LOCAL WOMAN SHARES GIFT OF ROCKS
She had chosen the Upper Foglands plot for its solitude, but she had not been prepared for how remote and unaccommodating this land would be. The air was cold and damp, the soil was brackish, and the constant fog made it so there was almost no direct sunlight. Her waking hours were devoted to survival: buying seeds from the mercantile, sowing the tenaciously craggy earth, watering the crops, the endless trips on her azure mare, Pixel, to and from town.
Occasionally, she would run into one of her fellow residents in town, and even when they didn’t know her, they would offer her modest gifts: a turnip or a block of cheese. Gifting was an important part of the culture of Friendship, and she felt shamed into reciprocation. She took to presenting her neighbors with rocks, the one product her farm produced in abundance.
She almost cried the first time she managed to grow a carrot. She washed and scrubbed the carrot, and then she set it on a white plate. She sat on the steps of her front porch, contemplating the carrot and watching the first fireflies of summer. She did not consume the carrot—it was too dear— but she was moved to write a poem.
In certain seasons,
We may be nourished by The idea of the carrot
More than the carrot itself.
Alas, what is the point of writing a poem if there is no one with whom to share it? She decided to make a pilgrimage to her nearest neighbor’s house. Alabaster Brown wasn’t at home, so she left the poem, weighted beneath a rock, and she added the customary note of Friendship: A Gift from Your Neighbor, Ms. Emily B. Marks, Myre Farm.
Several days later, a lilac-eyed, lilac-haired person in overalls called on her. “Hmm, a rock,” Alabaster Brown said. “I had heard rumors of a bespectacled woman spreading her gift of rocks. It’s not many around here who are bold enough to give a gift as unpretentious as a rock. I shall happily add it to my collection. But I must warn you, Miss Marks, if you expect to bewitch me with your rocks, I have been married twelve times and I shall not be married again.”
“I am not in search of such an arrangement,” Emily said. “Yours is the farm nearest to mine, though, and so I hoped we might be friends.”
“Good for you. This town is relentless in its desire to pair people up. I am tired of the combining of property, which is inevitably followed by the separation of property. And in these transactions, one will invariably end up with less than one started with.” Alabaster thrust their hands in their pockets and spit on the ground. “Now, you’ll pour me a glass of wine, and we can have a cigarette, too, and you can tell me the story of your life,” Alabaster said.
“I’m pregnant,” Emily said.
“Wait until we’ve decanted to begin the storytelling, if you don’t mind.”
“I meant, pregnant women don’t generally smoke and drink.”
“Where you came from, maybe. You’ll soon discover that nothing affects anyone much here. Make sure you have enough hearts to get through your day, and that’s all you’ll need to survive.”
“If nothing has an effect, then why bother smoking and drinking?” Emily asked.
“Aren’t you a prickly one? My seventh wife was like that. A rogue and peasant slave to reality,” Alabaster said. “I suppose we drink and we smoke for the same reasons it is done elsewhere. We must fill our infinite days with something.”
Before they parted for the evening, Emily admitted to Alabaster that the rock had not been the gift: “It was the poem beneath the rock.”
“A poem.” Alabaster Brown laughed. “I wondered what that was. I assumed it was an advertisement for carrots. Several of my wives have
reported that I can be emotionally obtuse, but I hope that won’t get in the way of our friendship.”
BOOKSTORE TO SELL CARDS AND GAMES
Alabaster Brown, for all their quirks, was one of the few people Emily felt she could have a conversation with, and they became frequent visitors to each other’s homesteads.
“I feel I am not suited for this life,” Emily confessed. “I have devoted months to growing a single carrot and I have no time to read. There must be more than farming.”
“You don’t have to have a farm,” Alabaster counseled. “Don’t I, though?”
“Everyone here has a farm, and everyone here starts out a farmer. We have more produce than we can bear in Friendship. Why not open a store in town instead?” Alabaster said. “Create a niche and trade for what you need. That’s how I came to make wine. No one here cares what you have done before. You can be anything you want to be.”
“As long as it is a farmer or a shopkeeper,” Emily said.
Emily was five months pregnant when she decided to open the bookstore. Friendship didn’t have one, and it would be a way for Emily to read more and farm less. She sold off her farm equipment at a 50 percent loss and she rented out her unused land to Alabaster. Emily allocated most of her remaining gold to the construction of a small building in town. She named the store Friendship Books.
The Editor interviewed Emily about the store’s opening for the Friendship Mirror. “Our readers will want to know why you have decided to open a…” The Editor searched his memory. “…a bookstore, is it?”
“I am an occasional poet and an avid reader,” Emily said.
“Yes, of course, you are,” the Editor said, “but what does this have to do with the daily lives and struggles of Friendshippers?”
“I believe that virtual worlds can help people solve problems in the real one.”
“What is ‘virtual’?”
“Nearly appearing so. Like yourself.” “You speak in riddles,” the Editor said.
