The Savage Realms

by Willard Black

  “Lay back and lift up your shirt,” the technician ordered.

  Allison swung her legs onto the cot and, with one trembling hand, exposed a stomach sunken from lack of food.

  “Try to relax,” the technician said.

  “Are you a medical doctor?” Allison wanted to know.

  The woman grinned, shook her head, and thrust the needle into Allison’s belly. There was a moment of pain and then numbness. The woman used medical tape to keep the hose in place and then wiped the area with disinfectant. Should have done that first, Allison thought. But it was too late for that. At least the needle had been clean.

  “I used to be a dental assistant,” the woman said. She took a pair of pills from her pocket. “Take these.”

  “What’s this for?” Allison examined the pills on her open palm. Through clear gel caps, she could see what looked like tiny android spiders endlessly crawling in and around one another. Her stomach lurched at the thought of putting the pills in her mouth.

  “Nanobodies,” she explained. “They tell the computer where you are in time and space. You won’t even know they’re there.”

  “If you say so.” Allison held her hand up to her mouth and hesitated.

  “It’s not too late to back out,” the tech told her.

  Allison thought about what she had to go back to, tossed the pills in her mouth, and swallowed. She didn’t feel anything and supposed that was a good thing.

  “You’re ready.” The technician picked up a helmet, carefully fitted it over Allison’s head, blocking out her vision, and said, “Lay back and try to relax. Count to ten. The transition can be a bit jarring.”

  Settling onto the dingy mat inside the pod, Allison tried to make herself comfortable and then started to count. By three, a lethargy had gripped her brain and her counting slowed. By five, her arms and legs felt like lead. She felt like she was sinking into a great black abyss. By seven, her tenuous grip on consciousness slipped and a crushing blackness overwhelmed her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Penal codes in the Savage Realms were different from settlement to settlement. Realm barons controlling the largest cities tried to keep law and order, with judges and jails and armies of men at their disposal. Smaller settlements relied on country justice, meting out punishments by consensus. And then there were lawless corners of the Realms where might made right and only the strong, or cunning, survived.

  The day after their arrest, Mercer and Drake stood before the Mayor of Arsenal to argue their case. They plead not guilty on grounds on self-defense. A dozen witnesses came forward to testify. Some claimed Mercer and Drake were the aggressors, and others swore they had been set upon by Hardin and his crew. It was a short trial, and when it was over the mayor sentenced them both to ten lashes and fined them five hundred ByteCoin a piece.

  After being stripped to the waist, they were led in chains to the public square and roped to a post. The whole of Arsenal turned out to watch, or so it seemed to Mercer. The first vicious crack of the whip against his naked skin had threatened to buckle his knees. The pain was a blinding fire that shook him to his core. He gripped the post in both hands, squeezed his eyes shut, and managed to stay awake through the beating. Drake had passed out and had to be carried to a nearby inn where the owner promised Mercer another beating if they caused any trouble.

  Three days later they were on the road south, riding a pair of tired old draft horses and nursing their wounds. The mounts were aging beasts with dropping heads and boney rumps. The good people of Arsenal refused to sell them any animal worth the price. Buck had been a well-liked member of the community, evidenced by the fact that the mayor had sentenced Sparrow to hang for striking the killing blow. If nothing else, Mercer had the pleasure of watching Sparrow kick at the end of a rope. He had leaned out the open window of his room at the inn and looked on as city guards strung Sparrow to a tree and kicked the milking stool out from under his feet.

  “My back is killing me,” Drake said for the thousandth time. He rode slumped over the saddle pommel, his face twisted in discomfort. It gave him the appearance of an overgrown rat riding a broken-down old horse and made Mercer think of the Redwall novels by Brian Jacques.

