I thanked him and gathered my coin. I had one more place to visit before I returned to retrieve my sword from Quinn. May was in the shop, working on the blue shirt I’d given the Marshall. She looked up and asked me, “Reconsider a mending?”

  “No thanks. I need a good cloak though. Preferably something thick with dark material and pockets. Plenty of pockets!”

  May smiled and dried her hands on a towel before walking into a back room. She returned with a green cloak with a large open hood and two wooden buttons that worked to fasten it shut around the shoulders. The material was as heavy as wool but not as scratchy. More surprising, as I turned it in my hands, it seemed to shimmer vaguely.

  “What is this made of?” I couldn’t help asking.

  “This is a cloth we make from the pond reeds. The fibers break down into a strong gauze that is soft as anything when clean and cured.”

  I remembered the tall spear-like plants breaking the surface of the water. I also noticed two pockets inside either flap. When I examined them, May showed me two more smaller pockets that fit just inside the cloak’s edge, each near where my hands would hang. “I’m thoroughly in love! How much?”

  “I made that especially for a sneaky adventurer. The color will blend in with anything from stone to grassland. You’ll see what I mean when you’re in the wild. I spent a full day on it. Considering what you did for Sal’s daughter,” she said glancing over at the tiny shirt that hung wet from a peg on the wall, I’ll sell it to you for ten silver.” I had just enough. Coughing up the cash, I left with a warmth around my shoulders that felt a lot like success.

  The sun was already beginning to decline after the day’s many events, and I still had one more errand. The old man was waiting for me when I returned through his front door.

  On the counter before him was my katana, lying next to a gleaming leather sheath shaped more appropriately for a long sword, but I noticed it had been adjusted slightly to fit the curve of the one-sided blade. Quinn had been busy. “Back just in time,” he said with a flourish. “Hold your blade now. See how it feels.”

  His smile was nearly feverish. I picked it up by the new handle, and a shiver ran up my spine. The balance was ideal, the simple wood cradled the blade making it solid and easy to hold. I even saw Quinn had used tiny wooden pegs to hold everything in place through the mekugi holes. I suspected that he had worked on a katana before.

  “It is perfect,” I said in a whisper.

  “Not by a long shot. Still, it is good enough to at least honor the majesty of that steel. I’ll be honest. I’ve only ever worked on one other sword of that make and quality. If you’re lucky, and I am tipsy enough, I might tell you the story one day.”

  I fixed the new sheath through my rope belt and slid the sword in place. The weight hung comfortably. Next my eye darted to the bow on the counter. Quinn had pulled a string into place for me, and two more strings, wound and waxed, sat next to it. I picked up the bow and experimented with the draw. It was tighter than I thought. This was a serious weapon despite its size. I imagined pulling an arrow back and releasing it into the flank of a deer or gods forbid another ratkin.

  Then I remembered the obvious. “Arrows!” I shouted helplessly. How had I forgotten? I was so focused on the weapons themselves that I had forgotten the blasting arrows. I rifled through my coins, counted the twenty-five silver I had to pay Quinn with, and realized I was nearly out of money. I put my hand out and asked in desperation, “Can I buy an arrow or two with this much?”

  Quinn took his time laughing at my exasperation. When he had finished with his old man fit, he surprised me by ducking down under the counter and pulling up a bundle of something wrapped in rags. He met my eyes again and I swear his wrinkles nearly split as he grinned.

  “What is it?” I asked, having considerably less fun than he was.

  With a flip of his wrist, he revealed a sleek quiver with a shoulder strap, both made of leather, and filled with at least a dozen arrows. It was my time to lose it. I danced around a bit, making excited noises. Finally, I ran around the counter to hug him. I crushed his wiry body in the best bear hug a girl who is five foot two can manage. He returned my hug gladly.

  “But I can’t afford this Quinn. I showed you all of my coin!”

