Soulcatcher

by Sergey Zaytsev

  "Grant... Why is this necessary? This memory loss..."

  "Does is bother you that much?" Grant stretched once again and puffed a cloud of bluish smoke.

  "Not really, I am just curious…"

  "They filter our brains so that we worry less and so that the past doesn't get to us. We can make any dream come true as there is nothing holding us back. No unnecessary memories, no old debts, no obligations... It's just you and the game world. You can start everything anew, enjoy the process and evolve as you wish."

  Yeah, right. I haven't deleted the letter yet and it was still there and "holding me back"; ready to be read again whenever I think that I had made it up.

  "Did you save?" Grant got up, knocked the pipe against his staff and gently put it into his backpack.

  "I don't feel that different... Wait, no, my bad," I jumped to my feet and placed the sword on my back. Clenching my fists, I moved my shoulders. I felt stronger indeed. It was an excitingly pleasant feeling. Grant was not quite right, it seemed, as the initial stats of the "sandbox" gave a significant boost to the natural ones.

  The grass around the area where I got "saved" shriveled up noticeably. The process pulled a lot of energy out of the environment, but I felt fit as a fiddle.

  "Grant! What the hell have you done?! You took my pet, you asshole!"

  We quickly turned towards the direction of the shouting.

  The "Turtangle", lying forty feet away from the lake, looked like a dark, lifeless mound in the ghostly light of the night. Three shadowy silhouettes had appeared around it.

  Players.

  I squinted, and the system highlighted their nicknames - Owl, Pops and Foxy, members of the "Children of the Steppes" clan. Having identified my "classmates", I felt a bit nervous. Speak of the devil. The two behaved decently and quietly observed their raging friend – a short, skinny mage clad in grey robes. The man kept shouting curses as he waved his staff and stomped his feet, looking if he was about to attack the innocent beast.

  One needed a good reason to be that angry.

  Was there any real reason behind this accusation? I found it hard to believe that Grant would purposefully spoil it all for someone. He was too...positive, or something like that. Although, it is said for a reason that still waters run deep. I didn't really know anything about him. He liked being a bit shady, what with giving information in precisely calculated doses.

  "We shouldn't have left our 'Turtangle' unattended," I automatically reached for the sword, but Grant stopped me by putting his hand on my shoulder.

  "No fighting, Wise. Stay calm, we will do well without provocations," he said quietly.

  "Do you know this guy?" I asked, lowering my voice.

  "Everyone here knows each other. Let's talk."

  I had time to take a good look at the trio while we walked to the "Turtangle".

  Pops and Foxy changed a lot since our last meeting. Both were now level two. Being slightly ahead of them felt nice, not gonna lie. If one of them was my enemy, then I already had some advantage. The girl had already seemed very nice the first time we had met, but now, in a new outfit which emphasized the curves of her body, she was an eye-catcher.

  Over the long sleeved, snow-white shirt she wore a brown suede vest. The shirt was unbuttoned at the top, just enough to reveal the outlines of the delicate chest, and knotted on the bottom, showing off her thin waist. Her legs were clad in brown suede pants, tucked into low heeled boots. Was it just my imagination or did her waist get thinner and hips slimmer than the last time I saw her? Her golden-red hair was tied in a ponytail, so as not to cling to the branches when she moved through the forest. In her left hand, squeezed tightly by thin fingers, was a carved bow, a quiver full of arrows hung from her side. Rogue by class, and an archer by specialization.

  Pops looked simpler, rougher and somehow taller than before. The long chain-mail, secured with a wide belt, reached to his knees; his chest and shoulders glistened dimly with metal inserts touched by rust. In his hands he held a heavy, two-handed hammer, head resting in the grass at his feet. The grim look on his face corresponded with his selected spec of a cleric-inquisitor. He looked at me awkwardly. Eyeing your opponent? Or is there something else on your mind? Like a murder quest?

  "Hey, people." Trying to defuse the situation, Grant gave them a friendly wave.

