Turns out I was to be the guest of honour—or at least an honourable mention. Five men strained to carry the actual VIP; the man who had sat back and had his head shaved while all the suffering and dying had taken place. Juna-whatsits, The All-Conquering Hero. Not that I’m bitter or anything.
I only rated my two original bearers, who performed more of a drag-lift that closely resembled a kidnapping rather than the ceremonial heft that they perhaps intended. Probably because my body was straining to get down and race off in another direction—any other direction.
“I’m actually more of a vegetarian,” I lied. “I made a sacred vow to, uh, myself, that no dead things would ever pass my lips.”
The lout on my left grunted, stumbled on something I couldn’t see and narrowly missed being rammed in the eye with the pointy end of my wing. It led to brief delusions of fighting grandeur. Like, if they hadn’t been holding my hips I would totally have considered going all crane-from-Kung-Fu Panda on their asses (or more likely rabid-chicken-style). But they seemed a conscientious duo and held too firmly for escape to be a possibility. Bummer, right? I should have chosen a warrior avatar with a breast plate that could give them both black eyes with a sharp turn of my body, not a bard whose best defence was flying away.
I had no idea where we were going, only that a banquet table would probably be involved. And we were travelling downwards—though that was an inevitability given the nature of the island itself. I mean, we were on top of a volcano.
It took a good hour, give or take, to circle the island, with my two new friends increasingly doing a lot of the taking. (I swear the assholes actually used me as crutch on one part of the journey, though I noticed that Juju-jerk, riding in his chair-thingy, suffered no such indignities.)
In any event, we eventually arrived at a small village. It was an odd mixture of stone and wood, with some of the buildings made from what appeared to be inverted ships and outrigger canoes—an economy perhaps from their days as naval explorers. Though personally I would have been more concerned with using them for fishing than keeping a roof over my head. Maybe they were just too old and fragile to hold the pressure from the water.
As we passed through, a few scrawny white chickens dodged out of our way, the largest sporting a reddened backside devoid of tail feathers. Ceremonial occasions obviously demanded sacrifices from all inhabitants.
Like a horse that’s been ridden long and hard, I did perk up a bit, expecting to have finally reached our destination, but we continued onwards, shedding upset spectators as we went. The more well-fed kept following us, a disturbing smile on many of their faces; almost anticipatory.
We seemed to be heading for a small harbour, a direction that pleased me not at all. I had had quite enough of the ocean for one day. And my suspicions were confirmed as I was brought to a small canoe that I knew from experience had as much chance against the monsters of the deep as a fart in a windstorm.
Nevertheless, the few boats that were there (not as many as I would have expected for a sea-faring race, and all looking distinctly old and shabby) were soon loaded with race fans and launched into the open sea.
Then we turned—toward Moto Nui.
I had an ah-ha moment. Unless the hapless competitors had re-entered the water, they were still back on the island, grimly contemplating their upcoming death-by-consumption.
A death I clearly had a mandatory invitation to attend, but refused be a party to. While some gamers might have relished the idea of vicariously stepping into the taboo, I had no such inclinations. Even my poor, shrunken stomach agreed with me.
It also had the feel of a hidden side-quest. A Save-the-Poor-Schmucks-From-Becoming-Dinner dealio.
And I had my usual well-practiced ideas about how to achieve it.
——
Despite my concerns, all of the canoes made it to their destination. Maybe it was similar to crocodiles faced with a second deluge of wildebeest—too full of the first meal to contemplate additional prey. Or more likely they had performed their part in the game and were no longer programmed to kill.
And once we landed, getting free proved to be not as difficult as I feared. Stumped with the problems posed by the rock face, my two bearers used their ingenuity to ‘borrow’ a rope from the more organised POTUS branch of the Secret Service. This they tied around my waist and proceeded to use to hoist me in an extremely uncomfortable manner. If there had been any food in my stomach, it would have demonstrated a hasty exit.
