Wendy wasn’t sure how they did it, but her and Leslie made it to the second day.

It was fun, and this was a game, but she was starting to think Leslie didn’t even care about trying to win. She’s a through-and-through memer. Yes, it was kind of funny that they both ended up with nigh on useless abilities, but that didn’t mean they should have kept them. The spear and the crossbow from the players they defeated the last day could have been salvaged if they went looking for them, but Leslie wanted to keep going, keep exploring.

Well for her -not that she was hating- but it did feel like Leslie could waltz into just about any situation, in the real, virtual or fantasy and find herself a nice nook, a home and a place to belong. Wendy knew it wasn’t quite that easy, but certainly easier than it was for her. But Leslie was a good friend to have, even if she depended on Wendy to boost her into being competitive. We all need a little help now and again, right?

There were other things too, she was thinking as they followed the line of refugees beside buildings with strange, twisting designs. They looked vaguely Aztec, carved overtop plain plaster much like you’d see anywhere else on the island. Two words came to mind immediately; cultural appropriation. Though, the city folk obviously wouldn’t know or care about what Wendy thought. Still, the two of them needed to get away from the market districts where they were easily recognised, so they headed out into the jungle-facing side of Bilgewater, hoping it would be less crowded. As it turned out, when suddenly the weather went from white girl summer to full on creepsville with the fog and all, a lot of the folk got afraid. Many of them choosing to take off, escaping what they called “The Harrowing”. Which was…um, harrowing.

While everyone else in the line of refugees, pilgrims -I don’t know what to call them- strode along peacefully, with properly covered bowed backs, Leslie was prancing around touching everything and whispering about how “awesome” it was. And okay, admittedly it was kind of cool but -Wendy wanted to facepalm, scream ‘yikes’ and ‘sheesh’ simultaneously; these were temples! The lack of a white Christian aesthetic threw her off.

Wendy pulled her friend aside and hissed, “It’s a church, Leslie! That’s where the line leads.”

“Ouch! I’m still sore!” Leslie rubbed her leg where a bolt had pierced her in the battle on the bridge. In Bilgewater they seemed to be more resilient than normal. As, in a day’s time, what might’ve been a life threatening wound was just a scar and strained muscle.

“A church?” Leslie pondered, then, as if absorbing half a decade of missionary experience in the space of a second, she became the perfect nun. Walking gracefully, face serene and demeanour irreverent as she passed Wendy.

She rolled her eyes at the instant turn to roleplay. “I meant why are we still coming,” Wendy said, caching up to Nun Leslie, “Isn’t there something else we could be doing? Have you forgotten this a battle royale?”

“To the death?” she added as Leslie passed her by again.

Wendy let her go. Outside the logical reason not to go to the temple, she was also looking out for Leslie’s feelings, trying not to remind her of her broken-off engagement -especially in light of Wendy’s own recent wedding. She’ll be fine, she supposed, she always is.

“You two are very good friends,” laughed an old lady. With her hand braced against her hip, Wendy was -for a moment- offended at how hard she was laughing, but no, that was simply the way the woman supported herself.

After a sigh, and a few more seconds of built-up guilt Wendy offered to assist her uphill. But the old woman refused, waving her away and continuing her comments.

She pointed at Leslie, further ahead, somehow making cutting through a queue look graceful. “That one is as sly as the Mother Serpent, but I fear she has not truly been tested.” She kept an eyebrow raised, clearly waiting for a response but Wendy wasn’t sure of the correct way to say it. Or even if she should. Do I tell a random crone about Leslie’s previous engagement? Yeah, I don’t think so.

“Ahh, a foreigner then?” She said, nodding in acknowledgement. The old lady faced back, to the bulk of the Bilgewater laid out below, covered in a fog so unnatural in density and colour that it broke Wendy’s immersion for a second.

Why the hell am I looking for life advice from an NPC? Oh god, I’m being weird again.

“Then it is good you are here,” the old woman said with a smile, going back to struggling uphill, “There will be tests enough for the both of you, I am sure.”

“Lesl- my friend will be fine,” Wendy said reflexively.

“And you?”

Wendy paused mid-step, the crone cackling and nodding, cackling and nodding as she stepped ahead.

“There is no shame in failing,” she told Wendy, “Despite what many of those claiming to be devout will tell you. The Mother Serpent wishes only for all to be fulfilled. But that is no straight path.” Suddenly, she tripped over some loose rock. With another cackle, at herself this time, the old woman caught her breath. Her feet still wobbled at the base of every step but she continued on. “A true life, a life worthy of the Buhru goddess is one filled with failure, but with the strength to keep surmounting those failures.”

Wendy climbed towards her, almost slipping on an odd pebble caught in the ground, unearthed by the old lady’s fall. So dark but also so smooth that it shone through reflection. The shape, though, reminded Wendy of a gobstopper and without thinking she popped it in her mouth. No sooner than it was in Wendy’s mouth than the thing disappeared, like it was made of vapor.

