by O. J. Lowe
“Yeah, I heard that,” Lysa said. “He’s not having any visitors. By choice.”
“Maybe he’s ashamed.” That came from Okocha. “It’s possibly not something he’ll sit down as proud of in the cold light of day.” He said it lightly but with a real sense of seriousness behind it. Anne narrowed her eyes at him, a look of bemusement across her pixie-like features. Lysa couldn’t work out what she was thinking, what was going on there. “I mean if I was him, I’d feel pretty stupid.”
“It was funny though,” Brumley said. “Really funny. Just didn’t see it coming.”
“And neither did Ritellia,” Lysa grinned. “Not even in the slightest. Bet he couldn’t believe it. Think the whole five kingdoms was surprised. Could hear the sound of high fives all around them.”
“Shame he managed to spoil such a beautiful occasion,” Anne mused. “I bet he regrets that?”
“Who, Ritellia?”
“No, Nick. I mean he loved Sharon, he was really hurting when I saw him. His brave face is just that. A face. He’s put on such a façade that we’re struggling to work out how badly he is suffering.”
“And hitting Ritellia was supposed to be a soothing balm for that hurt?” Brumley couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “As much as any of us might have enjoyed it under any other circumstance.”
“Just saying that… And hey, I don’t think Ritellia should have shoehorned his way into there like he did. It was asking for trouble. We went from brother to fiancé to someone who wanted to use the moment to grandstand in front of the kingdoms.” Anne shook her head bitterly. “Well he got his moment in the sun and it bloody well burned him. That’s irony for you. If he didn’t try and stick his fat nose in where it didn’t belong, then it wouldn’t have been broken.”
Lysa laughed suddenly aloud, not entirely solely just at Anne’s comment. “Anyone else think we were going to expect a tournament where the focus was just the on-field action? Because this has been a little… different. Memorable. And not really in a good way.”
Okocha said nothing. But everyone was thinking it, how the first tournament staged in Vazara had at times threatened to descend into farce. Beyond the murder, attempted kidnapping and the terrorism, there’d also been the first monsoon the kingdom had seen in years and it had nearly ended in tragedy. It didn’t do a kingdom with already a bad reputation many favours. He was as prideful as the next Vazaran, Lysa thought. Nobody wants to admit that where they come from is a dive. Maybe a bit harsh on the kingdom overall. Plenty of the other four had bad parts in spades but they didn’t get anywhere near as much bad press as Vazara did.
“You see the team since they got back from Cubla Cezri?” Brumley asked suddenly. She hid a roll of the eyes. Somehow it always had to boil back down to the job at hand no matter where they were. They all shared that bond between them, the five of them. Unisco. Like the elephant in the room, you couldn’t escape that bond it fostered.
“They were down,” Anne said. “A failed mission can do that for you.”
“I wouldn’t have said it was a complete failure,” Okocha mused. “Arnholt didn’t hold it against them. They couldn’t have accounted for a V.S strike team hitting them at the same time. They’re lucky to have gotten out of there alive.”
“Still…” Brumley said thoughtfully. They were all thinking the same thing, Lysa would have wagered. Nobody liked to be tarred with the taint of failure, no matter the circumstances. Nothing less than coming back with the objectives completed and everyone healthy would have been enough.
“They’re still in debriefing,” Okocha said. “Having reports compiled together on the whole thing. They did get some information out of Joseph Itandje before he, ah, expired.” He said the word with a little twist in the corner of his mouth as if it made him physically uncomfortable. “Just not enough.”
“It’s never enough,” Lysa said. “We’d all like to have all the facts in hand before we do anything. I guess sometimes it’s not due to happen.”
“Try any time,” Anne muttered waspishly. She then perked up and gave them all a big grin. “So, who do we fancy to win the Quin-C then?”
“Sommer,” Lysa and Brumley both said, with Okocha half a heartbeat behind.
She smiled at them all, a smile that hid a hint of superiority behind it. She revelled in the mystique sometimes. “I don’t think so.”