By her sixth month of pregnancy, Emily knew the reason Friendship lacked a bookstore: it was not a town of readers. With the demands of farming and gifting, Friendshippers were left with little free time, and what free time they had, they did not wish to devote to reading Walden by candlelight.
By her seventh month, she was on the verge of closing the store—she did not possess the missionary zeal for converting nonreaders into readers
—and perhaps even abandoning Friendship for good. It was Alabaster who suggested she expand her business by selling greeting cards. “In addition to the books, of course,” Alabaster said.
“Will it make a difference?” Emily rejoined. “Do people like greeting cards?”
“Yes, I believe they do. There are numerous heads of cabbage and birthdays to acknowledge.” Almost as an afterthought, Alabaster added, “You could also sell games. Reading is a chore, but I have heard told there is much money to be made in amusements.”
Emily changed the name of the store to Friendship Books, Stationery, & Games, and she began to stock the store in kind. Board games and stationery proved slightly more popular than the books alone had been. Emily was perpetually at two or less hearts, but she was able to make a living.
One evening, Alabaster found Emily passed out on the front steps of her house. Alabaster roused her. “Is it the baby?”
She shook her head, but she could not speak.
“I fear that you are not eating enough. I can plainly see that you’ve let your hearts get too low.” Alabaster gave her a can of PioneerAde from his inventory. “Drink.”
“I have a pain that exists only in my head,” she said, once some of her vitality had been restored. “I have had it my whole life. But when I feel that pain, I am incapacitated by it, and I am certain that I can’t go on.”
Alabaster studied Emily. “I think it is your glasses. They are far too small for your face. You should go see the optometrist.”
“Does Friendship even have one?”
“Yes, her name is Dr. Daedalus, and her shop is a few doors down from your own. I’m surprised you didn’t notice it before.”
NEW OPTOMETRIST ACCEPTS INTERESTING TRADES
In the morning, Emily called on Dr. Edna Daedalus, whose office was, indeed, three doors down from Friendship Books, Etc. Dr. Daedalus was occupied with another patient, so Emily passed the time browsing. In addition to eyeglasses, the office carried a variety of glass objects in vivid colors: sculptural whimsies and more practical glassware as well. Emily picked up a miniature crystal horse to examine it more closely.
“Naaaayyyy.” Emily started at the braying sound. She discovered the noise derived from the doctor. “She likes you,” Dr. Daedalus said.
“Madame, this simulacrum bears an uncanny resemblance to my horse, Pixel,” Emily said. “She is the precise shade of azure.”
“It is your horse, though she never told me her name. She is always waiting outside your shop. Your horse and I, we’re quite good friends,” Dr. Daedalus said. “Pixel, you say? Is that P-I-X-L-E?”
“No. P-I-X-E-L. You are an artist, Dr. Daedalus,” Emily averred. She carefully returned the horse to the menagerie.
“I amuse myself,” she said. “My main occupation, of course, is the fabrication of lenses. I assume that’s why you’re here.”
Emily looked at Dr. Daedalus. They were dressed identically, in the wardrobe typical of Friendship merchants: black skirt, white blouse with black tie. Dr. Daedalus was shorter than Emily, and her skin was pale and cast with undertones of verdigris. Her curly hair was the indigo black of comic book characters, and her round eyes, beneath her round glasses, were emerald and large. To depict her, Emily thought, I would require a great many circles. “Your eyes remind me of someone I used to know,” Emily observed. “Where do you come from?”
“Isn’t that the one question we’re never supposed to ask each other around here?” Dr. Daedalus said.
“I forget myself! Of course, we were both born on the day we arrived in Friendship!”
Dr. Daedalus led Emily to the back office, where the doctor had Emily read the eye chart and then she shined a slim flashlight in Emily’s eyes.
“May I ask the origin of your horse’s name?” Dr. Daedalus inquired. “I have never heard the name Pixel before.”
“It’s a portmanteau of my own devising. A combination of pixie and axle,” Emily said. “Pixel is fast to turn and light on her feet.”
“Pixel,” the doctor repeated. “How clever. I thought it had something to do with a tiny picture.”
“I’ve invented the word,” Emily said. “But you may invent the second meaning, if you wish.”
“Thank you,” the doctor said. “To restate. Pixel. Definition One: Noun. An animal that is fleet of foot. Definition Two: Also, noun. The smallest portion of an image on a screen.”
“What is a ‘screen’?” Emily asked.
“It is my own term for a length of land. It’s very useful, so I’m hoping to force it into a broader parlance. For example, your house in the Upper Foglands is three screens from Alabaster Brown’s house.”
Emily and the doctor smiled at each other, as if they had a secret.
They did have a secret. The secret was the delight one feels when discovering a person who speaks one’s native tongue.
“Are you and Alabaster friends?”
“I know of them,” Dr. Daedalus said. “Your prescription is incorrect. I question if these glasses could have possibly been made for you. They seem as if they came from a menu of preset, aesthetic options, and glasses should never be obtained this way. Even considering that women experience vision changes during pregnancy, you will need a new pair.” The doctor paused. “You are pregnant, aren’t you?”
