The distinctively browed statues gave me my first clue. (Actually, first and last, as no other was needed.)

I was on Easter Island.

How I got here I had no idea. After leaving the cenote I had followed my UI compass due East, expecting Africa to be the biggest landmass I would encounter. No way could I miss it.

But Easter Island, I was pretty sure, was in completely the opposite direction. Now, my skills at orienteering are absolute shit (when completing my badge in Girl Guides I had trailed happily behind a group that seemed to know what they were doing), but getting that wrong would imply I didn’t know my left from my right.

I eyed my onscreen compass consideringly. The barrier was indeed to my West, indicating that I had come East. And unless I’d managed to travel almost the circumference of the world without hitting significant continents such as Africa and—more amazingly—Australia again, then my compass was lying to me.

I suddenly remembered the tree that had mysteriously shifted when I emerged from the cenote. Maybe the whole dodgy equipment idea wasn’t such a long shot. The game was buggy…

Regardless, this was an amazing opportunity. I hadn’t considered going to Easter Island because it was a difficult area to pinpoint, being so small (not at all because I had forgotten about it). But as a significant world heritage site, instantly recognisable, it meant that the chances of there being an AoD logo planted somewhere in the vicinity were high.

Where, though?

The moai monoliths seemed an excellent place to look. They were what Easter Island was most famous for, after all, and there were only, what, a dozen of them scattered around this island?

Regardless, I wanted my support team. I took off my lyre and gave it a strum, striking the note that would summon my faithful companion. Well, it worked last time.

Sure enough, feathers fluffed in full defense mode, my trusty sidekick ran full speed through the barrier—just as two natives—one brandishing a feathered spear (and very little else)—popped up into her path.

Gunga aaarked and turned as sharply as she could, using her opposing foot to brace against the forward momentum. Then she returned quickly to my side—well maybe a little behind me, but I wasn’t judging. Pointy stick and all that.

The natives facing us made no attempt to follow. In fact, I got the distinct impression that Gunga had surprised them more than they had us.

Bert?

Can’t help, sorry. You seem to have stumbled on a major quest line.

They were both tall, but otherwise seemed to be complete opposites. The rugby player vs the nerd. Beefy dude was painted and stocky, with a slight paunch. He wore long white feathers around his wrists and ankles, with especially impressive specimens rising from an ornate headress. More were edged around a flap of—hide?—that barely protected his modesty and did nothing to hide the fact that his tummy had breached its borders like the foam on the top of a latte.

Clearly, chickens and birds of all kinds were not safe on this island. Gunga would definitely have to watch her back—me I wasn’t so sure about.

Until I saw that he also had a small capelet of what looked to be human hair.

Yikes.

The skinnier native pointed in our direction and whispered conspiratorially to his companion. His considerably larger cape shifted to accomodate the movement, but didn’t appear to flex very well; the material, while ornate and painted with swirls and fixed with even more feathers, was stiff and seemed to have the consistency of softened card. It looked distinctly uncomfortable.

I stepped forward cautiously, breaking the stalemate. This seemed to animate the skinny dude, who spread his arms wide in a welcoming gesture, opening the cape like the curtains of a Punch & Judy show. I caught a glimpse of saggy pecs and a teeny tiny pouch before I averted my eyes.

Great. A pre-trenchcoat flasher.

The big guy just stood stoically behind him; though not, I think, for the same reason as Gunga-Din.

“Welcome, vî’e Kenatea, Goddess of Fire. You honour us on the day of our most sacred ritual. We are travelling to Orongo to declare our candidates.”

“Candidates?”

The man laughed as if I’d made a funny. “Candidates for the annual Birdman competition of course! The sacred test of will and courage to determine who your brother deems worthy to act as his representative on this world.”

My brother? The only brother I had was currently torturing people physically and fiscally in a large dental surgery based in Auckland. I doubted he had ever set foot in the AoD universe, let alone set himself up as some kind of local deity—much though the concept might appeal to him.

I didn’t know whether to deny the relationship or play it up. Being a relative of a god could come with perks—or dangers if expectations were too high.