Granted, it had been a pretty sad time and he’d tried not to appear too overjoyed in front of Pete, but Scott was privately having an absolute blast with the whole thing. His best buddy was still grieving; he’d done his best for him but really, he was uncomfortable with it. Being consoling wasn’t really his thing, no matter how much he tried to do it, the words always felt hollow and lacking. Pete hadn’t complained, he hadn’t done much of anything other than retreat down into himself to the point that Scott had troubled recognising him for who he was. It was not a nice feeling… And probably on a par to how he feels himself, he reminded himself.
But Scott himself… Semi-finalist of the Quin-C tournament on his debut. He still couldn’t believe it. He really couldn’t. How’d he ended up here? He’d been asked the same thing in an interview after his last bout and he’d not been able to answer it then either. He’d just grinned inanely and shrugged, the words about how he genuinely didn’t know spilling out of him.
He’d found some composure later but too little too late for a few harsh words in one of the less reputable media outlets. Describing him as slack jawed was probably a little harsh. He was even too overjoyed by his performance to fantasize about revenge, something he might have done in the past. Permear had wanted revenge, especially when the ghost had also been criticised for being ‘in high spirits’ and ‘disobedient’. Those were the polite ways of putting it to say the least.
It felt like he’d earned a reward, time away from the grind in as much as doing something he loved well could be described as a grind and so he and Mia had made their way across the island to find a secluded spot away from everyone else for a picnic, maybe other sort of fun times if he was lucky. Just the two of them, nobody else. He was hoping for a private beach. Granted there were some sands back at the resort but with the island holding as many people as it did right now, privacy wasn’t quite a guarantee. And there was always some idiot with a camera who thought they might make some quick credits by capturing a few images of callers engaged in personal time. As that idiot in the after-bout interview had proved, there’d always be someone to put them out there given the chance and the means.
Mia just looked stunning today, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and a bikini top beneath a light flowing beach robe fashioned of cotton but resembling something more appropriate for the bedroom. It was just see-through enough to leave little to the imagination, he could see the butterfly wings tattooed on her upper back, the yerley fairy she’d had inked on her side, to the Burykian woven rings inscribed on her ankles. He kinda liked that, it was cute without being over the top. More than once he’d linked his arm through hers and kissed her, still a little giddy with the good times. Right now, he felt like he’d fallen on his feet. So why did he have that niggling feeling that something wasn’t quite right with the world?
He couldn’t say. Maybe he didn’t want to say. Maybe he was feeling guilty about being out here while Pete moped around the resort. He’d been spending a bit too much time in the bars since the death and it wasn’t like he’d been a particularly fun drunk to start with. It wasn’t like he could even hang out with Nick Roper, going through the same thing, given he’d wound up locked up after the thing at Sharon’s funeral.
To say Pete had gone berserk over that had been an understatement. If Scott was honest, he’d found it hilarious, he thought he’d done an admirable job to not laugh when Ritellia had hit the ground like a sack of shit. But still it hadn’t been his sister whose death they were there to mourn, was it? Pete had spent most of the rest of that day stalking around like a tiger with a headache muttering things about how
they better never let Roper out on the grounds he was going to kill him if they did.
Privately, Scott thought that was wishful thinking. He wouldn’t have picked a fight with Nick Roper. There was something about him that Scott didn’t quite trust. Every time he saw him, he got the impression he was… Well, he might not be hiding something, there was something going on there that he knew that everyone else didn’t. He’d seen people hit out in anger and nearly break their own fists. None of that with Nick. There’d been something not right about it. He might have looked angry on the surface but… He didn’t know. Something was missing, something he couldn’t place.
Why was he thinking about this? He chided himself for it, rolling his eyes in bemusement. Here, alone with a beautiful girl, having the time of his life and he wanted to think about other stuff. Stuff that, grieving best friend aside, didn’t really matter to him in the long run. He pushed it aside, let out a laugh. Mia looked at him, a little bemused, one of her eyebrows raised in surprise.
