The Prize in the Game

by Jo Walton

  They exchanged spears several times. Ferdia was surprised how much skill it took to throw the spear and try not to hit, even when they had arranged in advance which direction they should duck. Darag’s spears all struck the chariot. Ferdia’s first throws went wild, and one of his later ones went too close and wounded one of Darag’s horses. “What a song this will make,” Pell said when they agreed to go back to swords.

  At the end of the day, Ferdia was so exhausted he could hardly stand. He was back in his chariot. Darag held up his hand for them to speak.

  “The day is drawing to an end,” he called. “We cannot fight in darkness. We should lay down our weapons now until dawn brings a new day.”

  Ferdia looked at Pell for advice. “They will sing of this all over the world,” she said. “Yes, tell him you will leave it until the morning.”

  “I will agree to that,” Ferdia called. “Tomorrow we will fight again.” There was a loud murmur from behind him, and a drumming of feet in approval. He turned to look and saw that the space between himself and the trees was packed. Almost all the champions were there.

  “They have been coming up all day since they heard you were holding,” Pell said.

  Ferdia turned back to Darag. “Farewell until the morning, then,” he said.

  “Hold,” Darag said. “Let us spend this night together as brothers, sharing our food and blankets for a last time.”

  “Can I?” Ferdia asked Pell.

  “Do you want to?” she asked.

  It was only then he realized how much he did want to. He would give anything to spend the night with Darag instead of having to bear again Maga’s demands and Elenn’s expectations and his father’s anguish. “Oh, I do,” he said. “But will they think it strange?”

  “Strange, yes, but this whole day has been strange. Go. If he kills you in the night, the army will avenge you,” Pell said. “Not that I think for a minute he will.”

  “I will spend this night with you,” he said and climbed out of the chariot.

  Cethern was there. Had he guessed? There was no hint of it in his eyes. “I am so proud of you, my son,” he said and embraced Ferdia. “Forgive me, I didn’t realize you had a real chance against him. Now I understand why you wanted to fight.”

  Ferdia could say nothing. He couldn’t tell his father he and Darag hadn’t been trying to kill each other. He couldn’t say he looked better than he was because Darag was so good he could do things that made him look good. So he just smiled awkwardly. “You don’t mind me spending the night here?” he asked.

  “It’s little Elenn who will mind,” Cethern said. “But I’ll try to explain. Coming back and going out again would be very hard.”

  Ferdia raised his chin in acknowledgment. After a few more words, Cethern left him to go back to the camp before sunset. Ferdia realized there would be fewer bodies to burn tonight, only those Atha had killed. As well as surviving himself, he had saved the lives of several other champions.

  He waded back across the ford to Darag. “Emer has gone off,” Darag said. “She has to get back before they notice she’s gone. It was her idea that we did not need to kill each other. I’m so glad she thought of it, because it might not have occurred to me until it was too late.”

  “I’d never have thought of it at all,” Ferdia said. “I couldn’t see any way out.”

  “How did Maga make you fight?” Darag started to stroll along the road into the trees.

  “She said she’d tell ap Dair I was a coward, and ap Dair would make a song about it to shame me. She said Elenn was in love with me and she’d tell everyone I’d spurned her.”

  “Emer said you were betrothed to Elenn,” Darag said. “Congratulations.”

  Before Ferdia did anything stupid like explaining about all that, he remembered that Darag had been a little in love with Elenn. So he just smiled, as if he wanted to marry Elenn, as if he were glad.

  Just then they came to the end of the trees, and someone was there, supporting himself against the trunk of a tree. With a shock, Ferdia realized that it was Conal. All the arrogance of his posture was gone, and most of his good looks. He looked haggard and old and battered, like someone who had been badly wounded and the weapon taken away so there could be no healing. He twisted his face into a bitter smile of greeting.

  “Have you come to join us at last, Ferdia?” he asked.

  “Ferdia and I have been fighting all day. He has come to spend the night with us.”

