Otherworld

by Jason Segel

  I remember the door, and I feel a sudden surge of hope. And then— “Wait a second. What are we supposed to do about the giant red dude who lives in the ice cave?”

  “His name is Magna. You must kill him,” says the Clay Man.

  “Oh, yeah? With what?” I demand. At least the last time I visited Otherworld I was given a weapon at setup.

  “Come with me.” The Clay Man steps through the gates. I’m not sure I’m ready to follow him, though. “You must trust me,” he says. “Until you find your friend, I am all you have.”

  He’s right. I have no choice. When I join him outside the gates, two of the soldiers break formation. They’re carrying a large metal box, which they place at my feet and open. Inside is an assortment of weapons and tools.

  I see what I want and reach for it.

  “Choose wisely,” the Clay Man cautions me. “You may only take one. Those are the rules of Otherworld.”

  I don’t hesitate. Kat will make fun of me when she sees what I’ve picked, but my trusty dagger goes into my boot. I’m deadlier with an eight-inch blade than most guys would be with a sword.

  “Guard your life with great care. Do not assume that you will get another.”

  “Why not?” I ask. “You forget—I’ve played Otherworld. You get sent back to setup whenever you die, but you get as many lives as you need.”

  “Yes, but you are not playing Otherworld now, Simon,” the Clay Man tells me. “The guests with headsets are inside a game. For those with disks, Otherworld is something else entirely. The only way to ensure your survival is to think of this as a new reality.”

  “Wait—are you telling me I can die? For real?”

  “I’m telling you I don’t know.”

  I feel a very real urge to vomit. But even if I could turn back now, I wouldn’t. Kat’s out there, and there’s a very good chance she has no idea what kind of trouble she’s in.

  “You’re coming with me, right?” I ask. “Isn’t that what guides are for?”

  “No,” the Clay Man informs me. “I will help you when I’m able, but never rely on me to intervene on your behalf. From this point forward, you must make do on your own.”

  I’m starting to think I made a big mistake. I’ve been hiking for hours across the moss-covered rocks, and I’ve seen no evidence of life. I have to consider the possibility that the Clay Man misled me. Maybe I was tricked into wandering a wasteland while Kat is being held captive somewhere inside the White City. The mountains ahead of me keep growing, but I never reach them. All around me, boulders dot the landscape like the tombstones of an ancient race of giants. Since I set out, I’ve been watching the clouds, waiting to see if they ever repeat themselves. But the digital sky seems to produce them in an infinite number of shapes and textures. I’ve seen a wispy dog and a cottony dragon, and I wonder if they might be symbols or messages I don’t understand.

  I’m studying a cloud that looks like lion rampant when a column of hot steam bursts from the ground directly in front of me. A fine spray of boiling water scalds the exposed skin on my hands and face, and I cry out in shock. It hurts like hell. The disk on the back of my skull has convinced my brain that the pain is real. If I’d been any closer to the geyser, my avatar would have been cooked. I try not to think about how that would have felt. Remembering the Clay Man’s warning to protect my life, I pull my hood up and keep my eyes glued to the ground.

  If the action is all taking place in my head, my body doesn’t seem to know it. My calves ache and my mouth is parched by the time I spot a tall rocky outcropping ahead of me. It looks like it should only take a few minutes to reach it, but it’s hard to judge distances here. I hike for another hour until I realize there’s something unusual on top of the hill, and then I scramble as fast as I can across the treacherous terrain. When I reach the rocks, I climb to the summit and find what I was hoping for. Someone has built a cairn here. Hundreds of small, flat stones have been stacked into a conical tower that reaches chest-high. It’s the first sign I’ve had that anyone else has passed this way. I scan the horizon. There’s a dust cloud in the distance and a much larger rock outcropping about a mile away. It, too, has an unusual peak. I’ve discovered a trail, I realize. I could cry with relief.