Also, I was pretty sure there were a few volcanoes on this island and I had no desire to be thrown into one for committing sacrilege. Or whatever punishment a god imposter would merit.

I decided to neither confirm nor deny.

“We notice you have brought us a feast,” the chatty guy continued, eyeing Gunga hungrily. “A worthy prelude to the festivities.”

Uh, oh.

“Actually, this is my, uh, messenger bird,” I said, beginning to shove my companion toward the barrier. “My brother wanted to be sure I arrived safely. He worries, you know? Go on, birdy. Tell my brother I said Hi.”

I managed to push her through just as the big guy finally woke up, probably concerned that his dinner was getting away. I don’t think I imagined the slight signs of disappointment on his face when I succeeded.

The skinny guy just looked surprised; I had not acted as expected.

Close call, Gunga-Bert. I’ll see you both on the other side.

I considered following, but the men didn’t seem aggressive. Which meant probably safe enough for me to roam around searching for random graffiti. After all, most of the moai appeared to have fallen in a haphazard fashion, some with their heads off. Only a few of the biggest were still on their stands. If they were sacred hands-off items I didn’t think they would be treated so cavalierly.

“May we have the honour of following you to Oronga?”

“Sorry, I’m not heading in that direction—“ I saw the shock and backpedalled “—yet. I will come to…ah…spectate…later.”

This seemed to mollify the couple and with much bowing and scraping—on the part of skinny guy; the feathered warrior just turned and walked away—they headed upwards, toward a path that led to a curved peak that looked to be a crater rim.

I had the feeling I’d had a close shave. Volcanoes…. Competitions…. Gods…. It all struck me as slightly sinister. A scenario I was well shot of.

Time to get to work, I decided and headed out for the closest grouping of moai, clustered on the shoreline nearest to the barrier.

The land beneath my feet was rolling, with little vegetation. My feet even produced tiny dust bombs as I walked across it, indicating it was lacking in moisture and nutrients. No large trees were in sight, just a thin layer of grass and a lot of rocks. No huts either, and no other people. I could see the occasional darker spots in cliff faces that looked like they could be caves but, at least on this side, the island appeared to be uninhabited.

Being entirely downhill, it didn’t take me long to reach the statues—gravity can be an impatient bitch at times. Unfortunately, my examination proved fruitless. Their countenances glared disapprovingly as I physically molested them, poking and prodding, yielding nothing. They were simply large pieces of exquisitely wrought reddish-grey stone.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Furthermore, there were more of them than I’d expected. Far from a dozen, there were at least a hundred more that I could see from my new vantage point, all hugging the coastline, and all looking pretty much the same as each other.

I sat down to consider, pulling out my water bottle and last remaining biscuits.

Continuing to shake down statues seemed to be pointless. Not only would it take days, but it also went against the fundamental principles of the game. Important markings belonged on important artifacts, and important artifacts were found in important places. You didn’t trip over them while walking in your garden. And you certainly didn’t find them five minutes after passing through a barrier. Logos in particular had to be earned.

Which of course brought me back to the Birdman competition. The natives clearly had a pending quest, something adventurous and highly dangerous for the young and stupid to get involved in. Something I had deliberately avoided in this game, but was coming to realise was important to my character’s advancement.

Plus it would in all likelihood lead me to an AoD logo, which would have the added benefit of satisfying my audience. Danger would surely galvanise interest and increase followers, heightening the probability of a concerned citizen informing the company of my plight.

Which would be all very well…if I survived. Making the effort an extremely risky enterprise if what I suspected about my ability to respawn proved correct. But I supposed that I could pull out and return through the barrier if it sounded too dangerous.

Decided, I stood up and headed for the well-worn path up to the crater rim.

——

As I neared the top I began to see half-circles of built up then flattened land, with stone shelters that seemed to have been roofed in the same tough cloth that the skinny guy had worn perched on each. A small encampment.

It was currently deserted; no one came out to stare at the puffing tourist walking past. I found it eerie. And ominous. Any newbie gamer quickly learns that no good comes from abandoned buildings.