  Conal looked incredulous, which wasn’t surprising. “I see,” he said, frowning and taking deep breaths. Ferdia had heard that the folk of Oriel fell on the ground and cried out when the pain came over them, but Conal did nothing but lean his head gently against the trunk of the tree. Probably it wasn’t as bad as everyone thought.

  They waited for the spasm to pass, so Conal could speak again. After a little while, they both looked away. It was that bad, after all. Ferdia didn’t like Conal, but it was horrible to see anyone suffer like that. After a moment, Darag gave a great hail and raised his arms. “Atha!” he called.

  Atha was coming along the road from the camp. She was still dressed for battle—naked, and painted for wild defiance. Ferdia could well believe the stories about strong champions fainting just at the sight of her. She was blue all over, with rolling eyes painted on her nipples and a fanged mouth on her stomach. She had the Eye of the Isles in the center of her forehead, and over her eyes was the Oak Branch of Oriel. Below that were lines and spirals in white and black, so it was impossible to read any human expression on her face. As if that wasn’t enough, her hair was limed so it stuck straight out from her head in points that looked sharp enough to do damage, and she had dipped the very ends in red. It was similar but not identical to the way she had been painted on the first day she came out to hold the road. Ferdia wondered if she managed to make it different every day.

  “The boy said you were back, and I was already at the camp, so I came looking for you in case you’d decided to stay out here for hours like last night,” she said, embracing Darag. She was still considerably taller than he was.

  Ferdia looked away. It wasn’t that he had forgotten Atha, or that she and Darag were married now. He just hadn’t exactly been thinking about it when he had agreed to spend the night here.

  She bowed greetings to Ferdia and Conal, along with a slight inquiring look at Ferdia, but it was clear she could hardly wait to speak to Darag. “How many?” she asked eagerly.

  “Oh, you win easily today,” Darag said. “Not one. Ferdia and I fought all day with scarcely a scratch for either of us.”

  “You are just in time to hear them explain how this amazing feat occurred,” Conal said, recovered and as sarcastic as ever.

  Ferdia’s cheeks heated. “Tomorrow, if you are not restored, Darag and I will fight in earnest,” Ferdia said, gritting his teeth. It would be a pleasure to fight Conal.

  “So you were not fighting in earnest?” Atha asked.

  Darag laughed. “It was Emer’s idea. We were bound to fight, since Ferdia had been forced to challenge me. But why were we bound to kill each other? I held the road. He fought me. Tomorrow, as he said, when everyone is restored, he can fight someone who is not his brother. Tonight he is spending with us. Everyone agreed.”

  Atha’s face remained unreadable. Conal frowned. “If we are well tomorrow, that will be well,” he said. Then he clutched the tree again, gritting his teeth audibly.

  “Everyone will want to speak to you in the camp,” Atha said.

  “I ate with Maga yesterday. It can’t be much worse,” Ferdia said.

  “You haven’t seen our camp,” Darag said. “I wish we needn’t go back there, I wish we could just all stay out here in the woods for the night. All that screaming and talking between is so difficult.”

  “It’s ridiculous to feel guilty for being fit,” Atha said gruffly. “But we needn’t go back if you don’t want to. I could bring out some food and we could do that, sleep by the ford. Why not?” S
he turned to Ferdia. “Unless you specially wanted to see the others? Conary, or maybe Inis?”

  Ferdia felt as if he were being dragged along on a current he hadn’t expected. He would have liked to spend the night with just Darag, but he couldn’t possibly say so to Atha. “Yes, I mean no,” he stammered. “I’m not sure what I want. I’m so tired.”

  Atha laughed. The normal pink of the inside of her mouth looked strange with all that paint around it. “You don’t know what tired is, after only one day,” she said.

  “I’ll never call one-day-tired tired again,” Darag agreed.

  “And tired just doesn’t compare,” Conal put in, his voice sounding normally sardonic, only his face belying his tone.

  Atha turned to Darag. “I’ll go to find some food and bring it to the ford. Better if you don’t go back at all to have to deal with questions. Nobody will bother me. Elba and Finca are frightened of me.” She curled her lip.

