Fayroll [04] Gong and Chalice

by Andrey Vasilyev

  You unlocked Chalice of Memory.

  This is the seventh in the Children of the Goddess series of hidden quests.

  Task: Find and deliver a unique item called the Chalice of Memory to where Idrissa the South wants it.

  Reward:

  30,000 experience

  Dryad Friendship Ring

  Your choice of unique animal helpers (pets)

  The ability to use transportation (one-time use unlocking your choice of transportation type)

  Accept?

  To say that I was dissatisfied as I accepted the quest is putting it far too lightly. Great, so I’ll be turning my brain inside out yet again. Where is that chalice? I checked my map, looking in the South, then the North, and then in the other two areas. There was no right spot for the quest. Putting my map away, I looked at the dryad thoughtfully. She smiled, not sure why I had such a serious expression on my face.

  “A bug, probably,” I told her, pulling up my map once again.

  A couple minutes later I closed it, doing my best to maintain a civil, restrained tone as I spoke to the dryad.

  “I realize that all your quests—yours as well as the ones your sisters gave me—are on the edge of the insane. I’m even kind of used to that. But at least I’ve always known where to go. Here you are sending me off without a single clue, and that’s going too far.”

  “But I don’t know where the chalice is right now!” The dryad slammed the butt of her spear against the ground. “I just don’t. I’ve been sitting here the whole time, and I couldn’t keep track of it! My sisters couldn’t either.”

  “So what am I supposed to do?” I yelled, giving up on my attempt at restraint. “Just go out there and start asking everyone I come across? Eeyore, Kanga, Tigger, the whole lot of them? Maybe one of them knows where the chalice is!”

  “Who are Eeyore and Tigger? The only tigers I know can’t talk, and they definitely won’t know anything about the chalice,” the dryad replied, batting her eyelashes.

  I repressed the urge to grab my head with both hands and howl into the sky.

  “You don’t have any vila relatives, do you?” I asked her quietly. “There’s a lot you have in common with them.”

  Idrissa didn’t reply, instead thinking to herself as she tapped the ground with her spear. Suddenly, her face brightened.

  “I know what to do!” she said, bursting into laughter. “There’s a place in the West called the Academy of Wisdom. They might know where the chalice is.”

  Additional information for Chalice of Memory

  You should start your search for the ancient artifact by visiting the Academy of Wisdom, which is in Aegan, the capital of the Western Reaches.

  Pulling up my map, I was happy to see that a red spot was blinking in Aegan. I exhaled noisily.

  “Well?” the dryad asked, hopping nervously.

  “Well, nothing,” I muttered. “I’m going, that’s what. As soon as I have your chalice, I’ll bring it back here.”

  “No, not here,” the dryad replied. “Take it to Eiliana the West’s forest. That’s where you started your journey to free us—I can feel it. I think you’ll find it to be much bigger than you remember, but you’ll still find us. And that’s where everything will end, right where it began.”

  “How will you know when everything’s done and the chalice is there?” I asked her.

  “Believe me, I’ll know.” Idrissa narrowed her eyes and smiled meaningfully.

  “Whatever you say.” I waved and hung the amulet I got around my neck. It really was fantastic, and I wasn’t about to leave it to rust in my trunk no matter how much I was afraid of losing it. Plus, it let me summon warriors when I needed them, and that was a big deal.

  Clarification for Chalice of Memory

  Once you have the artifact, take it to Eiliana the West’s forest in the Western Reaches.

  “Okay, see you.” I winked to Idrissa and opened a portal aimed at Aegan.

  ***

  The big city was just as noisy and bustling, with players and NPCs running up and down the streets, traders yelling, people leaning out of windows to dump water on the street, and others throwing trash out. In short, it was the Middle Ages, only sans the stink and plague.

  “Excuse me, sir,” I said, addressing one of the city guards my practiced eye had noticed. “Can you tell me how to get to the Academy of Wisdom?”

  “Go left, then right, then left, then right again,” he replied impassively. “You’ll see it.”

  “Left where? Right where?” I shrugged.

  “Look up,” a squeaky and kind of dollish girl’s voice said.

  I followed her instructions.

  “See the spire with the sphere at the top?”

  “Yes,” I replied. It jutted high into the sky and was crowned by such a large ball that I wondered how it didn’t break under the weight.

  “That’s the Academy,” said the voice. “Go there, and you’ll get what you’re looking for. Or not, of course.”

  “Thanks,” I said, turning my head to look for who was talking.

  “Down here,” the voice said with a giggle.

  I looked down to see a small, very low-level player fairy. Her name was Tren-Bren.

  “That’s a funny name,” I said, shaking my head. “Took you a long time to come up with it?”

  “Not in the least.” The fairy sighed unhappily and batted her eyelashes before grimacing. “Campari thought it up for me. I drank almost a whole bottle right before I registered, and this is what I somehow came up with.”

  “Why didn’t you just register again the next day? You couldn’t have started then anyway since they don’t let you log in when you’re drunk.”

