Cronica Acadia

by C. J. Deering

  “You have to leave,” said Dangalf.

  II

  Dangalf fell asleep thinking about the game as he usually did. And though they had reached endgame, there was still content worth exploring in the game, and there was always PVP (player versus player). They had looted the Witchfinder General and each taken away some of the most powerful pieces available in the game. And the Keepers planned to meet in Acadia tomorrow with their new weapons and gear and put some hurt on the RGB.

  For the Keepers, Saturday meant marathon gaming. Hours spent challenging and crushing villainy. Hours spent collecting a wealth of gold and jewels. Total immersion in the mythical land of Acadia. And this Saturday would be the same. Only different.

  III

  Dangalf’s sleep was disturbed by a thumping against his bedroom window. He tried to visualize the cause of the annoying sound. It was too protracted to be incidental and not violent enough to be a crime. He was pretty sure it wasn’t human at all. It was windy outside, and his imagination pictured that a wind-whipped flag was violently slapping against his window. But that wasn’t it. Who flew flags in the city? Only government buildings. (He had seen the security guard outside his workplace bunch up a flag at the end of the day and stuff it under his sweaty armpit.) He would ruminate on the source of the noise a bit longer as he resisted getting out of bed.

  His mind began to race with all of the memories that he didn’t want to remember. Hell was a having a perfect memory. It was a swirl of unpleasantness that unfolded in his mind—a swirl of betrayal, personal failings, missed opportunities, and unrequited love. His heart began to thump in agitation, and the coursing blood raised him unpleasantly from his bed.

  He kicked his legs onto the floor and stood. He released the ancient shade that wound itself angrily into a coil. He saw what caused the curious commotion, and it neither surprised him nor made sense. It was an agitated pigeon fluttering excitedly against the window. He reached up and lowered the shade again.

  Doppelganger was already at the kitchen table eating cereal.

  “What are you doing up?”

  “Fucking bird,” grunted Doppelganger.

  Dangalf was trying to understand why Doppelganger was calling him a “fucking bird” when he noticed the same flapping sound from his bedroom was in the kitchen.

  He stepped to the kitchen window where a pigeon refused to come to grips with the notion of glass.

  “That bird was crashing into my window, too.”

  But it was not his bird. He remembered that his bird was whiter just as the whiter bird appeared next to the darker one and began his own futile dance against the glass.

  “Storm coming. It messes up their radar.”

  “Pigeon radar?” asked Dangalf. And then, for no good reason, and despite many reasons not to, he opened the window, and both birds flew into the kitchen.

  “They’re gonna shite in my cornflakes,” Doppelganger protested. Cronica players used the British spelling of shit to evade the game’s profanity filters, and many had also taken to using the British pronunciation IRL in an attempt to sound worldly.

  Dangalf retrieved a broom from behind the refrigerator, and it showered a large quantity of lint and debris in a sunlit arc. Why even have a broom, he thought, if it is only going to shower the room with more filth?

  “Easy,” cautioned Doppelganger. “They’re more afraid of us than we are of them.”

  “Why would I be afraid of pigeons?”

  “Don’t hurt them.”

  “I’m just going to guide them back out the window.” Before Dangalf could test his theory, both birds settled calmly on the breakfast table.

  “That’s odd.”

  “A message,” added Doppelganger.

  “What message?”

  “They have messages on their legs.” Doppelganger reached out cautiously to one of the birds, but it hopped delicately out of reach. The other pigeon moved closer to him. He took the message from the closer pigeon. “That other one must be for you.”

  Dangalf was a little afraid of the pigeons now. “Read it,” he said.

  Doppelganger looked at Dangalf as if to say, You’re not going to believe this before he read aloud: “Heroes, seekers, mercenaries, and adventurers, a quest awaits you!”