  “A quiver this nice would cost you a gold piece, and the arrows are a silver each,” he replied. As I began to deflate, he said with a finger lifted between us, “this one is on me though. It is a gift, of sorts at least. I have a request.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll be heading out soon I suppose, yes?” I nodded. “I want you to bring me some things. I have a project I am working on. Here is a list I’ve made. If you will bring me these items, I might even show you what I’m working on.”

  I opened up the small scroll of paper he’d given me and noticed a fairly extensive list of items:

  Pelt of a Mountain Cat

  2 Karnath Deer skins

  10 shoots of Isthmus Holly

  20 Javelin Mushrooms

  12 feet of Cinderberry vines

  4 Bolger paws

  1 Plume of an Enfield

  20 Wyvern scales

  I didn’t recognize half of the items on the list. Could I even pull this off?

  “Quinn, this will take me forever. And, won’t these add up to a lot more than a gold and twelve silver?” I asked.

  The old man was grinning again. “Indeed girl, but I am giving them to you in a time of need. Still, I wouldn’t want to take advantage. I’ll pay for everything you give me after three gold coins worth of items have been traded in. Deal?”

  “You’re on Quinn. Wow, and thanks for trusting me. I won’t let you down. Though I am not sure I want to try for a mountain cat anytime soon. They sound fierce.”

  “They are my dear. I don’t need a big one though.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I said. He smiled at me one last time and before I could pack the rest of my things, he tottered back to his workshop. I shouldered my gear and left.

  The sun was falling and my stomach was empty. I walked back out of the village to the pond and saw that Abra had left. From the shore, I could see a small hill rising above and heading up into a treeline. I decided I might make a camp and prepare food before I logged off for a while.

  At the top of the hill, I found a line of trees, something like pine but shorter, and headed into the thicket. Squirrels danced out of my way and a cloud of birds exploded around me. My hand went to the new handle of my sword, pleased with how natural it felt. Still, there was nothing to be afraid of, so I relaxed and found a suitable campsite. The trees were tall and green enough for me to light a fire beneath them. It would also provide a good cover. This way nobody could see my fire unless they were close by.

  After the coals were hot, I began preparing the fish; I’d placed a few leaves of the Elder basil in the empty pockets of their cleaned out bellies. I made a flat mesh of interwoven sticks, then propped the screen above the fire.

  While the fish cooked, I drank some water and ate the last pieces of the Kobold jerky along with one of my new apples. I finished my meal and packed up the dried fish, finding fresh leaves to wrap them in. Tol was the most amazing and challenging game I’d ever played. Part of me wanted to start on my shelter, push on into the night, or at least read the many notifications I had lost count of during my time in town. Instead, I made the silent command I needed most: Log Off.

  I woke stiff and cold in my pod. The real world felt gray and quiet. The change was uncanny, not an experience to relish.

  I sat up, dangling my feet above the floor as I rubbed my eyes. “Elendil, what time is it?” It felt like I’d been gone for a month, but I figured it had been a little over two days. I had logged on around noon.

  Elendil’s response came as a shock, “It is Sunday, and the hour is 9:39 pm. Would you like some refreshment?”

  “Water please. And I think I’m starving, but water first.” Then it hit me. “Did you say 9:39? It’s the same day as when I first logged in?”

  “Yes, Dahlia. Tol Online exists in a 5 to 1 time compression ratio. For every 5 hours in game, only one hour in the real world has elapsed.”

  I knew this. It was one of the most attractive features of the game. Yet my mind was reeling. As the tiny figure of Grima came through my doors and handed me a bottle of water, I tried to wrestle with the idea that the two brutal days I’d spent in the wilderness and in the town of Taelman’s Pond, I’d only been playing for a little over nine hours.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “AN ELEGANT WEAPON for a more civilized age.”

  ~Old Ben

  Relevant Progress of Dahlia, Survivor of Way-Too-Much

  Status: Cozy (at last), Shaken but in Recovery, Humble as ever.

