The Resurrection Pact (Winston Casey Chronicles Book 1)

by Jay Smith

  It read: "Ni Huan, Executive Vice-President of Horus Media and Events, North American Division."

  Horus. Like, ALAN Horus?

  "Nice to meet you, Ms. Huan. I’m Winston Casey, of course." I pointed at the scowling woman. "That's a happy bag of sunshine."

  Sunshine sneered at me, but only a little.

  She rattled off the information from memory. "Winston Casey of Linglestown, Pennsylvania. Married. You’re staying at the Barracuda in room 2312. You haven’t gambled a dime since arriving yesterday and have a $100 tab for room service. You like your saké, too, I noticed. What’s your brand?"

  "Seimei." I perked up finding someone who shared my newfound taste.

  "Rare, expensive taste, indeed. You were perhaps hoping to offset the cost by cashing in this little chip?"

  So much for that connection.

  She produced the black chip form another hidden spot in her costume. She held it up and admired it, an actor directing the eye of an audience to the prop.

  "Unfortunately, we both would know more if we could talk to Grant Parker, but – that's not happening."

  She softened her posture and voice a bit. "Sign the NDA. It just means you won’t talk to anyone about anything you see or hear on the property. If you do, the legal consequences would be dire."

  I reviewed the document again and kept Ms. Huan waiting; something else she did not seem to like. The document covered knowledge of intellectual property related to The Realm of Aeternus. The name Alan Horus showed up a few times. The document was not detailed but covered my visit to the facility and discussions with staff members specifying that could not be repeated to the media, friends or family unless compelled to do so by court order and even then, only in concert with representation assigned by the company. Standard stuff.

  "Do you have any questions before you sign?" Huan was growing more impatient by the minute. The flaring of her nostrils caused the make-up on her nose to flake.

  I quick-signed the document "With love, Warren Zevon" and dated it "9/6/2003", flipped the first page back over top and handed her the papers. She said nothing; didn’t even look at the second page. My intent was not to deceive her, but tell her to take her secret information and shove it up her bustle.

  She focused her skeptical gaze on me and then back to the chip. She repeated this a few times. I wondered how many acting classes it took her to perfect that look. "Grant Parker gave this to you?"

  "Yes. You knew him?"

  Her reply was breathy and she looked away to a corner of the room to recall, "Yes. I did. He was a fine specimen of a man, in both worlds. A hero and a gallant warrior."

  In both worlds. I wondered if she was military. She certainly was built tough and had a deliberate, assertive nature to go along with her confidence. "Did you serve with Park in the war?"

  The look of contempt threatened to bubble over into horror, settling on an expression that suggested I just farted.

  "You know," I said, leaning back in the chair. "This kind of service is probably why you can't afford to repaint the candy cane pillars out front or the cracks in the atrium floor. I signed your NDA. Start talking."

  That froze her program for a moment, but only until she found the correct response. "Fine. You are the legacy of Master Watch Officer Lord Parque."

  I repeated that sentence back to her, then added "I understood most of the words there, but not the sentence."

  Sunshine piped up. "This is a joke. Parker is up to something, mistress."

  From her glare, Huan revealed herself to be a woman who did not like to be upstaged by small players. Without another word, the smaller player stood up straight and quickly left the room, the door slamming shut behind her. Huan collected her skirts and settled into a chair next to me.

  Huan was quite attractive but painted for television, not an intimate discussion. I traced her thick black curls up to the faint but definite outline of her wig. Looking closer, I noticed one of the blue contact lenses was askew, revealing a slight crescent of brown iris underneath. I imagined being unable to pick her out of a crowd after hours. I wanted to ask her to stop leaning on the table and sit down because her dress appeared to not take that pose into account in its design. She was a person – or a character – designed to hide the truth. Dangerous.

  I tried to lighten the mood. "I can assure you that Grant Parker is really most sincerely dead and that he sent me to Vegas to get this coin and present it where I did. Those were his orders, cut and dry."

