Gambit of the Gods

by Ashley, Angela

  “In one of his more difficult moments, he ended our relationship and soon began seeing someone else. She was weak. I had no doubt that she would fail to satisfy him and we’d be together again, so I wasn’t worried. And when we were transformed, we were, for a time. Then he left again, claiming he disapproved of my amusements, even though I know he enjoyed them too.” She shakes her head as if lamenting the foolishness of men.

  “I thought he would come back again, and I devised the game thinking it would encourage him to return to me. I even visited him, offering to exempt his Chosen from the game if he would join forces with me. He said he would think about it.” She rolls her eyes.

  ”After my creatures attacked you, I felt sure he would get the message and take me up on my offer. Instead, he accused me of being nothing more than a slave to those who have been helping me. Even that, I could have forgiven, but when I left, I hid in the woods nearby and watched him with Sera.”

  She glances behind me again. For a moment, I’m sure I can feel Sera’s shock and dawning realization of what Malyse is about to say next.

  “There was no mistaking the fact that he believes he’s deeply in love with her, and she’s clearly head over heels in love with him. I’d never seen him like that before, and it made me hate him. I will tell you this: deep down in his soul, Wilde belongs to me, and he always will. If he’s too foolish to see that, then to hell with him and all he holds dear.”

  Her eyes flash, and when she glances behind me this time, they’re full of pure hatred and boundless rage. For the first time, I sense she’s being utterly truthful. Wilde is hers alone to possess, whether he wills it or not; if she can’t have him, she will destroy everyone and everything around him, as well as the man himself.

  Yet when she looks back at me moments later, it’s like chalk erased from a chalkboard—her enmity is once again hidden behind a calm and almost pleasant smile that’s as false as a masquerade mask.

  “Do you have any other questions for me, Kella? I know it all sounds quite brutal, but I did visit Sera as well, with an offer that would have saved you. I can’t be blamed for the fact that she refused me.”

  Why would Sera turn down an offer to save me? I wonder. My mind gropes for anything I might say that could earn me a reprieve, but looking into her lovely eyes, I see no trace of pity or mercy. All I find is avid enjoyment of my suffering. I keep thinking of Jaereth, If I must die, I want more than anything to see him one last time.

  “Why must we die? Soon you’ll have all of us in your grasp—why can’t that be enough? We’ll gladly bend our necks and pledge to serve you for the rest of our lives. We can be a daily reminder of your victory, that way.”

  Malyse chuckles, the sound mocking me bitterly. “I will be reminded of my victory every day, I assure you. I’m to be the new Queen of the Queensrealm, and every day I rule, I will remember your sacrifice. The Dark Lady and the Na’e must have their due, as I’ve promised. But your family need not suffer your fate. If they swear to serve me and follow The Higher Path, they may yet live full and meaningful lives.”

  That small bit of hope, thrown casually my way as if throwing scraps to the kitchen dog, gives me something to cling to in the midst of my despair.

  “You say you have Jaereth. Is he hurt?”

  I let her see my worry, finally understanding that nothing I do or don’t do will save us from the evil standing before me.

  “Come and see for yourself,” she says merrily, as if inviting me to a party. When I hesitate, she adds, “Either one of my golems can carry you there, or you can walk there on your own. I’ll let you choose.”

  “Lead the way then, Queen Malyse.” My voice breaks on the word “Queen”. She chuckles, delighted at the title. Surprisingly, she turns not toward the grandstands, but back the way I’d come, toward the field.

  When we pass the creatures—golems, as she calls them—I give them a wide berth, but I can still sense their odd, throbbing energy, raising the hairs on my arms and at the back of my neck. Their skulls turn to track me eerily, fiery red eyes blazing. Once we pass, they follow us.

  A short, ugly slave wearing black pants and a fine blood-red silk coat approaches us as soon as we step back outside. Malyse doesn’t bother to hide the eagerness she feels when she sees him.

  “Kai, my love. What news?”

  The little man takes her hand and kisses it before answering.

  “The canoes should arrive just after dusk tonight. Whisker contacted me earlier and told me everything is going according to plan.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll send Mer’at to the landing area so I can witness my triumph firsthand. Malisanth is waiting to receive our new guests.”

