The Game of the Gods

by C G Gaudet

  “Hm?” the stranger askes dozily while turning back to look at me as though he forgot I was in the room. I really should have run. “What was that?”

  “I asked what you’re doing.”

  His heavy-lidded eyes light up with enthusiasm as he holds up his book and shows me its contents as though they might mean something.

  “Research,” he says.

  Wait, there is one thing I do recognize on the sheet at the very top in thick strokes and an underline as though it’s important. There were only a few letters I understand, and only when they form a single word I have occasionally written when accepting deliveries at work.

  JENNY.

  His research is about me. Which, I mean, yeah, I should have known as much from the way he was poking and prodding me. But there’s something unsettling about seeing my name on the page. I was asleep while he did most of this ‘research.’ Who knows what he could have done to me?

  The pillow shifts into a scythe in one smooth movement as I point it at the man’s face.

  “Who are you and what do you want with me?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Collector

  The stranger leans toward me to get a better look at the end of the blade I’m pointing at his face. Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for.

  “Very interesting,” he murmurs. “I’ve never seen a transmutation quite like that before. Is it an illusion?” He pricks his finger on the pointed end and then stuffs the cut into his grinning mouth. “A true transformation. Very nice indeed. How much for your scythe?”

  His sudden attention shift back to me startles me into trying to think of a good price to start bargaining at before I realize what I’m doing. This isn’t some fancy candle I’m trying to sell. This is a god-weapon, and the only way I’m letting it go is if he kills me. Not that I’m about to give him any ideas.

  “Who are you?” I say instead.

  “Ah yes, of course.” He gives an elegant wave of his hand before slipping into a slight bow. “Introductions are polite before a good negotiation. My name is Jameson Rastel, alchemist and collector of oddities, though I must admit to my collection being quite small currently. Between ingredients for my experiments and the people who wander in here looking for medicine who end up staying for several days, I haven’t much room to collect anything of great importance. This scythe, however, would be well worth finding space for.”

  Medicine? Was that why we’re here? Is this the healer Kesarre was leading me toward before I blacked out?

  ‘You may or may not have had to be carried here after you fainted,’ Kesarre explains sheepishly. ‘Don’t tell anyone. Interference is against the rules, not that anyone important is watching someone as low ranked as me. Not yet, at least.’

  Fainting sounds so dainty. I get the feeling I didn’t so much faint as collapse face first into a pile of sludge. I’m sort of glad my clothes are missing if that’s the case, though I do wish I had something more than an underdress on.

  Jameson is staring at me very intently, and for a moment I’m sure I must have said some of my thoughts out loud, until I remember we were introducing ourselves and I haven’t said my name yet.

  “Jenny,” I say. “Though you seem to know that already. No last name, you need parents for that. Candle-maker, sort of. Mostly I just sold the candles, the owner made most of them.”

  I suppose I could have mentioned the champion to a god thing, but even when concentrating, no information shows up above his head, so he likely doesn’t know what the gods are up to and would probably think I was back to hallucinating if I told him.

  “A candle maker with a scythe?” He eyes the weapon suspiciously but doesn’t say anything more than a phrase I feel might be a common one for him. “Interesting.”

  “Uh huh,” I say. “Isn’t it? So, you can understand with a backstory such as mine, I won’t be too quick to give up such an interesting item.”

  “I’ll give you a hundred gold coins.”

  “Sold.”

  Kesarre slams the door open and quickly moves to block any possible exchange, though I don’t understand why he would. A hundred gold? We could buy a hundred scythes and a hundred pillows and plenty more on top of that. We could live like kings.

  ‘You are highly overvaluing a few gold,’ Kesarre says to me in the most demeaning tone he can manage inside my head, ‘and undervaluing the precious weapon your deity gifted you with.’

  “I’m afraid the scythe isn’t hers to sell,” Kesarre tells Jameson. “It’s on loan and must be returned once her task is complete.”