“No,” Emily said. “What makes you say that?” “My apologies, then! I shouldn’t have assumed.”
Emily laughed. “I am indeed eight months pregnant. Whatever that means in Friendship.”
“Is time different here?”
“I think you know that it is.” “Give me a couple of days—” “Whatever days are.”
“Give me a couple of days to fabricate a new pair of glasses. We’ll have you seeing all the pixels in no time.”
“Is this proper usage of ‘pixel’?” Emily admonished.
“I believe so. In this context, to see all the pixels means to have fine vision.”
“That constitutes a third definition, then. How much do I owe you?”
Dr. Daedalus proposed a trade. “Your sign says that you also sell games. For some time, I’ve wanted to obtain a copy of the game Go. It’s sometimes referred to as the Chinese version of chess. I played it with the nanny as a child, and I would like to play it again. Do you know this game?”
Emily had heard of Go, but she had never played it nor seen an edition offered for sale. “Let me see if I can get it for you. It will be a diverting side quest for me. It may take several weeks, if you don’t mind waiting.”
“Whatever weeks are,” Dr. Daedalus said.
Through her usual channels, Emily could not find Dr. Daedalus’s Go, though she did locate a book titled Ancient Games for Fun and Amusement, in which the basic setup for Go was described: a board with a 19 × 19 grid, and 361 stones (181 black, 180 white). Emily decided to manufacture the board herself. She cut down a Sequoia tree and fashioned the board from its wood. She added a secret drawer for storing pieces, and then she carved an intricate pattern of spectacles and Dr. Daedalus’s name on the sides.
When she returned to the optometry, the doctor was not with a patient, but working on a small glass sculpture of still indeterminate form. Unexpectedly, Emily felt vulnerable as she presented Dr. Daedalus with her creation. “If it suits you to do so, I thought you could fashion the pieces out of glass.”
Dr. Daedalus paused to consider the board. “It is a fine board. No one else will have anything like it, and I am intrigued by this proposal. But what
if I made the dark pieces out of glass, and the light ones from stone? I am told you have an abundance of rocks on your land.” Emily agreed to gather the rocks, and Dr. Daedalus offered Emily her hand to shake. “We are settled, then.”
“It is an imperfect trade, Dr. Daedalus,” Emily apologized. “I fear I’ve burdened you with an unequal portion of the work.”
“There are no perfect trades,” Dr. Daedalus countered. “And I shall enjoy the diversion.”
“May I ask what you are making? It doesn’t appear to be glasses.”
“It will eventually be a prize for the most charitable person in Friendship,” Dr. Daedalus said.
“How is the most charitable person in Friendship determined?” Emily asked.
“I believe it has something to do with the number of gifts you’ve given.”
“This town.” Emily shook her head. “I knew the gifting was fishy. I felt an ulterior motive to it all along.”
“Miss Marks, that’s quite a cynical way of looking at things. Do you think the promise of a glass object is motivation enough for a person to be charitable year-round?” Dr. Daedalus finished the sculpture. “Not to deprecate my talents, but I suspect this would be a rather minor motivation.” She held out the heart to her. “It’s still warm.”
For reasons she could not explain to Daedalus, the crystal heart moved Emily deeply and she felt like she could cry, if it were possible for her to cry.
That night, she wrote a poem:
O crystal heart, Unbeating lovely: Such Beauty
Must have Consequence.
In the morning, she left the poem under the bag of rocks, on the porch of Dr. Daedalus’s store.
DOCTOR SEEKS GAMER
In her ninth month of pregnancy, Emily came across an advertisement on the Friendship board:
Doctor seeks Gamer, a person of sharp intellect, for competitive matches of the strategy game Go. Will teach you how to play, if necessary. Please arrive at my house in Verdant Valley, Tuesday nights, at 8 p.m., PST.
On Tuesday night, Emily rode Pixel to Verdant Valley. It was, in theory, getting more difficult to mount her horse. She once had read that pregnant women shouldn’t ride horses, but she felt certain those rules didn’t apply to her.
When she arrived, Dr. Daedalus was waiting in her doorway. “Welcome, Stranger,” Dr. Daedalus called. The doctor did not seem surprised to see Emily, nor did she seem surprised that no one else had answered her advertisement.
The Doctor’s house was Spanish style, with a red barrel-tile roof. Bougainvillea clung to the stucco, and there were two skinny palm trees in the front. “Your house and its flora are not typical of our region, Doctor,” Emily observed.
The Doctor invited Emily into her library, which had wallpaper printed with oriental waves. She poured Emily a cup of tea, and then she explained Go to her. “The rules are simple,” the doctor said. “Surround the other player’s stones with your own stones. Within this simplicity is a near infinite complexity, and that is why it’s a favorite with mathematicians and programmers.” Dr. Daedalus gave the white stones to Emily, and she took the black stones for herself.
“What is a ‘programmer’?” Emily asked.
