Most of the competitors shot off at speed, clambering between, over, and around boulders with the agility of otters. My teammate, in contrast, took the slow and steady approach, inspiring me to do the same. When some distance had opened up between us and them, he seemed to feel it safe to explain.
“Haste can injure, make tired, make fall. Many hours wait on Moto Nui.” He pointed to his ‘hat’ to illustrate.
So this was going to be more marathon than sprint. I wasn’t sure why the hold-up on the island itself, but I did have the ‘follow the pro’ behaviour engraved in my psyche. And I liked the guy’s logic. Slow and careful definitely fell under my bailiwick.
Before long this strategy was proved to be wise. A short, high-pitched cry sounded from farther down, accompanied by a muffled crack.
My blood chilled. I knew that sound from high school soccer, when a large boy had kicked the ball at goal and broken the much smaller goalie’s thigh bone.
“Jevl!”
I scrambled a little faster over the next couple of boulders, only to confirm what I suspected. Farther down the slope were two competitors, almost identical—except one was pinned beneath a large rock, covered in blood, and the other was kneeling beside him, face twisted in despair.
Not far above them was a hollow divot where the rock had once rested, just waiting for an unwary foot to set the unstable mineral rolling.
My teammate didn’t even glance in their direction; he continued to pick his way downwards like an citysider edging past a volatile madman preaching nonsense on the street—as if crushed bodies and grieving brothers were an everyday occurrence. Maybe for him it was.
My own instinct was to help, but it was clear the boy was dead, and my own life depended on continuing the race. I bowed my head, spread my right palm over my heart and said clearly, “I’m sorry,’ then followed the big guy. I felt like a hit and run driver.
It wasn’t long before I heard bare footsteps on stone and I turned slightly to find that the grieving boy had abandoned his brother, his face set in grim determination. He was copying our movements, only putting his hands and feet on rocks that had already supported our weight, and making no attempt to pass us. He had learned from his brother’s death.
We saw two more bodies before we reached the bottom of the rock face. One I thought may have been unconscious, but the other was unquestionably dead. The boy with the concerned mother. I should have realised when I was up on the crater rim; if he’d been given a shirt in this game it would have been Red. A trail of blood led halfway down the cliff to his final resting place at the bottom.
More were injured, mostly scrapes and bruises, but I saw one with a long cut on his forearm that was bleeding profusely, and another was hobbling, his ankle either sprained or broken.
Several spectators on the shoreline were crying, a kind of wailing ululation that I knew I could never capture in music. The families of the dead. I morbidly wondered if the freshly tenderised bodies were eligible for the coming feast. It put a whole next level of gruesome to memories of eating my pet lamb when I was a child.
By the time the three of us reached the breakers only one of our competitors had yet to go into the water. It was the boy with the cut on his arm. He was putting pressure on it, trying to stem the flow of blood.
Mr. Winner had mentioned sharks…
With a sharp, ruthless assessment that would have made Atilla the Hun proud, the man in question tapped my back and pointed farther down the coast. He wanted us to enter the water as far from the injured boy as possible.
I hoped that the boy would forfeit and not go in, but this hope proved futile. He plunged into the surf just seconds after we bypassed him. I suppose he was literally between the devil and the deep blue sea. On the one hand, he faced the probability of being eaten by sharks, and on the other, the certainty of being eaten by humans. Not such a tough choice in the end.
The water was cold and unpleasantly choppy, sending up short, choking waves that had not been a feature in the cenote. I had to stop swimming occasionally to get my breath and bearings. My teammate looked back at me once, shook his head, and proceeded to power through the water like Phelps on steroids. The energy that he’d preserved on the cliff descent now was used to smoke the opposition.
Who looked to have been reduced even further. Small patches of underwater activity that occasionally splashed on the surface signalled drama beneath the waves. Even as I watched, a swimmer was pulled under, his cry of fear smothered by the water. It churned briefly but stopped when three enormous fins appeared and converged close together.
A feeding frenzy.
Oh my fucking god. I’m in a Jaws movie. Or rather a B-rated sequel that featured an apocalyptic number of its adult-sized progeny. My feet tingled in fear, and I quickly righted my swimming stance to make them seem less like dangling worms. I even put my face in the water and opened my eyes. Not that I wanted to know what was down there, but I had even less interest in being taken by surprise.
The water was murky, silt being churned by the waves making it difficult to see ahead for more than four feet. But it was enough to see the lurking shadows of what my lizard-brain assured me were predators. Most were small, and a few of these had the peculiar shape of a hammerhead. Of one, however, I could see only its skin; its sheer size made it impossible to see it in its entirety. And that skin had faint stripes.
A massive tiger shark.
I froze, floating and bouncing with the waves like a piece of flotsam.