  “Ah,” Jameson takes this information just as easily as he does Kesarre’s sudden and conveniently timed entrance into the room. “A shame. Though I suppose a fine item like that would be wasted sitting in my collection. Creations like those are meant to be used. Here, have a drink.”

  A small vial of a strange purplish liquid is shoved into my hand and I obediently have it lifted halfway to my mouth before I remember the situation.

  “What is it?”

  I lower it from my lips to take a better look. His shoulders droop with disappointment and he exhales before turning back to his table to write more notes.

  “Oh, just a little concoction I mixed up meant to help with headaches.” He adds so quietly I almost miss it, “Or for growing toe hair. It’s hard to be sure. I really must label my ingredients better.”

  “Toe hair?” Kesarre says much too delightedly as I carefully set the potion down on the table before scooting as far as I can from the substance. “What a glorious feature to give a person. Subtle, yet distinct. A lovely balance.”

  Jameson perks up at the compliment and when he turns his dancing eyes to Kesarre, I know we’re in trouble.

  “Balance, exactly.” He taps on his notebook with a heavy finger. “That’s precisely the point of my experiments. Everything has a balance, and I wish to find the perfect combinations in which to exploit the equilibria of each ingredient to bring forth its full potential.”

  “Like with a candle.” They both turn to me and stare with excited but confused looks. “You need to heat the wax enough to melt it into the shape you want, but if you make it too hot, it will catch fire.”

  “Exactly, yes.” Jameson nods enthusiastically while Kesarre gives a shrug and returns to his bonding with his new best friend. “It’s just as the great god Kesarre intends, there is balance all around us, we just need to bring it out into the world.”

  Kesarre turns to me with a huge grin pulling his slim face wide and causing his strange eyes to grow brighter and darker than usual. “He’s a follower of Kesarre,” he stage-whispers to me.

  “Wait a minute.” I can’t believe this. The sneaky little brat. “This is why you brought us here, isn’t it?” I don’t need his nod to know I’m right, but he happily gives it to me anyway. “You could have taken us to a real healer and made sure Willow and I both got proper care, but instead you take us here, to this madman’s house to be poked and prodded and have tests done to us.”

  “Isn’t he great?” Kesarre says.

  “Drink?” Jameson hands Kesarre a bottle this time, seemingly unconcerned with the fact we’re talking about him while he’s in front of us.

  Kesarre downs the liquid without so much as a glance at its pinkish-brown hue. A different one from that he handed to me earlier, though I doubt it’s any less dangerous. Only after the liquid is gone does Kesarre look down at the bottle, surprised it’s in his hand.

  “If he’s already one of your followers,” I distract him from the suspicious liquid, though Jameson is circling him with his notebook in hand, “Why wouldn’t you make him your champion instead of me? Clearly he would have been the better choice.”

  “I thought about it.”

  Kesarre’s admission instantly puts a knot in my stomach. I don’t know why I care. I knew from the beginning I was never his first choice. I just happened to be the only person who walked by. But at some point, I started to think of myself as
being special for having been chosen and given an epic weapon that had even Heather envious. This was another reminder that I was average, second choice, even when it came to champions to gods.

  “He’ll make a much better collector than fighter though,” Kesarre continues thoughtfully.

  Or at least I think that’s the face he’s making, until I notice Jameson staring unashamedly at the deity’s bottom, where something is pushing out a seam in his trousers.

  “Am I growing a tail?” Kesarre asks in the same casual, thoughtful voice.

  I nod but am unable to say more as the fluffy end of a donkey’s thin tail pushes its way out of his clothes and whips back and forth a few times, as though swatting away flies. If this was the result on a deity, what would the potion have done to me? I don’t even want to imagine.

  “I see.” Kesarre turns to Jameson who is furiously writing notes and places a hand on his shoulder. He meets the bulkier man’s eye with a seriousness I’ve never seen in him before. “Never stop what you’re doing.”

