Gambit of the Gods

by Ashley, Angela

  You must give in to sleep soon, little one. But you are much stronger than you know, and when the time comes for you to make your choice, trust what your heart tells you, have faith, and know that you are never alone. We will meet again, when you have need of me. Now, rest and remember…

    

  I must be dreaming. I’m standing on a high cliff overlooking the Great Forest, with the smoke from the cook fires of my People rising off to the right. Beyond the furthest trees, I see the plains, and beyond that, what must be the Queensrealm, its soaring towers and shining wall rising from the grasslands like bared teeth, the ocean glittering beyond it.

  The wind whips around me, catching at my clothes, and I shiver.

  It is a beautiful sight, a voice from just behind me says. I startle and spin around. A creature stands before me. Approximately a man’s height, with a curving, swanlike neck, he perches on thin, clawed legs. His long, feathered tail forms a tripod with his legs, keeping him balanced upright. He shines brightly, like a small sun, his two long pairs of wings cupping the wind as it whips over the Cliffside. They out behind him as if longing to catch the updrafts of air and soar. His feathers—they aren’t truly feathers, but something similar I don’t have a name for—are exquisite, seeming to glow as if lit from within and awash in a gorgeous panoply of all vibrant colors and hues from dark to light and back again.

  Through his body I can vaguely see the outline of trees behind him. What a strange dream!

  His three large eyes, round and with protective membranes like that of a bird, draw and hold mine. I realize with surprise that I cannot put a name to their color, but their beauty takes my breath away, and the kindness reflected there fills me with a quiet joy. When I reach out with my mind, tentatively, I get a sense of great age, with an aftertaste of old grief.

  Who are you? I ask. Are you the Spirit Over All?

  I flush at the thought, realizing too late that I should kneel, but he shakes his head.

  My name is Mah’ue. I and my kind came from far away before you were born and made this place our home. We are spirit, not flesh, and cannot be seen unless we choose to show ourselves, which we vowed not to do. But I have revealed myself to you now to warn you of grave danger, both to you and all humankind. Sadly, the danger is from my own kind.

  His radiance dims, and I feel his deep regret. He has no visible mouth or beak, speaking to me mind to mind as the Spirit Animals did. His eyes leave mine to search the landscape behind me. I turn, somehow seeing through his eyes the other beings like him riding the air currents in a great company around us.

  My followers and I will not harm you, he assures me. Somehow, I feel the truth of his statement. We’ve come to care greatly for your kind and wish to protect you. Unfortunately, others of my kind seek to use your people for their own ends. I fear you will not survive what they have in mind.

  I frown. But how can they harm us if, like you, they have no bodies with which to hurt us?

  Mah’ue nods, his beautiful trio of eyes grim. We, the Na’e, are emotion-eaters. We have the ability to drain off the emotions of physical beings without them being aware of it.

  I stumble back a step without thinking. Have my emotions been drained without my knowing it, then? How could I not have felt it? I shiver, feeling as if I’ve been touched deep inside without my permission. Mah’ue, of course, must feel my fear and revulsion bubble up within me. Is he draining it off right now? But my momentary panic dies down as his eyes hold mine. I feel his sorrow once again.

  Our former hosts, the S’en, considered our ability a great gift to them, for we helped smooth away hurtful feelings like hatred, rage, fear, jealousy and grief, allowing more positive emotions like joy, love, happiness and peace to reign in their hearts. It was a blissful co-existence, one that both of us cherished for thousands of years.

  In my mind’s eye, I can see it and feel it. I realize I’m seeing through Mah’ue’s own memories: spectacular blushing skies, like a perpetual sunset; a sweeping panorama of desert, riotous with the colors, scents and sounds of the desert plants and animals; the busy cities of the S’en, stretching as far as the eye can see. The S’en are hairless, with long, low-slung bodies, moving on three legs with a strange, hopping motion.

  And everywhere fly the Na’e, their double set of wings and long, feathered tails fanned out, soaking up the warm, nourishing rays of their red sun. They swoop down to relieve this S’en and that of their delicious emotions with a brushing of their gorgeous feathers, lifting their burdens away and leaving them with hearts brimming with joyful thoughts…

  I grin at Mah’ue, the sheer delight of it filling my own heart as the vision fades. But his wondrous eyes are somber on mine. My grin dies, sensing his anguish swirl up once more from deep within his heart.

