The Dim Continent: Series Finale (The Legend of the Gamesmen Book 3)

by Jo Sparkes

  “These things taste like hay muck-raked from a barn,” Olver told her.

  “And he would know,” Manten grinned. Olver threw a piece at his friend’s nose.

  “If they were sweeter on the tongue, you’d be tempted to eat more than you need,” Adeena said. “Their function is to provide the necessary nourishment to journey.”

  The sun burst free of a cloud, cheering Drail with its blast of desert warmth. It was both hot and humid here, but the heat at least was an old familiar friend. Lifting his face in welcome, he was yet aware of the ominous trees. “How long to our game?” he asked, eyes still closed.

  A brief hesitation, and then he heard her sigh. “Three days, on average.”

  “On average?” Jason’s sharp tone forced Drail to open his eyes.

  Adeena shrugged - a gesture she frequently used to communicate. This one indicated a sort of apology. “Guides share all information, especially travel time. But some paths vary widely on that point - and this one more than most.”

  Jason was not happy with the answer - nor indeed was anyone else. Adeena herself showed a widening crack in her confidence.

  Olver stirred, ready to fire a nasty retort.

  “Then we’ll discover it together,” Drail smiled.

  Stymied, Olver gave him a penetrating look before stuffing the last of his hard cake between his teeth.

  Tryst watched their guide scan the tree line. “The entrance seems to be there,” he pointed.

  Adeena glared over her shoulder, before reaching into a fat bush. She plucked out a rounded twig - no, two twigs mated together. Tossing it on the ground, she reached for more.

  Jason strode over to examine the thing. He was still frowning when he held it out to Tryst.

  Two stout sticks, bound together at the either end, with a shorter stick forcing them apart in the center. Strips of cloth dangled from the edges.

  Adeena tossed more of the things out, paused to count, and then tossed a handful more. Fourteen in all, Tryst noted. Two for each in their party.

  Selecting her pair, the girl sat on the grass to tie the things to her feet.

  “You’re playing a prank,” Manten accused.

  “Why?” Jason expostulated.

  Her lips twisted as she tested the knots. “Yute’s own luck! This is hard enough without having to justify every step of the journey. Put the bleeding things on…you’ll find out why soon enough.”

  To Tryst’s amusement, the men all did precisely as she bid.

  Grumbling as they stood, glaring as they approached the entrance, he doubted the others saw what he saw. Adeena hesitated at the forest threshold, lifting a hand to the air before her. Her fingers stabbed at a single point, snatching back as if she’d caught an insect flying past. But he had seen no insect.

  Holding it for a blink of the sun, she then pulled the fist to her heart, head bowing, eyes closed. He’d never seen such a gesture. Her…reverence…approached that of an elder Tower priest seeking the guidance of the Constellations.

  Before he could even form a question, she marched off into the trees.

  They followed.

  Walking with the things tied to their feet proved difficult. The pointed bit at the heel stuck in the dirt, scraping out as the rest of the foot pushed on to the ground. The dense trees added to the challenge, blanketing the uneven ground in shadows. Presumably their eyes would adjust to the dark, though they hadn’t yet.

  A profound silence blanketed them as well. The very forest seemed to muffle the normal sounds one took for granted in the day. He didn’t like it at all.

  “What sort of animals dwell here?” Tryst asked, and winced at the loudness of his own voice.

  “Animals?” Manten clawed at a leafy branch in his face.

  “Predators,” Jason told him. When Adeena hesitated, the Defense Master sent Tryst a needle-sharp look.

  The guide lifted her foot, stepping up onto a thick carpet of…vines. Vines with rope-like stems tangling chaotically, the tiny leaves quivering at their passing. Adeena carefully trod three steps more before turning. “Above the platt, mostly harmless things dwell.”

  “Above the platt!” Olver stared down at their feet. “You mean animals scurry beneath this ugly thing?”

  “Surely they couldn’t be very big creatures,” Manten frowned.

  Adeena considered them, lips pursed. And then she leaned over the nearest bent tree trunk, twisting a piece of knotted bark free. She advanced three steps, pausing over a black hole in the platt. Eying them all, she dangled the bark over the void - and let go.