  A chill ran through Dangalf’s flesh. He leaned the broom against the refrigerator and moved toward the other pigeon, which willingly gave up its message. Yes, that’s what it said all right. Heroes, seekers, mercenaries, and adventurers. The same salutation used in Cronica. A quest awaits you! Delivered by carrier pigeon just as messages are delivered in the game. And just as in the game, these pigeons seemed to know the exact person for whom their messages were intended.

  The pigeons fluttered back out of the open window. Dangalf and Doppelganger were silent as they read the quest over and over to themselves.

  IV

  Dangalf and Doppelganger drove along silently in Doppelganger’s car. Dangalf did not even know what Doppelganger’s car was. All the identifying badges had been torn off by vandals, or perhaps it had been such a disappointment coming off the assembly line that no badges had ever been attached. Doppelganger had christened it the “Gray Ghost” after its coating of primer. He never knew its original paint color. Perhaps the factory that didn’t bother to put badges on it also didn’t bother to paint it. The floor was a shiny collage of fast-food wrappers. Mercifully, in deference to the occasion, Doppelganger had turned off his usually blaring radio immediately after starting his car. Why were they taking Doppelganger’s piece of shite anyway? Dangalf usually drove, but he felt now as though most of his actions were on autopilot since such a large portion of his brain was devoted to dealing with the mystery of their quest messages. An ominous black sky followed them, stopped when they stopped for gas, and then followed them again.

  After many miles Doppelganger offered, “Maybe it’s a game promotion. They have a new expansion pack coming out soon.”

  “Greatest game promotion ever if it is. Why us?”

  “Why not us?”

  “Because it doesn’t make sense. Those pigeons knew where to find us and wouldn’t give up until we let them in. Even then, one pigeon let you take his message while the other one let me take his. As if they knew us individually.”

  The quest directions sent them to a town up north. From there it became more specific about roads and directions to take from the town. Dangalf hadn’t eaten today and he had been up for hours. Even Doppelganger, who was always hungry, didn’t suggest they turn into one of the many clown-colored fast-food restaurants that they passed. Hours later, in a strange new world, a new universe even, cold and hungry, they would wish that they had taken their last-ever chance to eat McNuggets. As they approached their destination, they turned off onto a dirt road.

  “I don’t like this,” said Doppelganger.

  “What?”

  “This road going to nowhere. What if this is just the complicated scheme of some ass-molesting serial killer?”

  “An ass-molesting serial killer and world-class pigeon trainer? Him I’ve got to meet.”

  They drove on, deep into the woods, sheltered from the intrusion of modern civilization except for the sickly sounds of the Gray Ghost. The ominous sky followed at a polite distance.

  “No more directions.”

  “It’s got to be close. Unless there isn’t anything.”

  They slowed as they approached a clearing, and the shape of a building beyond the trees began to form. As the building appeared in full, Dangalf felt a chill run down his spine for the second time that day. He looked, mouth agape, at Doppelganger, who was also mouth agape.

  To a Cronica player, the building was an icon. It was an inn. A human inn, to be exact. It was a two-story building about fifty feet long with a singular turret at the center where a staircase would be. The same generic structure, digitally rendered, stood in hundreds of places across Acadia. To a player it meant food, drink, shelter, rest, companionship, and more. The best inns
provided NPCs such as trainers, quest givers, and sellers of rare items. But even the most modest inn provided sanctuary from the threats outside. The site of an inn held special meaning to a player. And now these two obsessive players approached one in real life.

  They exited and stood by their respective doors. Their apprehension did not prevent expansive grins from covering their faces. Unique to each inn was an ornate sign depicting the name of the inn in a throwback to more illiterate times. This inn featured a black-and-gold shield adorned with a stripe running from upper left to lower right. It was an unfamiliar sign, and they could not name the inn. (In the game, they could have moved a cursor over the sign, and the name would appear as a tool tip.)

  “It is some sort of game promotion,” offered Doppelganger.

  “That’s impossible.”

  “What then?”

