong to him. Here he finds the toad meat that he has discovered when he still was a Nameless One. Apart from that, the inventory is empty, so he has room for the berries. He stands up straight when he hears something. Are there snakes in the bushes? A quick look around, no, there is nothing. No-one. Sarius returns to his berries. They surely are meant to grow here so that he can collect nourishment. The attack happens so sudden that Sarius can only be alarmed when it’s all over again. Two men have thrown themselves at his back and are pinning him down to the ground. One of them has his knees in his back, bends his arms to the back and ties them up. The other one holds up a dagger to his chin, dried blood and hair stuck to it. Sarius cannot defend himself. He tries, but all he manages is a desperate fidgeting, and he cannot prevent the larger one of the two to pick him up and throw him over his shoulder like a sack. So that is it? Sarius, darkelf and knight, is overwhelmed when picking berries and carried off. A bit of bad luck, and the one with the dagger is going to finish him off. Then the adventure will be over. Crap, sod, blast. Typical, moreover. He probably is the only one to be thus stupidly caught off guard. They’re marching through the forest, and the guy who is carrying Sarius adjusts him on his shoulder from time to time. Looks like he doesn’t want to accidentally lose him. But then he does after all, at the edge of an embankment, he throws him off and kicks him down the slope. Sarius rolls over twice, before he lands on flat ground. Three creatures await him down here, much resembling his abductors: ragged clothes, dirty skin, scars. One of them has only one eye, another is hunchbacked. Only their weapons are in really good shape. “Where’d you get this one?” the hunchback asks. “Crawled on the floor next to the tower. Was easier to pick than a dove.” The hunchback picks up Sarius and sets him against a tree trunk. “D’you think he’ll be something of a robber? Want to keep him?” The one with only one eye turns his head as if he could see Sarius better like that. “Nah, he’ll be no good. He’s not like one of us, just look at his clothes. He’s one of those fighting against Ortolan.” “So let’s kill him!” the hunchback says happily.

Sarius would love to make a reply, for example that he knows of no Ortolan, and that he’d be happy to join any gang of robbers, if they kept him alive. But it’s not possible. Just now, with the gnome, he could talk, but now he’s mute. Everything’s happening around him like a movie. The third man, whose face is covered by the shadow of a large hat, has not said anything so far. Now he steps closer. “No. We’re not going to kill him. This one here is not like the others.” He bends down and feels Sarius’ pockets. “Look. No poisons, no headhunter’s notice. No gold. We can let this one walk away.” “Just like that?” The hunchback is disappointed. “Makes no sense. That’s not fun at all.” The man with the large hat waves him off. “I hope someone like that would win in the end. But I’m afraid, dear Sarius, it’s always the small ones who lose. Like you. But I won’t touch them.” He pushes away the hunchback who tries to get to the content of Sarius’ pockets. “I’d rather give you some advice. You know what would be best for you?” No, Sarius would like to say, if he could. But his opposite doesn’t expect an answer, anyway. He grabs Sarius’ arms and undoes his bonds. “You should leave Erebos. Leave and never come back. Pretend you’ve never been here. Forget this world. Will you do that?” Of course not, Sarius thinks. He tries to make out a face under the rim of the hat, but he cannot even see the eyes. “If you want to leave Erebos, run. Run back to the tower. Now.” Is that a way of escape or a trap? Is Erebos going to lock him out if he chooses to escape his kidnappers now? He stands there, indecisive. The robber takes this as an answer. “Thought as much”, he sighs. “Now you listen to me: no-one here is your friend. Even if it seems so. No-one is going to help you, because all want to get to the Inner Circle, and only precious few will make it.” Sarius doesn’t understand a word. What Inner Circle? “In the end, only a handful will remain. Chosen ones for the battle against Ortolan. Kill the monster, find the treasure. Not everyone is cut out to do that.” It’s hard to tell if the robber is making fun or not, and Sarius cannot ask him. “Don’t tell the others what I told you. Don’t spoil the advantage you have, it’s small enough as it is. Try to find Wishing Crystals. They’ll make your life easier, understand?” “Don’t tell him about Wishing Crystals” the hunchback interrupts him. “Why shouldn’t I? He’ll need them. You know what, Sarius? Wishing Crystals are among Erebos’ biggest secrets. They’ll serve you. They make the impossible possible. They will make your dreams come true.” © 2010 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de Web: www.loewe-verlag.de/rights

“If the Messenger finds out what you’ve been whispering to this little one here, he’ll have your head”, cackles the hunchback. “He’ll have that anyway, if he gets me.” The man with the large hat, the leader, he’s got to be the leader, turns his back on him and walks slowly toward the bushes. The others follow him. The one-eyed spits in his face before he leaves. But otherwise, they leave him untouched. But they don’t tell him what to do, either. So he climbs up the bank and tries to get his bearings. The tower ought to be to his left, and he does not want to go back there. He looks around, looking for some clue. And suddenly hears a faint clanging noise, emanating from the direction where the forest is darkest. Sarius follows the sound that becomes more and more discernible with each step: iron hits on iron, on wood, on stone. In between, there is muffled roaring, and something like yells of pain. A battle. He keeps on following the noise, with a warm feeling inside of him, that can be either curiosity, or fear, or both, until he meets an obstacle. He slows down and bemusedly faces a black wall, separating the entire landscape, higher than the surrounding trees. Black like glittering tar. No way to climb over this wall, he needs to find a way to get through. Or the end of this giant obstacle. He turns to the left, because that’s where the battle noise emanates from. He runs until all his endurance is spent. No doorway. Enraged, he swipes his sword at the wall. Black splinters come away, two letters are revealed “nl”. Convinced that under the glittering surface a message is hidden, he continues to tackle the wall with his sword and hopes that this won’t destroy it. But it works, and only a few minutes later, Sarius has discovered an entire sentence: “Go online.” He hears himself laugh and opens a connection to the internet. At that precise moment, a part of the wall breaks away and reveals a battle. Two barbarians, a catwoman, a werewolf, several dwarves, three vampires and two darkelves are fighting four incredibly ugly trolls. One of them has already three arrows sticking out of his neck; they must have come from the catwoman, she’s the only one with a bow. Another troll hurls a boulder at the werewolf who jumps out of harm’s way. Two dwarves are hitting at the third troll’s legs with their axes, aided by a barbarian who repeatedly brings down his club on the troll’s back. Over the entire scene is glowing a blue oval, glittering like a giant, ground sapphire, turning on the spot. Is that a Wishing Crystal? But this would be too big to just carry around with you. The others, the fighters, don’t bother too much with this thing, they are way to busy to do so. Sarius grabs for the sword at his belt. All of a sudden it looks so harmless and small. He should probably throw himself into battle now, but right now he just doesn’t dare to yet.