“A programmer is a diviner of possible outcomes, and a seer of unseen worlds.”
“My. Is this something they do where you come from?”
“Yes. I derive from a superstitious people.” Dr. Daedalus hesitated. “But that is not how I came to Go. I used to dabble in mathematics, but I had no gift for it.”
Emily lost the first three games, though she came closer to winning each time. “I should be heading back to Foglands now,” Emily said. “I feel I’ve lost more than enough for one evening.”
“I’ll walk you,” Dr. Daedalus offered.
“It’s quite far. It’s, perhaps, eleven screens away, and the path is labyrinthine. And actually, I rode.”
“Do you not worry about riding your horse during your pregnancy?” “I don’t.”
“Will you come next Tuesday, then?” the doctor asked.
“If weather permits, Dr. Daedalus,” Emily said. “May I call you Edna, or Ed even? If we are to be friends, it is cumbersome to say Dr. Daedalus each time.”
FOR AN AD-FREE EXPERIENCE, UPGRADE TO A PREMIUM PIONEERS MEMBERSHIP
“I would prefer to be called Daedalus,” the doctor said. “It eliminates two syllables, so I shall count it a victory.”
They played through the fall and into the winter. Emily steadily improved at Go, and in December, she beat Daedalus for the first time.
Emily’s stomach was impossibly large at this point, and Daedalus insisted on walking her home.
“Why does a person choose to live in Upper Foglands?” Daedalus asked.
“It suits me,” she said.
“That is a terse answer. Shall I admit I am curious about you?” Daedalus said. “One likes to understand the background of a woman who has destroyed you in Go.”
“Daedalus, I have found that the most intimate relationships allow for a great deal of privacy within them.”
Daedalus did not press her, and they walked in silence for a while. “My life was quite easy for a long time,” Emily said. “It would be a lie to pretend that I have suffered more than anyone else. I had work I liked and was considered somewhat good at. But my partner died, and now I detest my work, and I have been blue. More than blue really. I have been in the depths of despair. My grandfather, Fred, who I adored, recently died. It begins to seem to me that life is little more than a series of losses, and as you must know by now, I hate losing. And I suppose I came to Friendship because I no longer wished to be in the place I lived and sometimes I no longer wished to even be in my body.”
“What is meant by ‘partner’? Like a husband or a wife?” “Yes, of a sort.”
“A helpmate?” “Yes.”
They passed a field in which a dozen or so American bison were grazing behind a fence. A sign in front of the field read: DO NOT SHOOT THE BISON.
“I don’t remember encountering this field before,” Emily said. She went up to the fence and she let the bison sniff her hand. “When I was a child, I saw so many dead bison on the Oregon Trail, and I remember feeling outraged. People kill them because they are slow moving and easy to hunt, but then the meat just rots.”
“Yes.”
“The greater world sometimes seems quite cruel to me, so I am glad we live in a world in which bison are protected.” Emily turned to look at the doctor, but as they were almost to Foglands, the thick mists made it so they could barely see each other.
“Ms. Marks, I wish to make you a proposal.” “Go on.”
“If it helps you, I would like to be a partner to you,” Daedalus said. “I know I am an imperfect substitute for whoever you have lost. But we are
both alone, and I think we could help each other. Sorrows can be shared, as easily as games of Go.” She reached for Emily’s hand, and she got down on one knee. “I would like to propose to you. Leave Foglands. Come to Verdant Valley.”
“Do you mean marriage?”
“It doesn’t have to have a name,” Daedalus said. “It can have a name if you want it to have a name.”
“What would it mean, then?”
“It means a very long game of Go, played without stops.”
In the past, Emily had many reasons for not wishing to marry—among them her belief that marriage was conventional and a trap for women. She had rejected two engagements in her previous life, but at this juncture, she could see the facility of embarking on a different course. She discussed the matter with Alabaster.
“Verdant Valley is more fecund, but it’s disgustingly crowded,” Alabaster scoffed. “Would you honestly wish to live there? You will be constantly fending off gifts of turnips.”
“Alabaster, I did not come here to discuss the merits of living in the Valley.”
“What is your objection, then?”
“I barely know Daedalus. We have played several games of Go, that’s it. She does not even allow me to call her by her first name.”
“Oh, well, if that’s your concern, I wouldn’t worry about it. The most important thing is finding someone you wish to play with. And in any case, marriage is a more practical affair here. You join property, and if it doesn’t work out, you separate property. I have done it—”
“Twelve times, I know.”
“And I am no worse for the wear.”
“This seems an about-face from what you told me several months ago. You went on and on about how wearying it was to join and separate property.”
“There is a pleasure to the joining of property as well, otherwise why would we all keep doing it? ‘Pleasure’ might be too strong a word. If not a
pleasure, let us say an interest. It develops the plot.” Alabaster eyed Emily’s still growing stomach. “How many months are you along now?”
“Perhaps eleven. I’m not sure. Soon, I shall be able to roll from Upper Foglands to town.”
