by O. J. Lowe
It touched something in him, Wilsin noticed, a sense of sudden urgency and pride he’d previously found lacking. Before, he’d supposed he COULD do it. Now, he knew it was going to be his night. With a build up like that, no way he could lose this. Wilsin smiled, toyed with his summoner and made his choices in his head. Hopper stared at him with unflinching blue eyes. He fingered his own device; the giant sand serpent emerged, thundering into being as the great body crashed to the arena floor. That giant head arched back, and it bellowed, an eerie sound that setting the hairs erect on his neck.
“The bigger they are,” he said out loud. Privately, he was smiling. This was his bread and butter, all other stuff secondary right now. He wasn’t going to let this chance go to waste.
This was going to be his eighteenth win. No mistake at all.
Chapter Two. Out of Paradise.
“I’m very proud to announce we will be continuing the process introduced during the last tournament of applying wild card entrants to the Competitive Centenary Calling Challenge Cup. Sometimes, the very best callers necessarily might not be the ones who have accrued enough points to be automatically considered of a place. There are always other factors to account for. And sometimes, outsiders surprise us all. Yes, I think it was a success last time. And as an idea, I believe it was entirely my own.”
President of the ICCC, Ronald Ritellia, in a live press conference ahead of the upcoming tournament.
The seventh day of Summerdawn.
“Scott!”
He paid the voice no attention. Instead, he pulled back his shades and rolled onto his side, let the warmth of the afternoon sun kiss his left cheek while his right one rested against the damp rubber of his lounger. It smelled of fresh chemical water, noticeable but not unpleasant. He’d inhaled worse. Right now, he couldn’t be bothered. He wasn’t meant to be bothered. Apparently, she hadn’t been told that. He grimaced, put it out of his mind.
“Scott!”
He knew she was going to want something. And he didn’t want to oblige. Not right now. Too comfortable. Too rested. First time he’d had some time away from work in a while. Not that you could call spirit calling work. Not really.
Except sure, you had to work at it. And it was hard work at times, to gather the essences of all those fantastic creatures around the world, take everything that made them the way they were and then to modify and develop them to the point they were virtually unrecognisable from what they’d been.
Genetic engineering for dummies it had once been called and he had to admit that they weren’t wrong. If someone like him could do it, then anyone could. It wasn’t like you needed to entirely understand the theory behind it. Like any difficult task, it was all in the mind.
“Taylor! Quit ignoring me and wake your ass up!”
Now she sounded pissed and he duly obliged, rolling onto his back and sitting up. Scott Taylor tipped back his shades and stared at her with tired eyes.
“Okay, I’m up. What’s your command, love?” he said.
He didn’t want to sound flippant. Only an idiot was flippant with Jesseka Blake, his sparring partner and confidante. His girlfriend. Better people than him had had strips torn off them by her temper, a state of mind almost as fiery as her hair. Recently she’d started adding blond streaks to it, the great mane covering a deceptively cute face, a button of a nose still bearing the traces of a long-healed break. Her bikini did very little to hide a body that was in no way something only he had seen exclusively. He’d come to live with that now.
Just as he’d come to live with the scars that marred what was close enough to perfection. Her left arm was a mess of them; years old burn remnants time hadn’t been kind to. She’d tried getting tattoos over them. It worked after a fashion; ink couldn’t hide the rough touch of scar tissue, but it was enough to keep those who didn’t know about them from flinching. Or, even worse for her as he’d realised from experience, staring at them.
He’d seen worse stuff, he’d grown up in Delhoig after all. Majority of women there had scars rather than not. Those that didn’t were usually the exceptions. Not quite this bad. But hey, she was pretty much hotter than anyone else he’d ever dated. And he’d been pleased to discover she wasn’t horrible, at least not all the time.