  “Let’s go in.”

  Doppelganger pointed to an ultracompact rental car parked nearby. It had an Acme Rent-a-Car license plate frame. “Who do you suppose that belongs to?”

  “Wile E. Coyote?”

  A small set of shoeprints led the way. They walked through the open oak door, their way lit by wall-mounted lamps. They walked past the stairs, which, if true to the game, would lead up to bedrooms. They entered the dining room where tables with benches were set about. Against the back wall was the bar. Near the back, a door to what would be the kitchen.

  Dangalf’s grin continued to test the elasticity of his face. It was a grin that was sure to give him sore face muscles, a condition he had not suffered from since he was a child and there was so much less reality to weigh down his enjoyment of a moment.

  “Dangalf? Doppelganger?”

  Both turned quickly to the voice on the stairs. It belonged to a small human male of indeterminate age. He could have been anywhere from fifteen to twenty-five. But the voice was familiar. Doppelganger got it first.

  “Nerdraaage?”

  “Yeah!”

  Another Keeper was here. Now things were really getting spooky. “What are you doing here?”

  “I got a quest to come here.”

  “Is there anyone else here?”

  “Not on the first or second floor. I haven’t made it down into the cellar. I—”

  Nerdraaage didn’t finish. The other two understood. Even the warmest, busiest inn wasn’t immune from having a ghost or other creature in the cellar.

  “Do you know what this is all about?” asked Dangalf.

  “No. A carrier pigeon brought a quest to me.”

  “Me too,” said a new voice. The others turned to the entrance, where a handsome male stood. The voice was familiar, but the others did not immediately make the connection. “I’m Elftrap. Who’s who here?”

  Elftrap the she-elf! But he wasn’t a stereotypical geek like the childlike Nerdraaage, the pudgy and bespectacled Dangalf, or the gangly Doppelganger. In game jargon he was a classic mesomorph: athletic and good looking. (Though technically good looking was not a requirement of being a mesomorph.)

  “Dangalf,” said Dangalf weakly, finally meeting the male persona of the female avatar he had so often flirted and danced with.

  “I’m Doppelganger.”

  “The Keepers of the Broken Blade,” said Nerdraaage reverently. “All together in the same room for the first time.”

  “You must be Nerdraaage,” scoffed Elftrap. “You look like you’re twelve years old.”

  “I’m eighteen!”

  “I want to see some ID.” Elftrap stepped toward Nerdraaage and held out his hand. Nerdraaage blinked and reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet. “Look! He’s got Velcro on his wallet!” said Elftrap.

  “It’s waterproof, you douche!”

  “Waterproof!” laughed Elftrap. “Did you kayak here?”

  “Shut your elf trap, Elftrap!”

  “Worst retort ever,” sighed Elftrap. He began to examine the room from floor to ceiling, with the same blissful enthusiasm that Doppelganger and Dangalf had shown.

  “Wait,” said Dangalf. “We all received messages by carrier pigeon coordinated to bring us here within minutes of each other. That would require organization and execution that cannot be explained except by—”

  “Magic,” said Nerdraaage.

  “So you’re saying it can’t be explained,” said Doppelganger.

  “No one else has noticed that this setup defies explanation?” asked Elftrap.

  “No,” said Dangalf. “I think we’ve all noticed that.”

  “Why don’t we call Journeyman?” asked Elftrap.

  “That’s a good idea,” said Doppelganger. “I have the number on speed dial.”

  “That’s the only number he has on speed dial.”

  Doppelganger squinted at his phone before putting it away. “No bars.”

  “The answers we’re looking for must be right here,” said Dangalf. “Why else would we be summoned here?”

  “And here it is,” answered Elftrap, now behind the bar. The others approached. “A quest continuation.” Elftrap picked up a scroll, and four gold coins jingled onto the bar top.

