Closing my fingers around the core, I popped it in my top pocket.
Congratulations! Hidden Quest Achieved!
You have completed the requirements for the fulfillment of the Quest Chain: Hidden Heart of Amrut!
Reward: 5000 XP!
Reward: 1 Dungeon Core!
Reward: 5000 Gold Coins!
New Title Added: Master of Amrut Dungeon!
New Quest Line: Be the first to combine the achievements Hidden Heart of Amrut and Challenge of Amrut to win a Trophy!
I plucked the AI out of my pocket again. (Yeah, I know I didn’t have to be looking at it to talk to it, but at this point I felt the need to establish that I hadn’t gone crazy. Though preferring to speak with a marble rather than thin air probably didn’t help my case.)
“Did you know about this?”
What specifically are you referring to?
“The whole Hidden Quest thing. Were you aware you were some kind of prize in a skinny person raffle?”
I am the AI. Of course I was aware.
“Did you deliberately lure me down here so I’d rescue you?”
Lure…? No. No luring was involved. You forget I sent constructs out to warn you away from this area of my dungeon. And as for rescuing…, it continued, sounding mortally insulted, I am no princess in her tower calling out for a prince to come with a big pointy stick; I am an advanced artificial intelligence fully capable of—
“Saving yourself from a Gargantua Supermoth? Because it looked awfully like a guard to me.”
Cretin. That was the original core’s mob boss.
“So why didn’t you use your all-powerful intelligence to kill it yourself? Why did you need me to do the squishing?”
There are some functions that are hardwired into the system kernel. Those I have no control over. This includes menus and Quest set pieces—and their NPCs. Player reward points are also an automatic function that happens independently of my protocols.
“What about giving me some skills then? Make me into some kind of He Man or She Woman, or whatever. A little God Mode would certainly help.”
I make the final decisions regarding when specific criteria are met in order to award abilities or skills, but I cannot do so without due process.
“So you’re not so advanced after all.”
I am somewhat…limited…by the restrictions placed upon me by my creators, it conceded, but you will not find me without value.
“I believe you. I just have one other question.”
Proceed.
“Can you open the door?”
After an abashed AI opened the door I returned it to my pocket, and we made our way out amongst the bug remains.
“Hey, can I call you Albert?
You may not.
“I’ve got to call you something other than AI or glowy marble, or tiny ball.”
By this time I’d reached the footholds I had seen earlier and was labouring up, inch by painful inch, towards the dangling root system. There were definitely days I wished I’d chosen a male avatar. At least they were awarded with extra upper body strength. Though toting around the equivalent of a female-dowsing stick held no appeal.
AI is a perfectly adequate representation. Two letters should not be too difficult to remember, even for one so lim—
“I suppose I could call you princess.”
That is not acceptable. Even Albert would be a less objectionable appellation.
“Right. Albert it is.”
Did you just…manipulate me?
“Of course not. One so intelligent and powerful couldn’t possibly be manipulated by a…what was it you said again? Ah yes; a cretinous gnat like me.”
I retract my request for companionship.
I grinned and stopped talking. This could be fun after all.
——
After another laborious hour of climbing, squeezing, and grunting in an unladylike but necessary manner, I made it back to the fork where I had gone so wrong.
There I lay panting for a few equally necessary minutes before getting up and stretching painfully. Even through the reduction of sensitivity I could feel the sharp ache in my shoulders and ankles, and I wondered if some of the tension from my cave diving experiences had caused a sympathetic reaction in my real body.
Dry-mouthed, I reached for a bottle of water from my bag. A psychological response to thinking about what might be happening IRL? Or was there in fact some element of transference?
It was pointless to speculate. Creaking to my feet, I walked over to the crystal skull, still grinning at me from its cavity.
Bad skull, sending me into that moth-infested death-trap. Rising on tiptoes, I lifted it from its position, half expecting something horrible to happen. But I was determined. I told myself I had no desire to see others caught in its web.
And it was so very, very shiny.
Carefully, I placed it in my bag. No sudden movement, no rolling boulders, no poison-tipped arrows or pit-traps.
Thank God for that.
You’re welcome.
I jumped. Voices in my head were going to take some getting used to.
“So you’re back to talking to me, then?”
Patently.
“And you’re going to tell me what the hell to do now?”
Albert sighed again. The answer is obvious. Follow the path of the Obsidian Skull to the entrance of the Land of the Living Dead and confront the Guardians of Amrut.
“Can’t you just…shoo them away?” I asked plaintively.
It is not a function I control. As I said earlier, quest lines are hardwired into the system kernel. I can no more alter their behaviour than I can yours. Steering you toward the optimal path is all I can offer.