Sure, nobody was perfect and she sure wasn’t. But they had fun together, most of the time. If he shut out the arguments, it almost felt like paradise. Life was pretty good right now; he’d known worse times. He looked at her through the cracks in his eyes, saw her striding the last few feet, his summoner in her hands. He’d left it in the room earlier, wasn’t expecting to be challenged. Not having it was like the international sign for Do Not Disturb Me.
“You’ve got a message,” she said, tossing it at him underarm. He went to catch it, missed and felt it bounce off his chest. It hit the floor with a crash, he cursed silently. Privately he was sure she’d done it deliberately.
“Hey, don’t break it!”
“Don’t catch like a girl,” she said, sticking her tongue out, her piercing catching the light in a flare of silver.
“I do not catch like a girl.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Jess sneered, sitting down and returning to her drink, not seeing Scott roll his eyes. It was an exotic looking thing, orange and green liquid with berries hanging over the top. Red, blue, black, berry colours of ascending darkness in a fake-looking pattern around the rim inches from her fingers. He could see the stains on the glass. It stank of more fruit and alcohol than had to be reasonably good for the body.
“Got us here, didn’t I?” Scott said. “Wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me, would we? I clearly have my uses, huh?” He didn’t add how if it had been left up to her, the two of them would probably be on the street. There was some tact left in him apparently. Unlike him, she wasn’t a spirit caller, dabbling more on the artistic side of the spectrum. Not that she’d done too much with it lately. Neither of them had. Time together had cut deep into that. It wasn’t a trade he was entirely sure he was happy about making.
“Sometimes,” she said. She threw back her drink and moved closer, dropping on the lounger next to him. She gave him a smile, reached out and rested a hand on his stomach, teased the hair with her nails. He could smell the booze on her breath “A lot of the time. You’re not that bad. Sometimes.”
“Don’t get happy on me, Blake. It doesn’t suit you. I’ll start to worry,” Scott said, resting his head back on his arms. He gave her a sweet grin, she swatted him on the arm. Without looking, his fingers grasped for the summoner on the ground, searching for the grey rectangular box he’d dropped, its front adorned with screen and buttons, a projector lens at the back, twin slots protruding from its bottom corners which would hold crystals. “Let’s see that message.”
“Bet its bad news.”
Scott sat bolt upright in surprise, almost dropped the device again, just managed to stop it slipping through his fingers. Righting it, he found the screen, hovered his thumb over the message icon. He hadn’t heard that voice in months.
“I mean, bad news always follows the two of you, right?”
There he was. Arms folded, he stood next to the pool, summoner around his neck and grin on his face. He wasn’t the tallest, though he had a good few inches on Scott, not much in height between him and Jesseka. Maybe if she wasn’t wearing heels, maybe if he wasn’t stooping, he’d be taller. It’d take a brave man to push him though. Peter Jacobs looked like he enjoyed the act of working out as much as he enjoyed spirit calling. Scott had known him for years, knew about his habit of doing dangerous things in the name of an adrenaline rush. It wasn’t the body of a man who avoided risk in his life. They’d started together back in Delhoig, they’d run in the same gang for a little while. Scott had gotten out. Later Pete had as well.
They’d travelled together, used the establish buddy system to develop each other’s spirit calling game learning via competition and cooperation, had some run-ins, they’d fought with and beside each
other, good times and bad. But the rivalry, if you could call it that, had been a friendly one. Neither of them felt an iota of nastiness for the other. He looked like he was enjoying the sun almost as much as they were, though it hadn’t browned his skin yet. He still looked way too pale, the thick black hair framing his face making him look even pastier. Already Scott was planning a dozen different jokes.
“Don’t know,” Scott said. “That’s just a nasty rumour. Stop spreading rumours about us, Pete.”
“He spreads rumours about us?” Jess asked. There was a note in her voice Scott had heard before, usually before trouble.
“Hey Blakey J,” Pete said. Either he didn’t know, or he didn’t care. Scott didn’t know which worried him more. “Long time, no see.”
“You spread rumours about us?” she repeated, slightly louder. It did have the pleasant side effect of disarming some of the menace in her voice.
