Chapter 5 - The Realm

  Emery led the way through the village streets, passing the tavern at the intersection where the Midway men had landed.

  Arlo couldn’t help peeking inside the open door to the darkened interior as they passed. It reeked of stale beer. Maybe half a dozen men sat around tables and gazed into their tankards. The barkeeper was a stern-looking woman with grey hair that didn’t suit her youthful face. The mood was somber.

  “Drowning their sorrows?” he commented, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “Starting to wish they’d had the balls to stand up for themselves?”

  Emery didn’t catch his sarcasm. “No. They’re upset, because everyone loved Indira.”

  “Then why choose her as a sacrifice?”

  “Because she was the safest bet. If Layton had been displeased with our offering, we would have suffered the consequences. Indira was a good choice.”

  “What consequences, exactly?”

  Emery looked skyward, her eyes filled with fear. “Pray you never witness it. Sometimes it’s the Skiff, sometimes the Dragonfly.”

  Arlo shook his head. “If you didn’t live on Midway’s doorstep, you wouldn’t be so under their thumb. There’s a ton of forest you could spread into, away from the cliff. Could they attack you so easily if you lived among the trees?”

  “Perhaps, but simply moving isn’t easy. Olde Village has always been here. The Midway people are fairly new.”

  “Explain to me why you call this place Olde Village.”

  Emery shrugged. “It wasn’t called that before. The realm was once vast. Endless, stretching far beyond the perimeter you see here. Our land was known as Wesslon, our village Aralan. But those names are now distant memories. Some say they were never real, but many believe they must have been, because we weren’t always known as Olde Village, Midway, and Pinnacle.”

  Interesting, Arlo thought. So these people do have some falsely implanted history.

  Emery raised her eyebrows at him, a clear sign she was eager to move on if he allowed it. He wasn’t quite ready. “So the realm was once vast but isn’t anymore?”

  “Now we’re limited to the boundary,” she explained. “We’re trapped inside a dome.”

  Arlo blinked at her. “Wait, what? You’re saying this realm is inside a giant glass dome?”

  “Not a glass dome, but a barrier all the same.” She made a wide, sweeping gesture as if that somehow confirmed her claim. He saw nothing untoward from where he stood, but the idea of it astonished him.

  Emery turned to him. “A terrible curse has befallen us, and we find ourselves unable to rise up against Midway, unable to do anything except comply. They demand meat, fish, and grain, and we supply it—and if we don’t, or if we’re short, they punish us. It hurts to give up our own for sacrifice, but we see no way out of our dilemma. We want to fight, but we can’t muster the courage.”

  Her eyes had welled up. Tears broke free and ran down her cheeks, and for the first time, Arlo saw actual remorse for what had seemed like pretty ambivalent sacrifices earlier. He still found it hard to believe anybody could be so weak.

  But maybe that complete lack of courage was exactly right for the denizens of a video game. Since Arlo was a new Player in this realm, the people of the village would look to him as a hero, come to save them all from the evil of Midway. And the only way to actually win the game . . .

  “I need to get to Pinnacle,” he mused aloud.

  Emery’s eyes widened, and she nodded vigorously. “Pinnacle, yes. It’s said to be the place where our realm and vast lands can be restored. But to get there, you first must reach Midway.”

  Privately, Arlo figured he’d give Midway a wide berth. Getting to Pinnacle was important, but there was no need to confront the enemy in between. Then again, game structure probably wouldn’t allow it. Quests usually had to be fully completed in a certain order.

  He sighed. “Okay, so where do I start?” Of course, she had no answer to that, so Arlo called for help. “Screen on.”

  The hologram flared into view. Even on the daylit street corner, it shone bright and clear, its most recent message still firmly logged:

  SUCCESS! You have consumed two mage pomelos, and your vitality is replenished. Keep up the good work!

  “I have you to thank for that,” he told Emery.

  “I’m not sure what you mean, Arlo,” the young woman said softly. She seemed to be watching him closely. “What are you looking at?”

  “It’s an outsider thing. I can see a screen.” He squinted at her. “You gave me two mage pomelos, which helped my vitality, right? What was the other thing? You said you ate a couple, and then you were able to carry me home and into bed?”

  She brightened. “Blue marulas? Yes. Would you like to try one?”

  Without waiting for a response, she marched off at a brisk pace.

  Arlo followed, keeping his screen open. It glowed in front of him, hindering his view. “Um, computer?”

