by Jo Sparkes
The third building was tall and slender, with a high-sloped roof between two graceful spires. The roof was a brilliant blue, sparkling in the sun, and the spires were of a golden hue.
“A House of Agben,” Tryst breathed. “I didn't know it was here.”
They strode up the stone steps. Marra reluctantly waited as Drail pounded on the door.
And waited.
At last a tiny part of the door dropped down, and a fierce female gazed out at them. Old Merle stepped forward.
“The Hand of Victory, Solstice Champions, stand before you. We are here to claim the Mark.”
The prize money was a great thing, of course, but it was the Mark that Drail wanted. He knew from Raston and Old Merle that today, the day after their victory, it would be easy to get Marks for Marra as well as the team. Today they would find ships bargaining for the privilege of carrying them to the Great Continent.
Tomorrow the opportunities might begin to fade.
The female now looked them over, seeming annoyed rather than impressed. But Old Merle wouldn't budge, and at last she opened the door itself.
They entered a cavern of a room, with a few couches, tables, chairs, and staircases on either side. There they waited for an hour, until the female returned with an old woman.
It was Gran from the herb shop.
Drail knew they could stay in the finest room in the finest inn for free. All of Port Leet was open to them. But he intended to leave on the first good ship that sailed. For now he had the Mark of Health tattoo, and the Port Leet Solstice Champion symbol stitched on his leather. He would play the games on the Great Continent, like his grandsire before him. Old Merle warned it was a whole new level of play. He didn't care.
It was his dream, and that was enough.
Tryst had seemed nervous of getting his Mark. Drail wasn't sure if it was a hesitation to join the Hand of Victory, or a wish not to be beholden. Kayle, however, did not want to leave the Flats, and they could hardly choose a better man than Tryst to replace him.
When the old woman looked Tryst over, she frowned and clucked numerous times. Finally she stepped back from him, hands on her hips. “You wish a Mark?”
“We need it to travel,” Drail told her again.
Tryst looked into her eyes. “All Trumen need marks to go to the Great Continent. And I must go there.”
She cackled, and stepped away. A moment later she returned with large copper disks. “This one cannot be tattooed,” she announced, and handed Tryst a disk. “So if you insist on your folly, do not lose this.”
“Marra goes as well,” Drail told her, but she tattooed the girl without so much as prodding her to open her mouth. “This one,” she said as she pressed the disk in Marra's palm. “This one must travel.” And when Marra smiled warmly at her, the old woman patted her cheek.
Marra held back as the others filed out. Gran cocked an eyebrow, waiting.
“You're a woman of Agben, then?” Marra asked. Gran smiled softly, and for a moment her gaze was far off.
“I was called in, to do this task.”
They left the room, descending the stairs together. And as they walked Marra studied the Agben House, noting the width of the steps, the large hallways, the numerous seats luxuriously padded. And all empty.
“Where are the Agben women?” she asked quietly.
Gran continued across the marble floor to the double doors. Marra quickly followed, not wanting to be left behind. Only when the door was closed, and they stood in sunshine, did Gran speak.
“Apparently they left, two weeks ago. Recalled to Missea.”
Drail and the others were already halfway to the wharf. “Does that happen often?” Marra asked.
The old woman shook her head. “Never. No Agben House has ever been deserted like this.”
Gran glanced over her shoulder, then leaned in close to Marra. “I don't know what it means, girl,” she told her softly. “But every possibility I can think of scares the sand right out of my bones.”
Epilogue
THAT AFTERNOON the Hand of Victory, with its trainer Old Merle and its Brista Marra, visited the docks. They found a fine schooner called the Trafalcon, with a strong Captain, a large cabin for the team and a small private room for the woman. When the Trafalcon sailed in three days, they would sail with her.
Old Merle produced a suite of rooms at the Victory Inn, including a beautiful chamber for Marra. She had but to gather her things from the Brista quarters.
Nervously she entered the apartments, relaxing as she saw they were empty. Her second blouse hung on its peg, laundered by the serving girl. Instead of taking it, Marra hung her old skirt and first blouse beside it. Drail had insisted on giving her coins from the prize money, and she had finally bought new things to wear, of linen cloth and actually dyed to pretty colors. Not velvet, perhaps, but fresh and bright and new. She realized she'd never worn new things in her whole existence. Her mother had always stitched old clothes into a proper size for her daughter.
She debated leaving her shoes – they were just sandflat sandals, after all, and the serving girl might not appreciate them. But in the end she did leave them. If the girl didn't want them, she could do with them as she wished.
With her new bag Marra packed her herb sashes, her vials, and the Myrrcleft. The bag was cloth, not leather, but it had a drawstring that looped over her shoulder. She moved to the library shelves and was just pulling Britta's book free when the door opened.