It swam closer, beginning to circle, and I caught a glimpse of one dead, black eye, before it abruptly spun away, the current of its passing making my shift billow and flutter.
Happy for the reprieve, I inhaled a lungful of air and proceeded to attempt to make like a jetboat and get the fuck out of there.
Swim Ability now at Level 2!
Beside and slightly ahead of me, I saw another splash above the waves. The direction was such that I knew what it meant. The boy with the cut arm had become the next victim—of probably the same shark that had been stalking me before it had scented tastier game.
I will never be able to fully describe the terror that accompanied me on that swim. Suffice it to say, the moment I got home I would be burning my swimming togs. They would not be needed ever again.
As I got closer to the island and the islet in front of it I could see white geysers pounding against Moto Nui’s coastline. I could also see a limp body that was being lifted again and again before being tossed back into the surf. A casualty of the breakers that even the sharks knew not to mess with.
On the left side of the island was the larger-than-normal form of Mr. Winner, pulling himself into a slight cove, rather than approaching the island directly. I decided to also head in that direction, though more slowly than I had before. My stamina was running dry.
I considered stopping at the closer islet for a rest before attempting the approach to Moto Nui proper, but decided against it. For all I knew there were hidden dangers like razor sharp rocks or stonefish or whatever. No one else was on it, and the big guy, who seemed to know exactly what he was doing, had ignored it entirely.
I paddled my way after him—a faithful pooch with a negligent master—before finally heaving myself up into the cove, where I collapsed, wheezing.
Movement from behind me made me jerk my head round (I felt the sudden irrational terror that the sharks had evolved and become landbound), and to my surprise the boy whose brother had died and had followed us through the rocks flopped down beside me, shivering.
“Hey,” I said, intelligently.
“Hey,” he acknowledged.
“Sorry about your brother.”
“We were not supposed to be picked.” He shivered again.
“Come on. Let’s get out of the wind. Do you know where we can find shelter?”
“There are two caves on Moto Nui—one used to house the Boundary stone, and the other we stay in during the competition. As long as the birds haven’t already begun to lay.” He looked up at the few remaining candidates who were now climbing the rock cliff. “If they have, the race will be all but over for us. Outati will have won again.” He sounded resigned.
“Well, we can at least make an appearance. I’ve not swum with sharks for the extreme tourism experience.” I injected some enthusiasm into my voice. “Let’s get this show on the road and find that cave.”
My knees creaked reluctantly as I got to my feet and reached down to help pull him up. Despite my words, I had no real desire to move, although the thought of shelter was tempting.
We approached the rock cliff, no more than two metres away. The stone was rougher than Oronga, the volcanic rock seemingly newer and unsmoothed by wind and water. It had the slightly ochre colour of the moai, but was festooned with layers and streaks of white; generations of bird crap that would make the rock slippery as well as sharp. Not exactly ideal for climbing. There were, however, plenty of foot and hand holds—though there was no way to vouch for their stability.
My friend proved an excellent rock climber/helper. He pointed out places where I should reach and was able to see a path that allowed for the easiest access.
“Are you a climber?” I asked him, straining upwards with one hand.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
“No. I was a sculptor. My brother…” He trailed off.
“Well, you’re pretty goo—“ I slipped, my foot dangling in midair. The sudden lack of support from my feet made me lose my grip, sending my hands scrabbling for a handhold as my body scraped against the rocks.
Luckily the super-amazing-wonderful boy beside and beneath me was close enough to block my fall with his leg and torso, leaning in and pinning me against his weight. Which wasn’t much. The poor boy’s tendons were shuddering as they strived to keep us both attached to the rock face.
I quickly sought a firm foot and hand hold, allowing him to slide aside and continue upwards.
When I finally pulled myself over the edge, muscles spasming in my feet and hands, I decided there would be a strongly worded letter sent to SharkByte’s design team soon after I got home. Swear words would be involved.
The sound of seabirds was even stronger at this level of the island. In fact, the sharp kek-kek’s of over a million birds, all competing to be heard, was earsplitting.
New Ability Awarded!
Level 1 - Clamorous Cacophony!
A directed sound weapon that temporarily stuns and deafens opponents!
Mana needed: 200
Damage: 20 hit pts p/s
Duration: 30 seconds
Cooldown: 2 hours
Finally, a new song ability. I had no idea what tune I was going to ‘borrow’ to fit its profile but any new skills were an improvement. I would look forward to trying it out when the drill making its way from my ear to my brain was removed. The noise gave me a new sympathy for anyone who had to listen to me in battle. A Discord Bard was nobody’s idea of an entertainer.
The birds did look kind of cool, though. They appeared to be a primitive version of a penguin, before they evolved to stand upright and bedazzled themselves with waterproof sequins. They were small birds, too—though they more than made up for that with their voices—and their long, kinked wings rose and stretched in courtship and imminent flight. All in all, a pretty bird, not at all threatening, which made a pleasant change from what I was becoming accustomed to. No fangs, no claws, a tiny beak—it was as though I was in an entirely different world altogether.