“I feel you have lived here longer than eleven months, and you were with child when you arrived. Is it possible your unborn child is waiting for you to be married?”
“No, I could never have a child so conventional,” Emily said.
“Then, is it possible that it’s a force greater than the will of your child?
Greater than biology even?”
“What force are we speaking of?”
“The algorithm.” Alabaster’s eyes darted around the room, as if they were being spied on, and then they lowered their voice. “You know, the unseen force, al-Khwarizmi, that guides all of our lives.”
“You are superstitious.”
“Maybe so, but what if the algorithm doesn’t allow children before marriage?”
“Oh, for God’s sake. I can’t believe Friendship would have such conventional morality baked into it. Who made the rules of this world anyway?”
And yet, that night, Emily had a lucid dream of her pixelated child, trapped in her pixelated womb. She cursed Alabaster for having put such provincial notions in her head.
For the next several weeks, neither wishing to accept nor reject Daedalus’s proposal, Emily avoided her entirely. The commute felt longer than ever, and with the amount of weight Emily was carrying, she exhausted her hearts quickly.
When Daedalus finally came to the store, she did not mention the proposal. “I’ve made something for you, Em,” Daedalus said. “I call it the Xyzzy portal. It’s to help you travel through Friendship.”
The doctor had installed a portal that connected Emily’s store to her house, allowing her to bypass her commute. The portal was sage green and had three golden dots painted on the side:
 |
Emily studied the dots. “Is that an upside-down ‘therefore’ symbol?” “When the dots are placed this way, they mean ‘because.’ I know my
house is closer to town than yours. If you do ever decide to marry me,” Daedalus said, “I did not wish convenience to be a factor in your decision.”
That night, Emily showed Alabaster the portal. Alabaster stepped into it, and then they returned a moment later. “It works,” they declared. “I’m going to need wine. Don’t scrimp on the pours.” Emily decanted and then they went out to the porch.
“Well, Emily, that odd little doctor is romantic,” Alabaster said. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“And what is love, in the end?” Alabaster said. “Except the irrational desire to put evolutionary competitiveness aside in order to ease someone else’s journey through life?”
W E D D I N G A N N O U N C E M E N T
Ms. Emily B. Marks and Dr. Edna Daedalus were married by yours truly, in a ceremony attended by their small circle of intimates, including Pixel, the azure mare, and the vintner Alabaster Brown. Ms. Marks carried a bouquet of a dozen glass flowers, hand blown by Dr. Daedalus. Midway through the ceremony, snow began to fall, though Ms. Marks, who is two years pregnant, reported that she did not feel cold. In the months leading up to their nuptials, the couple had been playing games of Go, and Ms. Marks reported that the initial impetus for the marriage had been a desire to avoid interrupting their games with an eleven-screen winter commute.
As a wedding gift to Ms. Marks, Dr. Daedalus created a topiary hedge maze in the garden by her house. When asked why she had decided to make such a gift, the doctor replied cryptically, “To make a game is to imagine the person playing it.”
B I RT H A N N O U N C E M E N T
Emily B. Marks and Dr. Edna Daedalus are proud to report the arrival of their son, Ludo Quintus Marks Daedalus. Dr. Daedalus says the boy is healthy and has an area of 17 square pixels.
DOCTOR AND WIFE ARE HAPPY; BORED
Even after their marriage and the birth of their child, Emily and Daedalus decided to maintain separate residences. The doctor constructed an additional portal between their houses, so there was no real urgency to combine property. The baby, Ludo Quintus, grew used to living in both places.
LQ was an uncannily happy sprite. He never cried or fussed. He could be left unattended for long periods of time. He did not seek the company of other children, and he seemed content to be alone. In contrast with his long gestational period, his infancy was brief. He had the behavior and size of an eight-year-old by the time he was two. LQ was such an easy child that, to Emily, he sometimes seemed more like a doll than a human being. “He is easier to grow than a carrot,” she remarked.
The house in the Upper Foglands was by the water, and as soon as LQ was old enough, Emily taught him to swim. LQ easily got the hang of swimming, and each time they went out, he wanted to swim farther. “You must always check your hearts, and make sure you use no more than half of them, before you return,” Emily warned.
“Yes, Mama,” LQ said.
LQ and Emily would swim exactly two screens out, and then they would return.
“How many screens is the ocean?” LQ asked. “Nine or ten screens deep.”
“How do you know?”
“I have swum to the end.” “And what is at the end?”
“A sort of fog, and then a nothingness that is like a wall. You shall grok it when you come to it.”
LQ nodded. “Is it awfully frightening, Mama?”
“No, it’s nothing to fear. It’s just the end.” “I want to see it,” LQ said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Because I have never seen it.”
“One day, when you are a stronger swimmer, and you have more hearts.”
That night when LQ was sleeping, Emily reported this conversation to Daedalus. “What do you make of it?”
“I think it is natural to want to know the boundaries of your world,” Daedalus said. “We should encourage him in his explorations. He is a strong child, and he cannot hurt himself very badly. Shall I get out the Go board?”