  Illuminated symbols appear above Jameson’s head and I turn my weapon back into a pillow since it’s now useless against anyone in this room.

  Jameson – Champion of Kesarre

  Level 1 Collector

  Abilities

  Action: Steal

  Passive: Alchemy

  Chapter Sixteen

  Team Meeting

  Jameson accepts becoming a champion of Kasarre well for all. He only squeals and faints once. After that he remains stoic as he stands next to the god, though he’s unable to bring himself to look him in the eye. This seems to please Kesarre greatly, so I make sure to shoot him the occasional eye roll just so his head won’t get too big.

  Willow and I look at each other for a moment before fighting a fit of giggles. The situation is just so odd with us both in night gowns, sitting on her bed with the two men standing at the foot paying us little to no attention. Lady Daria would be shocked by our boldness, and by the complete lack of inappropriate behavior happening. She was always so sure boys and girls couldn’t be in the same room without babies instantly being made.

  “Can I just take a minute and tell you all how happy I am right now.” Kesarre raises his hands in a dramatic gesture clerics often use when preaching about their deities. It feels odd in this circumstance. “How blessed am I? To have gone from rank two hundred and ten to rank…” he turns to Willow in expectation.

  “One hundred and seventy-three.”

  “To rank one hundred and seventy-three in the time-span of a mere day.” Kesarre beams at each of us in turn. “On top of that, I’ve managed to find myself three exceptional champions with such a balanced set of skills, I couldn’t be happier.”

  “We’d be better with a white knight,” Willow mutters under her breath, or so she thinks. We all hear her and turn to stare, which causes a blush to darken her cheeks.

  “Yes, well.” Kesarre rubs the back of his head, clearly uncomfortable where the conversation is going. “Its difficult to find the right champions. Look at this! A scrying stone.” He bounces over to a bookshelf full of various items and picks up a rock about the size of his fist from the top shelf. Every section of wall is covered in bottles filled with liquids, powders, bits of animals, chunks of plants, mirrors, trinkets and too many items for my brain to sort through. I’ve chosen to ignore it all for the sake of my sanity and I’m not sure how Kesarre could pick out one item from the chaos, even as a tool of distraction. “Did you craft the spell yourself, or is this one of the items you’ve collected?”

  “This one is an acquisition.” Jameson leans in to examine the rock with the god, his awe seeming to fade in his eagerness to talk about his collection. “Purchased from a travelling merchant from Dalkar. He had no idea its worth, lucky for me.”

  I get the feeling they’ll happily talk about every item in the room, so I turn to Willow to ask what he’s clearly avoiding. “What’s a white knight?”

  “White knights are a class of champions with high skills in both attack and defense.” She seems as curious about the answer as I am and listens to her own words with a focused look as though she’s trying to solve a puzzle. “They wear full armor, often decorated with images depicting their deity. While physical combat and defense are their focus, they can also choose to cast spells such as Bless and Heal, making them considered to be the strongest of the champions and much desired in the quest to earn rank 30 in the game of the gods.”

  Although I’ve yet to meet a white knight, I already know I hate each and every one of them. It seems like a ridiculously over-powered class. They can do everything while I swing around a farmer’s tool and pretend like I’m some kind of killer. It’s silly and unfair. And I want to be one.

  “Why wouldn’t you make Jenny one of those instead of a reaper?” Willow asks while I pout.

  Kesarre rubs the back of his head and look like he was about to change the subject again before I glare at him with enough ferocity that he caves.

  “Classes can’t be thrust upon a person who’s not inherently already leaning toward those skills,” he explains to Willow and Jameson while avoiding my gaze entirely. “Well, they can, but it’s not wise. It’s much easier for all parties involved to match class to the person’s natural abilities. That’s why you make such a clever scholar, Willow. You’re already so knowledgeable, it made it easy for new information to enter your mind. And Jameson, you’ll make the perfect collector, I’m sure of it. With your eye for priceless items and your eagerness to experiment, I’m sure you’ll learn new abilities other champions can only dream to possess.”

