The Tattooed Heart (Messenger of Fear 2)

It’s the sort of thing I used to say when I was still new to the powers of Isthil’s servants.

“This is a nightmare. I’m just having a dream. This is all—”

“Next letter,” the Master of the Game urged blandly.

“This is

bull!” Oliver yelled. “This is insane! I’m waking up now. I’m waking up now! Now!”

It could have been comical. It was like something out of an old cartoon: a head entirely apart from its body, hanging from a snake’s noose, and ordering himself to wake up.

When he kept yelling and ignoring the order to choose a letter, the Game Master summoned an hourglass with swift-falling sand. “Choose before the last grain falls or a body part will be added.”

“Um . . . okay, okay . . . um, um . . . E!”

In his panic, Oliver had chosen a vowel. The E appeared on the chalkboard in the second spot. But in payment a line of light sliced across his standing body from shoulder to shoulder, and all that was above that line appeared now, attached to the hanging head and neck.

_ E _ T _ _ _ _ _

Oliver’s arms remained behind, attached now to nothing, but still in their place.

The weight of his shoulders added to his head dragged Oliver downward. The snake noose tightened. Oliver tried to scream but his larynx was being crushed and the sound that came out was a pitiful croak.

The hourglass turned of its own accord.

“This isn’t a game,” Haarm said. He looked more anxious than horrified.

“L!” Oliver managed to say, and with that his left arm flew to attach itself to his shoulder. The additional weight was cutting off the flow of blood to his brain, and he grabbed the snake noose with his one arm and managed to lessen the pressure enough to say, “N.”

Here followed one of the more unusual moments I’ve ever experienced in one of the Game Master’s games. The Game Master, still in Graciella’s young voice, asked, “M or N?”

“N!” Oliver grated.

“Like Netherworld? Or like Malech?”

“Like . . . like . . . nine!”

“Mine?” the Master of the Game repeated.

I do not believe for a moment that the Game Master had a sense of humor. That would be impossible. And yet . . .

“Or like never?”

“Never! Never!”

And with that Oliver found his other arm. Both hands now gripped the noose and this was enough to allow him to scream curses for several seconds as sand rushed too quickly from teardrop to teardrop in the hourglass. Seconds before the last grain fell, Oliver gasped, “H!”

Without comment, two letters appeared on the board. It now read:

H E _ T _ _ _ H _

I solved the puzzle. But the audience must never shout out answers. So I kept my peace.

“R!”

And yes, there was an R in the sixth place. But a wrongly guessed S added his torso, leaving just his legs still standing in place.

The weight doubled as his body, from pelvis upward, joined the rest of him and dragged him down. He strained with both hands, biceps quivering, neck a twist of arteries and distended tendons, face shining from sweat, eyes bulging.