  "Hi," Foxy smiled at my mentor. She then looked at me, batting her long eyelashes. "I see you didn't stand still, Wise. You're fast, congrats."

  What a cunning, evaluating stare. Did she adjust her attitude in order to fit her nickname, or did I just guess her true nature when I named her?

  "Doing my best," I smiled in return. "The night was fasci-…"

  "Grant!" Owl interrupted me with undisguised anger in his voice. Staring at my mentor with bulging eyes, he looked a lot like a bird, hence the nickname. Half a head shorter than me, he looked sickly and anemic. His skinny, boyish face was red from anger. Bony fingers nervously clutched an obviously too heavy staff. His specialization was that of a weathermage. I wondered what a level five like him could do.

  "You. Stole. My. Pet!"

  Every word was like a spit to my face.

  We were still separated by the natural barrier that was the "Turtangle's" body. Perhaps it would be smart to push Owl away from the pet, so that nothing happened to make my efforts obsolete.

  I squinted at Grant, ready to intervene at any moment. I didn't particularly care that I was level three, and that Owl was level five. In the "sandbox", what mattered the most were your natural abilities, not your stats. It would be wise to remember that. That wizard was just asking for a good whooping; I never did understand people who wished to solve their problems through an argument. However, the presence of his ward held me back. Also, it wouldn't be nice to not be rude in front of Foxy. Who cared if she was a potential enemy? I had no evidence to back up that claim and it didn't hurt to act like a decent human being. What's more, Grant clearly understood the issue better than I did. With no intention to reach for his own staff, he calmly stared the mage down.

  Keeping his voice low, he spoke after a short pause. "Calm down, Owl, don't waste your nerves. You know very well that you're wrong. Does this lake belong to you?"

  The simple question knocked all the arrogance out of the mage, forcing him to deflate like a punctured balloon. "No, but…"

  "Or is there a special queue for the lake's inhabitant?" Grant pushed further, lips stretching into a smarmy smile.

  "There's no queue at all!" The weathermage's voice, thin as it was, broke into a shrill falsetto. "But I expected…"

  "Did you inform me that you'd need the elite from the lake today?"

  Owl swelled like a chipmunk, not knowing what to say. A pitiful sight, really. Even his companions felt uncomfortable. Pops frowned even more and looked away; his appearance showing that a serious man like himself couldn't be bothered with this kindergarten-level behavior. The girl shrugged, as if to say that she had nothing to do with this. However, a well-hidden smile shone in her green eyes, restrained only out of respect for her mentor. Fuck! I didn't want her to be my enemy. I liked Foxy very much. All in all, she turned out to be an interesting girl, in my eyes at least, keeping herself relaxed and independent, which appealed to me in her character, yet at the same time with enough intelligence and tact to understand when not to get into someone else's dispute.

  "By the way, I could tell you what to do now," Grant circled around the "Turtangle" and patted the mage on the shoulder with exaggerated sympathy. "Not far from the 'Western Outpost' is a cave which, perhaps, no one has cleared yet. You know the place. If you hurry…"

  "We're leaving!" Owl shouted. Shrugging his shoulder, as if Grant's touch had burned him, he turned around and marched back through the woods towards the road. His companions had no choice but to follow. Before turning away, the girl winked at me, and, quickening her pace, caught up with her party. Having regretfully watched Foxy's slender figure vanish into the forest gloom, I turned to
the floromancer. Forgetting about the quarrel, Grant walked around the "Turtangle", prudently looking at it from all sides and patting the shell with his palm, like a man checking a product for defects.

  That was the whole conflict. Instead of their own clumsiness, some people liked to blame other people's success for their failure. And yet, for some reason, it seemed to me that the pet was not the only reason that this boy-mage was angry at Grant. There was something more to it. I had to figure it out. My mentor's reticence was disturbing.

  "Damn, how to name it," Grant wondered, tapping his beard. "You didn't think of anything, Wise?"