  Jameson smiles at the god while continuing to write an endless string of words in his notebook. Likely taking down every word spoken if his excitement tells me anything.

  “And I’m inherently good at killing.”

  “Precisely.” He sees my face and his wide smile fades. “It’s a useful skill, really. I don’t know why you look so displeased.”

  My entire life I’ve wondered what might make me special. What I might be good at, if only I was given the opportunity, and now I find out I’m a murderer. Not even a very good one since I had to run away from the rats and Heather. I even needed Frejha and Kessare’s help to get away alive since I wasn’t able to do it on my own.

  That’s not even taking into account the fact this great ‘skill’ of mine won’t be at all useful once these games are over and I’m forced back into my normal life. Maybe I’ll become a farmer. At least then I can use a scythe and kill some things, though I’m not sure I could manage to chop off a chicken’s head. It sounds too bloody.

  “What would it take to become a white knight?” I spring to my feet to escape the depressing thoughts filling my mind. “It’s like Willow said, they’re better than reapers in every way. I’m capable of being better, you just need to give me a chance.”

  “Jenny.” The condescending way he says my name makes me cringe and nearly sit back on the bed in defeat. “You’re not knight material, but you make a very fine reaper, and I’m proud to call you my champion.”

  “Not knight material?” Perhaps I should feel something from him saying he’s proud of me, but the only thing filling my chest is rage. “What does that even mean?”

  “White knights are beacons of hope for their deities," Kesarre says with a smile as though he doesn’t realize how much worse he’s making things. Or maybe he knows exactly what he’s doing, which makes me want to hurt him even more. “They spread love and hope to the people, encouraging them to be their best selves in the name of their gods.”

  “I can do all of that!”

  “You left me in the mud when I was calling out in pain,” Kesarre reminds me while the other two gasp as though doing such a thing was unthinkable. I roll my eyes at them and glare at Kesarre. “I can't be expected to help every person I see lying in the mud.”

  “Have you ever helped anyone you saw in trouble?” Kesarre raises an eyebrow as I firmly keep my lips together in a flat
line. “I’m not judging you, Jenny. You are who you are, and that is a very fine reaper. Everyone has their strengths.”

  I can tell the others are tired of this discussion from the way Jameson has stopped writing down every word spoken in favor of attempting to feed Willow a suspicious looking potion. Willow seems almost ready to accept it in order to avoid spending another moment listening to us. Even so, I can’t let it go.

  “You really expect me to believe anyone out there is the type of person who would stop and help in a situation like that?” His smug look tells me he does. “You could have been a murderer, or a rapist, or a bum trying to take all of my hard-earned money. You can’t tell me there are people who would voluntarily stop to help some sort of layabout.”

  His sad smile is patronizing, and I want to smack it off him.

  “Prove it,” I dare him, even though I know it’s not possible. “Show me these amazing selfless crazy people.”

  “Done.”

  The room around us twists and spins without any of us moving, and in the course of a single blink the walls of odd objects shift to open air and the laughs of children running past. They pause for a moment to stare at us after our sudden arrival, before shaking the strangeness of the moment out of their heads and continuing with their game.

  I half expect to find Willow and Jameson either left behind or sitting in mud, having had the bed where she rested taken away from us, but instead Willow’s sitting comfortably on a beautifully carved stone bench and Jameson is standing nearby, taking in the new scenery with mild interest.

  Everything around us looks to be carved from white stone, from the statue of the half-naked woman holding her hand out in welcome, to the enormous cathedral looming over us.

  “Welcome to the Lady Regine’s cathedral in Lossingham,” Kesarre says with a wide gesture to encompass the entire park he’s brought us to. Birds and chipmunks chatter away happily while couples are walking hand in hand in every direction. “Where love is everywhere, and trust is the default setting of every civilian.”