  ~

  Huan left the room with a polite invitation to stay seated. The young suit who held the door for her entrance provided me a digital pad the size of a trade paperback complete with a leatheresque cover that opened like a book.

  "This will keep you entertained and answer some of your questions," the lad said before dashing off to wherever they kept their idle servants.

  The black screen offered three words in medieval script:

  WELCOME TO AETERNUS!

  That was the first kind sentiment I'd received since I arrived and it had to come from a "magic book".

  I touched the screen and it sparkled in a digital orgasm of rainbow pixels and Tinkerbell chimes, reforming with a launch screen featuring grassy hills leading to a distant village and an impressive, yet foreboding castle that just happened to look like a Middle Ages version of the Peppermint Casino and Resort.

  Trumpets and glockenspiels played as a thin red progress bar crossed the bottom of my screen. In mid-piece, the screen went black for a moment and a woman's voice, submissive and sexy, asked:

  "My lord: before we begin our journey into the Realm Aeternus I have a few questions for you in order to help customize your in-world experience. Please: touch me to continue."

  "We are here to serve, Milord," the voice gasped. "Would you prefer to take this journey with me..?"

  The voice changed to a rough approximation of a Scottish brogue. "… would ye rather walk th' high road with a man who kin show ye the sights of Aye-ternus?"

  The left side of the screen offered a sexy blonde avatar with big blue come-hither eyes and the kind of tits that only exist in male fantasies. The right side filled with a roman novel's version of a hunky ginger Scot complete with kilt and puffy artist shirt open to his belly-button because it could not contain the pure awesome of his well-oiled chest. He looked sensitive, yet rugged, like the label of a certain paper towel but with a beret and goatee beard.

  I clicked on the tits. But only because I liked her voice better than the fake Scottish accent. Honest.

  "Very well, milord."

  The screen filled with pictures of different women. "The World of Aeternus is yours for the taking!"

  I began to wonder if this was just a dating site. I hadn't seen a weapon or a magic user or even a crumbling ruin. The interface was interested in what made my dick tingle. Each of the women on the screen represented a different part of society. I thought maybe I clicked the wrong option and that I was supposed to pick the guy if I wanted to see what the place offered men, but the intro continued and helped put it into perspective.

  "The Aeternus experience is customized to your tastes and interests. This survey will help us understand your in-world expectations. Do you want a world of epic battles?"

  There were the swordfights and massive battles playing out on the screen. Hundreds of avatars running at each other on a battle field…two knights beating hell out of each other for the honor of something or other...

  "…or do you wish to quest with your friends or take a solitary journey into the unknown?"

  The images cross the screen depicting a copyright-dodging retread of The Lord of the Rings.

  "Adventure…romance…mystery…horror…epic fantasy…all these can be yours in The Realm Aeternus!"

  Epic fantasy music played. For the next ten minutes I did nothing but watch in-world screenshots and short sequences of in-world play where these computer characters cut green goblins in half or cast spells to open magic doors into dee
p dungeons. They rode dragons over exotic forests. Women paused in their womanly roles of serving mead in taverns or washing pantaloons on the street to wink at the camera. All these images played out showcasing the variety of things you can do in-world.

  "What is your quest, milord?"

  Finally, a question! I looked for the prompt and there was none. The music swelled to a crescendo and then died. The screen went black and as the echo faded in the room, I sat back wondering what the hell I did wrong.

  In all, it was a cool advertisement for a video game. If I were interested in video games. It told me nothing about the casino or the resort.

  All things considered, I preferred the sensory overload of CGI fantasy to the quiet gray cell. I got up and tried the door. It was locked from the outside. A tiny red light called my attention to the camera mounted to the ceiling and the far wall. I waved.

  "Great commercial. If I subscribe to your newsletter or 'like' your page can I get out of here, please?"

  I looked toward the two-way mirror and held up my arms to ask what's next, then pointing to my invisible watch like some asshole stuck in the grocery line intimidating the manager in the booth to open a new lane. Nothing happened for a few more minutes, so I picked up the magic book again to see what else it could tell me.

