Circuit World

by Daniel Pierce

  There was far more to it than simple tubers, flowers, and fish. The fields were rife with all sorts of life—bugs, worms, birds, mole-like critters, rabbits. Once, she picked several grubs from where they were hiding in the ground and offered them to me to try. She guaranteed that they were sweet to the taste, but the mucusy mush, legs, and antennae caking her teeth as she smiled at me were enough to discourage any minor interest I may have had. Though, I did try my hand at finding some of the bugs, just to see if I could.

  I was surprised to see how easily the dirt came up when I pulled. It was almost like grabbing a handful of wet sand on a beach. My fingers practically went right in at the insistence of only a little pressure.

  There was no more conversation about the Temple of Leaves or the Zone from which its name was derived. I had already asked all the general questions that I could come up with, and there didn’t seem to be any point in getting too specific with my queries. I had always been a fan of RPG’s, but, contrary to what someone might expect, I was rarely taken in by their storylines. I believed that was why most people liked roleplaying games, but I just didn’t usually have the patience for sitting through cutscenes and trying to make sense of some made-up world’s history when I could be out slaying goblins and finding loot. That was where the fun was in RPG’s for me. I loved their leveling systems. It took me back to growing up playing those kinds of games on my old handheld systems. There were few things that could compare to the rush of reading LEVEL UP! in all caps on an RPG’s user interface.

  It was about midday when we came across some figures in the distance. Immediately upon seeing them, Faun’s hand was on her hilt.

  “Do you see them, Si1ence?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “They don’t look like people. Do you know what they are?”

  “There appears to be at least one person among them—a man, I believe.” She studied them for a moment longer and added, “I think they are fighting. Someone there needs our help!”

  She bolted off at top speed without another word or hint of hesitation. I had to admire both her bravery and honor in chasing after a stranger in need. She would have made many ethically-aligned Dungeons and Dragons characters proud. Not mine necessarily, but many others.

  As the figures came more into focus, I found myself quickly losing my nerve. I was in a game, sure, but I didn’t like the idea of these fuckers’ teeth tearing into any part of me—not since that flint stung as much as it did. I looked at my knuckle. It had healed up, but I was unsure if my return to health was improved by the game’s mechanics or if, in an attempt to stick closer to realism, it simply took the same amount of time it would have in the real world.

  But, yeah, these fuckers were huge and menacing, and there were four of them. They were like wolves on steroids, each one as big as a cow, supported by six sinewy, veiny tan legs which disappeared abruptly under each beast’s thick coat of jet-black fur. Each fang was as long as my dagger, as sharped and pointed as a syringe needle, with a film of sticky saliva dripping off of it, dribbling down the chin. I noticed several of their lower gums and could not figure out if the red that colored them was natural or if it was the blood of the monsters’ latest meal.

  “Bloodhounds!” my partner spat. Her knife was drawn now, and she was ready to use it. I wondered then why she, as a self-proclaimed ranger, was not carrying something more useful for a situation like this, something such as a bow.

  “Bloodhounds?” I yelled. “These don’t look like any bloodhounds I’ve seen!”

  “They are called that because they drink the blood of their victims!” Well, that answers that question. “Be careful, Si1ence. To die at the end of their fangs sentences one to a long and painful death. Their spit is venomous and will paralyze you if you are not careful.” Yikes. That was good to know.

  Among the other figures was a muscled man, probably mid-50’s, with a crown of white hair bordering his sunbrowned head like a monk or friar. Standing six feet tall and gripping a short sword in one of his massive hands, he was a mighty sight to behold. I did not want to be on the wrong end of this guy’s tempt.

  Scattered around the man were four towering horses, unlike any I had ever seen back home. Even as terrible as the Bloodhounds looked, these stallions could give them a run for their money, as they seemed to be in the process of doing when we arrived.

