The Games of Ganthrea

by Andy Adams

  Several hours later, the trees seemed to grow more massive and interwoven into hundreds of monstrous buildings of the city on the distant horizon.

  Windelm pointed, “Arborio.”

  They flew above a scarlet flock of birds, beneath which Brenner could see a few curving roads, like little brown veins crisscrossing through green toward the heart of the region: a large city to the east. Windelm steered them further south.

  “Aren’t we missing the city?” Brenner called.

  “We’re not headed to Arborio…not just yet. We’re going to Vale Adorna.”

  Windelm zeroed in on a dirt trail below, flying lower until they went beneath the canopy line on either side, and then, as gracefully as a swan touching down on water, he landed them on the path.

  Windelm released his hand, and Brenner sensed the flight spell trickle from his body.

  “How do you feel?” Windelm asked.

  “Like my legs are bloated,” he replied, steadying himself against a tree. “Give me a sec.”

  Windelm turned his head to the side as a breeze swept toward them, then announced, “No time. Follow me, and keep quiet.”

  He moved off the path behind some trees. A group of military men with matching dark tunics and bright green capes came flying round a bend in the distance, hovering ten feet over the path. Only when they were out of sight did Windelm speak again. “You never know which convoy of spellcasters might be flying through. That one, thankfully, was part of the Silvalo Guard. Overall a useful regiment, provided leadership has the right motives. Strange, they’re not usually in our village.”

  Brenner stared after them as they disappeared behind a bend.

  “We’ll be at Vale Adorna momentarily—” he looked over at Brenner and chuckled. “And you will stand out like a black sheep.”

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Hold still,” said Windelm, pointing his mircon at Brenner.

  A faint light streamed into his blue jeans, turning them midnight black and velvety, then the zipper and teeth on his gray sweatshirt fell off, at the same its hem grew longer and the material morphed to a soft, flax texture. His tennis shoes lost their neon colors and became brown as beaver fur.

  “That’s better,” said Windelm. “We have a twenty-minute walk before us, or a two-minute flight. Which do you prefer?”

  “Definitely the flight.”

  “Some people get sick after their first prolonged flight. I’m glad to see that you don’t.” He extended his hand to Brenner. Magic tingled through him, and again they were levitating and then flying forward, following a rutted path that wove through the trees. After a couple stretches and crescent turns, Brenner saw a central avenue with dressed-stone shops lining each side, not unlike pictures he’d seen in history class of Medieval towns, in front of which strolled men in tunics and women in long, colorful robes.

  They flew away from the shops, and Brenner saw children playing next to a large, sparkling fountain, and others running up and down wooden ramps that coiled up and around trees, with bridges linking platforms. The maze-like, wooden structure overlooked parents and grandparents chatting on benches below.

  Windelm glided them past the youthful fountain and park, along a street dotted with rustic cottages of wood and stone. A moment later, after branching off the main road and down to a less-worn, dirt track, their feet touched down, and Windelm let go of Brenner’s hand. They stood in front of a large elm tree, around which an entrance path meandered through rows of cheerful yellow and robin-egg blue flowers, up to a handsome, two-story house.

  Windelm gestured up the path, saying, “Brenner, welcome to Crestwood Cottage.”

  Chapter Eight

  Crestwood Cottage

  and Agilis

  “Sherry,” Windelm called, his bright voice bouncing around the many rooms of the house. “I’m home, and with a new friend.”

  Stepping past the front entry, Brenner saw wood carvings of animals on either side of the door, and a finely crafted handrail that led to the second floor.

  A woman emerged from the next room, beaming. She wore a comfortable green dress, had dark mahogany hair that flowed past her shoulders, a slender nose, and a sunny smile on her face. Like Windelm, she looked to be in her forties.

  “Hi, dear,” she said affectionately, hugging Windelm. “Glad to have you back.” Then she turned to face Brenner, asking Windelm warmly, “And who is this young man?”

  “This is my great-nephew, Brenner Wahlridge,” Windelm said, “and I’m proud to say he has inherited the better parts of my family’s dispositions. Already I’ve seen him outrun a wild bear, and—”

  “A wild what?” Sherry asked, her head cocked to the side.

  “A bea—Oh right. It’s…a smaller version of our Golden Ursa.”

  A look of admiration came to her eyes, and she nodded. “Very good. And how did he do with flight?”

  “More than three hours of it, with little ill-effects.”

  “Excellent. Oh, you will like it here, Brenner,” she said, her brown eyes twinkling at him. “Welcome to our home, and welcome to the family.”

  “Oh…uh, thanks,” he said, blushing, and looking at the floor. Realizing he should say something more he added, “It’s nice…very nice, to be here.”

  “You’ll stay with us for several days,” said Windelm, putting a hand on Brenner’s shoulder, “and learn the Silvalo culture. Then you’ll travel to hone your spell skills with the sages at Valoria, after you’ve passed their entrance examination, which I don’t see you having any trouble with.”

  “Let him relax a moment, dear,” said Sherry, and then to Brenner, “come in the kitchen and have some spiced tea. I’m sure you’re quite ready for some real food after eating rations in the woods.”

