The Games of Ganthrea

by Andy Adams

  Then, less like a man and more like a graceful orangutan, Windelm swung down from platform to platform, until he was close enough to drop to the ground. He made a mad dash for the lake, where another orb hovered above the water’s midpoint. As he approached the bank, Brenner waited for Windelm to dive into the water, but the splash never came. Instead, Brenner watched with mouth open as Windelm’s legs became a blur. He raced from the bank onto the water and then, across the pond, like some sort of water-lizard. In a second he was at the middle, his arm outstretched and grabbing the orb, his feet kicking ripples across the water as he finished his sprint and leapt to the other bank of the lake.

  Aside from water on his ankles and up the backs of his legs, Windelm was completely dry.

  Brenner shook his head.

  Windelm tossed the now green orb into the air, and it floated dutifully back to the trunk as the first had done.

  Windelm used the same fierce running technique to dash up the twisting, corkscrew archways and grab another orb upside down at the peak, then he ran back to Sherry and Brenner.

  “A little wetter than usual, dear,” Sherry said, rubbing a hand across Windelm’s shoulders. “But not bad.”

  “Thank you,” Windelm said, chest panting as he turned his gaze to Brenner. He picked up the hourglass, where crystals were still streaming down. “Alright then, Brenner, would you like to grab a glowbe in Agilis?”

  Brenner’s heart beat a little faster, both thrilled and nervous at the opportunity. “I’d love to try.”

  “Dear,” Sherry said sternly, her brown eyes fixing on her husband, “do you think it’s wise to have him run the course the first day he gets to our Vale? After a full morning’s flight?” Her crossed arms told Brenner she clearly thought otherwise.

  “Oh, he’ll be fine,” Windelm said, waving her suggestion aside. Reaching for his mircon, he tapped the trunk. Immediately, the captured glowbes flew across the field, hovering above different obstacles.

  Before Sherry could interject with more sensibility, Brenner bounded off the platform and ran to the column pyramid.

  “See, he wants to give it a go!” Windelm said.

  When Brenner reached the base of the columns at full speed, he tried to rebound from one to the other as Windelm had done, but they were further apart than he realized. His arms wind-milled as he collided with the base of a column and slid dejectedly down it.

  He tried wrapping his arms around it and climbing, but just as quickly was slipping down the smooth column.

  Okay…how about…the lake? He raced towards it with what he thought was breakneck speed, but when the tips of his shoes touched the clear surface as Windelm’s had, they plunged through, creating a terrific splash that frightened a nearby flock of ducks into flight.

  Coughing and spluttering lake water, Brenner grabbed for the plant roots on the side of the bank, pulling himself out onto the grass. He gave another glance at the orb in the middle of the pond, considering if he should swim for it, but since it floated six or seven feet above the surface, he knew he couldn’t jump high enough from the water to snatch it.

  Sopping wet, he looked around the field for easier glowbes. Ahead, there was a large marble sphinx statue some forty feet high, with the body of a lion, the wings of an eagle, and the face of a woman. A white orb glowed above its head, giving it a sort of angelic presence.

  Pushing his wet hair back, Brenner walked toward it, planning his climbing route. When he was at the front of the statue, at the base of its front paws, he jumped for the top of a foot to hoist himself up, but was backhanded twenty feet by the stone paw. Thoroughly discombobulated, Brenner slowly rose to his feet, looking at the sphinx.

  It was still. But, it seemed to be watching him.

  So, the front paws are off-limits. He gave the sphinx a wide berth and circled behind it. Then he ran towards the statue and leapt onto the stone tail.

  He was lucky to have gotten strong handholds on the tail, because it suddenly whipped to life, thrashing back and forth like an angry fire-hose. It was all he could do to hang on. By sheer determination, Brenner shimmied foot by foot up the tail towards the back of the creature, the whiplash becoming less severe the higher he climbed.

  Finally, he hoisted himself onto the sphinx’s back and stepped along the spine and had half a second to duck before the massive wings swept across the creature’s back, hoping to catch him like a ship’s boom swinging across the deck. He crawled along the remainder of the stone back, as great air gusts from the wings blew at him. The sphinx had strands of long, chiseled hair dangling down, and Brenner used the cracks between them as grips to scale the final wall.

  The sphinx, in a last effort to buck him off, violently shook its head back and forth and up and down, but Brenner clung harder with each new handhold. As soon as he reached the crown of the sphinx’s head, he jumped upward as high as he could, and felt his fingers wrap around the warm sensation of the glowbe.

  He landed off-kilter, skittering to the edge of the sphinx’s head—“No!” he cried out—barely stopping a few inches from a sheer, four-story drop. If it had given just one more buck, he was sure the resulting fall would have cost him the use of his legs.

  Surprisingly, the sphinx had gone stone still, as though it was a begrudging stallion finally broken-in. The glowbe in his hand turned to an emerald green, and as he uncurled his fingers, it flew merrily back to Windelm and Sherry, who were applauding and shouting from the platform.

  “Yes!” cheered Windelm, his voice magnified across the field, “That’s the spirit!”