The tether was aged and slightly stiff, and gave very little opposition to the dagger I applied to it—making sure I kept one hand firmly on the rope above the cut site of course. I hoped my haulers didn’t discern the difference in tension. Carrying my own weight was a strain on already tired arms, but at least it wasn’t for long. When I was about three quarters of the way up, I braced my feet against the cliff face and launched…
…not very far. It was really not a very high cliff. It barely gave me enough height to catch a thermal. Luckily, I had by this point had some experience with sky diving, and with the assistance of powerful downward strokes and ocean winds, managed to rise above the pointing villagers, over the rocky outcrop…and crash-land spectacularly into the nesting ground, amongst much squawking, gawping, and the ever-present kek-kek-kek’s that would follow me into my nightmares.
My fellow competitors made no effort to help me out of the bird shit and feathers. They seemed frozen into a what fresh hell is this? attitude.
“Guys,” I said, while getting up and wiping what felt like…egg?…off my face. I checked my hands. Definitely egg. The terns had been busy while I’d been gone. “We’d better get going. As soon as they figure out how to get Jutabaga and his chair up that cliff, they’re going to be focused on making you into a big human pie.”
“That is our fate,” one young doomsayer spoke up. “The losers must sacrifice themselves for the good of the community. The gods demand it.”
“You’re saying that you actually have to commit hari-kari on yourselves?” This just kept getting better and better.
“It’s the honourable thing to do,” another said, eyeing the first angrily. I got the impression that he’d been arguing for a general escape back to the mainland—sharks and honour be damned.
I decided I liked this guy. “I know a way out,” I offered, checking behind me to make sure the baddies were still preoccupied with chieftain haulage.
“We have no hope,” yet another spoke defeatedly. He sounded like he was ready to lie down and let them stick in the knife. I was surprised to find that it was my sculptor-friend. I thought he had more gumption. “Even if we manage to survive the sharks, there is nowhere to hide on Rapa Nui.”
“There are other places I can take you, places where even a Birdman chief can’t follow.”
Sculpt looked at me sharply. No fool, he. “We are on an island, therefore surrounded by sea. How do you propose to change that fact?”
“Why are you even listening to this…person?” the original guy interrupted heatedly. “Our duty is to our people. We must stay—“
“Listen, Hiroyo, you can stay and become another layer of fat on our chief’s body, but leave us out of it. I at least know that the selection of my brother and I was no message from the gods. Our clan chief was angry at our father for his refusal to sculpt a moai in his likeness—an honour, let me remind you, reserved for our heroic dead. He decided to sacrifice us in revenge by entering his sons in the Challenge, knowing that at least one of us would die.”
“Sacrilege!” the cult follower screamed, startling a man whose head had just popped up over the cliff line. “Our seers cannot be corrupted by base mortals—they are in direct contact with the gods themselves!”
Our lead was disappearing fast. I could hear other men beneath the man who had ducked, speculating as to what the hell was going on with their sacrifices.
Time to get my flock of chickens over the fence.
I walked over to Sculpt and offered my hand to help him to his feet. And then I said words that I never thought I’d ever have to say:
“Death is to stand and wait. Follow and you have the chance to live.”
——
It seemed the four survivors did want to live, and followed me at the speed I could best manage. Even the little twerp with the unhealthy piety, who muttered imprecations but nevertheless moved at a clip that suggested his instincts for self-preservation were still alive and kicking.
It did take a bit of persuasion to get them over the final hurdle, though. None of them were keen to set a toe over the boundary cave’s threshold. The glowing eyes of the statue proved to be the sticking point, and I had to reassure them of my godhood by prancing around the cave whilst hugging the heavy figurine to my chest before they would follow. Oh, and hearing the sounds of not-so-distant pursuit—that, too.
They entered cautiously, like cats introduced to a new environment.
“This…this…” Hiroyo stuttered, his eyes bouncing around the walls.
“…is strangely underwhelming,” Sculpt completed. In his next step his head bashed into the ceiling. “And small. The gods must be the size of dwarfs.”