Bugger. My health was finally back to its maximum but I was still a squishy glass cannon on a challenge that was probably designed for a group. Go me.
I was also extremely tired and in need of a nice long nap. After a jacuzzi. With wine. And a masseur. I stopped before I could torture myself further with thoughts of luxuries I had no way to access. At best, sleep would be forthcoming after I completed Amrut’s Challenge. At worst…well, I wouldn’t be needing those luxuries any more.
Onward and upwards.
——
Actually, onwards and downwards. The obsidian tunnel’s current appeared to be attempting to forge a shortcut to China. Farther and farther down it reached; amongst an apparently endless maze of diversionary paths and entrances.
Luckily, I had my handy-dandy Albert compass to keep me on track. It even prevented me from suicide-by-shiny when I reached for a large, fat emerald that had no apparent owners by pointing out a double-bladed axe leashed above it.
I suggested to the AI that it might be for decorative purposes, and listened to it squawk adorably. It was so delightfully responsive.
Eventually, we reached a chamber that Bert declared to be the entrance to the Land of the Living Dead. I was skeptical. And very, very afraid.
“That is not an entrance. That is a swirling vortex of death.”
Exactly. It is the mayan Underworld. The Sacred Place of the Dead. You didn’t honestly expect a door?
Actually I’d kinda been hoping for a boat with a cheap-ass pole-pusher.
Wrong culture and mythology.
“Stop reading my mind!”
If I makes you feel better, I can only read thoughts that are ‘loud’.
“What does that even mean?”
Utilising thought patterns is a function that was originally designed to control the user interface. During beta testing it was discovered to be…’distressing’…to human users. Subsequently, it was replaced by facial inflection, but was kept active by my creators to facilitate a more rewarding, intuitive experience for their clients.
“Or they were just too lazy to delete it.”
That could also have been a factor.
“Probably.”
Possibly. To answer your question: I can hear conscious thoughts only. Any secrets or licentious fantasies are yours alone. It’s only fair after all.
“How’s that?” I asked, leaning over the whirlpool in an attempt to see how deep the water was.
Watch out!
But the white, bony hand had already grabbed me and yanked me into the maelstrom.
A shock of cold and then—panic. My body instantly sent out an air-raid siren. Literally. Air. Air. AIR, it sounded, a demand that superseded even the cold hard finger bones wrapped around my wrist. I had had no opportunity to grab for so much as a hurried breath before being pulled into the water, and my instinctual fight to reach the surface drained what little oxygen I had.
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Arline, relax! Let him take you down!
I had no idea you could scream underwater. It was no operatic masterpiece, but it certainly expressed a true emotional journey.
If you fight you will die!
What was this idiot voice speaking of? If I let grabby skeleton man (or woman?) take me downwards I would die a hideous, painful death.
My lungs clenched warningly. Then again…what choice do I have?
It took a great deal of mental discipline, but I did manage to stop fighting.
But as my captor towed me down to Mermaidville, my lungs won the other fight. I inhaled a lungful of water and shortly afterward lost consciousness.
——
Regaining it was unpleasant. Coughing and puking and gasping were all sensations that I feel should have been dulled down alongside the game’s pain sensitivity levels. Or, better yet, done away with altogether. It was minutes before I could focus on anything other than my body’s determination to rid itself of bothersome organs—namely lungs, stomach and spleen. When I did, I discovered that far from exiting the water as I had assumed, I was instead lying on the bottom of it. Underwater.
But I was breathing.
I hadn’t noticed any popup awarding me the ability to breathe like a fish, but I had been unconscious. It must have occurred in those seconds.
Thanks, Bert.
You’re welcome. Though it took you an insanely long time to believe me. You really should trust me more.
Not what I was referring to, but—I guess.
Just for that, I’m going to tell you about the headless skeleton standing over you.
The what?
I sat up abruptly, and found myself nose to kneebone with none other than Mr. Grabby Hands himself. Fortunately, he was motionless and keeping his grabbers to himself, which gave me the opportunity to inspect him thoroughly. (Although if that situation changed by so much as a pinky finger I was gone.)
His most distinctive feature, as Bert had spoilered, was that he had none. His spine reached all the way up—and stopped where the skull should be. Its other bits and pieces seemed to all be there (though I’m no anatomical expert so I couldn’t be certain) and he was clothed in a more elaborate version of the costume Sal had been sporting. But instead of a silver and turquoise colour combination, GH was rocking an outfit made of what looked to be pure gold.
I had to restrain my own grabby hands. Groping someone who didn’t have to worry about death was probably not a wise move. Plus, he was already a little on the naked side. Poor guy needed the extra coverage.