Catrona stood there, hands on hips, eyes burning with anger. Marra instinctively pushed the book back, and could only hope the woman hadn't noticed it.
“You bitch.” Catrona slammed the door, strode up and slapped her. “You little bitch. Do you have any idea the trouble you caused?”
Trembling, cradling her cheek, Marra watched the lady turn to the bookshelves. “Now what do we have –”
Clenching her fingers as Tryst had shown her, thumb on the outside so not to get injured on impact, Marra swung her fist into Catrona's jaw.
The woman dropped with a thump.
Beyond her, the door stood open and the serving girl entered. She took in the unconscious lady on the floor, then stared at Marra.
And smiled.
Startled and feeling guilty over her action, Marra found that smile reassuring. Returning the smile, she plucked Britta’s book free of the shelf.
“I've left a few things in the room for you, if you want them.”
“You're very sweet, Miss.” the girl stepped over Catrona's inert form. “Very sweet.”
She disappeared as Marra stuffed the book in her bag.
Tryst had offered to teach her how to defend herself, and she'd hesitated. Somehow it seemed once you crossed that line there was no going back. Marra had feared the thought that even more punishment would come her way. That somehow she'd be asking for it.
But she had never asked for it, she realized. Perhaps it was time to quit allowing it.
Stepping over the lady of Agben, Marra left the room and the arena. Very soon she would leave the Wavering Continent, and all she’d ever known.
End of Book 1
THANK YOU
To Annie Tapper-Blem for her beautiful cover art.
To Mike Terlizzi for his wonderful maps.
To Ian Sparkes for his enduring – and endearing – support.
And to you – for reading this book. May good fortune be yours.
The Legend of the Gamesmen
More than a sport, the gamesmen stand for an idea - that humble men can win the day. That the lowly are not so low, and the least of us may yet succeed. A fable told across the three continents.
This is the tale that launched the legend.
Book 1: The Birr Elixir
Book 2: The Agben School
Book 3: The Dim Continent
THE AGBEN SCHOOL
Book 2 of The Legend of the Gamesmen
It should have been a happy ending.
A Prince restored, victory in the bla
ck arena. Instead the band of friends shatters against an evil conspiracy.
Refusing to endanger one man or burden another, Marra flees to the Agben School. Agben, whose ancient walls have held for a thousand years, protecting those within as they sought to harness the power of nature.
But this evil is relentless, and the school may not be the safe ground she thought. In fact it may not be anything she thought. Cut off from the only friends she knew, Marra discovers more than her life hangs in the balance.
For the future of her race – of both races – depends not on a prince trying to save his people, nor the heroic men who’d brought them this far.
Everything depends on her.
THE DIM CONTINENT
Book 3 of The Legend of the Gamesmen
The Women of Agben use herbs to heal and enhance only. Yet Marra saw a third use, one with a brew that can detect a prince and a potion to hide a creature’s appearance. A forbidden art being wielded against the throne.
Its source thrives on the Dim Continent.
Journeying with her mentor to this fabled place, Marra stumbles on another secret. Agben includes Terrin females - the same hairy creatures that kidnapped a king. Now the trust binding them together is rapidly corroding.
She doesn’t know Prince Tryst has pursued the traitors to this wild, dangerous land. Or that Drail travels with him, providing gamesmen cover.
In a land of strange beings and dangerous animals, the three friends must again pool their skills. This time not just to save themselves – but to save all their people. The fate of Skullan and Trumen alike hinge on defeating a powerful enemy, with a centuries-old plot.
The final battle looms in the heart of his power – the Dim Continent.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jo Sparkes, a well-known Century City Producer once said, “…writes some of the best dialogue I’ve read.”
Jo graduated from Washington College, a small liberal arts college famous for its creative writing program, and went on to study with Robert Powell: a student of renowned teachers Lew Hunter and Richard Walter, head of UCLA’s Screenwriting Program.
She’s won a Kay Snow for her comedy script, ‘Frank Retrieval’, a Silver IPPY for ‘The Birr Elixir’, and BRAG Medallions for multiple books. A member of the Pro Football Writers Association, she was (unofficially) the first to interview Emmitt Smith when he came to the Arizona Cardinals.
Jo served as an adjunct teacher at the Film School at Scottsdale Community College, and even made a video of her most beloved lecture.
Her book for writers and artists, “Feedback How to Give It How to Get It” has garnered strong praise.
When not diligently perfecting her craft, Jo can be found exploring her new home of Portland, Oregon, with her husband Ian, and their dog Oscar.
Copyright © 2013 by Jo Sparkes
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form, by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except for brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, to businesses, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
The Birr Elixir - Jo Sparkes
ISBN 978-0-9853318-1-8