  They followed her into a sunny kitchen with smooth wood floors and large windows overlooking an expanse of gardens and trees. Actually, Brenner had enjoyed eating the rolls, jerky, mushrooms and fruit in the woods very much, so was wondering what she would have to top it, but didn’t have to wait long before a steaming plate of food was put in front of him, and he was biting into the best steak sandwich he’d ever eaten, along with roasted green and orange vegetables, and sipping from a mug of sweet apple tea.

  “I’ve never met someone named Brenner before,” Sherry said, sitting next to him, and handing a plateful of food to Windelm.

  Sherry then took a kerchief off a basket, reached in, and offered him a piping hot muffin, which he accepted. “Brenner—it has a nice ring to it. Your parents must have given much thought to naming you.”

  “Actually, I sorta made it myself,” Brenner said, biting into the sugary muffin, and breathing in the warm steam that enveloped his face.

  “Hmm,” said Sherry, taking a sip of tea, “People don’t usually rename themselves in Silvalo, Windelm here being one of the exceptions. If they do, it isn’t until they have mastered several stages of using their mircon.” She turned to Windelm and glanced at his carved staff resting against his chair. “You didn’t allow him to use yours already, did you?” She shot Windelm a stern look.

  “I’m not that careless, honey,” Windelm said pausing from his sandwich.

  “Good,” said Sherry, and to Brenner added, “Spellcasters new to mircons have been known to discharge all their stores of elixir at once, with explosive results.”

  Seeing Brenner’s worried expression, Sherry said, “Right. So, wait until you get some instruction. What else would you like to know about here? About us?”

  “So, you’re not from Earth then?” he asked.

  “Correct,” said Sherry. “My family has been living in Silvalo and in Ganthrea for countless generations, and I’ve lived in Vale Adorna here with Windelm after we graduated from Valoria.”

  Windelm spoke up, “Brenner, outside of this house, please do not mention Earth. If people ask you where you come from, tell them you grew up in the farming community of Cormith.”

  Brenner felt his face turn hot. “O
h, right. I’m sorry,” he said.

  “It’s alright,” said Windelm, “I trust my wife, but there’s probably not another soul in Silvalo, and maybe a few in all of Ganthrea, who know about Earth. Let’s keep it that way.”

  “Got it.” Brenner said. He looked from Windelm to Sherry. “Since Windelm is my great-uncle,” he said, doing some math in his head, “that means he’s at least seventy years old. How old are you?”

  Sherry laughed, “I suppose I did say ask anything…” she looked at Windelm and continued, “Windelm is seventy-two and a half years old—and looking handsome as ever—but I am far younger…”

  “That’s right,” said Windelm, “a youthful seventy-one.”

  They chuckled. Brenner was trying to reconcile that with the fact that they both had hardly any wrinkles, and looked like they wouldn’t get a second glance at a dinner party with his parents.

  He thought of the shops he saw on the main boulevard: there had been a café, and what may have been a bank…

  “So, with all of your magic, do you have to work at all?”

  Sherry smiled. “Yes, both Windelm and I work. I work in botany, making potions, and discovering uses for magical plants, herbs, and occasionally, critters.

  “Windelm works in the Council of the Sovereign as the steward sorcerer. His team is responsible for charting territory, deciding how spellcasters may use the land, and designating areas for growth and cultivation.”

  “You’re welcome to tour the Ironclad Assembly in Arborio,” said Windelm. “It’s where the government of Silvalo meets.”

  Brenner had finished his meal and was sipping more of the spiced tea, when a flash of movement outside caught his attention. Something like a red fox was climbing a large tree in the backyard, stopping to gather nuts from the branches. A moment later, Brenner noticed something else on the tree come to life: a yellow and brown serpent began slinking diagonally upward. His chair scuffed against the floor as he stood up to have a better look.

  “What’s that on your tree?” Brenner asked.

  Windelm put down his sandwich and turned, but by then the snake had disappeared. “Ah, the striped coati—foraging for nuts, no doubt. Friendly little buggers, even if they cause trouble in the fall when they make nests on the house.” Smiling, he added, “There’s a lot more back there than just trees and critters. You should try the community Mindscape.”

  “Windelm,” said Sherry, “He just got here.”

  “It’s the best part of our Vale!” Windelm said good-naturedly, “And he should get a feel for one before the entrance examination at Valoria. Some folks say they’re actually trying to kill newcomers these days. Brenner, would you like a tour of our acreage?”

  “That’d be great,” he said, but was a little startled by Windelm’s comment.Why would the school want to kill newcomers?

  They stepped outside onto a soft stretch of grass and began walking on a wood-chipped path. Then he saw the yellow serpent again. “What is that? Not the coati—that snake going ‘round the tree?”

  Windelm let out a low grunt as he spotted the neon yellow head of a snake wrapping around the tree, edging closer to the coati, which was nibbling a nut, its back turned to the serpent. “Poison-coat python,” muttered Windelm. “Beastly thing.”

