More Than a Game

by Andrey Vasilyev

  He had a question waiting for me as soon as we met on the stoop. “Hey, do you remember when I gave you the amulet? I told you that I don’t like selling things I don’t use anymore.”

  “Well, yes.” I was a big surprised—did he want me to give the amulet back?

  “I’m selective about what I save, but I never sell the weapons I’ve used. And I never will. I do like to give them away, though. You’re a good guy, even if it’s always a bit hard to tell what you’re thinking. Anyway, take this.”

  He held out a blade.

  “I ran around with this beauty from Level 30 to Level 41. Before that, I had a morning star until one day a friend told me it was time to switch to a sword. He said that blunt weapons don’t work as well as edged ones, and he was right. I didn’t really want to use a regular sword, so I got this broadsword instead. Here.”

  Scorpion Broadsword

  Damage: 73-114

  +11 to strength

  +9 to stamina

  +12% chance of doing fire damage

  +9% chance of poisoned strike

  Durability: 160/180

  Minimum level for use: 28

  “You’re my personal Santa Claus,” I told him. “I don’t think I’ll ever repay you.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “You’ll take care of me in the next life. Well, you didn’t forget me either. That reminds me—here’s your 100 gold from the witcher.”

  The coins clinked together pleasantly.

  “Hey, did you give Kro her gold?” I asked.

  “Nope,” he answered calmly. “She forgot, and you didn’t remind me. I’ll mail it to her. Oh, and about Santa Claus, you’re a lucky son of a gun. Something came up in Mettan, which is right on the river. If you want, you can come with me.”

  “Can you show me on the map?”

  “Look. Here’s Fladridge, and here’s Mettan. You’ll save at least five days.”

  It looked like I wasn’t going to have to deal with the Very Dark and Very Scary Forest. Instead, I’d jump right into the river I needed to travel along.

  “Hey, are there any boats on the river? Do you have to ride, or can you take one of them? Maybe a ferry with the big old wheel, a boatswain, and some gypsy music?”

  “Yes, there is, though—no offense—you don’t have the money.”

  “It’s that expensive?”

  “That depends on who you’re talking to. For me, 10,000 gold per day isn’t bad. I don’t know about you, but I imagine you can’t afford it.”

  “You imagine correctly. Why is it so expensive?”

  “They want you to walk. Otherwise, everyone would take the boat.”

  “So that’s the only option?”

  “No, there’s a quest ferry, too, but it’s a really tough quest that doesn’t even let you ride for free; you just get a discount. But that’s your call. If you want, you can go talk to the pier boss in Mettan. Or just walk around the city—there’s a lot that’s fun to do.”

  “What if I just build a raft?”

  “Everything in the river will eat you alive. It’s teeming with all kinds of things, and they’re all carnivorous. You think you’re the first one to have that idea? Anyway, are you coming with me?”

  “Of course. Just give me ten minutes to take care of a quest.”

  Reineke nodded, and I hurried off to a stand I’d noticed earlier. The sign above it read “Life-Giving Power of Nature: Herbs, Roots, Ointments.” A herbalist named Felga quickly asked me to find eight sheaves of Drianod grass, though she had her doubts that I’d be able to find them.

  “They’re so hard to find…so hard!”

  To her surprise, I simply pulled them out of my bag, receiving in return 150 gold, 400 experience, and a charming smile from the lovely herbalist to boot. She also promised me a 10% discount on all her inventory. I doubted I’d ever need it, but it didn’t hurt.

  That done, I walked over to Reineke, who was sitting on the step outside the hotel.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Sort of,” I said, and rolled my eyes. “I wouldn’t mind picking up some abilities. I have at least two waiting for me.”

  “Oh, you can get them in Mettan. I definitely remember seeing instructors there.”

  Lis opened a portal, and we stepped inside—Lis to see his friend, and me in search of new adventures. Or maybe just yet another headache.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Great River and Other Issues

  The smell of river water is unmistakable. It’s a bit sweet, with a smack of freshness, different underwater plants, and a touch of sand. That was the smell that met us, making our hearts skip a beat when we exited the portal.