  “Good show, Brenner!” Sherry echoed.

  Sweaty, bruised, and chest heaving, Brenner nonetheless felt a surge of triumph rush down his spine and a smile grow across his face. He slid down the hair of the sphinx and began walking across its flattened back, when its wing abruptly rose up to strike—then stretched itself to the ground, offering him feather-chiseled, stone steps to descend. Tentatively, he walked down, and after jumping the last step to the ground, the wing gracefully swept back into place above the sphinx’s back. Brenner could have sworn there was the slightest wisp of a smile on its face.

  He jogged back to Windelm and Sherry, who were still grinning at him.

  “Great start, Brenner,” said Windelm, clapping him on the back. “Your perseverance paid off.”

  Brenner wasn’t sure if it was perseverance or just thick-headedness that had kept him trying to scale the sphinx.

  “You sure…made it…look easy,” Brenner said, breathing hard.

  “Well, I’ve had years of practice, my boy!”

  “Brenner,” Sherry said, a look of concern on her face. “Are you hurt?”

  He glanced at his bruised arms and felt a dull ache in his lower back. “A little, but I think I’m alright,” he said.

  “Are you sure? Let me perform a mending spell,” Sherry said firmly.

  “Okay then…”

  She pointed her mircon at him and a green jet gushed forth; he felt cocooned in a warm, pleasant glow. The stiffness left his joints; his muscles relaxed. It felt as though he’d just soaked in a hot bath. “Thank you, Sherry.”

  “It’s the least I could do,” she said, “seeing as how Windelm hardly lets you rest before throwing you into more danger.” She cast a reproachful look at her husband.

  “Come now,” Windelm rebuffed her, “he threw himself into the Agilis challenge. He could have said, ‘No thanks,’ and we would have understood.”

  “Mm-hm,” Sherry said, unconvinced.

  “He could’ve,” Windelm insisted, “but then he wouldn’t really be related to me, would he?”

  “Quit it, you,” Sherry said, swatting him on the chest. “Let’s help Brenner settle in.”

  Windelm summoned the rest of the glowbes back to the trunk, and then they headed back to the cottage.

  A few hours later, after the three finished a scrumptious dinner and were sitting on sofas and armchairs in the living room, Windelm asked, “Would you like to
tour Market Boulevard tomorrow?”

  A tour sounded a lot less exhausting than today’s flight and Mindscape running, so the choice was easy. “Yeah,” said Brenner. “That sounds like a good change of pace.” He had another thought: for so long, he’d been used to doing his own solo-activities…but it was kind of…nice…to have adults who wanted to include him. “Count me in.”

  “Very good,” Sherry said. “You can tour the village with Windelm, get some supplies, and see some of Vale Adorna’s historic places. Unfortunately, I’m needed at the shop tomorrow morning, new shipment coming in. But you’re more than welcome to visit.”

  “Market’s a bit busy on the weekend,” Windelm said. “Still, you’ll enjoy it.” He looked at Sherry. “I’ve heard that Lincomb & Leavitz recently got their hands on some new carrier carpets. How’s yours been holding up?”

  Brenner listened as his head drooped to his shoulder.

  “It’s a bit frayed around the edges, but as long as the cargo is not too big, it will suffice.”

  Brenner sunk further into his cozy armchair. The combined effects of a full stomach and a whirlwind day were starting to overpower his consciousness. It was hard to keep focus…bits and pieces of their conversation were coming to him…his heavy eyelids closed…

  “…we’ve been speaking Gentril all day and he understood everything…”

  “…you saw how he climbed the sphinx…I have full-magician friends who still can’t get up that shrewd statue…”

  His thoughts were drifting to dreams of fountains, rivers and flight, and from the faint edge of reality came the words: “…are you sure he’s ready for Valoria? And the test?”

  Then he was asleep, hardly stirring when strong hands carried him upstairs and placed him on a soft bed.

  Chapter Nine

  The Boulevard of

  Vale Adorna

  Brenner awoke to sunlight streaming onto his face, and a modestly furnished room with paintings of birds migrating, a bookshelf, and carved wooden statues sitting along a shelf. His nose told him that something savory was baking downstairs. He stretched his legs, and noticed his backpack in the corner of the room. Pulling his journal from it, he made a couple of notes about flight, creatures, and Agilis from the previous day, then headed downstairs.

  “Ah, good morning, Brenner,” Windelm said, as Brenner walked into the kitchen. “You can select some of these to eat along the way to the market.” He produced a basket filled with fruit and warm pastries. Brenner took a bite of a muffin. “But first, you may as well stuff any other jeans and t-shirts you’ve packed into the closet for good, as I don’t know a better way to put a target on your back that says, ‘Look at me, I’m from a different dimension.’” He gestured to a brown tunic, cloak, and plain black pants hanging on a chair. “I picked these out for you.”

  “Thanks,” Brenner said, as he took the clothes and headed for an empty room. He opened the first door in the hall, stepped in, and shut the wooden door. Then he smelled something peculiar, like pickled fish. Turning around, he saw a shelf full of colored vials, powders, and potions, with containers holding floating objects in murky, green liquid. One looked like tonsils. Brenner crinkled his nose. Must be some sort of ingredient room. Quickly, he changed, and then exited the malodorous storeroom.