And not one of them seemed to be in the process of cooking up an egg, thank god.
Outati was sitting in the entry of a cave along the edge of the cliff, the scrubby grass surrounding him freshly pressed down. There was very little room for anyone else, though the cave seemed to be deeper than its entry would suggest. Inside, he was sheltered from the wind, but had a clear field of view of the entire open area where the birds were settling and building nests.
The three other survivors were hunkered in the midst of the flock, staring at the birds with a wild look in their eyes. The terns gave them a wide berth.
Very wise. The boys looked as if they were considering picking one up, giving it a good shake, and hoping an egg would pop out. Or maybe ripping them apart to get to the chocolatey centre.
Kek-kek-kek! Kek-kek-kek! Kek-kek-kek! The closest birds launched themselves upwards.
They’re upsetting the terns, I realised. No animal is going to settle down when a jumpy predator is around.
I could sense Outati’s irritation when another group of courting birds flew off, but his face soon settled back into its usual mask of bland patience. He was in it for the long haul.
This area had clearly already been staked out by my competitors. But the sculptor had mentioned a second cave. Something about a boundary stone?
I turned back to him. He actually looked like he was on the verge of joining his friends when I spoke. “Where’s this other cave? The one with the special stone?” I had to yell above the noise.
“I think it’s over in that direction.” He pointed vaguely to another group of rocks on the far side of the island.
“You’re not sure?”
“The Titahanga-o-te-henua cave is tapu, forbidden. It marks the boundary between the land and the gods. A place only seers and deities may enter.”
I smiled; a tiny smile in the wake of a harrowing day. “Just as well that I have the right qualifications then, isn’t it?”
It was all bravado, of course. There was probably a curse or challenge attached to the cave that I would regret disturbing. But at the moment Outati was clearly running this show, and continuing to trail behind him would inevitably end with the rest of us at his back when he raised that egg. I would have to break from my instinctive need to let someone else play leader and think for myself in order to achieve any kind of advantage.
Besides, a mysterious cave would be just the spot that a diabolical programmer would leave a Logo.
My friend didn’t follow when I made my way across the sea of birds. He probably thought I was crazy.
I wished I had Gunga or Bert beside me.
——
It took a good hour of searching before I finally found it. The tiny cave was partially hidden between two sets of boulders and looked strangely similar to the aperture I had nearly died in in the cenote. Shortcuts in the graphic modelling department no doubt. I could just imagine a laid-back artist typing in ‘generic cave entry’ and going out for a latte after uploading the image.
Sloppy.
At least the inside was far larger than the cenote tunnel. It wasn’t huge but it had enough flat floorspace for an adult to stretch out on, and was even decorated with…
…a chubby two-foot high statuette. With eyes faintly glowing.
I was guessing that this was the boundary stone that my sculptor friend had been so afraid of. Maybe he was onto something. I somehow doubted that LED lighting had been a development that the Rapa Nui people stumbled on pre-European era.
Which meant that the pudgy statue probably did something hinky. Something that could lower my life expectancy considerably.
I needed to find a stick.
Unfortunately, no trees equalled no sticks. I had to rustle inside my holding bag to find an alternative. Strangely, but fortuitously, I found the grasping tool I used to fetch my remotes and pull back curtains in my Christchurch flat. (Also to fetch snacks and scratch toes, but that’s beside the point.) I must have shifted in real life and dislodged it from its usual spot on the coffee table. It had then probably tumbled between the chair cushions, getting close to my leg or arm. Deliberately ‘packing’ it would have wasted one of the slots the bag allowed.
With a sudden sense of panic, I took stock of the rest of the slots and found other discrepancies. My extra-large box of Belgian chocolates was gone! Not that there had been many left, but still…. Pretty sure they hadn’t been invented yet in this world. And my other assorted snacks had also been considerably reduced. The M&Ms were the only food item that hadn’t fallen away from my IRL body.
I’d probably jerked when I nearly fell from the cliff; like when people dream of falling and lurch forward in bed in an effort to save themselves. (Quite terrifying, BTW. Don’t recommend the experience.)
This might mean I’d be forced to eat the strange vegetables currently residing on my head.
Ugh.
Extending the grasper, I lightly touched the statue. No response. I poked it more vigorously. Also no response. The eyes didn’t even flicker ominously.
I overreached and bumped the statue a little too forcefully. It fell from its niche and hit the floor with a solid thunk that made me wince.
Please tell me I haven’t just destroyed a priceless sacred relic.
“Sorry,” I said in that illogical way we apologise to dishwashers and washing machines when opening the door in the midst of their wash cycles. (Or I do. Not sure if that’s a universal thing.)
