The Clan

by D. Rus

  Finally, the General raised his head to me. "Are there any requirements for the position of priest? Their level, their relationships with other factions? Do you have someone in mind?"

  I checked the list of priest abilities. Formally, there were no restrictions. Macaria hadn't made any particular demands, either—having said that, she could have been too preoccupied. That wasn't my problem, anyway. But as for the candidates, my first thought was Dan, he was made for the job with one exception: he was completely unreadable and uncontrollable. That could be a problem because the priests were supposed to be my helpers—subordinates, even. I just couldn't imagine him in that role. But I hadn't yet met many Vets—none at all, in fact, apart from Eric. Eric... well, why not?

  I looked up at the General and shook my head. "Currently, no restrictions. As for candidates, I believe Eric to be suited best to the post. I'd like you to keep in mind that if a priest is proven to be unsuited to the job, he can be defrocked or even excommunicated. This rule applies to everyone," I said as gently as I could hoping they didn't interpret my words as a threat.

  They exchanged smiles. Those bastards just refused to take me seriously. I had my work cut out for me, authority wise.

  "We could in fact agree to your proposal," Dan said, adamant he'd milk the idea for everything it was worth. "As a return favor, we'd like to help you carry your pot of mithril from the other end of the rainbow. For a few pennies, of course."

  Yeah, right. Looked like they'd outsmarted themselves this time. Had they not been flexing their thinking muscles in front of me, I might have said yes. But now I could smell rats everywhere I turned. In any case, how were you supposed to give someone access to your own bank vault without supervision? No metal detector would find the gold stuck to their sweaty paws: the game's mechanics allowed you to move a tank into your bag with a single silent command. Okay, maybe not a tank—I hadn't yet met anyone with a thirty-ton weight carrying capacity here. Then again, you shouldn't forget about those artifact bags which could diminish or even nullify the item's weight. But pilfering something like a mithril tank barrel from a petrified troll's hands, I wouldn't put it past them. Soldiers! They can't resist temptation. There isn't even a word for stealing in the army. Instead, they say "appropriated". No, guys, sorry, but the gun is mine and you're not getting it.

  "I have an offer, too," I said. "For a few pennies—say, a million gold—I'll sell you the coordinates of an alternative rainbow with a field of gold at the end. Mithril I can't promise but what I can guarantee is about twenty hectares of the best Gigantic Fly Trap."

  Dan sat up. He swung his head round checking a place for unwanted ears, then mumbled, trying hard to look disappointed, "One million—don't you know any other figures for a change? How about a hundred grand? Any piece of intelligence is worth that!"

  I grinned, shaking my head. "Sorry, chief, that's non-negotiable. You'll reap ten times more from that field. A couple of weeks working the land, and you'll have your million. I would have done it myself but I don't have any spare hands to guard and harvest it. Besides, I'm too busy as it is. It will also allow you to level up your farmers a bit. The area is unexplored with plenty of untamed game for them to tackle. By the same token, their presence will protect them from some overeager PKs."

  Dan glanced at the General who nodded. He then heaved a sigh, his character begging for more haggling, but obeyed the unspoken order, accepting my conditions. "Very well. You have our preliminary consent. I'll forward you our standard contract for the acquisition of information regarding class A objects. You need to fill it in attaching all the screenshots and coordinates of the field, then seal it with your digital signature. We'll send our men to make sure the place answers your description. If it does, the money will be on your bank account the next morning. Please don't think we don't trust you. We just want to make sure you're not mistaken. It can be a different type of Fly-Trap or some visual illusion... ever heard of mirages?"

  "Very well," I said. "When's Eric coming?"

  Dan checked his internal interface, "He's on his way."

  The General raised his stare at me as he rolled a dozen purple cartridges in his wide hand. "One more thing, Max. I really hope that if you happen to find more of the same, your findings won't spread uncontrollably over the entire cluster. You must understand the dangers firearms bring into our world. But personally, we would greatly appreciate having more samples... for research purposes."