In most respects, it was an ordinary marriage, punctuated by competitive rounds of Go. Indeed, Emily felt the greatest intimacy with Daedalus when they were playing games together.
She confessed to Alabaster, “There must be more to life than working and swimming and playing Go.”
“The boredom you speak of,” Alabaster said. “It is what most of us call happiness.”
“I suppose.”
Alabaster sighed. “This is the game, Emily.” “What game?”
Alabaster rolled their lilac eyes. “You are happy, and you are bored.
You need to find a new pastime.”
“Did I ever tell you that I used to build engines?” Emily said. “No, I don’t think you did.”
“Once, I built one that made the light of the sun. And I built another one that made the fog.”
“Impressive. I did not know engines had these Promethean capabilities.
Perhaps you should return to doing that, then?”
SPECIAL EVENT: SUPER BLIZZARD TERRORIZES FRIENDSHIP
At the end of March, Daedalus went to Eidetic Bluffs to perform eye examinations for the settlement’s school. “It takes an entire day to get to the Bluffs,” Emily grumbled. “If they want glasses so badly, why shouldn’t they come to you?”
“It is thirty children, Em,” Daedalus said. “What if it was LQ who could not see?”
“You are soft-hearted.”
The blizzard began not long after Daedalus had left for the Bluffs. Emily didn’t worry too much about the doctor because the worst that happened in Friendship was that one ran out of hearts. Even if Daedalus had gotten caught in the storm, eventually, the doctor would recharge and then she would return.
Three days after the blizzard, Daedalus still had not returned. The snow had begun to thaw, so Emily left Ludo Quintus with Alabaster, and she rode out to Eidetic Bluffs, where they informed her that Daedalus had never arrived.
On the fourth day, Daedalus’s horse returned to the stable in the Valley without her mistress.
Emily spoke to the Editor, and despite her aversion to posting, she had him put a notice on the Friendship Hutch about Daedalus’s disappearance. “Ms. Marks,” the Editor said, “there are times when people leave our world without explanation. We must—”
“Skip.”
On the fifth day, Emily searched again. This time, she took only roads she had never been on before. This led her to southwestern Undiscovered Friendship, where the land was cheap and sere. She rode past several ranches, an aviary, an exotic plant nursery, a piano store, a spa, a small amusement park, a museum devoted to old technology, a horse breaker, an
arcade, a casino, an explosives warehouse, and other businesses that were too large, anachronistic, or aesthetically inappropriate to be contained downtown. No one that she encountered had seen Daedalus. At the arcade, a man in a seersucker suit suggested she try the caves, as people sometimes took refuge in them. “It’s hard to find the entrance,” he warned. “Some people say it moves.”
She circled the perimeter of the mountain. The sun had gone down, but some light remained. She decided she would search until the light was gone before turning back. In the final moments of dusk, when she had almost given up, a reedy voice called out, “I’m here.”
“I’m coming!” Emily turned Pixel around, and they backtracked slowly. She spotted an oddly shimmering place in the rocks. She dismounted her horse and she walked through the nebula, into a cavern. Inside was Daedalus, barely alive and her right hand a disturbing shade of black. Daedalus said her horse had been spooked and had thrown her, just as the blizzard had begun. She had gone into the cave for shelter. “I think there may be an injury to my hand,” Daedalus said before she passed out.
Emily nursed Daedalus through recovery. Before long, it became clear to Emily that if Daedalus were to survive, her hand would need to be amputated. Daedalus said she would rather be dead than lacking her hand, to which Emily replied that she would be dead if she had both hands. The amputation could not be avoided.
The recovery was short physically, but long emotionally. Daedalus was quite despondent and refused to leave her house or even her bedroom. For a time, she would neither speak to nor even see Ludo Quintus.
“I honestly didn’t know this could happen here,” Emily said.
“You should leave me,” Daedalus said. “I am now a useless person. I shall never be able to make lenses again.”
“I don’t think it’s possible for me to leave you.”
“Then I’ll leave you. I’ll swim to the end of the ocean, and I’ll never come back.”
“With whom would I play Go?” Emily began setting up the pieces on a table by Daedalus’s bed.
“I don’t wish to play,” Daedalus said. And yet, when Emily placed the first white stone on the board, Daedalus could not help but place the next black one. Each afternoon, Emily would move the Go board a little farther from Daedalus’s bed. In this way, Daedalus joined the world again, though she would not concede to leave the house or return to her optometry practice.
Several weeks later, Emily came to Daedalus with a proposal. “It is almost Christmas, and I was thinking how much I enjoyed making that Go board for you. I had a thought that we could make games for other people in Friendship. Even with the loss of your hand, I feel certain you could craft the pieces—the making of pieces requires a less precise craft than the making of lenses, I imagine. LQ is older now and he is fit to be your apprentice. I could make the boards, and we could sell our wares for the holidays. What do you think?”
“I think you are patronizing me,” Daedalus said. “But I suppose I could
try.”