The old lady stood smiling overhead as she waited for Wendy to catch up, so she cast aside this incident. Perhaps a game bug?

“That’s why the temple was built so high up. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.”

*

At the base of the mountain Leslie beckoned her -dropping her nun act- to a feast laid out on the church grounds. The price to pay was, as expected, a sermon on the Harrowing.

Wendy wasn’t hungry. Neither did she care about what ‘caused’ the made-up fog in their battle arena. She wanted to confront Leslie again, try to explain that winning the Battle Royale would be huge, and that they really did have a chance if they thought about it smartly, tactically. And that it may be her last opportunity to make money before she dropped out of the streaming sphere to prepare for motherhood. That’s what Wendy wanted, but a quick look over at Leslie enjoying herself, chugging ale and joining in on the responses filled her with anxiety.

She took a step away instead, awkwardly brushing past shoulders and garnering many dirty looks on her way out. She sat at a building on the others side of the grounds. Despite the alien architecture and design, knowing the buildings purpose cast Wendy’s mind back to her wedding day. It was a culmination of everything for her. Surrounded by amazing friends and family -including Leslie as a bridesmaid- bonded to a man she had taken the time to learn, love, and allow to love her fully.

But the memory of the event was marred, even if only slightly, by Leslie’s break up with her long-time fiancé. If I can’t stop thinking about such thoughts, how is it for her? For a while, Wendy believed her when Leslie said she was ‘fine’. Everyone was worried about her but Leslie just went back to streaming. Went harder at it, like full gung-ho and it started to really pay off for her in a big way. But… Wendy noticed that Leslie never gave herself time to grieve. Perhaps she was fine now, but Wendy always expected some moment of weakness -perhaps just out of her own selfishness, or her jealousy that she could never hold so much composure.

Hopping off the embellished dais, Wendy wiped a tear from her eye and walked back across to the preachers and the buffet spread.

The sermon had just concluded, with all the guests hyper and ecstatic, singing their praises and thanks as they chowed down. Wendy searched for Leslie among the crowd -which seemed sparser, now that she thought about it- but couldn’t find her. Wendy found her tankard, still unfinished, and as she swiped it up she met a familiar figure.

“Well? What did you think?” asked the old woman, deshelling some weird purple crustacean, “Yes, yes, it was a bit too much. As I said, pay no mind to the exorbitance of some of these types. The message is clear, though, this harrowing will require more than just love to get through.”

“Old lady, did you see where my friend went?”

“Why, she joined in on the last call, dear. Weren’t you paying attention?” The old woman gulped down a claw, shaking her head. “They did a call, for those who felt they had what it takes to end the Harrowing before it happens. I daresay your friend was one of the loudest.”

“Where, granny?”

She tensed at being referred to so informally, but answered. “The far side of the hilltop. The graveyard.”

Wendy sprinted in the direction, still holding Leslie’s tankard. Part of her was wrapped up in imagining the horrible acts that could be going on inside a graveyard full of religious freaks. The other part of her was shocked by her own forwardness. She really just asked outright for what she needed to know? Consequences be damned? Wow, that was new. She couldn’t wait to do it again.

By the time she found the preachers at the gated entrance, Wendy had thought of all manner of things to say. Her mouth smoked at the thought. No, her mouth was literally smoking, black curls, darker than night but lustrous as the stars.

It helped grab his attention when she screamed, “What have you done with my best friend?”

For Wendy, the scream felt natural. For everyone and everything else caught in its blast, it was a bloody disaster. The preachers lay embedded in the iron gate, skin and robes shredded. Branches littered chipped, upturned and toppled gravestones. The earth was raked through like a rough comb. And amid the fresh ground, was a hand forcing its way up.

“Leslie!”

Wendy pulled her out. She was alive! Gasping unintelligible, but alive!

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

Leslie kept gasping and slapping her arms to the side. No, not her side. Wendy’s side.

“The ale!”

Leslie nodded.

Wendy thought she spilled just about all of it on her way, but to her surprise it still had plenty in it. Helping Leslie gulp it down, she marvelled as her entire body lost its greying-purple colour, and went back to a healthy glow.

“No wonder you were slurping that shit down, it’s a heal.”

Emptying the whole thing, Leslie took a huge breath of clean air, then panned slowly around to look at the carnage. “Yeah, I found a heal. But what the hell did you get?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Wendy laughed, embracing her friend. “I’m just glad you’re still here with me. I should’ve stayed with you, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s my fault.” Leslie broke the hug apart to look into Wendy’s eyes. “I’ve been going with the flow, playing the role—”

“Yeah, but roleplay doesn’t mean you have to let them bury you alive!”

“Wendy!” Leslie shook her. She was serious. “I’ve been pretending for a long time. I’m not fine.”