  "Better explain how did those two in their right mind agree to the services of a juvenile neurotic. Do you understand what's going on?"

  "Alice recruited them, not him," the floromancer halted his inspection and looked at me with a light, enigmatic smile. "Oh, she knows how to razzle-dazzle. She recruited them and gave them to the first person eligible to be a mentor."

  "Who is she, this Alice? The 'Cats' vice clan master cursed her, too… Though, he is not a pleasant man himself."

  "Alice is the vice clan master of the 'Children of the Steppes' clan," Grant finally explained. "The fact that they fight is quite natural, everyone wants newcomers. Alice, as you already know, took two out of three, leaving none of the daily newcomers to the 'Cats'. That's why Cavalier came to us when I was showing you the portals in 'Daisy'."

  "Let's be honest, how many clans are in a quarrel with you? Since you're my mentor, all of your problems are my bloody concern, aren't they?"

  "I told you – I never quarrel with anyone," Grant waved his hand, annoyed. "Now, let me explain. There are two clans in the 'sandbox': the 'Reed Cats' and the 'Children of the Steppes'. There are not enough people around to form any more. The more people in the clan, the higher XP bonus the clan gets. So clans are fighting for each newcomer, whether they want to be in a clan or not. Hence all these tensions with those who do not want to join their ranks."

  "In other words, some individuals from both clans transfer their leader's wishes onto people like us?"

  "Yes, there's nothing to be done. Independence is not respected here."

  Now I understood Owl's anger, he was probably the most ardent fan of Alice. The pet was just an excuse to blow off some steam. I frowned. Why hadn't Grant told me this before, back at the inn? This was important info, damn it! I would have been nicer to Cavalier. The guy might hold a grudge against me now.

  No. It was my fault. There was no need to blame Grant. I had to keep my mouth shut until I find out all that I need to know about the game for successful survival.

  "My question should be reasonable then – why haven't you joined a clan, Grant? Surely, not everyone here is an asshole like Cavalier or Owl? That's just impossible."

  "No, of course not," Grant smiled. "There are enough decent guys there. The problem is… Both clans are tied to the portal of the world where their main staff resides. "Reed Cats" go to the "Reed world", and "Children of the Steppes" to the "Steppes of Rage." It might be nice to have support in a new place, but I like to think I have the freedom of choice and that I can go wherever I want. Stinger liked that idea too. In his opinion, and I am inclined to agree with him, the worlds from which the clans had originated from have already been quartered and thoroughly explored. There's not much left to see. We wanted to get to a less-known world with a ton of unique quests, independent development, and exclusive items. Therefore, we avoided being tied to a clan."

  "Who are the leaders, by the way? Cavalier is a 'vice', Alice too."

  "There's no one above them. Every player is here for ten days only. Use your noggin, Wise. ."

  "Alright, alright, I got it," I nodded again. "Leaders have long been in higher locations with the main squad."

  "That's it. Vices are here temporarily – each of them must appoint a successor before they leave. The staff turnover is a pain in the backside and a cause for a terrible mess regarding discipline and priorities. They are at each other's throats even here in the 'sandbox' where they struggle to strengthen their influence over a piece of land which they own only in their ambitions. I think that the policy is much softer and more reasonable in the locations where the main team is."

  "I don't see the point in creating a clan under such circumstances," I shrugged. "Becoming a clan member means responsibility, and here they are grabbing everyone. But you say it's extra experience…"

  "Not only that. According to Mr. Esco, both the 'Cats' and the 'Children' are very promising clans, growing fast due to their constant reinforcements from the initial location. The clan leaders decide who stays and who goes. The main thing is to have people to choose from. So this approach still makes sense."

  "So there is some kind of connection with higher locations?"

  "Yeah, but only through a 'Curator'. In addition, clan membership gives you additional skills. But, in my opinion, they are not good enough for one to cheaply sell their freedom and give up the prospects of alternative development."

  "Listen, since we decided to be friends why not create our own clan?"