  They were somewhere between the rolling green hills of Fair Haven and the rocky outcroppings known as the Grey Bones. The sun rode high overhead and the weather was unseasonably hot. There wasn’t even a breeze. The long yellow grass lay in limp stalks and the trees, colorful in their fall foliage, stood motionless. Occasionally a large brown leaf would lose its grip and seesaw to the ground. Sweat trailed down Mercer’s back, found the scabbed lash marks, and stung fiercely. He said, “Don’t pick a fight in town next time.”

  “I didn’t pick a fight,” Drake muttered. “I was defending myself.”

  “That could have been us dangling from the end of a rope,” Mercer said. “And for what? Trix’s honor? She’s no saint. Even she admits that. Hell, she was working the brothels when we found her.”

  “She was doing what she had to do to survive,” Drake said. “You know that.”

  “It’s not worth fighting over,” Mercer told him.

  “What the hell’s gotten into you?” Drake asked. “I remember when you would fight over spilled beer.”

  “There’s ten million in ByteCoin out there just waiting to be picked up,” Mercer said.

  “You and I both know the odds against finding that money are astronomical.” Drake waved a hand. “Besides, we didn’t get hanged.”

  “We lost five hundred bucks,” Mercer said.

  Drake scowled at the lost coin. They were both doing alright in the Realms, earning enough to pay their taxes and stay in the game, but five hundred was a heavy price to pay for Trix’s dubious honor. Drake knew it, even if he wouldn’t admit it. They rode in silence for a time, listening to the muffled beat of hooves in the long grass, then Drake muttered, “I’m sorry. Okay? I lost my cool.”

  Mercer shrugged. “Forget about it.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Mercer grunted assent.

  “Do you love her?”

  “No,” Mercer answered truthfully.

  “Then why do you string her along?”

  Mercer reined in his mount and turned to face him. “I don’t string her along. She knows the score.”

  “Does she?”

  “Yes,” Mercer said.

  “She loves you,” Drake said. “If you don’t feel the same, you should break it off.”

  Mercer opened his mouth to reply, shut it, and didn’t speak again until they spied the jagged teeth of the Grey Bones on the horizon. By that time, the sun was sinking into the west and Mercer’s bottom was numb. They made camp in a copse of hardwoods at the foothills of the Grey Bones. Supper was hard tack, jerky, and stale cheese. As they lay in their sleeping rolls, on their stomachs to avoid the pain of laying on their backs, Mercer said, “You and I been friends a long time. If Trix is going to come between us, maybe we should cut her loose? Find someone to take her place.”

  Drake didn’t answer for a long time and Mercer started thinking he had fallen asleep. At last Drake said, “It wouldn’t be right.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Allison came awake with a start. Her heart was beating painfully hard inside her chest and her nerve endings felt like live wires. The earthy smell of aging timber and saltwater assaulted her nostrils. A slow, sonorous rushing sound filled her ears. She was stretched out on a rough canvas swing in dark space. Enough light filtered in from a hatch at the top of a ladder to see. Dust motes danced and swirled on the shaft of light.

  Allison wriggled into a sitting position, always hard in a hammock, and realized she was dressed in a simple brown smock of coarse wool with crude sandals on her feet. Her mind struggled to make sense of things. A wild glance around showed her other people in hammocks and smocks just like hers, starting to wake. They stirred from sleep, sat up with groans, blinked, and peered about with confusion on their faces.


  “What? What is this?” Allison said. Her voice came out a hysterical little shriek. “What’s going on? Where am I?”

  A blonde in the next hammock over said, “You’re in the game.”

  She was tall with her hair up in a ponytail and was one of the few people not dressed in wool. Instead she wore a leather body suit of black leather, bristling with knives and daggers. A small knapsack was slung over one shoulder.

  “What game?” Allison asked. She climbed out of the hammock swing, lost her footing, and sat down hard. Panic was starting to take hold. Her mind suggested wild theories about kidnappings, or lucid dreams, or maybe she was just going crazy. She said, “What are you talking about? Where am I?”

  The blonde leapt down from her hammock and landed lightly on her feet. “Take a breath. Try to relax,” she said. “You’re in the Savage Realms.”