  Long before I reach the next rocky hill, I see something moving across it, and the discovery thrills me. It may not be human, but it’s some form of life. When I’m a few hundred yards away, I can make out a herd of goats with silver hair and magnificent white horns that curl in spirals. The animals scamper across the rocks, stopping to nibble on the flowering plants that sprout out of the crevasses. I notice there’s one goat that doesn’t appear quite as sure-footed as the rest. It slips and slides as it follows the herd. It’s been injured, I assume. I have to give the Company credit. A crippled goat is a brilliant touch. The imperfection makes the scene feel all the more real.

  I follow the ungainly goat with my eyes as I gradually draw nearer. I’m almost to the base of the hill when the beast begins to transform, and I come to a halt. It’s not a goat at all. It’s a man. He rises from his hands and knees. There’s a goatskin fastened around his neck, and the dead beast’s head has flopped backward like a hood. Under the pelt, the man is naked aside from a loincloth. He stands on one of the rocks, staring directly at me. His body is battered, his hands are brown with dried blood and something is very wrong with his face.

  I have battled a thousand monsters. I’ve stormed countless enemy camps and faced down dozens of mob bosses. But I’ve never been as freaked out as I am right now.

  The goat man beckons me toward him, but I’m frozen. I stay put, even as his gestures become more frantic. Then he lifts one of his bruised and bloody arms and points to the right. I glance over and see an immense cloud of dust traveling toward me. Over the sound of my racing heart, I can make out the pounding of hooves. I have two choices. Run toward the goat man or be flattened by whatever’s heading my way. I decide to go with the devil I know.

  I sprint for the safety of the rocks, and as soon as I reach them, I’m enveloped in the dust cloud. I see flashes of matted brown fur, beady black eyes and cloven hooves. The creatures moving past are enormous. The stench that trails behind them is almost as thick as the cloud.

  Only when they’re gone and the dust has begun to settle again do I realize there’s someone sitting next to me.

  “Hello,” says the goat man. Though his tone is cheerful, his voice is hoarse, as if it hasn’t been put to much use. “You’re lucky to have escaped the buffalo, you know. They’re not very fond of guests. They trample travelers like you whenever they get a chance.”

  His face begins to emerge from the haze, and I do my best to disguise my shock. His nose has no bridge—it’s flat in the middle, with two large nostrils that flare and collapse as he breathes. The tops of his ears flop down over the openings, and I can see the buds of two horns straining to break through the skin of his forehead. The pupils in the centers of his amber eyes are thick black dashes.

  I have never seen anything like the goat man before. The geek who designed him was one sick bastard.

  “What are you?” The words slip out. Even in Otherworld they sound horribly rude.

  His hand flies up to his face, and I instantly regret that I asked. “I’m one of the Children,” the goat man tells me.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you,” I say. “I just got here, and you’re the first resident I’ve met. So you’re one of the children? Whose children?”

  He smiles broadly, revealing a significant underbite and several unusually large teeth. He’s eager to talk. “Every Child has different parents,” he says. “Mine were a goat and the Elemental of Imra.”

  There are a hundred follow-up questions I’d like to ask—many of them anatomical in nature—but I don’t want to insult the only intelligent creature I’ve encountered so far. “So you’re the son of a god?”

  The goat man crosses one badly bruised knee over the other, weaves his fingers toget
her and lets his clasped hands lie in his lap. It’s a dainty pose for someone wearing nothing but a pelt and a loincloth. “The Elementals are not gods. They merely rule Otherworld’s lands. There is only one Creator.”

  I’ve read a million posts about the original Otherworld. I know all about the Beasts and the Elementals, but I don’t recall hearing about Children or a Creator. “Are there many of your kind here in Otherworld?” I ask.

  The goat man sighs sadly. “There were more of us once, but the Children were not part of the Creator’s plan. Before the guests arrived, many of us were slain. Those of us who survived stay hidden now. My herd used to live in the mountains near Imra. It journeyed here to the wastelands for my protection. The only other creatures in these parts are the buffalo, and as you just saw, they’re not very social. It can get terribly lonely.”

  “Wow, that’s awful,” I tell him, though it’s hard to feel too bad. He’s a remarkable bit of AI, but underneath it all, he’s just zeros and ones.