  “I won three months in a lottery, and they’re tied to this name. So I’m going to be Tren-Bren for another month and a half. And who knows? Maybe longer…”

  “I hear you.” I really felt bad for the fairy, a little and, from what I could tell, very nice girl.

  You added Tren-Bren as a friend.

  Please wait for a response.

  The fairy smiled.

  Tren-Bren accepted your friend request.

  “If you need anything, send me a message,” I said. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “Good luck!” Tren-Bren waved her magic wand, giving off a spray of sparks, and flew on.

  How does she possibly get by? Absolutely anyone could take her out without a second thought. She could fly away, of course, but that isn’t always an option…

  The Academy of Wisdom was impressive from up close. It was clearly a temple of knowledge, above-board and looking nothing like the nearby bars, for instance. The building was large, round, and even magically lit-up, something that was especially visible in the gathering darkness. It was fall, and evening came on quickly.

  “Where are you going?” the guard at the entrance asked. “Who do you want to see?”

  “I’m not sure who,” I answered, being perfectly frank with him. “Anybody, really. I need a consultation.”

  “Consultations are in the left wing,” the guard replied amiably. “Look for the paid consultations on issues of intellect and magic sign.”

  Well, look at you go, handing out wisdom in exchange for cash. Come whenever you want, buy a few smart ideas. It wasn’t a bad business plan.

  Speaking of smart ideas, I needed to visit a recruitment center to buy my way out of my Free Companies contract. I certainly didn’t want to forget or have anything else happen, as I was perfectly fine without killers coming after me. Showing up at the base whenever I logged in and porting elsewhere was expensive, as well—scrolls didn’t grow on trees.

  Huh, that’s funny. He was right about the sign: For Issues of Intellect and Magic.

  There were about ten young people sitting in the large, well-lit room, and all of them were wearing dark-blue robes and odd-looking five-pointed hats topped with pompoms.

  “Greetings, good person,” one of them said as I closed the door behind me. “Are
you looking for advice, magic, help finding someone, legal assistance, answers to questions about succession, information about determining fatherhood, how to get rid of a hex, or ways to cause damage? Which area of wisdom interests you?”

  I scratched the back of my head and tried to think which category my question fit under.

  “You know what, let’s do this,” I said finally. “I’ll tell you what I need, and you can tell me who I should talk to. I’m trying to find out what happened to an artifact that was lost back in ancient times and probably belonged to the Departed Gods.”

  The young man, who nodded throughout my entire spiel, jerked when he heard me mention the Departed Gods. The sages sitting nearby had the same reaction.

  “You will get no information here,” he said stiffly.

  “Did I say something wrong?” I asked, trying to figure out what was going on.

  He looked at me angrily. “We can’t help you.”

  “What happened? I’ll pay for the information!” I replied, my voice slightly raised.

  “Should I call the guards?” the sage yelled back furiously. “Do we have to force you out in disgrace?”

  “Don’t yell, smarty pants,” I snarled back. “I’m leaving.”

  I got up and walked out of the Academy without a backward glance.

  This is bad, I thought. I don’t know what to do next, not to mention where to go. Although…I’ll figure it out tomorrow. I headed toward the hotel, resolved to go home and get some sleep.

  I was almost to the hotel I’d noticed along the road when a familiar emblem caught my eye. Stopping next to it, I smiled.

  “Why not?” I said softly to myself. “That could work.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  In which the hero practices a bit of diplomacy and does a good deed or two.

  I gave the familiar emblem one last glance, grunted, and walked into the hotel. Thank heavens, at least some kind of picture was starting to form in my head. The grim-looking and greedy gentlemen at the Academy of Wisdom certainly knew a thing or two, though just a mention of the Departed Gods was enough to spook even them. I wasn’t worried, however. When there’s someone out there who knows something and loves money, it’s just a matter of time until I share that knowledge.

  I just needed to find the right loophole or back door. And for that I needed someone to recommend me—and I knew where to look for that someone. For a second I reflected on how nice it was that even in a fantasy game and a virtual world, you could use the same approaches to problem-solving you learned in the real world. At least, that’s what I was hoping for.

  ***

  It was dark outside the windows when I climbed out of the capsule, and I could tell that it was well into the evening hours. What surprised me was that it was dark inside the apartment as well. Water wasn’t running in the kitchen, pots and pans weren’t rattling, and the TV, which Vika always turned on as soon as she put on her slippers, was off. In a word, it was oddly quiet. I wasn’t even sure what surprised me more: the fact that Vika wasn’t there or the fact that I was both confused and disappointed.

  “Oh, boy, Kif,” I said out loud to myself. “Sounds like you’re gearing up for a trip down a road you’ve already traveled.”

  My phone dinged, letting me know that I had a message, or maybe messages.

  Kif, don’t worry, I’m at an important meeting. If you’re hungry, everything’s in the fridge—don’t forget to warm it up. I’ll call if I’m going to be too late.

  That was unusual. Well, Kif, why do you feel like somebody just stepped on your spleen? You don’t care, right? Then why are your teeth clenched like that? What? You’re afraid to admit that things aren’t as simple as you wanted? Everything got to you?