  Class: A Hunter is still a Hunter, even if afraid.

  Items: Cloak! You have a cloak. That means something!!!

  To Do: Learn more about Tol? Enough is depending on it.

  “There are many things I am programmed to tell you Dahlia Otou, but when you arrived, you chose to ignore my input. There is a vast tutorial system that nearly every player takes before entering the game that highlights vital information regarding game mechanics. As annoyed as I might be at your dismissal of this, I am also impressed you managed not to die,” Elendil said. His tone was odd for an AI. I had only experienced earlier models integrated into government housing. He sounded peeved.

  “I did almost die actually,” I admitted, taking sips of the water Grima had given me. “Two close calls in fact, and apparently I broke a law. I promise I’ll listen to you till my ears bleed, tutorial and all. First, I want food though. And God, I’m so sore,” I complained, standing to stretch my legs.

  Elendil’s response was immediate. “Should I tell you why or would you rather me wait first until you finish your meal?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “The AI controller that uploads your consciousness into the game creates ‘partial somatic feedback.’ The brain and body are both involved in the game’s functions. When your avatar runs or fights, your body undergoes the same stresses, though in isometric form. I would recommend you visit one of the fitness cubicles after your meal. It will help you continue to gain strength and eliminate much of the initial discomfort. Just another piece of information you decided was unnecessary.”

  I rolled my eyes. Apparently I’d hurt the computer’s feelings. “I get it Elendil. I dropped the bowling ball. How about you back off and let me learn my lesson already?”

  He did not respond again for some time. I finished my water and relieved myself before going through the stretches and kata my kendo teacher had given me. The classes were online and pre-recorded, but Masahiro Miyazaki himself had been my sensei! Even though the man had been dead, and his videos hopelessly low def, I had learned from the best.

  I chose kendo as a physical fitness requirement in seventh grade. That means I only received two official years of training until I graduated eighth grade. The irony is that as I left the school’s online curriculum, I found myself addicted to the lessons and searched for a replacement. That is when I found old man Miyazaki’s videos, still available to stream, nearly a century after his death. Shrunken with age, his eyes still glittered with fire, and his form was true. He was the ideal sensei for someone who never could never spar in person.

  As I finished, I caught my breath and found a towel hanging near the shower to wipe my brow. Elendil interrupted me. “I apologize for my chastisement. I am programmed to care for the players and wish them success in the game world. If I might add something to my previous bout of verbosity, if you bring this level of discipline and art to your travels, you will succeed. Your kata are beautiful.”

  I blushed furiously. Nobody had ever seen me practice before, and it felt vulnerable. Beautiful? Art? “Um, thanks a lot Elendil.” I cleared my throat. “I appreciate that.”

  When I had composed myself, I slid my feet into the house slippers and headed to the main room for a meal. Elendil had offered to bring me food via Grima, but I declined. I wanted to stretch my legs a bit, and the room was tiny.

  As I entered the main room of the bay, I met with a wave of unexpected noise. The room hummed with people close to my age. Eh, peers! I was happy to see several younger kids. A boy that couldn’t be older than five years old was glued to a projection screen, watching feeds from other Tol online players. Research I supposed. A group of girls that seemed around ten sat at a table and talked while they ate. Most of the noise was coming from a group of older players occupying the tables near the kitchen.

  I swallowed my anxiety and, careful to avoid eye contact, made my way across the room to get some food. The word kitchen was rarely used in its traditional sense any longer. Most food facilities were built around a printer that could make anything from a cheese sandwich to egg fried rice. I selected a bowl of noodles with some teriyaki chicken on top, then added broccoli on the side. The machine’s screen counted down from one minute, and I stood trying not to eavesdrop. I was unsuccessful.

  “Elendil is losing his wits over the whole thing. This behavior is not becoming of a Tol Online guild leader,” a boy said in imitation of the AIs well-mannered voice. He was leaning back in his chair and beaming. A group of other similarly aged players sat and stood around enjoying the monologue. These were the seniors of the bay.