  “You’re so good at dealing with people,” Darag said admiringly. “Bring some ale as well.”

  “It’s no use trying to drown troubles, they can swim,” Ferdia said.

  “Sometimes a little ale is good for sleep,” Atha said. “I’ll bring some. And I’ll tell everyone about your day.” She went off down the path, raising a hand in farewell. Ferdia couldn’t help but be glad to see her go.

  “I’ll tell them, too, when I go back,” Conal said. “But tell me, how is Emer?”

  “Very well,” Darag said. “She even got to rest today. A lot of the time, Ferdia and I were fighting with swords, because it was safer.” He smiled at Ferdia. “I told you this was her idea.”

  “Is she coming tomorrow?” Conal asked.

  “She said she would come in case,” Darag said. “But surely tomorrow you will all be well and I will be the one to lie at my ease while you protect me.” Ferdia was disconcerted to see that Conal didn’t look as sure as Darag did.

  They made their way back to the ford. Someone had seen to the horses already. The Connat side of the stream was deserted now and looked untidy, trampled and strewn with leftovers, bits of food the crows were picking over. “They’re probably disappointed there was no blood today,” Darag said.

  “I was thinking it’s strange to see the sun set without being at a funeral,” Ferdia admitted. Darag shuddered. “Is it awful?” Ferdia asked tentatively.

  “Atha and I make a game of it, counting heads. But yes, it’s awful.” Darag shook his head and stared across the stream. Ferdia put his hand on Darag’s shoulder, and Darag leaned back against him. “Today was the last of it,” he said. “And may all the gods bless Emer for finding a way to spare me killing you.”

  They were still sitting like that, quietly, when Atha came back. She was still painted for war but carrying a basket of food. Ferdia would have moved, but Darag put out a hand to stop him. Atha sat down on Darag’s other side without comment. She shared out the food. They ate and drank, talking about fighting, about people you would want at your side in battle and people you would not. To Ferdia’s surprise, Atha had a good opinion of Conal. As it grew dark, he felt the ale going to his head a little. The conversation became more relaxed. Later, Atha spread out the blankets she had brought. Without discussion, she made one bed for the three of them. Darag lay in the center and embraced them both.

  Ferdia’s head was spinning. “She is your wife,” he whispered to Darag. He meant that wives were women, not girls, their wombs had been opened with the Mother’s blessing, they were fertile ground that could bear children and should be planted with seed from nobody but their husbands.

  He wasn’t quiet enough. Atha laughed. Ferdia sat up abruptly, the blanket falling off. “Shall we tell him our big secret?” she asked.

  “Yes, tell him,” Darag said, drawing Ferdia back down.

  “It’s safe, I am pregnant already,” Atha said. “As long as I keep thinking good strong thoughts of wanting him and don’t let him slip away, the way so many silly women do, I will bear a son at the Feast of the Mother. Unlike most such, mine was begotten by my husband.” She laughed again.

  “And you’re still fighting?” Ferdia asked, before realizing how stupid he was being. “Forget that,” he said quickly.

  Atha embraced him. “You are my husband’s brother, and you are welcome in our bed,” she said.

  It was strange, the three of them together, sometimes unexpectedly awkward, but in the end, strangely satisfying. He was happy when he slept, curled up, with Darag again between himself and Atha.

  Orlam ap Ringabur woke them. “Bad news,” she said. “The sun is risen and the curse still holds.”

  Ferdia’s heart tried to find a way out of his chest.

  “Icy water on the neck would have been kinder,” Atha said, sitting up without regard for her lack of clothes. The designs on her paint were smeared.

  “I have said I will fight,” Ferdia said, despairing.

  “I can’t,” Darag said, not moving at all.

  “I have come to say I will fight in your place,” Orlam said. “I can fight to defend my homeland.”

  “But it’s sacrilege to kill you,” Ferdia protested.

  “We have talked about this and we don’t even know if it would count as the road being defended,” Atha said. “Darag will fight.”

  “I will?” asked Darag. A crow across the stream made a derisive noise.