“What?” he asked.
“You,” she said. “Something funny, flyboy?”
He shook his head. “Nah, just thinking about stuff. Just that it’s been a weird few weeks since I got here. I mean I spent most of my life thinking about getting here and now that I did, I got to say it’s not like I expected it.”
Mia said nothing, instead let him continue. “I mean I guess I just pictured it as chill out stress free stuff between bouts. I figured it’d be the bouts that’d be full of drama, not the stuff in between. Not people getting killed and buildings getting blown up…”
He toyed whether to mention kidnapping effeminate lunatics wandering the place as well but chose not to. He wasn’t entirely sure what sort of reaction it might get from her, he didn’t want to bring it up and upset her. She’d not spoken much about that night, at least not to him and if she was having trouble then he didn’t want to bring it up.
“It’s never like you expect it,” she said eventually. “That’s why they call it expectation. You spend so much time building up to it, thinking about how it will be that when it does come around, how it is turns out to be a bit different. Some find it underwhelming.”
“I wouldn’t say I found it underwhelming,” Scott said. “Just different. Different in a good way. Don’t get me wrong, it’s shaping up to be the best month of my entire life so far if things keep going as they are.”
“Glad it’s going well for you,” she said. “Hope you haven’t jinxed your tournament by saying that. You’ll look a fool if you crash and burn in the semis now.”
He managed a weak grin. “Hey, I made the semis at least on my first try. Not many say that. And hey, I got you, didn’t I? That’s better than any trophy and huge amount of credits. Y’know if you want to make comparisons.”
She went a little red at that, he didn’t think it was the sun bearing down on her skin either. She’d built up a bit of a tan since being here compared to how pale she’d been beforehand. Several times in the space of a few seconds she made to open her mouth as if to say something and then words failed her. Privately he was pleased with that effect.
“That’s a really nice thing to say,” she eventually managed to get out, her voice quiet and surprised. “Might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. You know, who wasn’t family.”
“I mean it,” Scott said. “I really do.”
It was her turn to surprise him as she stopped and almost leaped on him, crushing her mouth against his, pushing him into a sitting position on an overturned rock with her legs almost wrapped around his waist. The sudden intensity of the surprise was almost as potent as the glee that rushed through him.
“Sorry,” she said as she broke away. “That was…”
“No need to apologise,” he replied. He could taste her lip gloss. Cinnamon. “You’re not going to hear me complain. Not about that, anyway. Might complain that you stopped.” He managed a weak grin.
“I’ve known a few spirit callers like you,” she said. “Not one of them ever said anything like that to me. Probably thought the reverse to be exact.”
Heh… His grin grew slightly, her skin was warm and smooth and she was close enough for him to feel her heartbeat. His own was thudding wildly in his chest. Good move, Scott, he congratulated himself silently. “Still, I meant it, you know. Always.” His stomach was skittering about, like he’d swallowed a storm of millibugs and he suddenly felt the grin growing idiotically against burning cheeks.
Oh divines, he thought to himself, suppressing down a wince. He very much got the impression he was falling for her completely. And right now, that suited him all ends up.
Terrence Arnholt and Brendan King looked at each other, neither feeling particularly cheerful at the given moment. Neither felt like this whole mission to police the Quin-C was doing them many favours in front of their own people, nor in front of the people that they answered to. It was slowly turning into the biggest farce either of them had ever known under the same tournament circumstances. They’d never experienced anything like it for the continuation of one troublesome event after another. Now Ritellia had announced he was bringing a Vazaran Sun presence in to see that things went even more smoothly… Arnholt hadn’t been pleased to hear that.
“Did you know this island was supposed to be some sort of sacred site?” he eventually asked, looking across at Brendan with quiet resignation in his eyes. “For the Vazarans anyway?”