“Do I look like I have a death wish?” he said, managing a laugh he probably hoped sounded charming. “Course not. You know Taylor, right?”
“Sure do.”
“He speaks a lot of crap. About ninety percent of what he says, it’s bullshit, you know that don’t you? You’ve been with him what, a year now? Longer? You not worked that out yet?”
“I might have caught a few hints,” Jess said. Apparently, she’d been disarmed nicely, Scott privately envied Pete’s way with women. He’d never met one who could stay angry at his buddy for too long. “I mean, every time he opens his mouth, he does give that impression he’s not thought through what he’s going to say.”
“Are you two done insulting me yet?”
“I have more,” Pete said with a cheerful grin. “I’ve always got more where you’re concerned. But it can wait. You got more, Jesseka?”
“Nothing that I can’t save for tonight. You want a drink, Pete?”
“I’m good,” he said. “But thanks. Did you get it, Scotty?”
He let it go. Pete called him Scotty sometimes, mainly when he wanted to get a rise out of him. It wasn’t going to work. Not today. He was going to ignore it today. Last thing he wanted was to look a fool in front of his girl. He wasn’t going to start flinging insults at him, despite having plenty of ammunition.
“Get what?” he asked. Pete’s eyes gestured down towards the summoner and he mentally kicked himself. Oh. That.
“You’re getting slow,” Pete grinned. “You’d forget your own head. Probably pick someone else’s up and then we wouldn’t recognise you.”
“I’m clearly distracted by seeing my good buddy again,” Scott said dryly. “Puts everything else into perspective. Like how much of a nice time I was actually having five minutes ago.” Okay, he didn’t say that last part, wasn’t worth the trouble. He pushed the message icon, saw them open on the screen in a flurry of files and irrelevance. Too much spam, too much crap he wasn’t going to need. “I need to clean this thing out.”
“He sucks with technology,” Jess said helpfully.
“I know,” Pete said. “I remember when he blew that microwave up when we were in Canterage. We got banned from so many places. He got you thrown out of anywhere yet?”
He was still ignoring them as he went through the files, deleting the ones that weren’t helpful, his fingers dancing across the buttons as he read the headlines. Want to buy cheap container crystals? Home use methiliation? Evil wizards secretly running kingdoms. Spirit dancer still missing. That one he found moderately interesting, had been all over the news recently. A woman named Selena Stanton had been missing for a few days. He thought Jess might know her, yet she hadn’t mentioned anything. Beyond his focus, Pete and Jesseka were still back-and-forthing at his expense, not something he was paying too much attention to.
“Just a few places. He got into an argument with a waiter about a month ago. We had to leave the restaurant pretty quickly.”
“Sometimes I think he does it to avoid paying the bill in places.”
“You know I can think of plenty of bad things to say about the two of you as well,” Scott said, still scrolling down. Plenty of stuff he needed to delete. “Ah, got it.” He saw the little tape icon, noted the lack of a recognisable sender ID and pushed down on it. A few seconds and…
“Reckon its good news?” he asked before the message finally kicked in. The first voice was undoubtedly female. Sounded sexy. He grinned, thinking how Jess would kill him if she knew what he was thinking.
“Message for Scott Taylor on behalf of the International Calling Competitive Committee. Stand by to receive.”
If anything, the second voice was harder to make out, he’d have gone for male. It sounded sterner, filled with authority. But his interest was piqued. What did they want with him? Sure, he was a member. He had a licence to practice calling as a competitive sport. You needed one. Just because any idiot COULD do it, didn’t mean that they would let any idiot do it. There was an exam and everything. So, what… Unless…
His heart bounced in his chest, he felt a flush of exhilaration. Surely not…
They couldn’t have.
Could they?
Only one way to find out.