  Ferdia felt as if a heavy weight had been dropped onto his shoulders. He stood up and reached for his clothes. Yesterday morning he had been ready for Darag to kill him, almost resigned. Now it was a fresh horror. Life was sweeter, it had more to offer him. It could still be snatched away like this?

  “We could do what we did yesterday,” Darag said, without moving.

  For a moment hope rose again, then Ferdia shook his head. “For how long?” he asked. “No, we have to fight.”

  “Inis said it may be your doom,” Orlam offered.

  “Trample my doom in the mud with the pigs,” Darag said, sitting up at last. “I will not kill my brother because of doom.”

  “Then I will, or he will kill me,” Orlam said. She smiled at Ferdia. “No hard feelings, I hope?”

  “This is crazy,” Darag said. “Ferdia, go away. Go off into the woods. Let me fight someone else.”

  “Go away and do what?” Ferdia asked.

  “Live,” Darag said. He groaned.

  “You can’t ask him to live without honor,” Atha said as someone stating an obvious truth.

  “Is it even worth fighting to protect everyone if they are going to be in that state forever?” Darag asked. “Is it a life worth living? And how long can we go on without making a single mistake anyway? One mistake from either of us and we all die. It’s amazing we’ve made it eight whole days. We can’t keep it up indefinitely. Nobody could.”

  “We’re very good,” Atha said.

  “Even so,” Darag said. “My grandfather said three or six or nine days, and this is the ninth and still it goes on.”

  “Maybe tomorrow,” Orlam said, but Darag made a gesture cutting her off and she was silent.

  “Maybe twelve or fifteen or a hundred and forty-four,” Darag said.

  “Not even Necessity knows all ends,” Atha said. “Maybe it is doom.”

  “I hate doom,” Darag said emphatically. “I always knew it would be something like this, some horrible position where everything is wrong and whatever I choose leads to disaster. What next if I kill Ferdia? Killing you? Killing my shadow? Killing everything I care about in myself? There comes a point to say no, and this is it.”

  “I have said I am ready to fight in your place,” Orlam said.

  Darag flung off the blanket and walked off naked into the trees. Nobody said anything as he walked away.

  “I should cross back over the stream,” Ferdia said after a while. “They will be here soon.”

  “I need to paint myself and go to my own road,” Atha said. She hesitated, then embraced Ferdia as kin. “Your name in my heart,” she mur
mured, quietly so that Orlam would not hear. He whispered the same back to her.

  “And tell Darag,” he said.

  “Darag knows,” she said, shaking her head at the trees where he had vanished.

  Orlam bowed to Ferdia. He waded back across the stream. It was another beautiful day, the mist was burning off already. He sat on a rock, his whole heart yearning to run after Darag, but knowing he must wait. He had never seen Orlam fight. She might not be as good as Darag. She might not even be as good as Ferdia. But she was a lawspeaker. If he killed her, he would fall under the Ban. Nobody would eat with him or speak to him. The gods would turn their faces away from his prayers. He would be an outcast. He would not exist in the same world as other people. Yet it would be cowardly to just stand there and let her kill him. He wondered when Pell and the others would arrive. He felt as if he might have been hungry at any other time. He went down to the stream and drank, which, horribly, made him feel a little better.

  Emer came first, coming out of the woods. Then a servant brought up Darag’s chariot and the horses. Orlam spoke to Emer for a little while, too softly for Ferdia to hear what they said. Then he heard the sound of chariots coming along the road from the camp. Before he could move, Darag stalked out of the woods. He said something to Orlam, then picked up his scattered clothes and armor and put them on. Orlam stepped out of the chariot and went back along the road toward the camp of Oriel.

  Ferdia stared at his friend across the river. What had brought him back? Doom? Duty? Honor? Fear? Then Pell was there with his father’s chariot. Behind her was the full might of Connat and the allies. It looked as if absolutely everyone with arms had come to see him die.

  “Are you ready to start again?” Pell asked.

  “I have to be,” Ferdia said, climbing in and checking his spears. One of them was barbed. He looked at Pell. “Where did this come from?”