“Ai-Yal’Sanhim,” Brendan said, deliberating on each section of the word thoughtfully, moving it over in his mouth back and forth. Both had read the reports from the failed mission into Vazara. They’d read about what little Itandje had had to say on the matter. “Ai-Yal’Sanhim. I didn’t know this was supposed to be it. I’ve heard of it, of course.”
“What’s the significance?”
Brendan considered the question for several moments, flexing his callused fingers in front of him absentmindedly. “Ai-Yal’Sanhim is first mentioned in tales of the Belleric Empire some couple of thousand years ago. The Bellericians, they inhabited what we now call Vazara back then, they believed that originally the divines were men and women. But at the same time, they knew how to manipulate the fervour of those around them into holding them above the crowd. They used all that strong feeling about them, the adulation of their supporters, the fear of their enemies to rise. To ascend from man to something more. Something eternal, if their names were remembered, their power would be absolute. Of course, when they did ascend to paradise, the first of the few, the first thing they did was wipe out what was there before so that what we know could come into existence. Their pantheon would become the forefront of their new world, they wiped out any other competitor for divine affection by killing their followers. It was the last recorded religious genocide. When everyone believes the same thing, it’s very hard to use those grounds to wipe a group out.”
“As fascinating as this might be,” Arnholt said icily. “What does this have to do with Ai-Yal’Sanhim and this island and everything that happens here and now.”
“Giving background, sir. To understand the story, you need the context,” Brendan sounded pissed at being interrupted. “Anyway, the story of this island is that before they departed their newly formed kingdoms, never to return, Gilgarus left this island as a gift for a worthy one. Something would be hidden here that only the worthy may find and use.”
“The worthy what?”
“The worthy heir,” Brendan said. “An heir to the mantle left behind by the divines long ago. An heir to the kingdoms. Someone who would do what they did long ago and rise to join the divines, sparking a new world order along the way. Whatever was hidden here would bring about change. That’s how the story goes anyway. How much you actually believe in it is…”
“Is it a weapon?” Arnholt interrupted.
Brendan frowned at him. “Not everything has to be a weapon to initiate change. Of course, in theory it could be used as one. There are those out there who always find a way.”
“Brendan,” Arnholt said, his voice soft and tired. He sounded exhausted, nobody knew when he’d last slept. “Tell me you don’t believe in this.”
“Personally, I want to,” Brendan replied. “But whether you do or not, I think the main thing here might well be that our enemy believes in it and seeks out to do that which could be catastrophic for the five kingdoms. I believe that not believing here could be a foolish mistake we’d do well to avoid.”
“You might be right there,” Arnholt said. “Do all the research you would for any other case, inform Okocha to do the same. I want you to try and narrow down an exact objective, a plan of action, a way to stop them. Maybe use this insane idea against them.” He sighed, managed a very weak grin to spread across his face. “Never thought I’d deal with something like this.”
“Sir, there’s also the question of Roper…”
Arnholt smashed his fist down onto the desk, his reaction sudden and unexpectedly violent. Breath exploded out of him in a sharp rupture, he took several long seconds to regain composure.
“There’s no question about Roper,” he said simply. “He did what he did. He’s got to live with that. We can’t interfere here.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Brendan asked.
“Both,” Arnholt said. “I’m aware of his circumstances, I’m aware of what he’s feeling and I don’t care. I expect professionalism from my agents always and he’s violated that. We’re not lifting a finger to save him and if he’s got any gumption left about him, then he’s not going to expect us to.”
“I see,” Brendan said. “Very well sir, just making the inquiry.” He bowed his head slightly. “If there’s anything else, Director, then I’ll see myself out.”
“Yes, yes,” Arnholt said. “Thank you, Brendan. Take care of yourself.”
As the field chief left the room, he got up from his seated position and made his way to the window, staring out the glass at the island beyond his room. All the regret and the pain caused by what was out there was starting to build up on him. So much that could have gone wrong with this tournament and most of it was as well. There was no winning in this situation, just making the defeats a little less severe. And there was still one more task he needed to do ahead of him. See, he’d seen the footage of the so-called Vazaran Sun attack on his agents.