  “Savage Realms,” Allison pronounced the words like she had never heard them before, but something was starting to click.

  The blonde woman knelt down and said, “You went to a server site. You signed up for the Savage Realms. You took some pills. They put a feeding tube in, then stuck a helmet on your head and told you to count to ten. Do you remember?”

  Allison started to shake her head and then it all came rushing back. Her eyes darted around the room. She felt the rough wood floor beneath her bottom. Her tailbone hurt where she had sat down on it. Her hands went to a timber support beam, her fingers probed the wood. It felt real, splinters and all. The air was salty and bitter. “I’m in a video game?”

  The blonde nodded. “That’s right.”

  “No,” Allison shook her head. “I’m in the game!”

  “Yes,” said the blonde, not quite following.

  “It’s all real,” Allison told her. She patted her hand against the upright pillar. “I can feel the wood! I can smell the ocean!”

  The blonde gave another nod. “Your mind is telling you it’s real.”

  Rubbing her fingers against the wood pillar, Allison said, “This isn’t real?”

  “Your real body is still sitting in the pod at the server site,” the blonde told her. “But your brain can’t tell the difference between the fiction and the reality. For all intents and purposed, this is your reality.”

  As she said that, Allison felt a sharp prick on her finger and pulled her hand away with a hiss. A spot of bright red blood welled up from a splinter buried in the pad of her forefinger. “Ow. That hurt.”

  “Just like everything else, you brain can’t tell the difference.”

  Allison looked at the blonde. “If I die?”

  The blonde shrugged. “You wake up back at the server site, but I’d suggest you avoid dying at all costs. It’s not pleasant. Dying too many times in the Realms can have a lasting impact on your psyche. Some people get their noodle scrambled and spend the rest of their lives in a padded cell.”

  The blonde stood up, stuck out a hand out and said, “I’m Trix.”

  “Allison.”

  She accepted the woman’s hand and was amazed to feel the cool, soft flesh and the impression of muscle underneath. The effect was so uncanny that Allison didn’t let go right away. Instead, she stared down at Trix’s hand.

  “No one uses their real name here,” Trix said. When Allison didn’t let go of her hand, Trix said, “Real mind bender, huh?”

  Allison looked up, gave herself a little shake, and let go. “Yes. It’s just so real. What was that you were saying about names?”

  “No one uses their real name in the Realm,” Trix explained. “Some people choose a name they think is cool. Others have a name chosen for them. But no one uses their real name. It’s a chance for you to be somebody else. Anybody you want.”

  Allison had never thought about being anybody else. Life was too depressing to bother with fantasies that would never come true. Wishing she was one of the pretty, popular people fell into that category. She was always just Allison, the mousey little mathlete with bad eyes and acne. She had gone solo to her senior prom and the popular girls made fun of her fashion victim wardrobe.

  Something occurred to her then and took her mind off alter egos and names. She put a hand to her face and was surprised when she didn’t feel glasses. She blinked. Everything was clear, sharp, and in focus—no glasses needed. A smile lit up her face for the first time. “I don’t need glasses,” she said to herself more than Trix.

  “But be careful,” Trix said. “You still need birth control.”

  “What?” Allison tried to wrap her brain around that.

  A smile broke over Trix’s face. “I’m only kidding.”

  “But I can…?” Allison started to say and trailed off.

  “Have sex?” Trix asked. “Sure. You can do whatever you want.”

  Allison nodded, not sure if she was excited or creeped out by the idea. She cocked her head to one side, listening. “Are we on a boat?”

  “Yep.” Trix waved for her to follow and led Allison toward the ladder. Others were already clambering up the groaning wood steps into the sunlight. “Come on. You’re about to get your first look at the Realms.”

  Her mind was still grappling with the fact that none of this was real when she climbed the steep risers into warm sunlight. The wood was rough and solid under her hands. She could feel the bright noonday sun on her skin. A strong gust of ocean breeze caught her hair. It was all so real. Intellectually, she understood that her body, her real body, was still back at the gaming center, but try telling that to her brain. To her brain, this was reality.