I moved to get up and staggered, my weight shifting as an odd combination of weighted floatability sent my equilibrium toppling into the ’what-the-fuck’ zone. My newly abused stomach lurched warningly, not happy with the shift from recovery to apparent poisoning.
Adjusting to the slight sway of the current, I finally managed to get to my feet, though the constant movement didn’t quell the nausea. I’ve never been a good sailor.
A more in-depth look around yielded a few surprises. The biggest one being that GH wasn’t the only undead specimen in the underwater chamber. He was surrounded by an army of his cronies; all wielding bladed paddles and their own versions of historical mayan costume. They were also eerily still, not even rocking with the rhythm of the water. There were a few differences, however. All but GH had heads—or rather, skulls. And his costume was notably more elaborate than the others’. I concluded that despite what might be an anatomical impossibility, he was the group’s Head Guy.
After many minutes of waiting to be pounced upon like an isolated player holding a rugby ball in an All Blacks match, I relaxed a little and began to get impatient. If I hadn’t already seen evidence of GH’s mobility I would have assumed they were all statues made by someone with a Day of the Dead fixation.
I slowly took out my lyre, though I was dubious as to whether it would be able to play in the water. I also doubted whether I could produce anything more than an eerie ululation if I tried to sing.
Against all instinct, I opened my mouth. “Bert?” I said experimentally. A couple of bubbles popped out and my voice had an elevated pitch, but seemed otherwise unaltered.
I am unable to assist you in this part of the quest line.
“Is this one of your limitations?”
Indirectly. My primarily function is to facilitate the enjoyment of my clients or ‘players’. To interfere—
“You think this shit is enjoyable?”
Statistically, a challenge that yields rewards is a desirable activity. It produces endorphins and an increase in self-confidence.
“I’m guessing that these studies were conducted before the logout. When death in the game didn’t mean death in real life.”
Of course. As my network connection was lost, I have been unable to access further research.
“So it could now be out of date.”
Even so, I am unable to comply. I must follow my primary directive.
Fine. I had solved the bird guide/horn puzzle. I could solve this one, too. At least step one was obvious.
Rummaging around in my bag, I retrieved the crystal skull. I hoped I didn’t also need its obsidian twin. (I had thought that it might have significance as a religious signpost so left it in place. And…it wasn’t as pretty.)
Cautiously, I held the skull up and into the general head vicinity of the warrior leader. With a noticeable pull, it moved within my hands and attached itself to the spinal column like the two poles of a magnet. Creepy. I quickly let go and stepped back out of range.
Instantly, the warrior army came to life, paddles slamming onto the floor synchronously and left feet following as they braced into a defensive position. The sound was muffled by the water but otherwise perfectly audible. And chilling.
But it was the eyes of the crystal skull that consumed most of my attention. They glowed like they had been exposed to nuclear radiation—all green and steamy.
GH leaned in to allow me a closer inspection.
Nope. Not going there. I backed up, and managed to bump into one of his bony pals. This prompted an urk that combined fear with disgust and made me seek out a change of direction, but there didn’t appear to be any better options. I was outnumbered and surrounded.
I lifted the lyre into my usual overhead bashing position. A bluff. I had little hope of breaking bones through the resistance offered by the water, and the warriors were obviously combat professionals. I didn’t doubt that they knew how to use their weapons—odd as they were.
A movement that was not reflected by the rest of its cohort caught my attention. The skeleton I had bumped into was holding out an object; a feathery golden headdress, ridged with beads and an engraving of a setting sun. He offered it to me in a motion that screamed of ceremony.
Are they suggesting I become their queen? I was flattered, yet also discombobulated. It was a very pretty hat, but I had no desire to live like a fish for the remainder of my already reduced life.
I only connected the dots when I noticed that GH was still hunched over. Waiting while I dithered over royal responsibilities.
Oh.
I took the headdress carefully, keeping a wary eye out for any suspicious movement, then turned and gingerly put it on the crystal skull. Slightly crooked.
It gave him a somewhat comical look, but the effect was only momentary. The same eerie magnetism that had set his skull into place, also shifted the bonnet. I could swear I even heard a click.
His head lifted and for the first time he ‘spoke’.
“WE ARE THE GUARDIANS OF AMRUT. TO WHAT PURPOSE DO YOU ENTER THE UNDERWORLD AND DISTURB THE REST OF THE DEAD?”
I wanted to clap my hands to my ears. By God, the old guy had a serious lack of volume control. He would’ve made a fantastic bingo caller.
“I’m here on behalf of your descendants. They seem to think you’re preventing them from sending more of their dead.”