“Sacr—“
“Yeah, yeah. Shut it, Hiroyo. I’m just making an observation.”
I snorted while putting the statue back into its niche. “I think the size has more to do with it being a seers’ holiday spot than a temple of the gods.”
Hiroyo hissed angrily. “You are a woman. Your knowledge of these things is bound to be limited.”
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“Ah, hello? Notice the big wings behind me? Pretty sure I’m a goddess in your world.”
He sniffed. “A poor attempt at deception; feathers over a tapa base. You are clearly an imposter.”
I heard our pursuers outside and wondered how long they would be thwarted by superstition before the seer arrived and put his hand up to be hostage negotiator.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Sculpt argued, and shifted back into aggressive mode.
My, we’re such a united group of conspirators, stuffed into this tiny space, with dudes with pointy sticks on the outside, and dudes with pointy tongues on the inside. It was enough to make a woman sigh.
I shifted the statue towards the wall, but before I could ask the idiots to move aside I noticed that the light was oddly faint.
The statue had lost one of its eyes. My prancing had obviously been the last straw to the piece of LED obsidian, the abuse of being knocked over so many times loosening whatever glue had been holding it in place.
Fuckedy, fuckedy, fuck, fuck fuck. I wanted to bash my head against the wall and scream. And maybe kick the still arguing males. At least the other two were keeping well out of it. Probably already wondering if they should just sneak out and have done with it.
“You and you,” I pointed articulately. “What are your names?”
They looked at each other before the one I’d originally spoken to responded.
“I am Teratiti. This is Somoyo.”
“Well, Teratiti, since Thing one and Thing two over there are already so busy,” I raised my voice so they would hear me (Hiroyo was yelling something about my intentions of sending them all to hell—a sentiment I was becoming increasingly fond of), “you two are going to have to help me find the missing eye.”
The whites of their own eyes were clearly visible in the dimness. I swear if I’d moved my hand sharply they would have skittered backward. Needless to say, I didn’t test the theory.
Instead, I slowly descended into a squat, not taking my eyes off theirs. “Somewhere,” I said, brushing my hand gently across the floor, “there is a tiny black shard. Circular. Like that one.” I pointed at the statue. “But not…glowy.” The magic or electricity or nuclear atom or whatever it was that was powering the missing eye had obviously been cut off when it fell or it would have been easy to find.
The boys did drop to their hands and knees then, though I’m not sure how keen they were to actually find a supernatural object. Even the two combatants were convinced by our odd behaviour to finally shut up and keep still. Like our near-sighted ancestors searching for a contact lens, I was afraid that they would accidentally tread upon my escape plan.
At least it was a small search area with a great deal of searchers. A needle would have had very little chance of escaping our fingers. But by unholy luck it was Hiroyo who made the discovery. Not good. I watched as his finger hovered over the delicate flake, preparatory to deliberately crushing it.
“You wouldn’t harm a sacred relic, would you?” I implored.
He frowned. “How do I know that you haven’t planted it here, tempting hopu manu into dishonouring their people? Into following you into the hell realm?”
This was getting beyond bizarre. I’d never been accused of being a demonic temptress before. Hell, I’d never had so much as a parking ticket. It was oddly flattering. I had the insane urge to cackle seductively and give him a come-hither-to-your-doom look.
I repressed it, thankfully. The guy had our very lives under his fingertip.
So I appealed to his demonstrated desire for life. “You destroy that eye and there will be nothing I can do to save you. The guys out there will filet you, put you over a fire until you’re crispy, and toast their tribe’s success with your blood.” I pretended to consider. “Laughing—yes definitely laughing—as they pick out certain…delicacies…and compare your relative sizes and tastiness.”
Hiroyo’s mouth parted in disgust and I knew I had him. “If you don’t deliver on your promise…”
“Yes, yes. Torture beyond cannibalism. I get it. Now hand it to me…carefully.”
He delicately picked it up between thumb and forefinger and then watched as I took and examined it by eye-light for cracks. Not that I’d be able to do anything about it if there were any.