  “Everything is progessing just as we planned. Well played, my love.”

  Malyse and Kai share a grin. He hurries off, and Malyse and I walk on.

  When we’re within sight of the field, I realize with a sudden, horrible sinking feeling what she wants me to see. Hanging Arms stretch in a grim line across the field, each double noose wrapped around a slave’s neck. I try to count them, but lose track as I recognize the face of the slave nearest to us. It’s Jaereth.

  He’s surrounded by golems, as are the other slaves held by the Hanging Arms. He recognizes me as we get closer. I see the love in his eyes and sense his great frustration.

  Why doesn’t he use his ability to take control of the minds around him and command them to free us?

  As if I’d asked the question out loud, Malyse turns to me and explains, “There was one thing Wilde couldn’t have known when he gave Jaereth the ability to control others with his mind: it only works on human minds. The problem is, the minds within the golems are not human. They’re spirit-beings from a planet far from here, their minds as alien as they are. They came here seeking a new food supply after the old one became unavailable, and have been consuming our emotions for several generations now.”

  Shivering involuntarily, I imagine aliens sucking my feelings out of my mind like jelly. Is that why I’ve been having headaches of late? I wonder uneasily. The golems’ presence becomes even more terrifying.

  Soon, we stand in front of Jaereth. My hands itch to tear the nooses from his neck and hold him close. I ask Malyse, though I’m really asking him, “But surely he can take control of your mind and make you order the golems away?”

  She laughs gaily, but it’s Jaereth who answers.

  “I’ve tried, but her mind and the minds of several of the Ladies here are as alien as the minds of the golems.”

  I sense his despair as he looks at me, staring as if storing up each moment, word, and facial expression.

  Desperation seizes me by the throat. I turn to Malyse and fall at her feet.

  “Please don’t kill him! I’ll do anything you ask. I’ll serve you, I’ll die in his place, just please don’t kill him!” I break off in a sob, holding shaking hands over my face, my tears flowing hot and fast.

  “So it’s true, then,” a familiar voice says behind me. My mother’s voice.

  Looking over my shoulder, I see them all standing there behind me—my mother, Karyl, and the rest of my family. Ellarin stands to one side, a disgusted look twisting her face.

  “It’s true,” she says quietly. “I saw him kiss her forehead, and she let him.”

  I thought I’d feel ashamed if my family ever found out about us, but the enormity of all that has happened makes it seem like a small thing now, in comparison. Instead, an impotent fury rises from deep within me: the place where I’ve buried all my anger and disappointment over the years. My mind goes blank and my eyes close, kneeling there, the mud soaking into my riding skirts.

  I don’t will it—I become it. I am the storm, flaring up out of the darkening, malignant sky. I am the wind, rushing forcefully into the arena and savaging those gathered there, chasing them as they flee, with Jaereth at the eye of the storm, untouched. I am the lightning, cracking open the sky in a blaze of white-hot power, arcing down, torching dozens of golems like t
hey’re nothing. I am the thunder, booming like the ground is opening up to swallow us, shaking everyone left standing to their knees, their arms over their heads in mindless terror.

  Even Malyse is on the ground, shaking in fear and hiding her head, her dress torn. It’s a double image: in one, she’s much younger, cowering with another girl while lightning falls all around them. I am the wind that strikes the ground in dozens of places, making the earth explode, sending up great showers of rocks and dirt. I am the fog that rolls in, as thick as porridge, the smoke from the piles of burning golems, the haze that covers me as I run to Jaereth and struggle to untie him. The lightning still dances in the air and arrows to earth all around us, and the wind still batters everything but us to the ground when he finally steps free of the nooses and kisses me quickly.

  “Come on!” he calls, pulling me with him toward the arena’s nearest exit. But the power within me is fading fast now. If I go with him, my concentration will surely break, and we’ll both be caught again. Exhaustion weighs me down, and I stumble. We both tumble clumsily to the ground.

  “You must go without me!” I cry over the howling wind, pushing him weakly away. “Find Kisto and any others you can! I’ll be waiting for you! My power and strength are fading fast! Go now!”

  “I won’t leave you!” he shouts, and I realize he means it. With the last of my strength, I call the wind one last time. It picks him up in careful wind-fingers. He cries out and tries to fight when he realizes what I intend to do, but it’s too late. The wind carries him over the wall of the arena. I follow it as far as I can in my mind’s eye, to just outside of the Queensrealm, before it gently sets him down.

  The storm expires with the last of my strength, the arena falling abruptly silent. The last thing I see before I lose consciousness is Malyse, her once-beautiful dress in tatters and her hair badly disheveled, hurrying toward me with more golems following behind her.

  Chapter 37: Artan

  One moment I‘m listening to the rain, the chorus of the crickets as the light slowly fades, and the soft sounds of toads plopping into the water, adding their low voices to the crickets’ song as the mosquitos begin to rise. The next, I hear a high-pitched scream from the canoe in front of us, followed by a splash. Our canoe overturns, and I’m in the river. Panicking, I realize I’m unable to tell which way is up in the inky blackness of the water, but then something drags me to the surface. Not knowing if it’s friend or foe, I gulp in air and push away from it, simultaneously telling the hemp rope around my wrists to stretch and fall away.

  I need to find Little Squirrel and pull her to safety, but the river is moving fast and if I don’t do something soon, I could hit my head on a floating branch or tree trunk and drown. So I reach within myself, calling ropes of intertwined vines out from the shore. They wrap around me, halting me from floating helplessly down the river. Catching my breath, I pull myself along the vines hand over hand toward the shore.

  At last, my feet hit the loamy bottom of the river. I stagger up out of the water and onto the sand, shivering. Since her canoe was well ahead of ours, Little Squirrel must be far downriver by now, I realize in despair.

  Please, God, spare Little Squirrel’s life. I don’t want to be in this world without her, I pray with all that is in me.

  The crickets stopped singing when we hit the water, but have begun again. I hear another sound over their humming, though I can’t place it. It’s a hiccupping sound, I think—or someone gasping for breath. Without thinking, I get up and move quietly toward the sound. As I draw nearer, I realize it’s someone crying.

  “Little Squirrel?” I whisper, my heart in my throat. The hiccupping sound ceases.

  “Who’s there?” the person calls fearfully. The voice is female, but sounds younger. I realize who it must be.

  “Shy Mouse, don’t be afraid. It’s just me, uh, Artan,” I tell her shadow, moving nearer.

  The hiccupping sound starts again. “I’m so scared and c-cold, Artan,” she whimpers, her voice shaking. “I thought I was going to drown, and then an animal c-caught me in its teeth and dragged me to shore. I was sure it was going to eat me, but it’s just sitting over there, w-watching me.”

  Startled, I look around, soon recognizing the unmistakable glow of several pairs of animal eyes tracking us from the treeline. They aren’t moving, thankfully. I put my arm around Shy Mouse’s shivering shoulders.

  “Your sister talks to the animals, Shy Mouse. I don’t think they’ll hurt us.”

  Still, I keep an eye on the watchers, feeling around until I find a stick to use as a staff, just in case. I can feel all the seeds and plants in the ground around us, ready to spring up out of the ground if I should wish it. It’s a comforting feeling.

  Shy Mouse’s shivering eases a bit as we cling to one another. Before long, the sets of eyes begin to disappear. Perhaps Little Squirrel is calling them to her. Surely that’s a hopeful sign. Shy Mouse’s shoulders relax as we watch their shadows, large and small, slink away. Maybe they’ll tell Little Squirrel where we are.

  “We should find some shelter from the rain and wait out the darkness,” I suggest, feeling suddenly exposed on the empty beach. As quietly as possible, we begin to walk toward the nearest trees. Even though the eyes are gone, I feel as though we’re not alone.

  Lightning lights up the sky briefly, followed by muted thunder. Shy Mouse trips over something, and we both fall together. Before I can pull her up, I feel an arm go around my neck and something cold kiss my throat. Calling instinctively on the plants around me, I raise several trees out of the ground, one young sapling rising between me and my attacker. He falls back with a gasp and I send a vine after him, envisioning it wrapping him up tightly. Then I reach out for Shy Mouse.

  Instead, hands pinion my arms from behind, and a light flares up, scattering the darkness. The face that floats up out of the night is that of a beautiful young woman from our Village who looks to be Little Squirrel’s age. I’ve seen her before, though I don’t know her. Ribbons adorn her shoulders, and she has red and black painted stripes under her eyes. As the light from her torch sputters, then steadies and grows, I see that we’re surrounded by several young warriors with spears and arrows trained on us.

  “Shy Mouse,” the young woman greets Little Squirrel’s sister, her voice friendly. “Your parents will be so glad to see you. I have them back at my camp.”

  Shy Mouse looks surprised, then hopeful. “They must be so w-worried about me,” she quavers. “Wh-when can I see them?”

  “Right now, of course. Please take her to them,” the young woman tells the warriors holding Shy Mouse. They lead her away into the darkness.

  When they’re gone, the young woman and I study one another. The rain stops falling. Summer storms are always brief, I muse, as she continues to size me up.

  “Artan, son of Miklos,” she says at last. I nod once. “Do you know who I am?” she asks, tilting her head and smiling slightly.

  “No,” I answer, my eyes steady on hers. “Who are you?” My instincts tell me I won’t like the answer.

  Her smile grows wider. She hesitates, as if contemplating her answer.

  “That’s complicated, actually,” she says at last. “My name is Fiery Grace of the Hunting Cat Clan, but that’s not my only name.”

  She nods as if hearing another voice, then adds, “I believe you’ve met a friend of mine. His name is Si’o. You may call me Bu’a.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck rise, remembering how the creature with rainbow wings tried to attack me, but with some effort, I manage to keep my face composed.

  “Greetings, Bu’a,” I reply gravely, pushing a damp lock of hair from my face. Disappointment flickers across hers and is gone. Did she hope to frighten me? These creatures feed off strong emotions; maybe she’s hungry. She won’t get anything from me if I can help it. But if she can sense my emotions, I need to tread carefully.

  “Where is Little Squirrel?” she inquires. I fight to dampen the relief washi
ng through me. She doesn’t know. Hopefully, Little Squirrel is safe. If she had drowned, wouldn’t part of me have felt it, somehow?

  “If I knew, I would be with her. What do you intend to do with Shy Mouse and her parents?”

  She doesn’t hesitate, looking me straight in the eye. “Nothing, as long as I get what I want.”

  “And what do you want?”

  “You’ll soon find out,” she says, gesturing for me to follow her. The warriors behind me let go of my arms. I trail after her reluctantly, knowing there are still arrows and spears pointing at my back. I consider making their bows, arrows, and spears take root in the ground, but their knives are made of bone, and I have no power over those. Also, I’m badly outnumbered, and I need to make sure Shy Mouse and her parents are safe, for Little Squirrel’s sake.

  The trees we walk through drip occasionally on my face or shoulders, their limbs tossed by the wind. The moon rides high atop the clouds, regarding me as I step from shadow into moonlight, and back into shadow. Shivering, I pull my collar up, saying another prayer for Little Squirrel’s safety, hoping the moon is watching over her, as well.

  Soon, we enter a small clearing where two rough huts have been erected against the weather. Going to the furthest hut, Bu’a holds back the door flap, allowing me to enter first.

  Spark looks up from where he’s sitting on the earthen floor, his back against one of the hut’s main wooden braces. When he sees me, his face shows surprise, then worry.

  “Where is Little Squirrel?” he asks, trying not to sound too eager.

  Before Bu’a can answer, I tell him, “I don’t know. We were separated. Shy Mouse is here, though. Bu’a says her parents are here?”

  “Yes, I came looking for Little Squirrel with them. Who is Bu’a?” he asks, then goes on without waiting for an answer. “What about Whisker and the others?”

  Bu’a winks at me as if we share a joke. Apparently she hasn’t told Spark what she is yet.

  “It’s a long story, but they aren’t here either.” I want Bu’a to know as little as possible about what happened so she doesn’t send out a search party, so I change the subject. “She hasn’t told you who Bu’a is?” I gesture toward Fiery Grace. Her face is carefully blank.