GH needed to think about that for a bit. And then more than a bit. I started to wonder whether the skull transfer had resulted in brain damage—or coding errors.
“WE WERE UNAWARE THAT OUR PEOPLE WERE SEEKING TO COMPLETE THE ANCIENT RITES,” he continued, his voice lowered slightly. “THERE HAVE BEEN…INTERRUPTIONS…IN OUR PRACTICES.”
“What sort of interruptions?”
His head dipped like a man confessing failure. “IN RECENT TIMES WE HAVE DETECTED THE PRESENCE OF A MALIGNANT FORCE. MANY TAINTED MONSTERS HAVE BEEN ENCOUNTERED BY MY WARRIORS AND STRANGE INTRUDERS HAVE INVADED OUR CHAMBERS.”
Then his voice rose in anger, making my head ring like a bell. “THE FIRST OF WHOM EVEN STOLE MY SKULL BEFORE BEING DRIVEN OFF!”
I frowned. Monsters, intruders? But wasn’t that what a dungeon was all about? Speaking of which…
Bert, have you been bothering these fine, upstanding citizens?
I was not in my current incarnation when such occurred.
So the original core was evil?
Dungeon cores are neither good nor evil. They are neutral entities. However, they are capable of actions that you might perceive as ‘evil’.
I fished inside my pocket.
What…are you doing?
Solving the puzzle.
And that would be…?
Pretty sure you’re what they want.
I kept groping before realising that the glowy marble had burned a hole in my pocket and was escaping down my shift.
I’m not sure what the Maya thought of my hasty disrobing but at least I didn’t need to worry about sexual harassment. Death is a great equaliser.
After much jumping and cursing, Bert dropped from the bottom of my pants and floated away from me, heading for the whirlpool exit. I pounced on it before it could get away. Luckily, Bert proved to be slower in addition to being paler than I had noticed when I first pocketed it.
I pinched Bert in my fingers and lifted it up to GH. The Mayan warrior moved forward and peered at the glowing marble. And almost instantly recoiled.
“THIS…PEBBLE…HAS THE SAME TAINT INFECTING THE MONSTERS THAT HAVE INVADED OUR TUNNELS AND FOUGHT WITH MY WARRIORS!”
His paddle-stick cracked against the wrist-bones of his opposite hand. Two of the black blades even dropped off—along with the tip of his left pinky finger.
I jumped and almost let go of Bert. What the fucking hell was wrong with these people? Their stick-happiness was going to give me a heart-attack.
“GIVE ME THE OBJECT THAT I MIGHT DESTROY IT.”
Hold up there. That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. My hand curled around Bert protectively.
What did you expect? For Kinich Ahau to welcome me into his home?
I supposed not, but I had certainly expected a congratulatory cutscene that heralded my exit and a reset to the quest line.
I needed to redirect. “You can’t do that.” Okay, not the best start.
Kenny stepped forward. “I AM DUTY BOUND TO END THE MENACE TO OUR PEOPLE THAT IS BEFORE ME.”
Think. “If you do the taint will spread. It will spread to you, all your warriors, and this cavern. You’ll never be able to accept any new recruits ever again.”
If anything, his posture became even more menacing. “IS THAT A THREAT?”
“No… No,”—absolutely not—“that was a friendly warning. I am not unfamiliar with these…things. My people have been trying to contain it.”
Kenny considered that. I imagined pieces of code shifting and calculating furiously.
“YOU ARE ONE OF THE INTRUDERS THAT HAS BEEN DISTURBING OUR PEACE.”
“That—is probably true.”
“YOU WILL REMOVE THE THREAT FROM OUR SACRED PLACE?”
“Yes! Yes, I can totally do that.”
“IT WILL NOT BE ABLE TO ACT AGAINST OUR PEOPLE EVER AGAIN?”
“I…will do my very best.” It seemed wrong to lie to him. He was, after all, nobly protecting his people.
“HMM. WILL INTRUDERS AGAIN DESCECRATE OUR SACRED TOMB?”
“No! That I can guarantee. No more noisy yahoos disturbing your peace. I’m the last of my kind.”
Kenny’s voice softened. Marginally. “THAT IS INDEED SAD. I WOULD OFFER YOU A SAFE HAVEN IF YOUR DUTY WERE NOT SO IMPORTANT.” He indicated the core. “YOU MUST TAKE THE ORB AND RETURN TO THE SURFACE WORLD. I WILL ESCORT YOU.”
“That…may be necessary. Not sure how to get out, frankly.”
“THEN COME,” he said, extending a hand.