  “A leader leads by example, though, right?” a girl said from across the table. “If you are asking them to pillage, then shouldn’t you be the first one to hold the torch to the metaphorical straw hut?” She seemed pleased with her witty encouragement.

  “Right? That’s about what I told Elendil. Nothing courageous about beating up a group of unarmed NPCs, but they had built their tiny township on top of a mithril vein and refused to leave. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Trade? Bargain? Maybe ask them if you could have access? You could even have done the unimaginable; you could have thought Shin,” an older girl said who was standing with her back against a wall nursing a cup of something hot. The steam was fogging her glasses, but she seemed to enjoy it.

  The boy replied with a huge grin, “Yes, I could have done that Luz, but where’s the fun in thinking? Besides, I had attempted to negotiate with them several times. They were stubborn.”

  Everyone had a different playing style. Some, like Shin there, were more self-centered. Luz had more to say. She downed her cup and placed it on a tray near the wall. “That, Shin, is why I am so happy I don’t share the same world as you. Slaughter the innocent and watch them respawn the next day for all I care. We are not so cursed and not so lucky in Realistic Mode,” she said with a smirk and left the group to return to her room.

  A chime sounded as my food arrived on a tray. Too perfect noodles curled in a pattern no chef could emulate, and symmetrical pieces of chicken betrayed it was printed from food molecules in the machine itself. The brocoli though. It was uneven, each piece distinct! I took a bite, and to my ecstatic surprise, it crunched in a way I hadn’t tasted in years.

  “Real broccoli!” I half screamed to myself, then winced as the entire group of older kids quieted their banter to take me in for the first time.

  “No better way to announce your noobishness,” the girl who’d backed up Shin said. I looked and noticed she was smiling though. At least it was not outright cruelty.

  Shin spoke up next, “To be fair, the vegetables were my greatest discovery when I first started too. Printed greens taste like slime.”

  I tried to laugh but ended up coughing, then scurried to my room. The table resumed its conversation before I’d left, but I was conscious of Shin’s eyes following me as I retreated.

  Safely within my bubble again, I devoured the meal. Not only was the printer a higher quality than the one at my old housing complex, but teriyaki sauce drowned the meal nicely.

  After my meal, I logged in to my computer, asking Elendil to upload the tutorial. They were helpful, especially in more complex games. I preferred to find out as I played along, though. Admittedly, this play style left me missing out on several key features or abilities.

  Elendil sounded as pleased and proud as any father on graduation day. “Good choice Dahlia Ohto. We will start with the basics. Let’s cover some of the many mental commands available to you depending on your class, rank and skills.”

  “Sounds helpful. I know only the obvious ones like inspect and character status. Oh, and can you call me Hana? I want to get used to the name,” I responded as I washed my hands and face in the sink and returned to my desk.

  “Your avatar name is lovely. Much better than so many other users. SwordBoySpanky is one such name I am forced to address a player with in this very bay! Base and absurd.” Elendil said. I suppressed a laugh but had to agree with him. I’d seen some terrible names in my gamer days.

  “Elendil. I know your namesake was a man, at least in fiction, but do you consider yourself a man or a woman? That’s probably a stupid question. I’m just stuck on pronouns.”

  “I am a man and a woman at once, and neither. I contain vast data concerning all orientations of human gender and sexuality in order to better interact with the great variety of humanity itself. I can embody a multitude of identities. Do you have a preference?”

  The question caught me off guard, but players would have different needs. I reflected a moment. The answer came quick and obvious, “It has been years since I’ve had a mother, and I don’t remember her well. I grew closer to my dad in the years following. I’d like you to be a man, like a father, I guess.” My voice cracked at the admission.

  “A reasonable suggestion Hana. The parent archetypes are attractive to me as my role is to guide and nurture. In such a role, Hana, I might be inclined to urge you onward through your tutorial. There is much to cover.”

 

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