  The thing splashed hollowly, as if dropped in a puddle thick with mud.

  “There are snakes all around, and darop - which look like logs and have large teeth - swim below. Some snakes are poisonous, but all will run or hide. They’ll only bite if cornered. Darop will bite for no reason at all.”

  “Great Goose guide us!” Olver muttered. Adeena merely resumed her walk.

  With the others hesitating, Drail stepped up on the higher level first, swaying slightly. “It’s a bit unsteady,” he warned.

  Jason followed. Tryst made himself walk lest the others see his hesitation.

  It wasn’t enough to carry sleep-slings, forced to sway as they slept in unfriendly terrain. Now they traveled across a giant sleep-sling, suspended above even more unfriendly creatures.

  He could almost hear Marra’s sigh, calm and quiet in the shadowed wood. She’d square her shoulders in that manner of hers, and follow Adeena without a protest. Accepting it had to be done, and that was that.

  He missed Marra, he realized. He missed her practical attitude, her acceptance of what fell across their path with nary a complaint. Stars, she’d probably stoop to gather plant leaves.

  At least she was safe in Missea.

  As the journey wound through the jungles of the Dim Continent, Marra’s apprehension melted beneath the sheer abundance of plant-life.

  The air shimmered with scents rich in potency and power. Her fingers touched fibers both velvet soft and hard shell-cased, some even with thorny protection. And with Kirth’s approval, she collected as many as her two sashes would hold.

  One tiny white leaf - for it was not a flower after all - smelled so good she had to suppress the urge to chew it. Strong aroma of cinnamon and vanilla made her mouth water, and beneath that lay a pleasant earthy aroma complimenting the pair. She tossed out a lesser specimen to keep a sample.

  When Tinge bent low beside her, Marra gasped at the long string of glass vials dangling from her waist. They clicked against each other merrily.

  A Terrin sash all of glass! How extravagant - and how wonderful.

  Kirth observed her delight. “It takes years to learn how to move with a Terrin sash,” the elder told her. “If the vials collide with any force they shatter. The only way for ‘skins’ to avoid that is to set them far apart, reducing the number you can carry. For us it’s impractical.” At Marra’s frown, she added, “Terrin tread more carefully.”

  Tinge met her startled gaze with a long-fanged grin. “Or have thicker waists. Marra’s found Elderbath,” she added happily. “A powerful tea - very hard to find. By Yute’s own luck - how did you see it in the foliage?”

  Startled, Marra wondered that the Terrin couldn’t smell it, and glanced at Kirth.

  “As best as we can determine, Terrin lack the ability to detect odor,” Kirth told her. Tinge’s fangs lengthened again as she nodded.

  That night they employed the sleep bags. The Terrin contraptions used enough material that the edges folded completely around, tucking them away from the world. Tinge said it made sleeping easier, but Marra felt isolated. She didn’t get a good night’s rest until the second night.

  Finally, waking refreshed, she enjoyed the morning’s journey. They spoke of proper bases for potions as they gathered plants, as the path lead them up out of the trees. At a rocky ledge near the top of the climb, they munched grain balls - which were filling if bland - on a granite perch overloo
king the ocean.

  “We follow the sea,” Marra said, surprised.

  “The Tower lies within reach of the water,” Kirth told her. “Zaria sends its people here, just as Agben.”

  Licking her furry fingers delicately, Tinge sent Kirth a swift glance. “Did Rain tell you as much?”

  Kirth shook her head, and the Terrin purred with laughter. “You see well, my friend.”

  “I see belatedly,” the elder sighed. “Can you not enter the Tower with us? Your understanding would be most useful.”

  Marra saw the quiver of fur, realizing Tinge was imitating Kirth’s head shake. “Terrin culture is different from that of Skins. We keep…separate.”

  “You all live alone?” Marra asked.

  Tinge stood, slowly moving her hips in the gesture she used whenever rising from a long sit. “Males dwell together, feeling their strength in numbers. Females may form an enclave or live alone, to suit our whim.”

  Marra saw her own confusion reflected in Kirth’s face. “But what about children?”