  We were standing on a perfectly standard pier. As expected, it was wooden, and it reminded me of Bobili Pier in Krasnoslobodsk, where I’d been sent the year before chasing a story. Mammoth had heard that the city was being called the Rublevka of the Volga, so he decided to cover his bases and collect some material just in case. Petrova was actually supposed to go, but, you know, a young woman alone in a strange city and all. Something might have happened… But what could happen to her that she hadn’t already been through? She’d worked as an oligarch’s servant, and then she spent time with some Bedouins in Egypt. And both the former as well as the latter liked to have fun, or so she told us once at a corporate party after we’d gotten her thoroughly drunk. I guess it was one thing to chow down caviar in Rublevka and experiment in a tent with some exotic nomads, while wandering off into the depths of Russia and chatting with the people there was something much worse.

  Krasnoslobodsk turned out to be a very nice little city, even if it wasn’t well taken care of and was stuck in the roaring 90s. Still.

  There were three boats at the end of the pier: one big one and two smaller ones. I wasn’t expecting a ferry with staterooms, but honestly… The boats were pleasantly reminiscent of ships I’d read about in pseudo-historical and pseudo-Slavic fantasy novels. At least, they looked exactly how the books had described them. And, to be frank, I doubt I’d have ventured out on a river like that one on those boats in real life.

  I could see why it was called the Great River. I’d seen the Volga, the Dniester, the Seine, and the Thames. They had nothing on the Crisna. I’ve also heard that the Amazon is a big river, but I don’t know since I haven’t seen it. Still, I don’t think it would be anything next to what was in front of me.

  The Crisna was enormous. The opposite bank was so far away that it disappeared when the water swelled higher. It flowed lazily as if still feeling out its greatness and size. The waves gently washed ashore near the pier.

  “Powerful, no?” Reineke was obviously enjoying watching my face. “I couldn’t believe it either the first time I saw it. Beautiful and enormous!”

  “Seriously,” I agreed. “Impressive. What’s on the other side?”

  “It might as well be the moon for how far away it is for you, my friend. Over there is Mirastia, the dark kingdom of the dead. The raid zone there is for strong, high-level clans, and nobody, no matter their level, ever goes alone. Zombies, skeletons of all shapes and sizes, hell hounds, blood ghosts, wyverns, probably, and lots of all of them. And as if that weren’t enough, at the end you have to deal with the Emperor of the Dead, sitting on his throne of bones in Skull Palace. Sitting there with a grin on his face and a sword in his hand. A lot of people said his sword was from a set.”

  “Was it?”

  “Nope, not in the least. Legendary, and really incredible, but not from a set. Clan after clan has died trying to storm Skull Palace… In the entire history of the game, only three clans have ever taken the palace and killed the Emperor: the Vultures, the Wild Hearts, and, if I’m not mistaken, the Forest Beasts.”

  “And our clan?”

  “We’re not that strong, or, at least, not yet. We took out some lower-level bosses around the outside a few times, and that was all.”

  “What about the Hounds of Death?”

/>   “They tried four times, but they weren’t able to do it. The last time, the Gray Witch and two of their warriors got all the way to the Emperor. He piled them up one on top of the other in the throne room, though, and the Witch was livid for two weeks. She really wanted that sword, I guess.”

  “Or she wanted even more prestige for their clan.”

  “Could be.”

  “So does the kingdom of the dead cover that entire bank?”

  “Oh, please, no. You can see how wide the river is now, but in three weeks, you’ll also realize how long it is. Two weeks after that, you’ll lose your mind completely. Everything’s different on the other side. Farther downstream, which is where you’re going, right next to Mirastia, is the Forest of Spiders, and then another forest—apparently without a special name. And after that, there’s everything you could think of. The thing is that it’s tough to survive alone. You have to go with your whole clan or with a big group, and you need to be at least Level 100. Oh, and you should have a bunch of healers with you since there aren’t any respawn points there. If they kill you, you come all the way back here. That’s why storming Skull Palace is so hard. If you die and manage to get back over to that side of the river, you still have to wade through a sea of skeletons, and that can take a while.”