  There was only one other living being among the group. Perhaps living was a poor way to describe the young man. He had already been done in by the wolf currently crouching over him, lapping up the poor sap’s blood as it poured out like a sweet nectar. He lay motionless, pale, and growing paler, similar in age and stature to myself. I had a feeling that he would not be respawning like my fish had.

  “Faun!” the grown man called, not breaking his gaze away from the nearest wolf he was staring down. I raised an eyebrow at his greeting, surprised that he already knew my companion.

  “Horan, we have come to help, my friend!”

  “And not a moment too soon!” He laughed, a sound devoid of any genuine feelings of humor.

  In the next moment, Faun and I were approached by two of the snarling beasts, one for each of us. My blades were already in my hands as the one interested in me lunged for my throat. I stepped to the side, dodging the attack, and was able to counterstrike, slicing it with my scimitar. The thing yelped as the blade tore flesh, but it was not done yet.

  It swung back around, a streak of its fur now sticky with its own blood, and bared its fangs at me with renewed vigor. In some of the games I played, many creatures would grow stronger when they were close to death. I hoped that this was not one of those games.

  It snapped at me, and I held out my blade to bar its path. The action happened out of pure instinct, instinct that I had not earned throughout my life as a career couch potato. Regardless, it was effective. The hound’s jaws clamped around the steel of my sword, causing me no damage. He dug his hind legs deeper into the dirt of the path and yanked back, as if trying to wrest my only source of salvation from my grasp. I took a half-step forward at its insistence, but I was determined not to be bullied. Getting my bearings, I laid into it with an intentional full step forward, stabbing my little dagger straight into its face. Its eyes bulged with a very human expression of surprise and it released my primary weapon.

  Blood was dripping out of its cheek, but it was still undeterred, instilling more fear in me with each successive threatening snap of its teeth in my direction. I swung at it with my scimitar, but it jumped back, avoiding all three attacks. We seemed to be evenly matched as far as agility went.

  I glanced to my side to see how Faun was holding up. She had gotten a few decent hits in on her enemy as well. Her wolf was marked with little red holes here and there, but I could tell that, like my own wolf, it was a long way from giving up.

  Mine snapped at me once again while my attention was diverted, but it was interrupted by the hoof of one of the horses landing on its hind leg. The steed had somehow managed to hurry over without either of us noticing. The Bloodhound whipped its angry head around and lunged at its new target with a vengeance. Not one to let favors go unpaid, I tore into its other hind leg. The horse reared back as the wolf’s teeth snapped together, grabbing at nothing but open air. The thing fell limply to the ground. It seemed as if both its legs had given out from the serious wounds they had just sustained.

  It looked to me again, still angry, but now indignant in its final vulnerable moments. It did not seem like a bloodthirsty wolf to me then, but rather a big helpless dog. The rage in its eyes didn’t seem to be coming from a place of self-righteous dominance, like the king of the jungle swooping in to consume the meal that it deserved, but more from a place of fear. This was something I had never seen in a game before. When you killed an enemy in any other game, it would simply die, often disappearing without a trace, not floundering helplessly in the dirt waiting for me to end it while it watched me, practically begging to be spared.

  I held still for a few short se
conds, knowing what I had to do and trying to bring myself into the right frame of mind to do it. Slowly, I approached it and raised my sword high over my head. I planned to take a deep breath before sending the guillotine down, but before I was able, the creature lunged at me with a last burst of energy and was stomped back to the ground by the horse’s massive hoof.

  “It’s just a game,” I whispered, my heart racing at the thought that I almost lost a leg to an enemy that I should have killed without hesitation. “Thanks, bud!” I said to the horse.

  Faun had torn several more holes in her enemy by the time I turned my focus back to them. I worried that it would take too long to run over and help, so I risked shouting at it as a distraction. Thankfully, Faun seemed to understand what I was doing and did not flinch at the sudden noise. Her wolf, on the other hand, glanced my way, providing her with the perfect opportunity to make a fatal mark deep into its exposed neck. It howled and fell to the ground with Faun descending upon it, tearing deeper and deeper gashes into its side for good measure. Hell yeah! That’s what I’m talking about! She looked up to me and grinned. We had already taken out half of them.