  Tinge lifted her backpack, settling it in place. “Terrin breed much as you. When a female’s birth-time nears, she seeks a knowledgeable enclave. She can then stay to tend the offspring, or return to her old home.”

  Marra assisted Kirth to rise.

  “At the age of bone shift, the young Terrin sets foot to a path of its choice. Males may seek the father, or another male dwelling. Females choose as well, even to finding an instructor of Agben or other skills. They may even decide to live alone for a time.”

  “So females are freer?” The words burst off Marra’s tongue before she could stop them.

  Tinge’s rumbling laughter shook her whole frame. “By Yute’s own luck, we are indeed,” she finally answered. “But few males possess the wit to perceive that.”

  The Terrin lead them along the rock edge, climbing higher above the sea.

  “But…how do you…?” Kirth’s voice died. Belatedly, Marra guessed, realizing the impertinence of her question.

  Either Tinge didn’t think so, or didn’t mind. “When a female wishes to breed, she approaches a male dwelling.”

  More questions rose in Marra’s mind, but she didn’t dare express them.

  “That is why,” Tinge’s purring laugh threaded her words, “I cannot be seen at the Tower.”

  They journeyed three days more.

  On the last day the rock ledge they followed darkened. Up early, Marra rubbed her hand across it, amazed at its glossy look and smooth feel. Like the black arena, she thought.

  Still in her sleep-sling, the Terrin saw her and spoke. “Beware the rain on such a surface. The stone turns slick and dangerous to tread.”

  The black ledge continued, widening where they ate their noon meal.

  When they finished the grain balls, Tinge set them to a jungle path winding down to a valley, and then up the other side. Trees grew thicker, shrouding them to the point where Marra could see only a few feet before her.

  And then the path climbed and the trees pulled away to reveal the Black Tower.

  Built of stacked stone, it rose two stories high and no wider than a Port Leet Tavern. Large perhaps by desert standards, but compared to Missean structures it was puny. This was the single presence of Zaria on the Dim Continent?

  Kirth frowned, and Marra wondered if she too was startled.

  Tinge led them right up to the wooden door - a simple, humble portal such as might be found on a desert home. The Terrin placed herself against the wall beside the hinges, where she would be hidden once it swung open.

  Exchanging a look with Marra, Kirth knocked.

  They waited.

  Three blinks of the sun later, the door swung wide to reveal a tiny Terrin in a white robe. Startled, he clung to the door until an identical Terrin shoved him aside. This one’s fangs lengthened in the smiling gesture.

  “Chance has led your footsteps to the Tower of Zaria,” he said. “Welcome, friends of Rain.”

  Kirth sucked in her breath. Before she could do more, Tinge popped around the door, eyes glittering angrily. At least Marra thought it was anger.

  The smiling Terrin fell back as a spasm raced along his fur. Slowly he retreated inside as Tinge followed. When Kirth also passed into the dark, Marra cautiously entered.

  But she left the door open. Just in case.

  Growing up in the desert, Marra knew little of the Zaria Tower. Vague rumors barely percolated to the Flats of Beard, and those that did sounded more like folk tales than truth. Missea’s stories were more detailed and more plentiful.

  The Tower’s interior startled her, for instead of the reputed richness of the priests, elegant objects and bejeweled tools, they found dirt, rough benches, and a table propped upon shaky legs. Lacking windows, the only light came from three sconces burning on the walls. Burning, Marra was certain, rag-oil - the cheap, diluted oil Misseans reserved for servant areas.

  When Tinge finished her perusal, she snorted disdainfully and marched up the ramp of three rough logs to the second floor. The robed Terrin trailed behind, looking terribly nervous.

  Kirth nudged Marra, pointing to the table top crusted with dirt. The whole place looked filthy and smelled stale. Tinge’s open-air abode had been meticulously clean.

  They followed the others up to the second floor.

  Here a large window looked out upon the path they’d taken. Daylight streamed in upon two bedrolls hastily abandoned. A small table and bench stood by a row of shelves stacked with scrolls.

  “Where is the priest?” Tinge demanded.

  Marra gasped.

  “These are acolytes,” Kirth explained. “A Zaria priest wears red.”