  "Hello Winston Casey!" The same voice actress burbled on the Magic Book. "Thank you for logging your fingerprints for instant access."

  "What?"

  "Congratulations! You are now part of The Realm Aeternus! Your Magic Book is your portal into the virtual world while you navigate its largest city. As a guest, you'll have limited access to the resort and we ask that you stay with your guide until your character has been registered. If you have a question about Aeternus or the works of our founder Alan Horus, all you have to do is ask! Once again, WELCOME to the Realm Aeternus!"

  ~

  Mistress Huan entered with three minions in tow. Her minions carried Mylar balloons with "WELCOME!" printed on them. The balloons looked more excited than the people carrying them.

  "Mr. Casey," she offered in violent defiance of enthusiasm, "this is your Welcome Package."

  The minions beamed like idiots as they handed me my swag. It reminded me of being 17 and the "triumphant twelfth caller" to a radio station winning a major prize pack of CDs and motor oil.

  The welcome package was clearly more than a gallon of motor oil and some one-hit rodeo showmen. This mystery chip apparently granted me a membership in some online game – okay, cool – but also a wicker basket full of swag.

  "What is this?"

  The face that didn't have time for my bullshit replied, "All LARPers get some of it. Elite members get other parts of it."

  She sighed and started from the big stuff. "The Aeternus books. Alan Horus. Have you read any of that?"

  "I read the first two and some of..."

  She sighed again, like the first try didn't dislodge enough of her contempt. Huan pulled out her own Magic Book, tapped the screen and spoke. "Please hold my contacts for the next twenty minutes. I will be conducting an executive tutorial."

  The Magic Book beeped and a voice beyond the veil replied, "On it, Mistress."

  "Come along, Mr. Casey. Time to step into another world. If you can stand the excitement."

  Chapter Eight

  "We're all here for our fandom. We celebrate the stories and the storytellers who made life better, set us on course toward our dreams – maybe lessened the pain of our growing up."

  Her words sounded so natural, but perhaps a little too precise. I felt our relationship heading toward a sales pitch.

  "ENTER THE REALM AETERNUS" read the sign over the pavilion.

  "This is the educational suite," Huan announced as we crossed into an exhibit full of fantasy posters and miniature displays kept under glass. The sounds of the outside world were muted, replaced by a strange mix of Indian and Celtic music. In bold, fantastic letters, the far wall of the big room asked the question "WHAT IS THE REALM AETERNUS?" Around me, kids and adults and mostly tourists, took turns at computer monitors playing what looked like an action-packed fantasy combat game.

  In what looked like a Museum of Things That Never Were, I took note of several exhibits under glass and several people in elaborate fantasy costumes looking very excited to tell their stories. A handful of people without costumes joined me in looking over each exhibit and the glass plaques explaining how it fit into the history of a place I'd never heard of.

  Some of the disorientation I felt came from being introduced to a massive load of data by standing literally in the middle of it all. The exhibits of plate armor and painted murals depicting dragons and wizards battling in the air over sprawling medieval cities, buxom warrior babes with huge swords and Timonsian grimaces, and the synthesizer soundtrack all blended together.

  With the excitement of a Disney employee or a True Believer, I listened as a plump, young man in gray robes told a small group about a shiny helmet in a glass cube behind him. "This is the first helm worn by Lord Bunting-upon-Stropf in a Realm tournament, the first of its kind in fact. It was held in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin in 1984."

  Much of what he just said was on the glass sign next to the item, but he added value with his enthusiasm. "Only 20 warriors attended and the battle lasted just over four hours. Compare that to last year's epic Clash of Tribes in Atlanta, Georgia where four thousand warriors met to settle the great schism of the Tolem Sect! Thankfully, the rules of live combat had changed, so the scale of the fighting only took eight hours."

  I looked at Huan, ignorant as a Mennonite a biker rally. "Who is 'Lord Bunting on the Strohs'?"