  Now what was that for logic? What's yours is mine and what's mine is my own? I decided against making an issue of it, giving him a noncommittal nod. He was welcome to interpret it in any way he wanted. By then, my inner greedy pig had smeared his venomous drool all over my heart, ogling the gun I'd just parted with. I shouldn't gift anyone another one of those in the near future if I didn't want to finish Mr. Piggy off. And what would I be worth without my resident treasurer? I'd splurge all my riches before I knew it.

  Hurried steps resounded down the corridor. The door swung open, letting Eric in. He sprang to attention in front of Frag.

  The General nodded. "As you were."

  Eric slumped in the chair. Then he saw me, grinned and poked my shoulder with his giant fist. "That's what it is! I couldn't understand why they'd want to haul me over the coals. Sorry, Comrade General!" he glanced over the table groaning with various leftovers and twitched his nose, doglike. "May I?"

  Not waiting for an answer, he scooped a few cookies.

  "I thought the guards had eaten half an hour ago?" Dan asked.

  "Ah!" Eric waved his objection away. "That was then!"

  "Very well. If you can listen while you eat, you'd better do so. Command has confidence in you," Dan raised a meaningful finger. Eric frowned, surprised. His type wasn't used to command's confidence.

  "You're about to fill a unique post. You'll be the clan's priest. Quit looking at me like that. You have Max to thank for that. But remember that the posting isn't interminable. One slip-up, and I swear on my immortality I'll make you swallow dust twelve hours a day as a second ammo carrier in an NPC gun crew of the defense ballista of the seventh tower of South Castle. I'm not joking. What with your level and your track record, you're long overdue for a promotion. If you really can't overcome the perma mode euphoria and if your healthy body and your immortality mean so much to you, you'd do better joining the Pratz. They love goofs like yourself. Is that clear?"

  Watching Eric was breaking my heart. His drawn face paled, his doglike expression miserable and begging forgiveness. He jumped up, pressing his hands to his chest.

  "Sir! I'm sorry, I mean it! It's like the devil's playing with it all the time. I feel like a teenager on his first night of boozing, I can't even walk, I can only hop and run! It gets better, though. I can control it. I still clown around, but it's more out of habit now. I really appreciate your confidence in me, Sir!" he jumped to attention and reported, saluting, "I won't let you down, I promise!"

  Dan fixed him with his stare, then rose, adjusting his shirt like one would uniform, and crisply saluted. "Go to it, Lieutenant!"

  "'Yes, Sir! Permission to leave, Sir!"

  "As you were," Dan nodded, then turned to me. "Your turn. You'd better dedicate your protégé before he loses patience and races off not even knowing why or where to."

  Impressed by the change in my best friend's behavior, I looked up the necessary skill on the priest's abilities list, selected Macaria as patron god and pressed the virtual button.

  Millions of little bells filled the room with their gentle chimes. A cloud of glittering sparks swirled under the ceiling like a snowstorm, creating an opening into some other plane that revealed Macaria's happy and (I think) tipsy face. She peeked out, studying Eric, then gave him an encouraging smile, nodding. The opening collapsed, sending the colored snowflakes flying all over us. As Eric stood there open-mouthed, my internal interface reported a growing number of priests. Now we were already eleven out of the fifty. I'd love to know where the other three Dark temples were.
I had big plans regarding them. We had to expand the Pantheon as soon as possible. The more people I could enlist, the fewer besiegers we'd find one day under the Castle walls.

  Eric heaved a sigh. "What a woman!" he clearly couldn't forget the celestial apparition.

  I just hoped that this was a temporary adolescent crush and not the ritual's side effect. I still felt obliged to warn him, just in case, "Eric, she and the Fallen One are an item. So you'd better keep your ideas to yourself before you get him on your case. You won't like that, I assure you."

  "You think?" the freshly-baked priest glanced warily upwards. Shaking the heavenly snow off his shoulders, he went into reverse, "I said it from a purely esthetic point of view, you know. The Fallen One needs it more than... I mean... finding a broad... er, a goddess can't be easy in his situation."