  One of the acolytes swallowed before speaking. “He has been called…” his speech withered at Kirth’s sniff.

  “Has he?” Tinge growled. “And what are your instructions?”

  Marra could hardly credit the fear she sensed in the two. Zaria, she always believed, scared others - yet these two cowered before Tinge. Was that because she was Agben or female?

  “What do you know of Rain?” Kirth demanded.

  With saliva dripping from his fangs, the first spoke up. “She is the most powerful of Agben. She will send others.”

  Tinge snorted and strode to the shelf, snatching and opening a scroll. When Kirth joined her, the two read. Marra watched the elder’s lips thin in a manner that would have sent many a student scurrying out the door.

  “The war foretold in the scrolls is now upon us,” Tinge read aloud. “Your task is to remain here, safe from peril. We will return when the Trumen are gone”.

  “Gone?” Marra asked.

  Kirth grabbed another scroll, scanned it and tossed it aside before grabbing another. And another.

  “They’re all the same.” She flung the last one on the table. It curled tightly, rolled to the edge, and dropped off.

  “I don’t understand,” Marra stared as the scroll struck the floor in a puff of dust.

  “The third race war,” Kirth spoke softly even as her hands clenched at her sides. “It seems Rain has taken a hand in prophecy.”

  Kirth followed Tinge back down to the acolytes’ tiny kitchen, where a barrel brimming in grain balls squatted on the floor. Solemnly, the Terrin replenished her bag; Kirth beckoned little Marra to do the same.

  “Where exactly do we travel to now?” Kirth prodded.

  “The Tower of Zaria,” Tinge answered.

  “I thought this was the Tower,” Marra paused with a handful of food.

  “This was always a shill for the Zaria skins,” Tinge replied. “The true Tower will take the better part of a moon’s cycle to reach.”

  Words bubbled upon Kirth’s tongue, threatening to boil over. Not trusting herself to speak, she firmly held them in check. For so long she’d been comfortable in her knowledge of Agben, of Terrin. She’d known her peers well, understood the subtle differences to be found on the Dim Continent.

  Tinge herself had brought Kirth to this T
ower ages ago, when she’d been young and eager to learn. For years when anyone spoke of the great Tower of Zaria, Kirth had inwardly smiled, knowing that the stories of opulence cherished by the Skullan were but myths. Now it seemed the true myth was Kirth’s ever being allowed near the Tower at all.

  Rain had kidnapped a prince and a king, all the while scattering her regal commands at the school. Fenna had been involved - perhaps even Britta.

  And now she knew Tinge had lied to her.

  When the Terrin lead them outside, onto a new path leading away from the sea, Kirth wondered just how many lies yet remained to be found.

  And would she find them all?

  4.

  FOR FOUR DAYS THEY traveled through the swamp forest. To Drail it seemed twice as long.

  With the enveloping hush of the wet wood and the tension of his companions, conversation died even as it was born. He kept himself on high alert, as the Defense Master called it, intending to see the snake - or darop - before it saw him. But the dark interior and continual muffled squish from their odd shoes against the platt dulled the senses.

  Sitting in the fancy Missean palace, he’d thrilled at the idea of playing comet against Terrin. The ultimate challenge, exceeding even his grandsire’s accomplishments. He’d blithely accepted.

  Now, sleeping in dangling bags that cut him off from the air, walking on spread-shoes to keep from falling through leaf into darop-infested water, he suddenly recalled the size and strength of the only Terrin he’d ever glimpsed. The image wasn’t encouraging.

  His first Missean dose of reality, of facing a genuine Skullan team with all the mass and strength of the ruling race, had almost killed his dream. Beyond their size, Drail had confronted a whole new strategy to the game. Only determination, hard work, and coaching from an elite Skullan allowed the Hand of Victory to eventually climb back into the arena.

  And he’d never truly succeeded, he reminded himself. He had yet to face a competitive Skullan team and win. Yet here he was, naively ignoring that fact in a quest to challenge creatures much more powerful. He’d never seen them play, had no idea about their twists to the game. And it was doubtful he’d find a Terrin mentor.