  “But what about the three clans that killed the Emperor? How did they get back? There couldn’t have been many of them left.”

  “One of the bonuses you get for killing the Emperor is a portal that opens. You walk in, say where you want to go, and you’re there. Well, within the known regions, of course.”

  “But why did the developers make it so hard?”

  “Well, aren’t you inquisitive today? Everyone has their own opinion. Personally, I think they made the locations over there just in case the world gets too crowded. That way they can gradually start to open things up, start cities, populate them, write quests, and add actions, none of which are there now. There isn’t anyone living there, so there aren’t quests or actions. If there were, people would try to head over. That lets them preserve it for later, so to speak.”

  “And Rivenholm? If all that is true, why would they need Rivenholm?”

  “Why did people imagine El Dorado? It’s a pipe dream. You need them, so you have something to work toward, something to discuss, something to think about. It’s just that it’s far away across the ocean, and that side of the river is right there. Well, it’s close compared to Rivenholm, at least. Oh, Ruh, hi!”

  A big, high-level warrior barbarian came up to us, and his size immediately reminded me of Fat Willie. For some reason, I’d thought that he was part of our clan, but he turned out to be in the Valley Children clan.

  “Hey, Lis. Who’s this?” Ruh more boomed than spoke.

  “Hagen. He’s a good guy from our clan.”

  “Hi, Hagen! How’s life?”

  “Getting there, Ruh. Doing my thing, taking my time, killing some monsters.”

  “Quick on his feet!” Ruh winked approvingly at Reineke. “I like that. Anyway, you ready?”

  “More than. Okay, Hagen, see you around. If you need anything, write. Oh, and, again, go around Snakeville. Don’t try to get fancy.”

  “Agreed,” Ruh said. “Rotten place. Zoren, a friend of ours, was there, and it changed him. Eventually, he was so gloomy he quit the game. He was even at Level 128 and respected in the clan. So just go find your jollies elsewhere. All right, let’s go.”

  A portal flashed and Reineke dove in behind Ruh.

  Once again, I was alone. It struck me how that was the norm for me, save for when I was in a full-on crowd. I didn’t seem to have a middle ground.

  I had a strong feeling of déjà vu. Something like that had happened just recently, and that time I left the game. There was nothing for it but to stick with tradition, so I clicked the button to log out.

  There was one more good tradition starting to take shape: as soon as I exited the game, my phone rang. I climbed out of the capsule, rubbed my stiff low back, and answered.

  “Hi, son.” It was my dad.

  “Hi, pops,” I said with some suspicion.

  My father was the kind of person who thought kids should learn how to live life on their own. You know, throw them in and watch them sink or swim. And if they sank, well, that was their problem.

  “Well, kiddo, what are you up to?” My suspicions grew. He obviously needed something.

  “Ah, you know, we’re slammed at work…” I decided to get out in front of him.

  “Oh, stop it. I called the office first and asked to talk to you. They said you wouldn’t be there for another three weeks.”

  “Whatever, just tell me what you need.” There was no avoiding it this time.

  “We need to go patch up the roof at the dacha[13],” he said, putting his cards on the table as well.

  Oh, no—anything but that!

  In addition to the apartment I was living in, my grandfather gave our family twelve acres in Mozhaysky District. The land also had a house that was built during the communist years out of anything they could find or steal back then. Needless to say, the old dinosaur regularly tried to end its miserable existence and collapse in a heap. My father, however, was stubbornly insistent that that would not happen, and he was constantly ready to buy materials and bring it back to life. Year after year, it groaned and creaked in the wind, frustrated that its humans wouldn’t let it die. It was apparently time for yet another resurrection.

  “Dad, I really can’t. I have work.”

  “Son, it’s our family nest.” Ha, right—he meant our plywood nest. “It’s just something we have to do. Plus, you know I won’t let it go, so just give in and come. Your mom will definitely be happy to see you.”