  We didn’t understand, he whispers plaintively, as if begging beings long gone to finally forgive.

  We didn’t understand, he says again, his mind-voice steadying with determination, and we were selfish. Some among us decided we were tired of the same old flavors and began sampling other emotions—love, joy, happiness, contentment—instead.

  They were delicious, he says longingly, and our wings became so lovely, awash with new spectrums of color and intensity. More and more of us tasted this other bounty. We began gorging ourselves on it, ignoring our former foods almost entirely.

  For an instant I see through his eyes again…glimpse the streets filled with S’en bodies and smeared with S’en blood. Their blood runs red like ours, though it looks much thicker, steaming slightly under the bloody red sun.

  Our gentle hosts, he says softly, lament heavy in his beautiful voice, had been protected for thousands of years from their baser emotions. They didn’t know what to do when we syphoned all the love and happiness away, leaving them with nothing but rage and hatred. They turned on one another savagely. Those few who survived rejected us, rightly blaming us for their terrible tragedy.

  Starving and ashamed, we fled in search of a new home and new food sources. Our search eventually brought us here.

  Mah’ue’s eyes once again search the landscape laid out before us, as if seeking answers there.

  But some among us, the most greedy, gluttonous ones, did not learn from what happened with the S’en. I greatly fear that they seek to create an environment where emotions, mostly negative in nature, will be stirred up for a very long time to come. I and my followers have vowed to do whatever we can to stop that from happening again.

  Once again, I feel the truth ring in his words and heart.

  Why show yourself to me? I ask, confused.

  Because, Little Squirrel, he says, bowing his radiant head low, to my great shock, you and your friends are in the most danger…and because only you and your friends can stop those who seek to bring these evil events about.

  I’m suddenly deeply afraid. Could this be the ‘momentous decision’ Bright Wing warned me about?

  We will do all we can to help you, and you have other help you know nothing of, he explains cryptically, confusing me even more. You and your friends have been given special abilities by these unseen helpers, which will help protect you against our mutual enemies.

  You are waking. His face begins to blur. Know that we are with you and will help you whenever we can. You are not alone. Please, he pleads, his voice fading, forgive us…

  I come to my senses lying beside my cold, dead fire. Physically, I feel as weak as before. But mentally, I feel renewed somehow.

  A shadow falls across me. Tensing, I relax when I see it’s only Twitching Whisker.

  What is he doing way out here? Disoriented, my exhausted mind struggles to understand.

  “Little Squirrel! I didn’t think to find you here. I’m out checking my traps,” he explains. He puts out his hand to help me rise. I’m unsteady on my feet, which oddly, seems to make him smile, though the smile doesn’t reach his pale blue eyes.

  “Have you had your Vision yet?”

  “Yesh,” I an
swer, my tongue so swollen it sounds strange. He seems to understand and offers me his water bag. I snatch it, gulping mouthfuls. His smile grows wider. At last I make myself stop, knowing I shouldn’t overdo it, and reluctantly hand the water bag back to him.

  “My thanks.”

  My body sings as the water rushes through me, responding with a promise of strength to come. I turn and gather up my talismans, my heart rejoicing at the thought of seeing my family and friends soon and telling them all I’ve seen.

  “I remember when I went on my Quest,” he continues. We head in the direction of the Village, my limbs so weak I have to rest every few steps. His rough voice sounds almost friendly. I’ve never seen this side of him before, though truth be told, I’ve never spoken to him before.

  “I thought for sure I was going to die. I think I blacked out for a while. And then a beautiful voice spoke in my ear, telling me everything was going to be all right. And I’ve never been the same since.”

  He turns to look at me then, assessing my ability to keep walking. Reassured, he continues. “I learned things about myself that day, things that amazed me. I bet you didn’t know this, Little Squirrel, but like you, I grew up without a mother.”

  I turn and gape at him, my step faltering. “N-no, I didn’t. I’m so sorry, Whisker.” I feel sad, wishing I’d known that before. I might have better understood why he always goes off alone.