They made sets of Chinese checkers, checkers, chess, and Go. The
games, with their carved boards and hand-blown, bespoke pieces, were art objects. They called their game company Daedalus & Marks Games. The games were a great success, and they sold every single board they created.
“I have missed making games,” Emily said.
“Have you made them before?” Dr. Daedalus asked.
“Yes, with my brothers when I was a girl. They are not the sort of games you would understand.”
“Tell me about one.”
“One of the games was about a child who was lost at sea.”
“It is hard to imagine that on a board,” Dr. Daedalus conceded.
Emily pointed to the grid of Daedalus’s Go board. “Imagine that this board is a world, and each of the places where the grids meet is a subdivision of that world. And imagine that each of these Go pieces represents a person.”
“What are your hands in this metaphor?” Daedalus asked. “My right hand is the lost child. And my left hand is God.”
Daedalus reached across the table, but she could not touch Emily in the way she wanted to. “I love you,” Daedalus said. “It is hard for me to say, because sometimes it doesn’t seem like it is enough.”
On Christmas morning, Daedalus and LQ presented Emily with a special board game that they had made. The board looked like a road, and the glass pieces were small covered wagons. There was also a polyhedral die and a deck of cards. On the side of the board, Daedalus had carved their son’s name, Ludo Quintus. “It is also the title of the game,” Daedalus said.
Emily asked how Ludo Quintus was played.
“It’s easy, Mama,” LQ said. “You can be a farmer, a merchant, or a banker. And you have to try to get from Massachusetts to California. But on the cards, there are many obstacles.”
“Why is it called Ludo Quintus?” Emily asked.
“Because that is my name!” LQ said. “And because Mother says Ludo means ‘game’ in Latin.”
Daedalus had been responsible for the naming of their child, and strange as it may seem, Emily had never put much thought into the meaning of Ludo Quintus. “What does Quintus mean?” Emily was reasonably certain she already knew.
“Fifth,” Daedalus said, after a beat. “Fifth game.”
PIONEERCHAT
You are now in a private chat with daedalus84.
EMILYBMARXX: Is it you?
DAEDALUS84: Yes, it’s your beloved wife, Dr. Edna Daedalus.
EMILYBMARXX: Cut the crap. Samson, is it you? Be honest, for once in your life.
DAEDALUS84: ………Yes.
EMILYBMARXX: How did you find me?
DAEDALUS84: Find you? I built this place for you. Pioneers is a period extension of Mapleworld. I made it look like Oregon Trail because I knew you would like it.
EMILYBMARXX: You were trying to trap me?
DAEDALUS84: No, it wasn’t like that. After Marx’s death, I wanted to make
things that reminded me of the old days, of you. I hoped you might join Pioneers, but I didn’t know if you ever would. And when I figured out that you were Emily B. Marks, I had to be your friend. You seemed so lonely. Living by yourself at the far reaches of Friendship.
EMILYBMARXX: Be that as it may, these identities are supposed to be private. I didn’t sign up with an identifying email address either, but you must already know that. Did you use my IP address?
DAEDALUS84: Yes.
EMILYBMARXX: I told you to leave me alone. Can’t you respect any of my wishes?
DAEDALUS84: I was worried about you.
EMILYBMARXX: You tricked me.
DAEDALUS84: How did I trick you?
EMILYBMARXX: You invaded my privacy. You pretended you were a stranger.
DAEDALUS84: I didn’t. I was myself. Except for the name and some of the details, I was exactly myself. And you were yourself. And I think
you’ve known for a long time. Maybe you didn’t want to admit it.
EMILYBMARXX: You know I’m going to have to leave Friendship now. You know that, right?
DAEDALUS84: Marx’s death didn’t just happen to you. He was my friend. He was my partner. It was our company. These things happened to both of us.
EMILYBMARXX: ………
DAEDALUS84: I miss you, Sadie. I want to be in your life…A mistake I have made in the past. There is no purity to bearing pain alone.
emilybmarxx has left the chat.
—
Emily walked through the familiar landscape of Friendship. What was once beautiful and comforting now seemed like a brazen sham.
She mounted Pixel and rode down the hill to Alabaster’s house.
Alabaster answered their door and invited Emily inside. She confessed to her friend that she thought she would have to leave Friendship soon. “Edna is not who she claims to be,” Emily explained.
“Are any of us?” Alabaster asked.
“But it turns out she is someone I knew from before, and this spoils the game for me.”
Alabaster nodded. “What I think you should consider,” Alabaster said, “is the rarity of finding a playmate in either this world or the other world.”
Emily looked at Alabaster, at their lilac eyes and their lilac hair. “Sam?”
“Who’s Sam?” Alabaster said. “Are you Sam as well?”
Alabaster lowered themself to their knees. “Sadie.”
The figure of Emily disappeared from Alabaster’s house. A text box appeared on the screen:
Emily has left Friendship.
BOY REACHES END
Some days or months or years later, Emily logged back on to check on LQ. He had aged three years during her absence, and he was now a sturdy boy of eleven.