  The one that was feeding on the young man had turned its attention to Horan while Faun and I were fighting. Now that one and the one Horan was occupied with in the first place were flanking the older man. The other three horses were scattered around the beasts, but the wolves seemed too fast for them, jumping just out of range of each falling hoof. The situation with Horan was much the same, each of his swipes being dodged by the wolf in front of him.

  Faun charged the one standing behind her friend, her knife held out like a wasp’s stinger. The creature saw her in the corner of its eye and swirled around to deal with its new foe who was posing an immediate threat. In the time it took the wolf to do this, one of the horses had moved in to capitalize on the opportunity and brought both of its front hooves down on the predator’s rear. It howled much like the one before it, and Faun lunged down, stabbing it in the face several times as it flailed about.

  I went for the one in front of the man, joining him at his side. Both of us stood with our legs spread wide to anchor our center of gravity against any sudden force that might charge us. He looked to me for the briefest moment and sent a nod in my direction. I returned his greeting with a short nod of my own, adding a quick signature wink as I used to have my character do while playing Dungeons and Dragons.

  At once, the two of us closed in on the lonely wolf. It took that as cue to charge in itself. Everything happened in a blur. At first, I thought it had somehow gotten the upper hand as I felt its claws tearing into the flesh of my left forearm. The sting was followed by a heavy weight pulling down on that same arm. I fell with it, landing on top of the beast. Its stench of rotting carcass invaded my nostrils.

  I pulled myself away, yanking my arm out from underneath the hound and crabwalking backward on my hands and feet. My left arm was drenched in blood. It was throbbing. For a second, I thought the wolf had chomped on it and ripped it clean off. A wave of relief washed over me to discover that I was wrong. My hand was shaking but it was still gripping my knife firmly. I had forgotten it was there. Even in the heat of that final showdown, I had forgotten it was there, thinking the only thing I had available to save my ass was the scimitar.

  I watched as Horan kicked the prone thing over with a mighty nudge. He seemed overly satisfied. “Nice shot, boy!”

  There was a deep gouge in its neck. Apparently, it had landed on my little blade, and that was what did it in. It was simply a lucky shot, involving no intention on my end. I flinched, hearing that metal popping sound which I doubted I would ever grow used to.

  Exp: 200

  Kill: Bloodhound

  Partial Kill: 3 Bloodhounds

  Search?

  I did not know how to respond to the UI’s question. I reached out to touch the blue screen, but my hand went straight through it without even a hint of resistance.

  I nodded my head, saying, “Yes—uh, search.”

  Looting . . .

  10br coins.

  I heard the clinking of coins and pulled my pouch from my rucksack. I almost slapped my head for not counting the coins earlier, thinking it would be hard to tell now if the ones I had just looted were added to this pile. Though, I discovered that it was a nonissue. For the briefest second upon opening my pouch, 10 coins glowed that same brilliant blue before fading to look just like all the others. That was helpful to know: things added to my inventory will glow for a moment to let me know they are new.

  There was a hand in my face. Horan had extended his arm. I graciously took it, and the strong man pulled me to my feet.

  “I am lucky that the two of you came along when you did,” he said, now with a genuine smile on his friendly face.

  “Horan, you lost your hat,” Faun called, coming to join us. She was carrying a dark leather slouch hat.

  “Ah, thank you, Faun,” Horan boomed, taking the cap and placing it on his head. “It must have gotten knocked off by one of those damned monsters.” He paused and looked to the body of the young man. “Poor Tommany. He had such promise. He will be missed dearly.”

  We had a moment of silence for Horan’s partner, after which Faun said, “It is always a sad occasion when a family must be informed of a young one’s parting.”