  Dan shook his head. "Eric, I think it's a good idea that I cast a silence spell on you a couple times a day or so. That'll do you a lot of good, trust me. If I don't do it, some unhappy god will one day. All right, Your Holiness, you may continue with your duties and dedicate us to the beautiful Macaria.

  Eric zoned out for a bit as he tried to figure out his new skills. He must have found what he'd been looking for as he cast an unsure glance at Dan before activating the ability. A pillar of white light veined with black and green enveloped the secret agent, still shimmering when we heard him whisper as he, too, was studying the menus,

  "There... I see... patron god... skills... that's the one... One point is worth a grand gold, so! Oh well, here's my donation..."

  A string sang softly as another wave of light, pale green this time, poured over Dan. Faith level 1? It sure looked like he'd done it.

  "Yes! We'll live!" he exclaimed.

  I knew how he must have felt at that moment as the unbearable load had fallen from this immortal's shoulders: the fear of captivity, eternal and torturous.

  The mother-of-pearl snow was melting under our feet. Curious, I peered at its stats:

  Sparks of Divine Presence. An extremely rare crafting artifact that allows you to transfer any kind of magic to a scroll and seal it, creating a one-off spell scroll.

  So! I scratched my head. I'd never heard of anything like it. Having said that, it didn't change anything: the very expression extremely rare pointed at the item's high value. It was worth taking.

  Stepping closer, I scooped a handful of vials out of my bag and crouched, sweeping in the colored flakes.

  Dan cast me a puzzled glance which then glazed over as he scanned the messages on his interface. Then a miracle happened. What else could you call it when Dan made an almighty leap across half the room while reaching into his pocket for a vial, then plopped down onto his stomach next to the shrinking pile of snow. Paying no attention to the damage sustained, he was stuffing the melting sparks into his vial.

  Casting me a wild stare, he shouted, "Shut the fucking lid before it evaporates!"

  True, the air over the vial hovered, misted. I hastily sealed the vial and checked the contents. The vial was nearly full. Eric and the General had already joined us, but still our combined trophies weren't that much: we'd barely filled five vials.

  I surveyed our team sprawled on the floor amid iridescent pools of gaslike liquid. That made me smile. The informal meeting of the clan's religious leaders with its administration. I shared the thought with my friends and the office shattered with their guffawing.

  The air over the conference table thickened, materializing the White Winnie. Casting a puzzled glare in our direction, he made the screwy gesture against his temple, grabbed a couple of meat pies and reached for an open folder. All documents in it were lying text down (that was Dan and his professional vigilance). Dan growled a warning as a throwing knife glistened in his hand. The weapon glowed crimson, dropping sizzling sparks onto the floor.

  Winnie snatched his paw back, baring his teeth, then kicked the folder off the table right into the pool of water. The room echoed with a simultaneous popping of a teleport and the sound of cold steel piercing wood.

  "How I hate him," the agent groaned, fishing out the waterproof pages. "I dream of the day when I retire to my rocking chair by the fireplace, sipping brandy and relishing my cigar, admiring two white ears nailed to the wall."

  Eric added, apparently missing the two pies, "I just hope that by then it'll be the only unique pair of ears ever available. Let's pray this creature doesn't propagate. In that case, you can forget about a quiet retirement. These teleporting monsters will pop by every two minutes to borrow a cigar or to help themselves to a shot of brandy. Privacy will become problematic, even for matrimonial purposes."

  "Touch wood," I whispered, knocking on a table leg. Everybody followed suit. Soldiers are superstitious by definition, and the above prospect justified a couple of rituals just to be on the safe side.

  The General leaned forward, groaning and forcing himself back to his feet like the old man he in fact was, then jumped up effortlessly: the mental inertia of an octogenarian in a young healthy body. This is how inexperienced astronauts use their entire body weight from their back muscles to their ankles in order to get to the space station's dome instead of just sending their body there with one well-directed nudge.

  "Now, Dan, you owe me an explanation," the General said. "What's this stuff we've been filling the vials with? You jumped at it like somebody dying of thirst seeing an oasis."