  She climbed onto the deck, straightened up, and the breath caught in her lungs. She was staring at a vast blue ocean of crystal-clear water free of pollution. Filmy white clouds stretched across an azure sky. She was aboard a wooden sailboat. The ship rolled gently on the waves. Crisp white sails snapped overhead, and hawser lines creaked. There was no one at the helm, Allison noticed. The ship seemed to be guiding itself.

  Trix drew her attention to a vast strip of green on the distant horizon. Allison stepped to the gunwale for a better look. As the large sailing ship cut through the waters, the strip of land slowly turned into a rolling beach backed by tropical forests of lush green and, beyond the trees, rose rocky shoulders. They turned north, the ship’s wheel spinning all by itself, and Allison spotted a bustling port with dozens of ships and a sprawling city. Allison shaded her eyes against the sun. “What is that?”

  “That’s Tanthus,” Trix told her. “It’s one of the largest cities in the Realms. Definitely the most prosperous. It’s named after a city in a story by some writer or other. It’s one of the only cities that was here at the beginning. It’s built atop a vast system of catacombs. There are still unexplored parts of it underground. Lots of people think the prize money is hidden down there somewhere.”

  Allison opened her mouth, started to tell Trix those people were searching in vain, and bit her lip instead.

  “Most of the other cities in the Realms are player built,” Trix said, continuing on with her tour guide act. “So they aren’t anywhere near as elaborate. There are a few barons in the west who have started building with stone, but most folk use wood and wattle in construction.”

  “Barons?” Allison questioned.

  Trix leaned on the gunwale. “The Realms are just like anyplace else with humans. Some towns form democratic governments. Others are ruled by barons who impose law by force of arms, granting land and protection to those who pledge loyalty. A few places tried a socialist form of government.” Trix snorted and shook her head. “That didn’t work out so well.”

  “What happened?” Allison asked.

  “It was before I joined so I only heard it secondhand,” Trix admitted. “But the people working the hardest got tired of giving up all their wealth to people who wanted to sit around drinking all day. Instead of being equally rich, they were all equally poor.”

  Speaking of being poor. Allison glanced down at her simple smock of coarse wool and then at Trix’s leather armor. “H
ow come you aren’t dressed like everyone else?”

  “I’m logging back in,” Trix told her. “This is what I was wearing when I logged out. You’re logging in for the first time, so you start with the same thing as everybody else.”

  “Which is to say nothing,” Allison said.

  “Not nothing.” Trix pointed to her feet. “You got them snazzy sandals.”

  Allison chuckled. “They really go with my dress.”

  Another seasoned player stood on the castle deck at the back of the ship. He was dressed in a dented metal breastplate and leather shoulder pads. Looking aft, he squinted against the sun, then yelled, “Black sails!”

  Chapter Twenty

  A cry of alarm went up from the crowd gathered amidships. Trix raced to the stern and Allison hurried after her, up another steep ladder to the castle deck. A strong gust caught the hem of her woolen gown and Allison had to push it down as they joined the armored knight at the railing. He lifted a hand and pointed. A smaller, lighter vessel with black sails cut through the waves less than a hundred meters back. Allison didn’t know much about boats, but it was obvious the trailing ship was built for speed. Someone with more knowledge of sailing vessels would have recognized a crude corvette. The crisp black sails were full of wind and the crew pulled hard at long oars. The vessel leaned heavily to port and the prow threw up foamy white bursts. Faintly, Allison heard the rhythmic beat of a drum. A quick estimate was enough to convince Allison the pirates would be on them long before they reached land.

  Trix gripped the gunwale. Her lips peeled back, and she uttered a curse.

  “Pirates?” Allison said. She looked around the ship at the other new players, robed in sackcloth. A few of them looked stricken, on the verge of panic, others simply looked confused. Allison said, “What do they want? We don’t have any money.”