  He found Windelm waiting by the main entrance. “Splendid,” Windelm said, giving Brenner’s wardrobe an appraising eye, “now you look like a regular spellcaster. Let’s be off then.”

  Brenner walked with Windelm through the doorway, and down the front path. His tunic felt thick and just a tad coarse, while his pants felt as though something slick and smooth was woven into the fabric.

  “Where’s Sherry?” Brenner asked, before popping another one of the muffins into his mouth.

  “She had to open the potions shop early this morning. We’ll see her along the market boulevard. Now then, would you like to walk, run, or fly this morning?”

  Brenner thought back to Windelm’s Mindscape performance yesterday, and wanted to know how he stacked up to the sorcerer. “Let’s race!” he said, breaking into a run.

  Brenner started in the lead, but not for long. His amulet bounced lightly against his chest, and Windelm blazed ahead of him, like a panther shooting past a pack mule. He tried sprinting faster along the path—the arching trees forming a tunnel overhead, but Windelm was soon out of sight.

  A voice called from the distance, “Had enough?”

  Brenner caught his breath, then called out, “Yeah!”

  He jogged forward, and finally saw Windelm, sitting on a bench. Between large mouthfuls of air, Brenner asked him, “H-how do you do that?”

  “What?” said Windelm furtively, “The running?”

  “No,” said Brenner, “the dancing— Of course the running!”

  “Same way you do, I put one foot in front of the other and repeat as necessary until—”

  “Oh, come on,” Brenner said, giving Windelm a shove.

  “Well, what do you think?” Windelm asked, joining Brenner on the path. They passed a spellcaster outside her cottage, pouring a foaming liquid on the base of a plant, which then sent ivy tendrils shooting up the side of her chimney.

  “Your amulet,” Brenner guessed. “It’s better than mine.”

  “It is different, but they contain about the same amount of elixir. That’s only a part of the reason. What else?”

  “You used your mircon to propel you faster.”

  “I could have, but I didn’t. Did I have it yesterday in the course?”

  Brenner mentally replayed the events of yesterday and then said, “No.”

  “So, what is it then?” Windelm said, looking at him with his eyes shining. “How does one get better at anything?”

  “Practice,” said Brenner.

  “Yes, but even before practice what needs to happen?”

  “You must have…seen it somewhere?”

  “Seen, and then imagined.”

  “Imagined what?”

  “Imagined myself doing what I had observed,” said Windelm. “Hmm, how to phrase it…when a spellcaster sees a human or even an animal doing something, he learns from it. He internalizes the action, believing himself capable, and imagines himself doing it. Then, after perfect practice, he can perform it.”

  “How long did it take to learn to run on water?”

  “I had to learn many other skills first, and those took years, but once I set my mind to water skimming, oh, about three days.”

  “Three days?” said Brenner in awe, imagining how long it would take him to run as Windelm had on the water.

  The path wound around sweet lilac trees and white birches, and through the trees Brenner could see buildings ahead, with more people trickling onto the path, walking toward the marketplace with their families.

  “So,” said Brenner, processing Windelm’s advice, “what did you see that was so fast?”

  “During an expedition I caught a glimpse of a Nightshade sprinting at full speed. At first, I just saw the grasses part in a swift line as it sped by. Then I saw its sleek black body dart toward the riverbank, and rather than stop, it just catapulted itself onto the water and somehow kept on running, clean over the surface, as if it was a water-bug. I knew that if something that size could do it, I could do it.”

  “Impressive,” Brenner said.

  “Thank you,” Windelm said, and looked to carry himself a little higher. “Well, here we are, the Boulevard of Vale Adorna.”

  They walked between the outer stone buildings, around leafy trees, and the sounds of the marketplace gushed forth: people laughing and bartering, carts creaking as they wheeled over cobblestones, and footsteps clattering on the stone street. They passed by vendors showcasing tiered rows of neat purple fruits and red-nectars, craftsmen displaying metal pots and assorted jugs, and artisans with tables decorated with furs and intricately shaped clay vases.

  Then Brenner noticed a curious thing: when people saw the two of them, they gave Windel
m and Brenner long stares and a wide berth as they walked past. Brenner got that ugly feeling he had in school when people tried to disassociate from him in the hallways, especially after gym class.

  “Windelm,” he said discreetly, his face flushing a slight shade of red, “I think people are noticing me.”

  “Oh that,” said Windelm in an unruffled tone, “It’s nothing. Some folks are just…uneasy…when sorcerers walk by, that’s all.”

  But Brenner noted that it was not just some folks but nearly all folks who watched them longer than normal. “Why would they be uneasy?”

  “Habit, I suppose. Many years ago, before sovereigns were elected and the city guard wasn’t as effective as it is now, magic communities were loosely held together and dominated by the strongest spellcasters – individual sorcerers and wizards, who oftentimes didn’t care what was wrong or right, so long as they got—”