  He disappeared back to the kitchen, then reappeared in the doorway, mircon in hand. Windelm aimed it at the tree and said, “Parsplodo!”

  A bolt of red energy shot from the wooden staff, flying hundreds of feet across the yard, and blasting a cannonball-sized chunk off the tree just below the open jaws of the snake.

  “Fewmets!” Windelm cursed. “Missed it.”

  At the sound of the mini-explosion, the red coati rushed madly across the limb, leapt to the next tree, and scampered out of sight. The python hissed at them and coiled around the backside.

  “Usually I let nature take its course,” said Windelm, lowering his mircon, “but those devil Poison-coats are just as dangerous to humans as they are to animals.”

  “Do they have venom?” Brenner asked.

  “Yes, but not in their mouths,” said Sherry, “their skin is coated with a slick, toxic substance. When it gets on its victim’s skin it stings and paralyzes the muscle beneath. As soon as the python strikes—or lands on its victim, which it prefers—it goes for the chest and neck. If it can get a solid coil around you there, you’ll be dead in about a minute.”

  As Brenner had always had a healthy dislike of snakes, he was getting second thoughts about touring the acreage.

  “Most of the Poison-coat pythons are deep in the jungles,” said Windelm. “Whenever the citizens of Vale Adorna see them, they blast them on the spot. So, the snakes usually keep their distance.”

  Brenner stayed close to Windelm and Sherry as they walked through the jungle for half an hour, the dense forest gradually thinning to reveal parts of jagged columns, ancient statues, and strange stone formations. There must have been people playing on the course ahead, because he saw flickers of movement and heard shouts.

  “Right this way, Brenner,” Sherry said, ushering him under a stone archway that read, ‘The Mindscape of Vale Adorna.’

  “You’re in for a treat,” said Windelm, leading them over to a tall spiral staircase, and motioning them to follow him up. “Playing Agilis on a Mindscape takes a tad more effort than whacking a ball and riding after it in a cart. Today you’re gonna see, in my humble opinion, one of the finest Agilis performances.”

  When Windelm wasn’t looking, Sherry whispered to Brenner, “Try to restrain yourself. Any compliments and Windelm’s head will swell up and float off his shoulders.” She gave him a wink.

  They reached the top of the staircase, which opened to a long wooden platform some forty feet high, and stretching out before them was a huge greenway filled with giant sculptures of magical beasts, a steep pyramid, marble archways that soared a hundred feet high—some even looping— clusters of columns forming the frame of a skyscraper, a waterfall that fed into a blue lake, and a brook winding into the deep woods beyond. Here and there players were sprinting up and around the obstacles, trying to grab onto brightly colored, floating balls.

  On the platform were numerous wooden trunks, and Windelm reached down to one, tapped it with his staff, and its lid popped open. Seven gleaming white orbs, each about the size of a baseball, floated out of the trunk and towards Windelm.

  “Glowbes,” said Windelm, in response to Brenner’s puzzled expression. “The goal of Agilis is simple: capture as many of these as you can, as quickly as you can.”

  He pointed his mircon at something else in the trunk, and out hovered an hourglass.

  “I usually set it to five minutes,” Windelm said, changing the dials on the front. Half the crystals inside the hourglass dissolved. The glowbes began bumping into each other midair, as if impatient to get the game started.

  Windelm turned his attention to them and said, “Agilis, moderate intensity.” Obediently, like a charm of finches released from their cage, the cluster of orbs flew in loops across the field, until finding nesting spots in high places. They alighted near the peaks of the structures, at the top of the marble loops, on some tall oakbrawns, and over a giant sphinx. One even hovered over the middle of the lake. Then white beams of light radiated from the glowbes.

  “Sherry, please hold this,” Windelm said, handing her his mircon and then turning the hourglass upside down. “Brenner, enjoy the show.”

  With that, he leaped off the wooden platform to the ground, racing towards the first obstacle with a speed Brenner wouldn’t have guessed someone in their seventies capable of.

  He came to the columns stacked into a pyramid frame, where, five stories up, an orb shimmered like a tiny star. Brenner leaned forward against the deck railing, curious to see how Windelm would manage to scale it. There were no stairs, and the stone columns seemed too wide to wrap one’s arms around. Windelm sped ahead anyway, and launched himself at a column. As he soared toward it, he extended his fee
t forward. His soles landed against it with a soft thump; then he pushed off and vaulted up at an angle to another column, landing and rebounding up like a jumping spider until he reached the first horizontal level of planks, where he grabbed one and hoisted his legs up and over it. He jumped and performed the nimble routine up four more levels until he reached the top columns, where four planks made a square with a hole in the middle.

  Above him hovered the glowbe, glimmering like the top of a lighthouse. Windelm looked up, then jumped from one side over the middle, snatched the orb, and landed deftly on the narrow scaffolding, rocking slightly as he held his balance. The orb turned green, and Windelm tossed it aside. Immediately it flew back to the trunk by Brenner and Sherry’s feet, wriggling into place like a family dog returning to its favorite cushion.