  “Don’t trouble yourself about it,” he reassures me. His smile strikes me as eerie…too big for this subject. An alarm goes off in the back of my mind, but I ignore it. Obviously, Twitching Whisker has suffered a great deal, to cover his feelings like this.

  “She died giving birth to me. But it’s made me who I am. I’m so much stronger, now.”

  “I understand,” I whisper, and I do. There are things in life you think you can’t endure, but somehow, each day, it somehow gets better. When you look back, you realize that the pain grew your courage. It doesn’t make everything all right, but it helps.

  “No, I don’t think you do,” he says. I glance up at him quickly, wondering if I offended him, but that smile is still there. “It’s like she never really left me. I’m never really alone, anymore,” he says softly.

  We enter a clearing. My ears prick up, hearing something moving through the underbrush directly across the clearing. Glimpsing a flash of white, I freeze, my hand on my knife’s hilt, but Whisker seems completely unconcerned. He laughs. It sounds strange, like he can’t control it; like it has a life of its own.

  A twig snaps, and from behind a tree steps…Spark, followed by Artan. I startle, then breathe a sigh of relief.

  “You caught up, finally,” Whisker says to them, his tone mocking. “Good. You’ll want to see this too.”

  Out of the underbrush steps something from a nightmare.

  They are…bones. There’s a gaping jawbone and skull, from a wolf judging from its height and array of sharp, white teeth. Neck bones balance on shoulder, spine, rib, and leg bones. Bits of skin and fur hold them together, as if the animal recently and incompletely decomposed.

  The eyeless head turns uncannily toward us, and it takes slow steps in our direction. Behind it, other bones come shambling out of the trees, arranged in the shapes of other animals—a bear, an elk with its rack of antlers, and many more, crowding behind them. I recognize several hunting cats, coyotes, deer, wolverines, rabbits, squirrels, raccoons, badgers, foxes and skunks, all of them staring sightlessly in our direction with teeth bared.

  A small host of birds of varying sizes arrive, perching in the trees around us. These look more recently deceased than most of the other creatures, retaining most of their wing feathers. None make a sound. A pall of death hangs in the air and we cover our noses, gagging, trying to shield ourselves from the stench of rotting flesh. The forest falls eerily silent, presumably because all living birds and animals have fled.

  Spark and Artan move to stand beside me. Whisker stands off to one side, chuckling at our reactions. We stare open-mouthed, gawking in horrified disbelief.

  “I didn’t believe it myself, at first,” Whisker says gleefully. The—animals? skeletons?—halt at the sound of his voice as if they recognize their master. Hearing? Few retain ears to hear him with or eyes to see through. I tear my gaze away, swallow hard, and look over at him. Whisker looks overjoyed.

  “In my Vision, that breathtaking winged being told me I’d have power beyond my wildest dreams. I didn’t understand. But then I made my choice, and all the hate and rage in me seemed to funnel itself outward. That’s when these dead animals started to follow me around.

  “They do whatever I want,” he continues, his voice almost crooning, walking over to the skeleton of the wolf, which stands nearest. He puts his hand down in front of its bony snout, and it nuzzles his hand.

  Artan makes a sound of disgust. How is this possible?

  “The Dark Lady also told me about you, Little Squirrel.” Whisker says, his voice filled with hostility. I stiffen. “She said you had power too, you and your friends.” His eyes flick to Spark, his smile turning to a sneer. He seems to dismiss Artan entirely. “She said only you few could stop me. So I brought my friends with me, to meet yours.” He bares his teeth in a rictus of a smile, but there is no mirth now. Only menace.

  Artan and Spark move as one to stand in front of me protectively, side by side. Whisker shrugs.

  “You want to die for her? Go ahead.”

  Spark eases his knife from its sheath. Artan carries only his tall walking staff, but his lips are moving, perhaps in prayer. I, too, raise a quick, desperate prayer. As if in reply, I see Mah’ue’s eyes in my mind’s eye, hearing again his voice inside my mind: “You and your friends have been given special abilities...” But of what kind? If Whisker can command the dead, what can I do?

  I reach out with everything in me. My spirit cries out. Whisker gestures, and the wolf skeleton leaps toward us, jaws wide. Time seems to slow.