  "Lord Bunting-upon-Stropf. He's the ruler of the Realm of Aeternus. In his presence, you call him 'Lord of Lords'."

  "He's a fictional character, so how often do you get to not call him that?"

  "No, no. I'm talking about Alan Horus."

  "The writer."

  "Yes."

  "Why would I call Alan Horus 'Lord of Lords'?"

  She mustered the little patience she had left.

  I grew concerned. "Do you need to take some meds or want to skip the tour? Maybe grab a drink and show me the Wikipedia version of this?"

  She ignored me and answered my question. "Because that's his character in this world. He created the universe and he plays Lord Bunting-upon-Stropf in the game. And that's something of a god-like character in the books. If you're lucky enough to talk to him, which is RARE, you will call him 'Lord of Lords'."

  "Right. What's he like, this 'Alan Bussington: Lord of Lords'?"

  She pointed to a wall of paperbacks for sale. All of them were by Alan Horus and each of them might have been thick enough to stop high-impact rounds. "Alan is a visionary author. He's created a world that millions adore and stories that stay with you for years." She picked up a copy of "AETERNUS RISING" with a newer cover than the one I borrowed from Park. It looked like a movie poster, but one that had little relationship to the book I read. The subtitle read "First in the epic fantasy saga by bestselling author and Fantasy Grandmaster Alan Horus".

  Huan fished a cell phone from somewhere in her dress. I didn't hear it go off, but she planted it to her ear and wandered off without a word.

  A robed emissary with dirty, blond hair had overheard our conversation and piped up, "I started playing and I lost, like six days in The Realm." I thought he should be horrified – or ashamed – but he was quite proud of himself. "I started like everybody else and played a fighter-warrior and then got to know the stories going on and thought I’d be a good priest. I joined an order and went on quests and took part in these, like, huge multi-player battles against monsters and other armies…"

  "As a priest?"

  "A warrior priest, yeah. Like in the old D&D days, you could, like, fight and turn undead and heal the sick and stuff. Same dilly, yo. But like everybody in The Realm makes their own life. You don’t just log out and disappear. You get a place to live, you can buy land…anyway, sorry…let’s ke
ep it simple. You’re a gamer. Old school and all, but it’s all the same…"

  "How old are you?"

  "uh, 24."

  "Let’s dial back on the ‘old’, okay?"

  He corrected himself. "Yeah, totally. Sure. But you have all this esoteric knowledge of the old Gygax and Siembieda days. Before Wizards of the Coast. Before "d20". Golden Age, man, and that really kicks. There’s stuff in here for you, too."

  "Did you know my pal Grant Parker?"

  "What was his game name?"

  "Master Watch Officer Parque."

  The priest looked at me like I was touched by The Beatles. "Lord Parque was a great warrior and champion of the people. He is – was – a great hero!"

  "He was always in-world," he added. "The last three Aeternus books chronicled his exploits in the Horde War."

  I nodded. This was their world and I couldn't help but wonder why Parker wanted me to visit it.

  ~

  Huan found me exactly where we left off but made me think she had to track me down across a crowded K-Mart. She led me back behind the tent and pointed to a heavy fire door labeled "IN-CHARACTER ONLY IN THIS AREA." Stenciled on the door were the words "The Hillside Thickets".

  ~

  Sometimes the clearest memory of a place is the feeling of being there or the moment you see it for the first time, coming around a curve in the forest trail to see a high waterfall or maybe a black bear wondering if you had any snacks to share. Other times, you find yourself facing your hero or just some impossibly gorgeous human being. Though the moments that follow mean nothing, that instant jolt through the nervous system stays imprinted on your brain forever.

  Some men just build a model train set in the basement. The degree of their obsession can be measured by the square footage of the display and the attention to detail. If, for example, there are just trains and felt grass on wooden planks and saw horses you have a fan of toy trains. If you have someone who has named every plastic figure in the quarter acre display and can tell you their history, the train schedules, the street names, and where the serial killer buried the bodies – you might have an obsessive.