  “Truer words have never been said, young Faun.” Horan walked over to Tommany, bent down on one knee, and reached to close his lifeless eyes. “Squires like him have the hardest time adjusting from the comfortable, protective walls of the city to the dangers of the open plains and wilderness. It is often a long and difficult period of adjustment. Many fall victim to it. Tommany here will not be the last, I am sad to say.”

  “Sad, but such is the way of our world,” Faun said.

  “Aye, that it is.” There was another extended moment of silence, which was abruptly ended by the big man snapping back to the present and extending his hand to me. “Young man, I am known as Horan, as I am sure you have gathered.”

  I took his wrist as Faun had taken mine before and said, “My name is Rixon—but I go by silence.”

  “A fitting name for one such as yourself, sir. You seem like a man who is swift and quick on his feet, good with his hands.”

  “I supposed time will tell.” I laughed.

  “Say, what have you there?” He was pointing to my scimitar.

  “Oh, this? It’s a sword I found on the way here,” I replied, looking the blade over. I heard Faun gasp.

  “Si1ence, look! The script on the blade has been added to.”

  She was right. I hadn’t noticed before, but the scribbles were more filled in than they had been. I still could not read what they said, but there were definitely more of them, as well as what looked to be little stars marking the flat of the blade, above and below the writing.

  “Oh, wow,” I said. “You’re right. Do either of you know what it says? I’m not familiar with this writing.”

  “Neither am I,” Faun said.

  “Nor I,” replied Horan. His eyes narrowed, and I did not have the impression that he did this out of suspicion but more bewildered curiosity. “You say the script is being written on its own?”

  “I . . . I guess so?” I said. “This writing definitely was not here before.”

  “What would you say caused that to happen?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe it has to do with when I kill an enemy? That’s the only trigger—uh, thing I can think would cause it to do that. I haven’t done anything else out of the ordinary so far.”

  “Amazing,” he said, rubbing his chin between is right pointer finger and thumb. “That sounds like . . .”

  “Hm?” I asked. If he knew something about my magical sword, I wanted to know. “Have you heard of it?”

  “Nothing of the sword, but legends of a man . . .” he mused but quickly brushed the idea away, shaking his head and waving a massive paw in the air. “Never mind what I’m saying. I am not one to be taken
in by fables. Tell me about yourself, Rixon. . . er, Si1ence.”

  I told him my half-assed story about how I was a traveler from a faraway land journeying to seek my fortune and help those in need. He seemed more willing to accept my high-level summary than Faun was when we first met and he went on to tell me about who he was.

  Horace had grown up in the Zone of Stone, known as Unungr, where there live many vicious beasts such as rock titans, gargoyles, and trolls. Like me, he had wandered the land in his youth seeking fame and glory, finally settling down in the comparably quiet land of Tel’Maryn, where he took up the profession of horse keeper. Over the years, he warmed the hearts of those who ruled Tel’Maryn and was given the title of Master of Mounts, as well as the responsibility that came with it.

  Now he trains the horses used by those who work in the direct service of the kingdom. He was in the process of transporting the massive stallions among us to be trained as warhorses once they reached the Temple of Leaves.

  All of this was revealed to me while the man casually piled up the corpses of the giant six-legged wolves and lit them on fire. Faun promptly went to them and kneeled down, saying a quick prayer.

  We buried Tommany under a nearby tree. Horan said a few nice words for the young man, Faun uttered another prayer, and the three of us went on our way, each taking a horse, leaving one to spare.

  “Oh, Sleeper likes you.” Horan laughed as the biggest of all the horses clomped up to me, staring me straight in the eyes.

  Sleeper made me nervous. His coat was a beautiful carmine red, accented by a black mane that swayed in the breeze and fetlocks of the same hue. I was fairly certain that this was the horse that helped me fend off my wolf. Actually, Sleeper had done most of the legwork—literally—if I was being honest.

  Horan continued, “I’ve had Sleeper in my company for years. Tommany rode him out with me to pick up these other stallions. Can you guess why he’s called that?”