  "You fancy yourself the smartest guy around?" Grant laughed quietly. "To create a new clan, you need five like-minded people. And there haven't been so many free beginners here for a long time. There are rarely more than three at the same time, unless someone manages to go to 'Inferno' ahead of time, freeing up space for unscheduled reinforcement."

  "Got it." I smiled, too. "What world would you choose? Surely there must be some general info about each of the portals, right? Otherwise it makes no more sense than willingly jumping into the 'Inferno'."

  "Yes, some info's available. One can read the descriptions of the worlds the portals lead at the 'Town Hall'. Stinger and I agreed that we would go either to the 'Cradle of the Gods' or to the 'Boxwood City'. There is the least amount of clans and players there. Truth be told, it wouldn't be easy... Right, wait a minute. It's time to wake our friend. The transformation is over."

  "Transformation?"

  Confused, I looked at the black tortoise shell.

  It consisted of tightly fitted, oval bone plates, convex and wide, whimsically colored with yellowish veins. Its exterior didn't seem to have changed. The largest plates, which were located at the center of its back, resembled buckler shields; the smaller ones, outlining the lower edge of the carapace were two palms big each and more rectangular in shape. One could easily craft bone axes out of them. I squatted and touched the edge of one the lower plates. It was razor sharp. I was lucky to have avoided being hit by those plates during the "Turtangle's" attack. I could have easily been left legless.

  "Watch and learn, partner." Slowly, almost caringly, Grant rubbed the plate with his fingertips and then loudly slapped the shell.

  Nothing happened for about twenty seconds.

  As soon as I began to lose patience, the shell began to tremble almost unnoticeably. I backed up a few steps, just in case, suppressing the desire to reach for my sword. What if it attacked me? It wasn't my pet, after all.

  The shell shuddered harder.

  Dried water-plants suddenly crumbled, sliding down the convex plates onto the grass in streams of weightless dust. The black surface shone and yellowish veins glowed with amber colors. The "Turtangle" finally stirred. Table sized legs, covered with dark, wrinkled skin and ending in massive, sickle-shaped claws, protruded out of the holes in the shell. Each claw was the size and sharpness of a dagger. The "Turtangle" had acquired a land-walking form! But its heads hadn't changed. As soon as they peered out, both pairs of black eyes immediately stared at me with vindictiveness. At least it wasn't hissing.

  "More than a thousand pounds of armored weight," Grant announced with a wide grin. "Our main goal is to train it for at least a couple of more levels till the moment when we go to the dungeon. You know..." Grant turned his gaze towards me. His expression had softened. "If your life was in real danger, I would have spat on the quest and come to your aid. But violation of concentration
during the binding would have led to a nasty outcome. Instead of a mature and experienced species ready to tank, I would a level one youngling. It would have to grow first, and only then be trained and groomed to achieve what we need it to achieve. We simply don't have the time for that."

  "A youngling? How so?"

  "Failing to meet the quest's conditions leads to a reset and weight reduction of the creature being tamed. We got this pet thanks to you. Thanks, Wise bro. I think that we-…"

  The mage stopped mid-sentence. From somewhere far away, echoed the majestic sound of a battle horn.

  "What's that?" I asked, both startled and curious.

  "Signal from the 'West Outpost'. It's close. The morning wave is a big one. It's good a warm-up for beginners. That's where we need to go."

  "A wave, you said?"

  "Yes, the 'Destroyer' always starts the day with it…"

  The horn sounded again, lasting longer than the first signal. Grant's smile faded instantly He let out an anxious sigh.

  "And this, this is not good, a double signal. I smell trouble, the morning wave is always repelled by strangers, senior players usually have nothing to do there."

  "What's the problem?! Speak clearly!"

  "The 'Outpost' is about to be overrun! Go, Wise! Move it!!"

  Without going into further explanation, Grant rushed at full speed towards the road, winding among the trees like a terrified hare.

  The "Turtangle" and I looked at each other, puzzled, two eyes staring at four.