  I am Oracle.

  “Ah, okay. Well, Oracle, tell me my first step. How do I get to Midway?”

  The most recent text scrolled up a little, and a simple new sentence filled the screen. Arlo slowed his pace to read the words with interest . . .

  Riding a quanthor is one way to make a breakthrough.

  “What the hell does that mean?” he muttered.

  “Pardon?” Emery said from ahead. She paused and waited for him to catch up. “What does what mean?” Taking his hand, she tugged gently. “Come on—it’ll be dark soon, and we can’t be out after dark.”

  “Dark? Our late lunch wasn’t that late.”

  “It’ll be dark soon,” she insisted.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “Fine,” Arlo muttered. He closed the screen with a simple command and hurried along with his guide, a little bemused that she held his hand. “We’re going to the forest?”

  It was a dumb question considering the alley she led him through literally ended at the trees just outside the village. It wasn’t where he’d first arrived. This route took them into the forest via a well-trodden narrow footpath. For a while, she let go of his hand so they could walk single file along the damp trail. Her ponytail of sandy-colored hair swished from side to side.

  Overhead, through the leafy canopy, the surprisingly gloomy sky perturbed him. Either a storm was brewing, or dusk had arrived early.

  “Hey, Emery,” he said at last. “What’s a quanthor?”

  She stopped and looked back at him. “A quanthor? Is that important? They’re in the fields if you want to see them.” She hurried onward. “I’ll show you in a minute. Blue marulas first.”

  After another minute’s walk into the forest, Emery took a hard right and plunged deep into a thicket. Arlo followed, noting how well worn even this narrow offshoot trail was.

  They emerged in a small clearing a short while later. At its center grew an eight-foot-tall plant. Not exactly a tree, more of a thin trunk sprouting from the long grass and dividing into dozens of even thinner branches that curled outward. Each was laden with large green leaves and fist-sized fruits that had mottled blue skins.

  “What are they?” he muttered, staring at them.

  “Blue marulas,” Emery said, and grasped one in her hand. She wrestled with it and plucked it loose, then dug her thumbs into the thick skin to begin peeling it like an orange. “I can’t have another now, or I’ll get sick. A couple a day is the limit. But you can try one.”

  She deftly got it half peeled. It broke into segments the same way oranges did, only these were a deep, vibrant blue color.

  Arlo took the proffered segment and sniffed at it while she feverishly peeled the rest. It made him recoil. “Smells like it’s been dipped in barbecue sauce.” He grimaced and took a tentative bite. After a moment of chewing, he had to admit it wasn’t bad. “Weird. Tastes like grapes dipped in a tangy sauce, but with a Jell-O texture. It’s okay, though.”

  She offered him the rest. “Get your strength up.”

  He spent a minute chewing and swallowing the rest of the blue marula, then licked his fingers. Oddly, he felt a curious tingle all over, and it wasn’t a bad sensation. Not bad at all, like a shot of adrenaline.

  “I feel all jacked up,” he murmured, curling his fingers into claws and staring intently at them. “It’s like electricity is pumping through my veins.”

  “You’re strong now.”

  “How strong?”

  Emery shrugged. “It affects people differently. And it’s only temporary.”

  “How temporary?”

  “About an hour.”

  “What if I eat three or four?”

  “No more than two,” she warned. “Otherwise they’ll have the opposite effect, and you’ll get sick.” She lifted her arms out to the sides. “Pick me up.”

  A little confused and still buzzing with energy, Arlo approached her. “Pick you up?”

  “Yes. Come on. Grab my waist and pick me up.”

  Hoping he had her intentions right, he planted his hands on either side of her waist and bent his knees. She couldn’t be more than a hundred and twenty pounds. He braced himself and straightened up.

  She rose far easier than expected. “Oh!” he gasped, his arms fully extended and elbows locked.

  With her feet dangling, she looked down on him and started laughing. “You see?”

  Rather than set her down again, he began pacing around the blue marula plant, carrying her the whole way with no effort. She weighed no more than a toddler. He’d tire eventually, but there was no doubt he’d doubled or tripled his strength from the single blue marula he’d wolfed.

  “So this is how you carried me back to your house?” he said, joining in with her laughter. “You popped a couple of these fruits and threw me over your shoulder?”

  After putting her down, he marched up to the plant and began plucking more. With no basket or bag, he lifted the front of his shirt and piled them in.