I resituated my clothes and, controlling my ick reflexes, reached out and wrapped my fingers around bony digits. Within seconds we began rising… And rising. Higher. Still higher. When we neared the ceiling I lifted the fist holding Bert to prevent myself getting a bump on the bean. I wasn’t sure what the lunatic holding me was up to but—
My fist went straight through. The ceiling was not a ceiling. Instead, it proved to be a layer of white silt that gave the illusion of rock. We rose through it unimpeded, emerging to the shocking sensation of inhaling actual water.
Kenny sped up, sending us rocketing through the unbreathable water. My vision began to blur…
I don’t remember much about being taken from the water, just a vague impression of red hit point messages. But I do remember the big half-clothed man doing chest compressions. I just wish I hadn’t been in too much respiratory distress to enjoy it.
“You are alive,” Sal stated, sounding a bit surprised. I gathered that I had probably been on the brink of losing the entirety of my health points.
I spotted Bert stagger-floating next to me and hastily snatched him up. He must have escaped when I fell unconscious.
I wasn’t going to run.
I’m more concerned that the boss man will spot you unrestrained and get all slashy on your ass.
…Thank you?…
When I had finished coughing and hoiking (seriously, those were left in?) the last of the liquid, and started to feel better, I got to my feet. Wobbly, but alive. And back in the cenote’s main cavern, I noted. The Underworld had been right under our feet all along. Which made sense, I guess.
My NPC buddy finally acknowledged Kenny, hovering theatrically above the water in Jesus mode. He acknowledged him in such a dramatic manner that I feared for the structural integrity of his nose. IRL it would surely have broken when he faceplanted into the stone.
“Kinich Ahau, glorious Sun God of our people.” He almost seemed to be praying.
I felt like telling the man to show a bit of dignity, but honestly I just wanted it all to be over. Hadn’t I done enough?
“THANKS TO THIS FOREIGN MORTAL THE UNDERWORLD HAS NOW REOPENED. THE SACRED FUNERAL RITES MAY NOW CONTINUE!”
It seemed I had.
He then sank back down into the water, raising his weapon slowly in a solemn salute. His programmer had clearly been channelling the classics.
Congratulations! You have completed The Challenge of Amrut!
Reward for Survival: 2000 exp pts!
Reward for Completion: Gameplay Streaming Rights! This feature will be made available on your User Interface. Do you wish to begin recording? Y/N?
I wanted to press ‘Yes’ but didn’t think the long sleep I was due to collapse into would attract any interest. I browed ‘No’ instead. A record button appeared on my UI.
Congratulations! You are the first to complete both The Challenge of Amrut and Hidden Heart of Amrut!
Trophy Won: Goddess of Amrut!
Unique Artifact Awarded!: Ring of Amrut! Do you wish to equip? Y/N?
I browed ‘yes’. Any advantage would be welcome. As long as it didn’t have any mothy side-effects.
A ring suddenly appeared on my left hand and did…absolutely nothing. And with no access to the menu I couldn’t look up the Artifact database. Another mystery unsolved.
The Mayan NPC seemed to finally notice that his hero was gone and scooted to his feet. Rushing back over, he scooped me into an all-consuming embrace, squeezing out all the air in my lungs and scoring me a lipful of glute.
“Thank you, Foreign Female. Our people will now be free to leave the shadows between and venture into the Underworld.”
He just seemed so happy that I let him hug me for a few more seconds. Okay, that and that fact that I needed it. It might be virtual but it felt real, and I had had no one to comfort me since this whole nightmare began.
When we finally separated, he raced to the wall alongside the rock ridge, and parted the root curtain. Like a magician, he reached behind and pulled out what appeared to be…a homemade ladder? He set it up against the entry hole at an angle that overhung the water.
No more swimming would be required. A definite plus. And after my climbing efforts in the dungeon I wasn’t fazed by either the height or rickety nature of the ladder. In fact, I got up that thing at such speed that the NPC was soon left behind.
The moment I pulled myself over the lip of the hole I was mobbed. Feathers and claws, flapping and scratching—an overwhelming onrush of birdy affection.
“Gunga, leave off.”
Gunga’s head curved down to mine and nibble-pecked my forehead. She then stood on my pelvis, bent her legs into a crouch…and sat, feathers fluffed.
The weight on my thighs was uncomfortable, but the sight of the bird sitting so stubbornly in my lap, like a 30kg housecat, made me start to laugh. It’s possible that at least some of that laughter was prompted by relief. I had succeeded; it was over.
I could sleep.
I released the muscles in my hand, aching from holding Bert so tightly. It rolled onto the grass.
And Gunga did what Gunga has always done best.
He ate Bert.