  I realized that the conversation I was having with myself was starting to border on schizophrenia, so I went out to have a smoke. The cigarette, as they always do, put me in a better mood, so I came to an agreement with myself. She could have been up to anything, and when she got home, she’d tell me herself what she could have been doing out so late.

  Really, men like to laugh at women for how they’re always avoiding their problems, even as men do the exact same thing—just with an inaccessible, proud look on their faces. Come on, men are way worse than women. We only go to the doctor when that tooth is already falling apart, our appendix has already burst, or our fingernail is so overgrown that they have to amputate the whole finger. We go to parent-teacher meetings all primed and ready to give that one teacher a piece of our mind about how she’s always asking for money. But then, we obediently hand over the cash for the new curtains, knowing full well that the amount of money we’ve already given could pay for enough curtains to make a nice scarf for the earth. But no, we rationalize that it’s just curtains…

  So, there you are lying in bed with a girl who’s looking at you with wide eyes already darkened by the doom that comes with accepting the title of “lover.” You think to yourself, Okay, okay, tomorrow, we’re getting together, so I’ll pick up some flowers, buy a ring, and ask her to marry me! For sure this time.

  You leave the next morning or even that night, and you’re completely solid in your decision. But that confidence starts to wane the closer you get to your home… Back at your own door, you’re sticking the key into the lock and deep down inside, there’s a part of you that knows you won’t be proposing the next day—or the day after that, for that matter. And why? Everything’s fine, isn’t it?

  The whole thing has nothing to do with whether you love her or not. What does love have to do with anything? Men all know that there’s no such thing on God’s green earth here in the twenty-first century, and maybe there never was. There are such things as comfort, habit, intimacy, living together, desire, and, at the top of the list, a business relationship. Words, sure, they’re still there, since women need them to convince themselves that they need the man next to them, and men need them to get a woman in the first place.

  But women are strange, and they get caught up in words and, in particular, that one that’s rotten to the core: love. They know full well that there’s no such thing as love; it’s just more convenient to think that there is since it makes it easier to explain to themselves why they still live with an alcoholic loser. It means they don’t have to admit they’re afraid of being alone. That would be intolerable, after all. Better a terrible, no-good man who’s there than nobody at all. And don’t believe the authors of all those glossy novels singing the praises of single, independent women; they’re lying shamelessly. Independence is one thing, but being alone and yet still happy? Nonsense. Even the most businesslike of them—the ones who flaunt the success they enjoy, the ones who claim to prefer a new boy toy every night to the same devil with dirty socks every day—are lying.

  No, my dear men, it’s fear. But when it comes down to it, women can stuff that fear deep down inside them and keep moving forward at the risk of everything they have and are. What about us? We just learn to live with our fear even as it creeps into our relationships with the opposite sex; we bargain with it. But our fear is much stronger and more shameful. What did you think? There you are living alone, with everything familiar and the way you like it, everything bought and paid for. It’s quiet, the lights are timed, life is peaceful, and everything’s where it belongs. You can smoke wherever you want, the pelmeni will stay where they are in the pot until some kind of biological life form decides to start eating away at them… And then she walks in the door, the new owner, and everything changes—you have mortgages, home repairs, diapers, “go to the store,” “go smoke on the balcony” (if you’re lucky), “go smoke in the stairwell” (if you’re not), and so on, and so forth.

  And even though you know she’s perfect, the woman who was made for you, you still hold out, hold out, hold out… Until one morning she turns over in bed and has something to say. “You should know that I’m getting married in two weeks [or just one, maybe a month], so this was the last night we’re going to spend together.”
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  And that’s it. Go chew your fingernails, you coward, you brought this on yourself.

  There’s no point even talking about how husbands spend time with their lovers. They’re always just about ready to leave the wives they’re so tired of, and they keep stringing the girl along with promises that it’ll happen any day now. Or as soon as their son graduates from school… I’ve never heard of a man leaving his wife for a younger woman, not to mention seeing it with my own eyes. The women wait, and we lie…like cowards.

  But what else can you do? Sure, the wifey isn’t the sweet, adorable girl she once was, her personality has gone down the tubes, sometimes you can’t even bear to look at her, she weighs twice as much as she used to, and she yells at you constantly. And here you’ve got a girl with a nice, firm chest, she looks you in the eye, and when you’re with her, you feel like a man again, though… Do you really want to go down that whole road again? The mortgages, the toxicosis, the milk on your hand, the ninth tooth coming in with a temperature over a hundred? No, no—never again.

  So when they look at us indecisive and restless men, the women just make the decision we can’t, and we’re left in the lurch. But they make it, be it the right one or the wrong one—still, they make it. We don’t.

  So what about those harmless lamentations about women and how they can compromise with themselves about anything? Ridiculous. When it comes to serious, real crisis situations, today’s women get their heading much faster and more ruthlessly. And that is something that should give us men something to think about…

  As I walked back in from the balcony, I scratched the back of my head and was about to bite into some cutlets (needless to say, I didn’t bother to warm them up—they were fine as they were, especially when I threw in a savory pickle and slathered some mayonnaise on top) when I remembered the crafty plan I’d devised after spending too much time whining about my lost runes.