  "Haven't you copied its stats, Sir?" Dan asked innocently. "My educated guess would be that this ingredient is AlterWorld's long-sought Holy Grail. It allows one to create spell scrolls. Any spells—Unique and High Ones included."

  The General raised his eyebrows. He grabbed a vial and brought it up to his eyes. "Holy shit."

  "What about it?" I asked. "Would you like to create a one-off teleport scroll so that magic-deprived players could use it in case of emergency?"

  "You might," Dan answered. "You could use a gold shovel to clean the snow off your driveway, too, I suppose. You could also use it for more appropriate things. Teleport scrolls are already on the market—expensive, it's true, as they call for some unconventional ingredients, but it's simply a question of money. But locking a High Spell in a scroll..." Dan gave me a meaningful look as if estimating how many Astral Mana Dispersal scrolls he'd love to have in the Vets' arsenal. "Or a unique spell like the Inferno portal that has recently been auctioned by some painfully familiar auto buy..."

  Oh. Apparently the Sparks, while solving a lot of problems, were at the same time generating a whole new bunch of the same. A Dome Shield Removal scroll, if auctioned, would win the People's Choice award and fatten up my wallet no end. But it'll also bring new headaches. First, someone would suss out the principle behind the dome removal and the scroll itself might later resurface in some truly unsavory place, raising a lot of dirt in the process.

  Dan was watching my face, apparently pleased with seeing my furrowed brow and not the idiotic joy of a tramp who'd just found a suitcase full of heroin and was now celebrating his good fortune. In any case, the Sparks created new opportunities: a new tool for my workshop that I was sure I could use to solve a multitude of problems. I did get his message about the auto buy. It was time to ignore my inner greedy pig and hire a new one-time vendor for every risky transaction.

  This was something I should have remembered a long time ago. There's no such thing as anonymity any more. Neither online nor in real life. It's only the question of how much the interested party is prepared to pay for the information. While you're small fry, you've nothing to worry about: you'll remain anonymous simply because you're not worth the trouble. Just remember that when the time comes, all your cyber trail will come to the surface. All your phone records, your entire web surfing history, all your bank card transactions, all the CCTV footage with your face on it and lots of other things.

  Under Dan's greedy stare I placed two of the vials—those I'd filled myself—into my pocket. He then cast a meaningful glance at the remaining pots and gestured over his
head imitating a whirlwind. "Think we'd better discuss it."

  "Not now," I cut him short. "I'm desperate for some sleep. I still need to have a briefing of my own."

  The General turned to me. "Do you think you could ordain me personally?"

  I nodded. That wasn't a problem.

  Ding! A flash of green light colored our faces an alien tinge.

  "Heh, I've already done half a Faith level," the General didn't really sound surprised. "It looks like the starting point depends on the ordainer's rank. There was something I heard about a year and a half ago, if my absolute memory is anything to go by. I met some dude who'd done this quest that entitled him to be ordained by the First Priest. A Light NPC, naturally, but it's of no consequence. So when I met him he was in the process of celebrating all the gold and time that he'd saved."

  Dan didn't say anything, his glare indignant. He wasn't a cheapskate and still the fifty dollars that he'd just wasted on the experiment he could have spent on a bunch of flowers for his wife and an armful of chocolate for his rugrats.

  The General gave me a pleading look. "You think you could dedicate my men, as well? It's still a lot of money, you know, we could save almost forty grand."

  Exasperated, I was about to protest. What kind of attitude was that? He wanted all the gain without any of the pain. I didn't have time, that was exactly why I'd given them a priest of their own. The Temple had to grow! Actually, that was reason enough. Eric could do with a rank boost, too.

  I shook my head and pointed at a hesitant Eric. "Even not mentioning a whole host of other problems, it's in your clan's interests to level your own priest. If you think about it, Eric will only get a percentage of Faith points from those he dedicated personally, while he's desperate for some growth simply to be able to tackle the clan's problems. Which means that on top of his personal skills like Voluntary Death, he'll also need to invest into everything the clan might need, like raid buffs and all sorts of curses and anathema spells. So my advice to you would be not to skimp on his services."