  At the third, Emery reached out to stop him. “No, that’s too many.”

  “I’m not eating them all at once,” he assured her. “I figured I’d pop a couple later, or maybe tomorrow, as soon as I figure out—”

  “Blue marulas rot within an hour. There’s no point plucking them if you’re not going to eat them. That’s just wasteful.”

  His appetite for the strength-giving fruit waned. The idea of eating something that rotted so quickly grossed him out. He hoped his stomach acids would digest it before it got to that stage. “So that’s why you have none in a bowl at home.”

  She peered upward, and not for the first time. “It’s getting dark. Let me show you a quanthor, and then we’ll head home.”

  Arlo sadly dumped the blue marulas. At least this tree, with its plentiful supply, grew close to the village. He could return at a moment’s notice.

  Their onward route through this part of the forest was narrow and meandering. Emery explained that farmers used a much wider track for their carts, but she hardly ever ventured that way. It was usually muddy, the wheel ruts treacherous for walkers, and slick with random piles of manure. With that in mind, Arlo developed a grudging acceptance of the thorny vines hanging over their footpath, as well as the protruding roots that threatened to trip them.

  They emerged from the trees into a meadow of lush, knee-length grass. Here, the rapidly sinking sun shone down on bright wildflowers of all colors, and just for a second, Arlo forgot all his worries and enjoyed the scenery. The cool air smelled fresh.

  Then he stared with trepidation across the landscape. In the distance, a haze indicated some kind of semi-translucent barrier—the wall of the dome Emery had mentioned. It struck him as eerie and ominous. On this side of the barrier, the grass and bordering forestland stood out in vivid shades of green. On the other side, beyond the haze, everything had a muted, dark, foreboding appearance.

  The same could be said of the sky—early evening swaths of orange and red to the west as the sun descended, and deep blues to the east. But all of it was notably darker nearer the horizon. Darker than it had any right to be.

  Why the hell is the day ending so fast?

  “There,” Emery said, nudging him. “A quanthor.”

  Arlo turned his attention to the large animal grazing not too far away. “It’s a cow,” he muttered, noting how muscular this one seemed to be.

  “A quanthor,” she repeated.

  He sighed. “Okay, fine. This world is populated with fruits and animals that are similar but not quite the same.”

  Emery frowned at him. “You’re very strange.”

  He considered the Oracle’s hint: Riding a quanthor is one way to make a breakthrough.

  So he was supposed to ride one of these oversized, steroid-pumped animals? How would that lead to a breakthrough? Did it mean he’d experience a revelation while atop his steed, or was it referring to smashing through a solid wall?

  Game-makers loved their riddles. This was a simple one with two possible outcomes, but he’d have to mount the animal to know for sure. He’d never ridden a cow before, nor a horse for that matter, and the idea of climbing on its back—

  “We should head home,” Emery said, touching his arm. “We don’t want to be out here after the sun goes down.”

  “We should have brought flashlights,” he grumbled.

  “Flashlights?” Emery shook her head. “The darkness is the least of our worries. Come on, let’s go.”

  Arlo was tempted to leap aboard the grass-munching quanthor and get his first task over and done with . . . but he trusted that Emery knew the ins and outs of her realm far better than he did. “All right. But I need to ride it first thing in the morning.”

  Emery chewed her lip for a moment. “Outsiders often feel a need to complete strange assignments before their ascent to Midway. And now you’re doing it. You want to ride a quanthor.”

  “Has anybody else felt a need to ride one?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “But there have been other outsiders,” he mused. “Are the challenges always different, then? That’s a hell of a lot to program.”

  “There’s someone you can meet,” Emery said. “My uncle spent some time with the last outsider. He might be able to help you.”

  She quickened her pace, and Arlo hurried to catch up. “That sounds good,” he called after her. “Put that on the To-Do list for tomorrow.”

  They left the forest and entered the village. Their footfalls echoed off the cottage walls when the dirt underfoot gave way to cobblestone.

  Emery had clammed up. It was obvious she wasn’t happy about his plan to ride a quanthor, and he thought he knew why. Messing around with seemingly pointless tasks probably belittled the dire situation these people faced. They needed a serious hero to restore the realm, whatever that meant.

  As they turned a corner, Arlo caught her by the elbow and gave her a gentle tug to slow her down. “Emery, what exactly does it mean to restore the—”

  At that moment, a cacophony of awful howls and shrieks filled the air.