“Dear Mr Taylor. We are pleased to inform you that you have qualified as a wild card entrant into this Competitive Centenary Calling Challenge Cup. Congratulations on your selection on behalf of all of us here at the committee. On this occasion, the tournament is to take place on Carcaradis Island…”
“It’s off the coast of Vazara,” Pete mouthed. Scott made a shushing gesture. As if he didn’t already know. Jess shook her head in disgust as if she wanted to hit him.
“… starting on the eighteenth day of this month…”
Slightly less than two weeks away. Plenty of time to get to Vazara, just as much time to make the connecting trip to Carcaradis Island. Already the dreams of winning were filtering into his head. He could always listen to the message again. Parts of the message didn’t feel important now. A bubbling feel of excitement was gestating in the pit of his stomach, warmth seeping through him he wasn’t quite sure he’d ever felt before. He had to fight the urge to bounce up and down on the balls of his feet in glee. Ho-lee crap.
“… at most two months. We wish you luck and await your arrival for the opening ceremony. Should you wish to decline your invitation…”
“Has anyone actually done that?” Pete wondered. “The Quin-C? Nobody turns that down.” It was true. Being dead was the only reason people didn’t show up for the Quin-C. It was the most prestigious competition in the kingdoms, only happened once every five years and as such the rewards were the greatest. You had to be good to get invited. Qualifying conditions were strict, it operated on a points system too complicated to be understood by mere mortals. Only the higher ups at the ICCC seemed to be able to get to grips on it. Something about the competitive caller’s competition performances over the last five years, wins, losses, heavy defeats and narrow wins, prestige of tournaments entered, trophies gained, and points accrued, all mixed into one bag of insanity that you needed an old-style abacus to work out accurately
“… next five working days. Further information will be forwarded to you shortly. Again, congratulations on your place and we will see you in short due.
Yours, Ronald Ritellia. ICCC president.”
He blinked. The message died into silence. For once in his life, Scott Taylor didn’t know what to say, the words wouldn’t come. He gulped, felt the words die away. His throat felt dry. There was some water somewhere. There had to be.
He reached for it, wanted to drain the glass. A clink, suddenly his hand felt cold and slippery wet. He held it to his mouth, licked it off. Everything felt numb, like getting bad news. Really bad news. Except it wasn’t that, was it? It was about the best news he’d heard in absolutely ages. Best thing to happen since Jess had agreed to go out with him and they’d moved on from being just friends.
And maybe, being silently honest with himself, it topped that. Just a bit. Okay a lot, not that he’d admit it ou
t loud. That sort of admission wouldn’t do his health any favours
His throat felt a bit more cooperative, still didn’t sound human as he tried to speak. Second time sounded a lot better as his friends stared at him.
“Wow,” he said. “Just… That’s…”
Okay, he wasn’t used to Jess showing much affection with him in public. Certainly not in front of Pete who’d enjoy ripping the crap out of them for it. But the way she let out that squeal and threw her arms around him made it that little bit more special. She felt warm and he’d always enjoyed the feeling of her skin against his. Most of it was so soft and smooth. His lips met hers, he could taste her drink, sweet and bitter at the same time.
“Congratulations!” she whispered in his ear. “Wow, oh wow I’m so proud of you. You the man.”
“Huh,” Pete said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Nice work, Scotty. You did good with this, huh. Guess I’ll be seeing you there.”
“You’ll be seeing me there?” It didn’t register. “What?”
Pete shook his head, his lip curling in disbelief. “Oh wow… You never change, do you Scott? I’m coming out there. Competing. Won what I needed to, got the points, did the right things. And I didn’t luck into it like someone not a thousand miles from here. While you were sitting on your ass in the sun, I was fighting and winning.”
“I didn’t luck into it,” Scott protested. Somewhere, a voice in the back of his mind was already pointing out to him he could end up fighting Pete. If it came down to it, he’d be able to beat. He knew him too well. Just as Pete knew him.
“You totally lucked into it, man,” Pete said. “Wild card… What were you doing for the past year or so? Won anything recently?”