Blood runs from under one of the dwarves’ helmet into his beard. Nevertheless, the dwarf continues to fight like a berserk. Sarius takes a deep breath. No injury which he sustains here can really hurt him, regardless of how real it might look. He takes one step forward but retraces at once, wanting to have a strategy first. The fourth troll stands alone, he has cornered one vampire woman who now tries to fend him and his huge morning star off with her small blade. He has not yet noticed Sarius. Onto the troll! With one quick move, Sarius takes the shield from his back, lifts his weapon and enters the fight. For a second he is embarrassed that he needs to gather courage to do so. His sword meets the troll skin like it just did the wall, but this time it does not leave the smallest trace. The troll roars derisively, picks up the vampire woman with one hand and hurls her through the air. Her arms flailing, she loses her sword and hits the ground with an ugly thump. Her red sash around her middle turns dark grey, it remains only the minutest rest of red. Her life status, Sarius realises. Only now he becomes aware that all fighters are wearing something red in their armour – mostly chest strap or belt, as in Sarius’ case. The vampire woman must have realised that she’s in mortal danger. She crawls into the bushes, her left leg bent outward in an unnatural angle. She drags it like it doesn’t belong to her. The troll has lost all interest in her and turns around. Checks Sarius with dull eyes, slobber dripping from his mouth. “You can play this game only once”, he has not forgotten. On no account it can be over so quickly. The troll comes on over toward him, Sarius circles him quickly, he needs to get to something sensitive, and fast. He aims for the sinews of the troll’s dinosaur legs. Hits hard. Again, the troll roars, but this time it sounds as if he’s in pain. Dark red blood, thick as syrup, gushes from the wound. Astounded, Sarius stares at the thick trickle and notices too late that his opponent’s morning star circles above him. He sees it come down, dives out of the way instinctively. The spiked ball grazes his shoulder, a deafening screaming resounds, piercing his brain like a red-hot wire. He falls. The troll towers over him, looks at him from stone grey eyes. Lifts his weapon once more. Then, Sarius thinks to hear through the painful noise in his ears, there’s thunder. The troll stumbles and reveals the bigger one of the two barbarians who has turned up from nowhere and tries to smash the troll’s spine with his club. It’s a well-placed blow and Sarius’ enormous opponent rears up, another blow, and the troll falls to his knees. A last thrust at the troll’s neck, and he remains still. Sarius tries to sit up, but every attempt makes the horrible sound grow louder. It’s a bit better when he moves slowly. His belt shows about a quarter red. Will it become more, if he lies still for a while? He lies down flat in the grass. For now, he’s reassured by what he has seen. The © 2010 Loewe Verlag GmbH Contact: lizenzen@loewe-verlag.de Web: www.loewe-verlag.de/rights

battle is almost over. Two trolls are lying conquered on the ground, a third one is fleeing. The fourth one is still standing, but the two barbarians are dealing him heavy blows, and now everyone who can still walk is joining them. The troll stands no chance against these opponents, he sways, swipes his club once more, then falls to the ground, a dwarf’s axe buried deep between his shoulder blades. “Victory”, whispers a bodiless voice. The next moment the yellow-eyed Messenger appears at the edge of the forest and reins in his horse. “You have conquered the oval”, he says and touches the glimmering disc with his bony fingers. “You’ll be rewarded. BloodWork!” BloodWork? Sarius doesn’t understand, but then the big barbarian gets up and bows before the Messenger. “You were the best fighter in this battle. I reward you with a helmet of force 27. It will protect you against poison, lighting, and fever spells.” The Messenger hands BloodWork a golden helmet with ram horns. The barbarian quickly takes off his simple iron cap and puts on the golden helmet, which makes him appear even taller. “Keskorian”, the Messenger continues, and the smaller barbarian steps up. “You did your best, but you hesitate too often. But you have still earned a reward. Here, take BloodWork’s old helmet, it’s better than the one you have now.” Keskorian obeys. “Sarius!” the Messenger calls. Already? That surprises him. He has entered quite late into the battle, and he’s not done very much at all. With an enormous effort he comes to his feet. Every move makes the agonizing noise grow louder. His shoulder is bleeding, and he watches another part of his belt turn grey. “This was your first battle and you showed courage rather than just watching as a bystander. I honour courage, and that’s why I’m giving you what you need the most. Healing. Take this potion, it will restore your health and increase your resilience. Salute, my friend.” Sarius sees the bright yellow flacon floating in front of him and grabs it. Opens it. And drinks. The blood stains on his shoulder vanish, his belt turns bright red again, and, what a blessing, the painfully high noise stops. The music he has heard in the tower appears in its place. The music promises everything. Everything he ever wanted. End of Sample Translation.

(by Ulrike Blank)