  “Many of us blame humans like you for our misfortune,” the goat man continues. “That’s why you should take great care around Children like me.”

  I’m about to tell him it’s perfectly understandable when I finally absorb the meaning of his words. I can’t be certain, but it sounds like there’s a threat mixed in among them. The smile on his face hasn’t changed, though it was pretty disturbing from the start. I glance over my shoulder toward the top of the rocks. Just as I thought, there seems to be a cairn. Guests have passed this way before.

  “Looks like you’ve had visitors,” I say, pointing up at the cairn.

  “Oh, yes,” he confirms. “The last group came through less than a day ago. Would you like to see what they left behind?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I rise to my feet and shake the dust from my robe. I’m happy to keep moving, and I’ll be even happier when I’m off the rocks and headed in the right direction. “Who were they?” I ask as we climb.

  “A party of four,” the goat man replies. “Three males and a female.”

  My pace quickens. Could the female have been Kat? She never chose male avatars, despite the fact that females were far from welcome in a lot of the games we played. “Where were your visitors headed?”

  “When they left, they were searching for a way out of Otherworld,” says the goat man. We’re almost to the top now, and I can see the cairn more clearly. The materials used to make it don’t appear to be rocks. “I do hope they find one,” he continues. “And once they’ve left our world, I hope they never return.”

  I reach the summit and take a moment to catch my breath. There’s a nauseating stench of rotten flesh in the air. Then I stand up, the cairn in front of me. It’s not composed of rocks after all. Stacked neatly on top of each other are several bodies’ worth of bones. The sun has bleached the ones at the base. There are still scraps of muscle attached to a femur on top.

  “My family were not meant to be meat eaters,” the goat man explains almost apologetically. “But we can’t survive on the vegetation that grows on this rock pile. Your kind was responsible for our exile. Now you’re the solution to our problems as well.” He adjusts a few of the bones in the cairn. “The pile attracts guests to our hillside. We choose one from each party that passes through on their way from the White City to Imra. They’re not like the other guests, I’ve found. Most don’t know where they are. They seldom put up a fight.”

  I wonder how it would feel to be eaten—and what would happen to my body in New Jersey if my avatar were to meet such a gruesome fate. Then a worse thought crosses my mind. Did Kat find herself in a situation like this? Is that why she cried out?

  I pull my dagger from my boot. Soon there will be one less Child for their Creator to eliminate.

  The goat man sighs wearily at the sight of my knife. “You may be able to delay the inevitable by killing me,” he says. “But you won’t be able to stop it.”

  I hear the clicking of hooves on rocks, and the rest of the herd appears at the summit. They’ve got me surrounded. It’s the first time I’ve seen the goats up close, and they’re larger than I imagined. Each is bigger than a bear, and while they’re clearly not as gifted and talented as the goat man, they seem far more intelligent than any of Earth’s furry beasts. I detect a mixture of hunger, fear and fury in their eyes.

  Then, somewhere on the hillside below us, a goat bleats a warning and the creatures gather to see the source of the alarm, shoving me along with them. A tall, dark figure wearing a Bedouin scarf is walking toward us across the rocks. His strides are long and purposeful, but the Clay Man seems to think there’s no need to rush. It’s clear the goats recognize him too. They scramble to the opposite side of the hill, leaving me alone once again with the goat man. I smirk at him and sheathe my dagger. No one’s going to get eaten today.

  “Why are your friends so afraid of the Clay Man?” I ask.

  “We don’t know what he is,” the goat man tells me. “Or where he comes from. We are told that, aside from the guests, all things in Otherworld originated in the mind of the Creator. But the truth seems to be much more complicated than that.”

  “Well, your buddies were smart to run. In fact, you should probably follow them, Goat Boy,” I say. “The Clay Man is my guide.”

  The goat man rolls his eyes as if I’m ridiculously naive. “There are no guides in Otherworld,” he says. “That is not why he’s here.”