  I sighed, knowing that he was right.

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow morning I’ll stop by to pick you up, so be at the building entrance by seven. And hey, we’ll get some work done, then in the evening we’ll roast some meat, have some drinks…it’ll be great. No?”

  “I guess so. See you tomorrow,” I said gloomily as I hung up the phone.

  Great, now I had to explain to Elvira that I was off to the dacha and not to see some girls. She wouldn’t believe me anyway, though, and she’d just get on my nerves, so I decided to do my due diligence and send her a text. I wasn’t about to call her—my mood was already bad enough without dealing with her. And I decided to leave my phone at home.

  The dacha adventure took all of three days, and I only got back to Moscow on the fourth. Life in the country wouldn’t have been too bad if it weren’t for my parents hounding me constantly. My dad kept trying to teach me life lessons, explaining that “they’re all thieves. Or homos.” I needed some clarification

  “Who is ‘they’? And who is ‘all’?”

  “Everyone you see on TV. All of them.”

  My mom took another tack: she fed me. Constantly.

  “Come on, eat something. It’s good! Why do you think I cooked it?” Three days of that.

  No, I mean, I get that parents love their kids, especially when don’t see them for a while. But it’s hard to get through that much love without a little weed…

  The morning I got back, I walked into my apartment and started by turning on my phone to read the texts I’d received. I’d turned it off when I left, knowing full well that I’d have gone crazy if I had to deal with my parents and everyone calling me at the same time.

  Elvira, Elvira, Elvira, Elvira. I opened one at random. “Where are you? Missing you.” Wait, was that really her? It was, and I got an uneasy feeling. Nothing good could come of that.

  Oh, Mammoth. Typical: “Call me when you sleep off the booze. If you don’t call before the end of the week, you’re fired.”

  “Hello? Semyon Ilyich, it’s Nikiforov.”

  “Ah, the lost sheep. Where were you?”

  “Playing the game, reading the forums. I decided to turn off my phone so I wouldn’t be distracted.”

  �
��I’m expecting your next article today.”

  “Why today? It’s due tomorrow.”

  “Deadlines, Harrikins, deadlines. And ratings. Our readers like your work, and we have to give them what they want. Have you even seen our site?”

  “Um-m-m…”

  “Exactly. ‘Um-m-m…’”

  “I’m not sure I can have it done in time.”

  “You will. And in three days, I want the last one.”

  “Come on! You gave me a month, and now I’m supposed to fit it all into two weeks?”

  “You’re almost done already. Okay, let’s do this: if you can get me your fifth article today and your sixth in three days, I’ll owe you one.”

  “I have a counter offer. If I get everything done, you give me a two-week vacation. The one I was supposed to get back in May.”

  “He wants a vacation. For two weeks. That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

  “It’s just the time you cut off my deadline. You weren’t expecting me back before then anyway.”

  “Fine. I’ll give you a vacation, and for that… Well, we’ll talk about what you’ll do after your vacation when we get back. Deal.”

  “Can I stop by around four with my article and fill out the vacation form while I’m there?”

  “You’re a clever son of a gun, Harrikins. I’ve never seen this side of you. Fine, stop by. You can get your money while you’re here, too, and that way the accountants will get off my back. I don’t even get half of what they talk about.”

  I hung up.

  Score! The whole thing ended up being even simpler than I thought it would be. Here I was planning a grand campaign for how I could squeeze those two weeks out of him, as the articles were just about ready. All I had to do was write them down—I’d left my netbook at home when I went to the dacha. Although… I determined that, after chatting with Mammoth and shaking his hand, I would count to make sure I had all my fingers with me. On both hands. I’d check my toes, too, for good measure.

  Without going into the details, everything went well. I wrote the article, dropped by the office, filled out the form, and got my money—quite a decent amount, as it turned out. That night, I decided to take care of two things I’d been putting off: calling Elvira and checking out the game forums as well as the paper’s site.