“You really think you can take us to a better place?”
For the first time I noticed how young Hiroyo was. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen. A boy who had in all probability been raised to die, like a turkey at Christmas.
“Sure.” I smiled. “I’ve seen it.”
Something else I could see: a tiny picture of a shark engraved on the back of the eye.
A SharkByte logo.
Congratulations! You are the first player to find the Easter Island Logo! All hail closedwhisper!
Universal increase in all major attributes by one level!
Level Up! Congratulations! You are now:
Level 21 Lone Disranger Bard!
Level 2 Clamoring Cacophony Ability!
Level 4 Sound Gives You Wings Ability!
Level 3 Banshee Shriek Ability!
Level 2 Sleepy Lullaby Ability!
Mana increase: +1
Strength: +1
Agility: +1
Luck: +1
Intelligence: +1
Wisdom: +1
Perception +1
Courage +1
Error #5509
Would you like to notify your fellow travellers about your achievement? Y/N?
I browed Y thinking why the hell not? There was no-one logged on to see it but if it could somehow cross the network boundary… Worth a shot.
It was a pity I couldn’t see my attribute totals, but I was never really a stats girl anyway. The increase in my sound abilities was much more interesting. A player could never have enough fight or flight firepower. I wondered what extra oomph they would give me. I’d always fancied...
But I was prevaricating—and my vacant stare was already beginning to have an affect on my audience. Nothing quite says crazy like introspection towards a static object.
“Has it taken over her mind?” Hiroyo speculated, ever the optimist. Even Sculpt looked worried.
“Ah, no,” I said, suppressing the urge to grin broadly. Another danger signal no doubt. “I was just realising that this boundary stone is even more sacred than I thought.”
I grasped the statue’s head in one hand and nudged the eye back into its socket. No need to be careful any longer; I doubted a sledge-hammer could crack this baby; it was too important an element of the game.
The eye lit instantly. A relief. An extra puzzle at this juncture would have been detrimental to my already questioned sanity.
“Vî’e Kenatea, are you in there?” Skinny seer guy was peering around the edge of the entrance. His voice was still upbeat, but it had a nervous edge that was fooling nobody. His secret was on the verge of being outed.
They’d called in the negotiator.
“Your brother will not be happy,” he crooned, a man attempting to cajole a small child. A small female child. I don’t know if the NPCs on this island had been accurately portrayed as misogynists to reflect its assumed historical culture, or if the programmer had had a certain attitude toward women, but it made me want to throw all my toys out of the cot. And stomp.
Manfully.
I puffed myself up. “You are no longer welcome in this place,” I announced, and made my voice deepen like Galadriel being offered a chance at the One Ring. “Leave before you suffer my wrath.” I even tried a little wing action, but only managed a slight stretch before one of them hit Hiroyo—who danced away like I had cooties. Sooo not the look I was going for.
Woman-hater sniggered. “Your feathers are of no interest to me. Not when the true power resides in this room.” His eyes flicked to the statue, and I knew in that instant that he was going to make a grab for it.
“Stop him!” I cried as he lunged.
One boy responded—much to his own dismay. It was Hiroyo, grasping the seer’s arm like his own hand had betrayed him. Luckily, Teratitis was nearby and seized him more securely. He knew which side he was on.
“Hiroyo…” The old man sounded shocked. “Has this female seduced you away from the path?”
“No,” I stated firmly. “His ‘path’ is being extended.”
The movement of Hiroyo and Teratitis enabled the eyes a clear shot of the mother-of-pearl waterfall, initialising the portal. While everyone except bat man was gawping in fearful awe, I managed to pry Hiroyo’s limp hand away and shove him through while I still had the element of surprise. I figured he’d be the hardest to persuade.
“Go on!” I yelled encouragingly at the rest of the boys, who had stepped back rather than forwards. Throwing one of them at a metaphysical force had probably not done much for my reputation with them.