  The Clay Man stops. He seems to be waiting for me, but he won’t deign to climb the rocks. A single brave goat approaches him while the rest cower on the other side of the hill. The Clay Man remains perfectly motionless as the goat sniffs at him, the stone on my guide’s chest glowing bright blue. Then the goat opens its mouth and makes a grab for the amulet. In an instant the Clay Man springs to life. His staff swings and catches the beast midstomach. The force sends it sailing through the air. The goat’s long bleat grows fainter, then stops altogether. A small cloud of dust rises in the distance where the beast met the ground.

  The goat man cries out, and the beasts hiding on the other side of the hill begin bleating in unison. That’s my cue to go. I hurry down the rocks to meet my guide—if that’s what he really is.

  —

  “I thought you knew what you were doing,” the Clay Man barks when I reach him. Most of his face is hidden behind his scarf, but his eyes are flashing and he sounds royally pissed. “I just left you a few hours ago, and I’ve already had to return!”

  “Hold on. You’re mad at me?” I say. “Where do you get off—”

  “I warned you about the residents of Otherworld,” the Clay Man breaks in to remind me. “You must be much more careful in the future. I travel the wastelands, but I do not enter the realms. The next time you’re in trouble, I may not be able to reach you.”

  “The goat man caught me off guard,” I say. “You didn’t tell me there’d be a bunch of freaky-ass Children roaming around. What the hell are they, anyway?”

  The Clay Man pauses to consider the question. By the time he answers, he’s cooled down quite a bit. “They are unintended consequences,” he says. “These days men can build worlds, but they lack the power to control them.”

  “You’re saying the Children are mistakes? Like bad code or something?”

  “The creators of Otherworld wanted it to be real,” says the Clay Man. “They forgot that nothing real can be perfect.”

  That reminds me. “Speaking of creators, Goat Boy up there was just yammering on about his Creator. Was he talking about—”

  The Clay Man doesn’t wait for me to finish. “All intelligent beings need ways to explain their origins.”

  “So the Creator—”

  “Was designed to be part of the game. The Elementals worship him. He and the Children have a more complicated relationship.”

  When I have a little downtime, I’ll try to wrap my head around the idea that a bunch of digital freaks have their own god. But right now, I have more questions that need answers.

 
“So the Creator’s part of the software and the Children are mistakes. What are you?” I demand. “You told me you’re my guide, but you’re not an NPC. And I don’t think you’re a guest, either. So are you an administrator? A Company employee? Are you Martin, my favorite engineer?”

  “Find your friend, get to the exit, and kill the one who guards it. That is why you’re here. It is all you need to do.”

  “And believe me, I’ll do it happily. But I don’t like surprises. Has the goat man’s Creator made anything else I need to know about?”

  “It would be impossible to prepare you for everything you might face here,” says the Clay Man. “Otherworld has a mind of its own.” He looks up at the sky. “Night falls quickly. You must reach the oasis before the sun begins to set.”

  “The oasis?”

  “There’s a pool of fresh water in the mountains. Your avatar will be able to eat, drink and rest there. These things are necessary to maintain your strength while you’re here. But you must leave for the oasis now. You don’t want to find yourself in the wastelands after nightfall. The buffalo that live here can see in the darkness, and they’ve been known to hunt and consume the guests.”

  Just when I was sure I knew just how bad it could get. “Really?” I groan. “Them too? You’ve got to be shitting me! Aren’t buffalo supposed to be herbivores?”

  “Do not assume anything here is the same as it is in your world,” says the Clay Man. “And don’t let down your guard again.”

  He gives me a hard look and grasps his amulet. It glows brightly, and then my guide disappears.

  At first I carefully scanned my surroundings as I walked, keeping an eye out for signs of buffalo in the distance. Now that the land has grown mountainous, I’ve stopped worrying about being trampled or eaten by bloodthirsty beasts. Instead I’m looking for the oasis I was promised. The oases I’ve seen online have all had water and palm trees, but there isn’t anything like that here. In fact, there’s nothing here at all. Even the carpet of green moss vanished long ago. All that’s left is rust-red dirt, and it’s been hours since I’ve seen so much as a rock. My only hope is that there’s something—anything—on the other side of the steep slope I’m climbing.