  The others gathered around, and Nerdraaage snatched one of the coins as if he was afraid someone would take two and he would be without. Dangalf and Doppelganger also took coins and examined them. It was a profile of a human named Steward Dukenfield on the obverse, and the Great Lighthouse, the symbol of the human Capitol of Vinland, on the reverse.

  Elftrap read from the scroll, “You have done well to reach this point, but your quest is only beginning. Take these four sovereigns, one each for humans, dwarf, and she-elf, and throw them into the adjacent well. Throw them together, for only then will the summon group be completed. When you reach your next destination, your quest continues.”

  The well! In Cronica, the well would be behind the inn. And it was.

  The ominous sky hovered impatiently overhead as the Keepers circled the well. A thick fog moved in quickly.

  The well was round and stone and encircled with runes. Dangalf peered in. It was empty and black as far as he could see. He found a stone nearby and dropped it into the well. He and the others listened for about six seconds before they realized they would not hear it hit bottom.

  “Who wants to go first?” asked Elftrap.

  “First to do what?” asked Doppelganger.

  “First to throw his coin in the well.”

  “And what do you think is going to happen?”

  “Only one way to find out,” said Dangalf.

  Surprising the others, Nerdraaage tossed in his coin without a word. “Nothing,” he said, disappointed.

  “The scroll said to throw them in together,” said Elftrap. “Good going Nerd.”

  “It didn’t say we had to throw them in at the same time,” said Dangalf as he tossed in his coin. “Anyone else have plans for tonight?”

  “I was just going to play Cronica,” said Elftrap.

  “I think we’re already playing,” said Dangalf.

  Elftrap tossed in his coin. The others looked expectantly at Doppelganger.

  “I think this is real gold,” he said.

  “What do you want to do,” asked Dangalf. “Sell it?”

  “What do you think it would bring?” asked Doppelganger.

  “Come on!” said Nerdraaage.

  “Relax,” said Doppelganger. “What do you think it will do? Magically transport us to another world?” He smiled at the rest of the Keepers. They did not share his good humor. With a shrug he tossed in the final gold coin. “Just like I—”

  Dangalf didn’t remember going to sleep, but he found himself waking up just the same. Curiously, he was standing as he awoke. More curiously, but as of yet unrecognized, he was standing in the supposedly fictional land of Acadia. And things only got more curious from there.

  Dangalf stood on what felt like dirt, but there was a fog so thick that he could not see his own feet. But he did see some other things that were frighteningly unexpected. His long gray beard
to begin with. He lifted up his shirt and pulled aside the beard. What had once been burgeoning man breasts were gone. And for the first time in his life, he had abs. He had abs not so much because the muscles were thick but because his skin was so taught against them.

  The mist began to dissipate, and he saw that it was a dirt road, an intersection of dirt roads to be more precise, barely removed from the thick surrounding forest. At the center of the intersection was a well like the one they found outside the inn in that other world they occupied no longer, and beside that a directional sign for each of the three directions the roads led.

  Doppelganger was experiencing the same awakening but it in a slower and duller fashion. Besides the seemingly instantaneous change in location, something even less explicable had happened. The feeling of his body had changed. His point of view was, he guessed, at least six inches higher than it was before. He felt the added weight of massive muscles in his chest, arms, and legs. But unlike the burden of weight, it actually made him feel explosive, like a coiled spring. These muscles held a lot more speed and strength than that to which he was accustomed. His thin clothing barely contained his rippling arms and legs. He could feel his hard, flat stomach under his shirt, but his expansive chest made it difficult to see his own belly.

  Dangalf was the first of the others he saw in the receding mist. Dangalf’s eyes widened as he took in the new Doppelganger. Even though the physical change was astounding, they each recognized each other. It was the eyes.

  “Doppelganger?”

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  “What happened!” called out Nerdraaage. Nerdraaage was now thick with muscles. He sported a full red beard that must have weighed ten pounds alone. Dangalf could feel his weight in the ground as he moved toward them.