When I reached the summit I could see why there were no people in the camp. They were all up here. It looked like the entire population of the island had converged like ants on sticky paper to this one point of the map; on a scenic clifftop overlooking the sea and a few small islands. Your average rugged coastal backdrop with a volcano to add extra dimension and impact. I was relieved to note that the crater itself was filled, not with lava, but small pools of water, looking more like a swamp than a fiery lake of death. Any sacrifices would merely get a bruising and a bath if they were unfortunate enough to be tossed in.

And amongst the hodgepodge of large boulders and rocks that lined the cliff, a large group of native people were gathered around a smaller group that included my earlier acquaintances.

The smaller group was comprised of three different types of male. Older men—similar to not-so-chatty spear guy, but far, far skinnier; more robed men, both young and old; and pumped up teenage boys who jiggled nervously in place, looking like they desperately needed to use the bathroom but didn’t like the look of the facilities.

One of these youth seemed different from the others. He was the only one past his teen years and calm to the point of zen. He was also larger and more well-fed than his compatriots.

He was standing between my original acquaintances, with all three slightly separated from the rest of the group. They stood on a flat rock in front of an engraved boulder featuring a strange figure with a long, curved beak and elongated digits that would have looked more suitable on a monkey. It was obviously an important stone, an emblem maybe of the coming event.

Which probably means these guys are in pole position, I surmised; a king and his entourage on their dais.

As I got closer, chatty guy spotted me and waved excitedly, beaming in such a way that my suspicions instantly fired up.

Everyone turned, wanting to see who merited the VIP’s attention. I felt as inconspicuous as a rock star.

“Ah, vî’e Kenatea! We have been waiting for you.” He pushed his way through the crowd and descended upon me like a long-lost friend. Grasping my biceps, he quickly pulled me against him and set me back again before I could demonstrate my defensive moves.

(A good nudge in the goolies usually discourages handsiness in men, though I wasn’t sure if NPCs had such extra equipment. I doubted the teeny-tiny pouch had an occupant, teeny-tiny or not.)

He turned to his audience and smiled triumphantly. The little prick definitely looked far too self-satisfied for my taste.

“This female is our secondary selection as candidate. Vî’e Kenatea will compete for Chief Junajiti and Tribe Viauin in the race for the first egg!”

Eh?

Challenge of the Birdman Accepted! Be the first to reach the first sooty tern egg of the season, and return it to your chief!

Reward for survival: 3000 gold coins!

Reward for completion: Map of Mystery!

Reward for completion: Birdman Trophy!

Reward for completion: 2000 XP!

Penalty for non-completion: Respawn minus 200 XP!

My disconcertion was mirrored by his people. Murmurs of speculation rose—a ‘who the hell is that?’ murmur. “Is she a threat?” came from one of the young boys, and the elderly feathered gentlemen simply stood, looking outraged, before huddling with their caped consultants.

From the larger crowd an exchange of small items began to occur. Probably people recalculating the odds. I somehow doubted they would be in my favour.

This shit was so not happening. “Just a second,” I said, smiling politely.

Then I booked it. Down the hill, trotting a hell of lot faster than I had struggled up, helped along by my new friend gravity and a healthy desire to avoid whatever death hovered beyond those cliffs. It didn’t take long to reach the barrier.

But when I tried to go through, I found myself stymied. It had frozen into a clear silica, giving slightly when I poked at it, but not allowing so much as my finger to pass through.

The Easter Island Barrier is currently unavailable! Complete the Birdman quest line to continue your journey!

Oh, fuckety fuckety, fuck, fuck, fuck. I gave the barrier another shove and a frustrated kick, but I knew it was no use. I had no choice. The game wanted to torture me.

Dragging my feet, I returned to the Orongo overlook to stares and more murmurs.

“Just had to check on a few things,” I explained quietly—nothing to see here folks—and sidled up to my homies.

The old guy was still addressing the crowd.

“—will descend the Orongo cliffs, swim across to Motu Nui and wait for the laying of the first egg. The successful hopu manu will then climb to the highest point of the islet and shout the name of the chieftain he“—and he stopped and smiled at me with his two remaining teeth [shudder]—“or she represents.”