“Mama, where have you been?” LQ demanded. “Mother and I have been worried about you.”
“Would you like to go for a swim?” Emily asked.
Emily and LQ swam out their usual two screens. LQ asked if he could keep swimming, and Emily thought about it for a moment. “Why not? You’re much bigger now.”
They swam until they reached the end of the ocean. “It is so peaceful here at the end,” LQ said.
“It is peaceful,” Emily agreed.
“Mama,” LQ said. “I’m worried. I don’t think I have enough hearts to get back.”
“Don’t worry, my love. You aren’t real, so you can’t die.”
LOCAL MERCHANT’S WILL READ
During the great blizzard of ’08, while searching for Daedalus, Emily had come across a ranch in Undiscovered Friendship. The ranch’s ice- coated sign read BREAKER OF HORSES and a smaller sign below that,
GROOMING, SHODDING, HORSE TAMING, AND OTHER SERVICES OF AN EQUESTRIAN
NATURE. NO HORSE TOO DIFFICULT. She had been occupied at the time with a more urgent mystery, and so she had not stopped.
Months later, even after she had ceased communication with Daedalus, the sign remained in her thoughts. The name suggested a place she had known when she was young, or perhaps, a dream she had once had. On or about her last day in Friendship, she decided it was time to see what lay beyond those gates. Even if it was a sign that signified nothing, the least she could do was get Pixel shod before she left Friendship for good.
When she zoomed out to the larger map, she found the location of Breaker of Horses was unmarked, and it took much unscientific backtracking and circling along anfractuous roads to find the place again. By the time she and Pixel finally passed under the gates, the sun was setting.
Emily rode through a grove of fruit trees and then down a long stone path, past stables and fields, and at the very back of the ranch, she arrived at a white A-frame house, almost like a church. She dismounted Pixel, and she rang the bell. A man in a white cowboy hat answered. He was in his sixties, noticeably older than almost everyone in Friendship; a bit bow-legged, befitting a person who had spent most of his life on horseback; not at all stooped. Under his hat, he had a shock of thick, dark gray hair. He looks, she thought, like his father, Ryu. The NPC tipped his hat to her. “Howdy, pilgrim. Having horse trouble?”
Emily explained that her horse needed shodding, and they discussed materials and horseshoe prices before coming to an arrangement. The NPC
offered her his hand, and she kissed him on the cheek. “You won’t get a lower price that way,” he said. “I miss you,” she said.
“Shucks, ma’am, you’re making me blush.” “What’s your favorite part of The Iliad?”
“What’s The Iliad?” He paused, removed his hat, and a second later, as if possessed, the NPC had transformed into a different version of himself: “Then first of all came Andromaché, his wife, and cried—‘O my husband, thou hast perished in thy youth, and I am left in widowhood, and our child, thy child and mine, is but an infant!…Sore is thy parents’ grief, O Hector, but sorest mine. Thou didst stretch no hands of farewell to me from thy bed, nor speak any word of comfort for me to muse on while I weep night and day.’ ” When he was finished, he bowed and returned his hat to his head.
“It was good to see you,” Emily said. “Come back any time, little lady.”
Emily found the exchange with the NPC unsatisfying, but then, most encounters with NPCs are.
And yet, were it not for the Breaker of Horses, Sadie may never have decided to set Emily’s affairs in order.
One of Sam’s innovations in Pioneers was the way a gamer could leave it. Sam hadn’t liked the way a gamer, even someone who’d inhabited Mapleworld for years, could just vanish. A resident might one day decide to never log on again. It was healthier, Sam felt, to allow for the possibility that a person might want to leave a game. No matter how good an MMORPG was, gamers eventually did leave. They moved on to other games, other worlds, sometimes even the real one. When Sam built Pioneers, he expanded the category of Ceremonies to include Divorces, Wills, and Funerals.
The Editor read Emily’s will: “My beloved son, Ludo Quintus, has swum out to seek the end of the sea, and I suspect he will be exploring for many years to come. I am but the avatar of a mortal woman, and since LQ’s absence, I have been plagued by severe intestinal distress. I can only think this is my body saying that I no longer wish to live without LQ. I have,
therefore, decided to leave Friendship. To my friend, Alabaster Brown, I bequeath my farm, my store, and both their contents. To my wife, Dr. Daedalus, I leave my horse, Pixel, and the glass simulacrum of same. I wish to add that I do not entirely regret the time I have spent in Friendship, nor do I regret the time I passed with Dr. Daedalus. I am resentful of her constant deceit—she knows very well what she has done—but I shall always remember those evenings playing Go with great affection. When I came here, I was as drained of hearts as I have ever been, and the tedium of Friendship and the kindness of its non-strangers gave me life. I am thankful to have come to a place as gentle as this, where the bison can be assured safe passage.”
The Editor folded up the will. “She speaks in riddles,” he commented.
A headstone for Emily was placed in Friendship Cemetery. The inscription read:
