The Great Game

by O. J. Lowe

  “What you reckon? Painful or effective? Which best?” Those words emphasised the point, if anything and he recoiled slightly at them. They just sounded so casual, so devoid of compassion. “These bones break right?”

  “Yeah, they break,” Scott said. The words felt hollow in his mouth, even as quiet as they might have been. He knew Permear would hear him, he knew that Saarth would see his lips move and read something into it.

  “Fatal?”

  “If you’re going to do it, just bloody do it!” Scott almost yelled it out, acutely aware of how it must look on camera. Like he was losing his cool. “Don’t talk back about the best way to kill something!” He swallowed hard. This was not going to plan and he’d need to do something drastic to keep things under control. He could feel that control slipping away from him.

  “Oh, aye-aye, bagmeat,” Permear said, moving around to the veek’s head. It had started to get to its feet, shaking itself woozily. It had taken a few big hits; its eyes were vacant and Scott could tell that it wouldn’t have much left. Then again Saarth had thought that with Herc in round two. H wasn’t taking anything for granted. Sataris was quickly put back down with a punch to the back of the head, the heavy body crashing down, bones tearing out through the muscle and the flesh of its legs as bones snapped violently under the crashing force of the blow.

  For something that was composed entirely of smog and a void, Permear could certainly pack a punch. It’d be worth knowing that for future. The ghost hadn’t stopped there though, both hands forced through Sataris’ skull and all three eyes furrowed in concentration. The veek’s head jerked back and forth under the motions of whatever Permear was doing, eyes slowly regaining some focus, mouth snapping back and forth aimlessly. It was drooling, like it was fucked up in the head.

  “Hey, check out,” Permear yelled. “Puppets.”

  He could hear some disgruntled sounds coming from the crowd and Scott had to admit he felt a little uncomfortable by the whole thing. People didn’t know that Permear wasn’t under his control, they’d… Yipes… Somehow, he had the feeling he was going to be portrayed as a seriously deranged human being come the end of all this.

  “Permear, that’s enough!” he said, trying to keep some authority in his voice. “Stop it!”

  “No! It fun!”

  “Permear, just kill it and have done with it!” His voice was whispered but harsh. “Please!”

  All three eyes swept back and forth in exasperation and suddenly all movement stopped. The head hung there in the ghost’s grasp for a moment and then Permear gave him a huge grin. Not a pleasant one either, he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what came next. It almost looked like the ghost was tugging on something. Somewhere he heard the crack starting to fill the air, growing in volume by the second and saw the look of determined focus flash on the ghostly features…

  Silence filled the stadium as something soft plopped down at Permear’s feet, he wiped his hands on the dead veek’s fur.

  “It cool if I eat them?” he inquired of Scott who was doing his best to avoid being sick. That image really didn’t help. Did the ghost even eat? Suddenly it felt like the last ever question he ever wanted answered.

  Only the announcer could be heard amidst the stunned silence, narrating exactly what had just happened, as if people needed to be reminded. The people listening on the radio were probably in for an audio treat. Saarth looked furious. Scott didn’t exactly feel pleased about it himself as the video referee signalled the end of the bout, he grabbed a container crystal out of his pocket, an empty one and tore onto the field.

  Permear glanced around, surprised, didn’t even react as Scott jumped on him and clapped the crystal into him. There was no resistance, didn’t feel him fight the process. For better or worse, Permear had accepted him. And now he was laid in veek brains, they’d spattered about beneath him as he’d landed on them.

  Fantastic. This day had just gotten that little bit better.

  Why didn’t he feel good about his victory? He didn’t know as he strode out the changing room and straight into the pack of press waiting for him, flashes momentarily blinding him as images were snapped and recorders thrust into him. Suddenly he was glad Permear wasn’t about, he could imagine the ghost taking ultimate exception to this sort of ambush.

  Given what he’d just done to that veek, he didn’t want to be the one explaining a dozen maimed corpses. There usually was some press hanging about for quotes following the end of bouts but never like this. One or two, maybe four at most but twenty?! Overkill. He had a feeling he might know what the first questions would be as well.

  “Guys, I just went through a tough battle,” he said. “And I’ve got to assure some people I’m not losing the plot. Just get your questions asked and I’ll answer them. Let’s not make it longer than it has to be.” It sounded rougher than he meant it to. Screw it. It worked for him. It felt right.

  “Scott, was that really the best way for you to win that bout?!”

  First question and he shook his head. “Look I won, I’m happy with that and it was just the way it evolved in the flow of battle. I didn’t go into the bout planning to do that. Next question?”

  “Did you think there was excessive force employed there in what you just did?”

  Once more, he shook his head, tried to keep a straight face. He had a headache and a feeling this was going to get tiresome very quickly. “It could be argued that anything that results in the opponent being defeated is just the right amount of force. It was a brutal finishing move but hey, it’s a brutal sport.”

  “Did it show a lack of respect for your opponent?!”

  The third question and it came from the same reporter as the first, a Serranian journalist who looked somewhat familiar, a brown-haired man whose face he couldn’t place. “No, that wasn’t my intention. If I’d known who Weronika Saarth was before the tournament, I’d have the highest respect for her in getting here.”

  He blanched inwardly at the answer to that question. It sounded a lot more arrogant out loud than it had in his head. Oh well, no taking it back now. Then again, maybe arrogance was the wrong word. Condescending, yes. Arrogance, perhaps not.

  “Is it true that you hadn’t actually claimed that ghost until after you’d won the bout with it?”

  This came from someone whose name he did know; he’d read her article about how the island was a stupid place to hold the tournament earlier. Kate Kinsella. She’d slated Ritellia, he had a horrible feeling he might be next. “Well I think actions will speak louder than words on this answer. You saw what I did. Draw your own conclusions.”

  He hadn’t denied it but neither had he confirmed it and that felt like the best way to go. Scott saw a flash of something in her eyes and that confirmed it for him. Yep, he was going to get it in the media at some point in the next few days. “I mean, when I say draw your own conclusion… If I’d used a spirit I hadn’t claimed, that’d be either phenomenally stupid or tremendously skilful, wouldn’t you say? I mean there’d be nothing making it listen to me. I mean obviously I’d like to lean towards the latter but hey that might just be me being a bit big-headed and nobody likes that, right?”

  When nobody answered, he gave one final comment on the matter. “I don’t want to come off like that. But preferably not as a bit psychotic either.” So far nobody had mentioned that he’d looked like he was talking to his shadow. That was a relief. A big one, if he was honest. He didn’t have an answer to that. “I mean, you enter, you win or lose. Them’s the breaks, right?”

  “Are you worried you might be kicked out the competition?”

  A Vazaran had asked that question and he laughed at it. “No. Not even in the slightest. Nobody has ever been kicked out of this tournament for winning like that, not to my knowledge. It sets dangerous precedent. Or does the ICCC want nice clean wins with no blood now? Seems like something they’d come out with. Violence by its nature is never tame and this is a violent sport. Sometimes it seems like people for
get that. Thank you, no more questions!”

  He grinned at them, quickly made his way past them and out into the stadium proper, a little pleased with himself given that answer. It had felt clever. He’d enjoyed it. It was like a middle finger to anyone who criticised him for the way things had gone down.

  “Hey, Mr Taylor!”

  One final question and he half turned his head to the speaker, unable to help himself. Kinsella again. He had a feeling he might be about to regret answering this. She had a sweet venomous smile about her scarlet lips. Like tongue kissing poison ivy.

  “What’s happening with you and Mia Arnholt?”

  “None of your business!” It came out brusque, he was already gone before anything else could come his way. It had been a cheap shot from her, it wasn’t any of her business and… in a way, he had probably just confirmed there was something going on. If there hadn’t been, he’d have said nothing and that would have been the end of it. Instead, he’d made a rod for his own back and chances were that it’d come swinging down sooner or later.

  Especially if her dad found out… He liked Terrence Arnholt from what little knowledge of him he had, he’d gotten on with him whenever he’d talked to him but he was a pretty imposing figure. He could be massively intimidating, thankfully he’d never seen him in that light but it didn’t take a lot of imagination to picture him that way, the way of a violent, protective father who felt vengeful when it came to guys sniffing round his daughter.

  He’d worry about it when it came down to it. That was all he could do. It might not get that far.

  In his heart of hearts, Scott Taylor knew he could always hope for nothing. If it came up roses, it’d just be a big bonus.

  Out past the locker rooms and the media area and up into the concourse, he saw them waiting for him. There was a special area in most stadiums for nominated guests to come meet the contestants after the bout, just out of sight of the public, a walled off area about a fourth the size of an average spirit calling battlefield. The one in this stadium was a pretty plain affair, cold grey flooring beneath his shoes and sparsely decorated walls with just one poster stuck on them filled with just a few words. He glanced to his left, read the words on it as he passed by and smiled. He’d heard it before but it was a good one.

  If you think you can, do. If you think you can’t, why? – Ruud Baxter.

  As quotes went, it spoke to him. He’d always seen it about never letting other people impose limits on you. You were the master of your own destiny, you made your own choices and you lived or died by them.

  Pete saw him first, a smirk passing across his face as their eyes met. Scott knew how much Pete had been hurt by going out of the tournament and at the same time he hoped his friend would throw all his support behind him now. It was what he would have done for him in the same situation.

  Granted he hoped it doubly so now that Sharon had gone out as well for Scott felt he might have been a bit leery about asking Pete to pick his friend over his sister but now he had no excuse. Matt out. Pete out. Sharon out… He wasn’t doing too bad really to get to the last twelve. Matt and Mia were both there, the Arnholt siblings making up the trio. The three people he felt closest to on the island right now and they’d all made his guest list. Granted it was also a list Jess had once been on but he’d had her struck off it at the first available opportunity. That’d be awkward if she and Mia had come face to face down here.

  Smiles all around, Mia almost leaped on him with a hug, he had to steady himself to avoid toppling backwards. He felt her lips on his and grinned, returning the gesture. Suddenly he was glad this hadn’t happened a few dozen feet back. It might have given the media something really to focus on. At the same time, Matt and Pete were both wringing his hands, offering their congratulations and their compliments, even if he was sure he could hear Matt muttering about how he didn’t need to see his sister doing this. If anything, that made the whole experience just a little bit sweeter.

  As Mia broke away, he saw the emotion in her eyes and just for a moment, felt a little guilty. She looked like she’d been through the emotional wringer watching him fight. “Hey,” he said. “Someone’s happy to see me.”

  “We’re all happy to see you,” Matt said. “Probably more than some people on the island anyway… You see Weronika’s comments after the bout?!”

  Scott groaned. It hadn’t taken long for his good mood to fade away, his smile falling. He hadn’t seen what she’d said. He had a feeling that he was about to find out though. And that it was linked in with what he’d been asked a few moments ago by the assorted journalists. “I didn’t. She take the loss badly?”

  “Yeah,” Pete said trying to sound offhand. “She didn’t sound impressed. She said you went out to humiliate her. Think the words arrogant, condescending and cheat were all mentioned… Speaking of… Where the fuck did you get that ghost from?!”

  “I was just wondering that,” Matt said. “I’ve never seen you with that before. And I did my research. I wanted to be prepped in case I had to fight you. And I didn’t see no ghost.”

  “Guys,” Scott said, breaking away from Mia and holding his hands up. “You’re right. I didn’t own that ghost before this bout. Remember how I told you about my previous encounter with him?”

  “Oh, it’s a him now?” Mia asked. She sounded like she was finding it a little hard to swallow. He couldn’t blame her. He had no idea what was going on either.

  “I thought ghosts were gender neutral,” Pete mused. “Is this the same ghost that talked, like?”

  “He does talk,” Scott protested. “I had a nice chat with him before the bout with that veek. He calls me bagmeat and I think he might be completely bloody insane!”

  Matt and Pete looked at each other. Mia backed away from him a little. That hurt the most, Scott thought as he looked the three of them up and down. “What?!”

  “Scott, I…” Words failed Pete completely and he glanced across to Mia and Matt. “No, you do it.”

  “Scott, spirits don’t talk,” Matt said gently. “You should know that by now.”

  “I’ll prove it to you!” Scott almost yelled, although not quite with as much conviction as he could have. Something told him he wouldn’t be able to prove it. After all, now he thought on, Saarth hadn’t been able to hear what Permear had been saying during the bout. And some of what the ghost HAD said… It probably would have garnered a reaction under most other circumstances never mind the ones they had found themselves in.

  Still, he’d said he’d do it and now he had to at least make the effort. It was then that he reached for the container crystal in which he’d trapped Permear and brought it up to his summoner. As it caught the light, he blinked several times, brought it closer to his eyes for further study.

  Huh? He said it in his head just as he did in his mouth, holding the crystal to the light, not quite believing what he was seeing. Maybe it had been a defective crystal. He hoped it had been anyway. They were supposed to be unbreakable.

  If that was the case, why was the thing cracking up before his very eyes, a thin web of lines spreading over the surface of the glass-like object?

  “That’s not right,” he said aloud.

  The eighteenth day of Summerpeak.

  Her summoner beeped with an incoming communication and, still in a huff over the way she’d been defeated, she hit answer without even thinking about it. The ID wasn’t present, there was no way of determining who it was beforehand.

  “Hello?!” she demanded. “Who is this?!

  The voice that came back was eerily creepy, almost dangerously velvety as it purred out an answer. “My dear, who I am is not important. What is important is what I can do for you. And believe me…” He broke out into a series of senseless giggles for a moment before clearing his throat, apparently regaining composure. “Sorry… been that kind of day. Believe me, right now I can do a lot for you.”

  “Oh really?” Suddenly she was a little interested. Only a little. “Like what?!�
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  “Demanding little thing, aren’t you? Bossy… Oh that’s the stuff. I’m sorry, these painkillers are unbelievable. Take it all away. Had a bit of an industrial accident earlier. Enough about me, not important. Anyway. You. You had some rotten luck there, did you not?”

  “Shit happens.” It was about all she wanted to say on the matter. “You deal with it and move on.”

  “You CAN do that, of course. It’s up to you, my dear Weronika… Can I call you Ronnie? Or shall I stick with Ms Saarth? Your choice.” Without waiting for an answer, he carried on. “Anyway. Why deal with it? Why should you have to take a humiliation like that? I’m not going to lie to you, I don’t like people overall. They’re a bunch of horrible ignorant bastards who don’t appreciate radiance when it strikes them in their nasty judgemental faces. But all that is going to ch-cha-change.”

  He descended into giggles and she considered cutting the communication. All this stuff made it hard to take him seriously. “There’s going to be a reckoning in this world. A burning. And out of the ashes, a new world will rise. Standard. Can’t build the new without destroying the old.”

  “I’ll agree with you there. Still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m not explaining this well. Probably shouldn’t be explaining it at all…” Long deep breath and another laugh. “Should be resting. But I wanted to catch you before you left the island. Please. If I arrange a meeting, can we talk? It might be worth your while. Fabulous opportunity and all that.”

  It went all against her better judgement. For a long time, she’d thought it was a prank call and cutting it out might have been the best thing she could do. But…