That…didn’t actually sound all that bad. I was no rock climber but I was a great rock faller, and as long as I didn’t injure myself too badly, the game would probably heal me before I got to the bottom. An advantage I had over any NPC. And thanks to my cenote experience I did have a swimming skill.

“The winner will then return to Orongo, transporting the egg intact to their chieftain.”

I knew there had to be a catch. How the hell were we supposed to carry a tiny fragile egg into across water and up a cliff?

I turned to the confident-looking guy next to me with just that question. “How?” I whispered.

He gave me an assessing glance, and after correctly dismissing me as a rival, untied a dirty-looking piece of cloth from his wrist. Bending down, he retrieved a small stone from the ground and, looking to make sure I was watching, put it into a small, primitive pouch sewn into the cloth. He then raised the cloth-wrapped stone to his forehead and pretended to tie it around the back of his head.

That made sense. A sort of egg head-papoose.

“What are the main dangers?”

His jaw moved and for a moment I thought he was going to spit. Or bite. He dithered long enough for me to wonder whether his programming allowed speech or if he was NPC eye-candy, but he finally answered. “Sharks, many, many. Cliffs also claim many lives. Waves smash against sharp rocks. Other dangers.”

Sooo not what I was hoping for.

“You sound as if you know what you’re talking about.”

His chest puffed up. “Winner four years. Winner this year.”

Ah, the source of his confidence. “Are there many other veterans?”

He actually snorted. “Losers pierced with spears. Become feast. Winner only survivor. I only survivor.”

Okay, disturbing. Not at all reassuring to know that cannibalism was alive and well and standing right in front of me.

In the meantime, chatty man was finally winding down, finishing with something about lots of food, glory and sex. It seemed that winning was to be entirely on the loser tribes’ tab.

Nevertheless, hopeful cheers preceded an exodus of young men to a pile of baskets and supplies, and I followed my new team mate to retrieve my own.

He shoved aside one of the larger boys and picked out two baskets that looked exactly the same as all the others. After giving each of them a rough push to their base and stretching their sides, he discarded one and repeated the process with another, before grunting his satisfaction. He handed the second to me.

Then he further demonstrated his superior knowledge by manipulating the pouch-cloth through holes in the bottom of his own basket, creating an upside-down hat.

Genius.

Noticing my clothlessness, he snatched one out of the hands of another candidate, who looked like he wanted to protest, but quickly decided against it. My teammate was kind of an asshole. But a scary asshole.

At least the boy had friends. A teary woman who I presumed was his mother unwound a scarf from around her head and pushed it into his hands. Then she lifted her hand and shakily laid it on his cheek—an action which made him turn aside in embarrassment.

It was heartbreaking. I know it was all just code and algorithms and graphic modelling and whatnot, but it seemed real to me, the person living amongst it.

I looked back, only to find that the other competitors had already gathered supplies in their baskets and were clustered around the boulders overlooking the clifftop. Some of them had even attached the baskets to their heads.

I hurriedly shoved the cloth through the gaps in the basket and collected a few random vegetables before following them, receiving a disapproving glare from Mr. Winner for my tardiness. Shades of classrooms gone by.

Whoopsy.

The caped crony smiled indulgently. He was such an ass kisser. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

I could almost hear the words, ‘now that the little woman has finally focused her tiny brain in our direction.’ Even if he did think I was a goddess I was sensing a serious case of MCPism.

He swished his cape dramatically, making it crackle like a tarpaulin in a stiff breeze. A nearby gull squawked and flew off in fear of his superior wingspan, and I was treated to another glimpse of wrinkles, ribs, and white-haired belly-button. Whoever had designed this guy had clearly ended his day giggling into the bottom of a beer glass.

Put it away.

“For the rulership of the Rapa Nui people, and the power and honour of communing with the gods, I declare the competition of the Tangata Manu…open!”

He looked around expectantly, then frowned and flapped his arms again when he got no reaction.

“BEGIN!”