I hurried to pick it up, forgetting all about the possible dangers of exposure in the need to find out if it was still intact. While lifting it, the eyes shone brighter, lighting on a piece of flat wall opposite to it that glittered strangely. They illuminated a large carving of a waterfall, gleaming with mother-of-pearl inlay.
Could it be…?
I set it back into position and angled the eyes so that they faced directly toward the engraving. Stars of speckled dust slowly formed in the light’s cone, like an old-school film projector in a darkened room.
I stepped up to the waterfall and stroked my hand over the surface, hoping it would let me through. It didn’t. The same silicon-like substance that had blocked my passage back to the South American habitat also blocked this portal.
This Barrier is currently unavailable!
Complete the Birdman quest line to continue your journey!
I sagged in disappointment, though I wasn’t sure why. In all likelihood I would have stayed anyway to finish what had already cost so much. It would have been nice to have the option, though. Especially if sharks and/or possible cannibalism were in my future.
Another thought occurred to me: I didn’t have to face this challenge alone anymore. Reaching back for my lyre, I retrieved it, summoning Gunga and her passenger.
She used her usual speed, face-planting into the statue and sending it plummeting to the ground once more. Luckily, it proved to be a hardy stone, though I suspect museum curators would have been having kittens at this point.
“Gunga, you idiot.” I snaffled her neck to give her a hug and felt her big wings fluff forward around my hips.
What am I? Chopped liver?
I looked down at Gunga’s chest but didn’t immediately see Bert. The dim light gave his direction farther south. He had progressed into Gunga’s intestines.
Yes, it is just as disgusting as you imagine. Remind me never to inhabit a life form ever again.
Darkness was settling on the land outside the cave. A welcome sight. Night meant the quest would be delayed, providing an opportunity for rest.
I sat on a rock outcrop that looked custom-built as a seat. It probably had been. It made me wonder if the seers were more in the know about the mystical world of Earth than they were saying. The portals could in theory connect each habitat’s ‘psychics’ into an organised order, possibly making them better able to respond to any contingency—including my ascent into godhood. Mini AI’s maybe? I had no idea; I was hardly a tech genius.
Gunga’s stomach gurgled and she started moving restlessly. Mine responded in sympathetic reaction, prompting me to untie the ‘hat’ that had started to itch unbearably. I hoped it wasn’t infested with wood lice.
The basket yielded two kumara, a handful of yams, and a strange brown-striped root vegetable that I didn’t recognise.
I laid them all out on the shelf next to the figurine. “What do you think, Bert? Can we eat these raw?”
The sweet potato is safe. The taro contains the compound calcium oxalate and will cause your mouth and throat to swell. Yams are also toxic if not cooked thoroughly. You would have been better served to have included flint and steel in your packing.
“Actually, I do have a lighter in my bag—standard system equipment for anyone going into this game.” A backup was also secured around my RL wrist with velcro. (You would not believe how much effort it took to raise fire organically in this world.) “What I don’t have is a pot. I put it through the first barrier and had to leave it behind. Which reminds me,” I turned to where I imagined I saw a very faint yellow Bert-light, “do you know what’s going on with the border walls?”
I…am not sure. They feel like wounds, holes in my consciousness. Almost like part of me is being eaten away. I couldn’t sense you when you were within it. I was…helpless.
Bert’s voice faded on its final word, exhausted.
“You need food. Can you—or Gunga—eat any of this?”
No. They would be dangerous in such a condensed form. And I don’t sense any other greenery that would be suitable. It may be necessary for us to depart.
“What about something other than plants?”
There are no reptiles nearby and there are insufficient insects to feed both of us. I am afraid we may need to leave—
I smiled in satisfaction. “I think I can help with that,” I said, and pulled out the Dagger of Amurlese.
It didn’t take long for the first sacrificial moth to appear. Gunga brightened—no Bert required—and pecked it out of the air. More quickly followed, along with a few mosquitoes that eeeee’d irritatingly. They all provided a feast for the bird, and Bert by proxy.
My own hunger I staved off with a handful of M&Ms. The veggies would keep until I was truly desperate.
So that night I settled down to sleep among friends and insects.
And smiled contentedly.
——
“Bert?”
Hmm?
“Are you doing something with the NPCs?”
What do you mean? he inqired innocently..
Really? You’re going with that?
Fine. I may have tweaked their parameters to include more dialogue and emotion.
“What did you use? Pliers?”
You don’t think it an improvement? I modified speech samples in order to merge the new content as seamlessly as possible. The AI sounded almost…hurt.
“It’s very, ah, immersive.”
You don’t like it.
I sighed internally. “Actually, I think it’s great. Much less wooden than the standard. You should totally keep it up.” Who needs sanity anyway?