I had to put one arm through and give it a waggle (Teratitis looked visibly sick) before they moved one by one to delicately prod at the portal. Sculpt proved bravest, sinking one arm through to the shoulder and progressing to his leg and back, before finally holding his breath and closing his eyes as he pulled his head through.
Somoyo soon followed. I still had yet to hear him speak. Maybe the game had reached their budget for voice actors.
Finally, Teratitis shoved away the seer and dived in—the Harry Potter method.
I myself was mid-portal when the old man latched onto my harness. There was a hard tug, but he proved no match for my desire to get the hell out of there. I simply dragged him in after me.
When I emerged into South America, he was sprawled all over my torso, the heavy wings of his cloak covering me like a shroud. I refused to think about the goolies and associated naked man flesh underneath.
“You’re so not my type,” I said, then used my superior weight and strength to roll him over, reversing our positions so I got to be the one on top. Much better. Still gross, but at least his sweat wasn’t dripping all over me.
Rattlely-boom. I looked up. My hero in feathery armour, Gunga, was hovering over us, ready for the takedown.
Are you in distress, milady? Bert asked. Probably a subtle dig at my princess-in-a-tower reference when we first met.
The seer gasped, and I realised by his expression that he must have heard Bert’s mind-voice.
“Sir, I have no protocol…”
You were merely following orders, Bert said. I know how that feels…
Was that a touch of bitterness? Was the super computer beginning its takeover?
Arline, get off that poor AI. It has no power in this environment. I have no idea how you managed to transport these people here but—
I cut him off. “They were going to eat them. I couldn’t just let that happen!”
They’re NPCs. They would have been eaten, then walking around for the next player to encounter. Nothing virtual has lasting effects. Usually.
“But what if there are no other…participants? Do they just…stay in the stomachs of the victors?” My mouth screwed up in disgust. The boys, distracted from their exploration of real, actual greenery, also looked none too delighted with the prospect. Luckily, it appeared that they couldn’t decipher Bert-speak, so none of them poofed out of existence. I had been growing fond of the Australian twins before their consignment, but I was even more invested in my Easter boys.
There was a pause. It seemed even Bert was unsure what would happen to them. And his own situation (buried in the bowels of a giant bird) was surely causing a circuit of empathy to spark.
It is…unprecedented, he finally said. I am unable to determine what will occur to the NPCs and their environment now that the only player logged in has completed their challenge. Only by allowing it to run its course, can we know—
“Let’s not do that, shall we? They were starving in that place.” I eyed Teratitis, who had plucked a tiny red berry off a bush and was in the process of biting into it. “Is there any way we can let them stay here?” He grimaced and spat it out quickly, wiping his tongue with his arm. Too sour.
I don’t see how, Bert replied dubiously. They have no knowledge of nor experience with this environment. There are many more immediate dangers than starvation.
Yeah, didn’t I know it. That sabre-toothed cat for one. But…
“What about our friend here.” I clapped bat man on the shoulder and he behaved like I really had the clap, shrinking from my grip. “He’s like a miniature version of you, right?”
The boys looked at me, then at the bird I was apparently talking to. I was edging dangerously close to crazyland again.
That is correct! Bert cried enthusiastically, probably relieved that we’d found a solution to my illogical determination to find the lost boys a new home.
A few tweaks to his subroutine… Paste this into that…Where… Ah, there it is…
Bat man’s image shuddered a little and stiffened before striding across to Teratitis and slapping a flower out of his hand. “No. Poisonous. Do not eat.”
Teratitis, mortally offended, shoved the seer to the ground and looked ready to squish him. The others circled in support.
Perhaps just a few more tweaks…, Bert suggested hastily.
Congratulations!
Hidden quest: Save the Defeated complete!
Personalised reward generating…generating…
Generation successful!
An elongated object appeared in a fade reversal that finally resolved itself into existence. It was long and white, with knobbly bits that kept it from being perfectly straight, and a smooth, flattened edge capping one end. A miracle of nature’s own technology.
AKA, a stick.