  Artan points the tip of his staff at it while bracing his foot against it. The wolf leaps, teeth reaching to rip out his throat…and what appear to be green vines shoot out of Artan’s staff, wrapping themselves around the wolf. When they fully engulf the bones, the vines constrict, and we hear a muted crunching noise. When they loosen, pieces of broken bone and bits of fur fall to the ground.

  I stare at Artan with new eyes. He looks back at me, his usually mild brown eyes alight with strong emotion. Reaching out with my feelings, I sense his: a jumble of pride, love and fear. Detecting movement out of the corner of my eye, I turn back.

  They’re all coming for us now. The bear is out in front, flanked on either side by smaller skeletal animals rushing toward us. The birds perched above us take to the air and dive toward us. Terror prickles along my spine and raises the hairs on the back of my neck.

  I begin to pray again, reaching deep within myself. Artan’s staff sends out green, reaching vines, wrapping the bear up in its deadly cocoon, but the other animals are almost upon us. Pulling what look like seeds from his pocket, Artan throws them in front of us. Trees burst up from the ground where they’ve fallen. Their branches pluck our attackers from both the air and the ground, mangling them, while more vines snatch more dead birds out of the sky like darting serpents, but they can’t stop them all. Spark crouches in front of me, his knife at the ready.

  Suddenly the underbrush all around us erupts with furry creatures. Live animals of all shapes and sizes come hurtling at the dead ones, screaming and growling their battle cries before tearing them apart. Live birds dart out of the sky, diving at their dead counterparts, shrieking as their beaks and claws rip the skeletons apart. Thankfully, the shattered bones don’t knit back together.

  I start in surprise. The animals’ emotions are alive inside my head: their fear and loathing of the dead things they’re tearing at; their single-minded will to destroy them.

  Glancing over at Whisker, I see he’s not laughing anymore. He looks angry, and worried. When Spark turns toward him, kn
ife in hand, Whisker gestures to several of the dead animals to intercept him and retreats into the woods. Once he’s gone, the remaining skeletons are easily subdued.

  The living animals sit down all around us, staring at me expectantly. Birds perch in the trees, gazing down. I survey them all, trying to sense from their emotions what they want from me. All I sense is waiting.

  I could send them after Whisker. But I shrink from the thought. They’d tear him to pieces.

  “Whisker won’t dare to return to the Village with the three of us to accuse him,” I reason, looking to Artan and Spark for validation.

  Artan adds, “He knows now that we can defeat his evil ability. He won’t pose a threat to us again.”

  “He’ll be an outcast now. That’s punishment enough,” I decide.

  Stepping toward the animals and birds, I kneel so I’m on their level.

  My thanks, brothers and sisters. I send this thought along with a feeling of deep gratitude. Their mutual respect comes back to me, making me smile in breathless wonder. I close my eyes and call to my Spirit Animal, wanting to show them that I am like them.

  A strange, prickling feeling courses through me. My bones and flesh seem to ignite and flow like warm wax, stretching into a new shape. My arms feel heavy and strange. Glancing down at them, I’m surprised to see large, white-feathered wings. Awe and delight wash over me. I flap them, hovering for a few moments over the ground, savoring the sensation of being unfettered from the earth. When I come back down, I can feel myself changing again. All too soon, I’m a girl once more.

  The animals and birds send their approval, then a distinct and polite farewell. Unhurriedly, they trot or fly away in different directions. Some of the larger predators will follow us at a safe distance, I sense, making sure we make it home safely.

  When they’re all gone from sight, I turn to Artan and Spark. We embrace, all three of us, relieved to have survived and glad to be together again.

  Pulling back at last, I feel a familiar pull on my tunic, giggling as Naira climbs to my shoulder, scolding me loudly. For the first time, I detect her emotions—worry and hunger, unsurprisingly. I grin, putting my hand up to reassure her, and a shadow streaks down. Tika lands on my wrist, her talons digging into my leather shirtsleeve. She stares at me, radiating protectiveness as if I’m her chick. I dip my head in submission and feel her approval. She launches into the air and begins to circle the clearing, her hooded eyes following me.