The Game of Gods Box Set

by Lana Pecherczyk

  “Testing competing Houses for weakness. Picking off your competition. Gambling.”

  “You can die in this trial?”

  His grim face was my answer.

  While we walked through the Ludus halls to the training arena, Cash drilled me on appropriate expectations.

  “They all think you’re a Soul-Eater, so let it stay that way.”

  I bit my lip, stifling my protest. Waiting for Marc was proving harder than I anticipated. How could I truly live up to my destiny—whatever it was—if I didn’t know who I was? But I said I’d wait. So I would.

  “We can explain any other powers,” he continued, “that surface from your true self as being something you’ve absorbed. When it comes time to show off your abilities, just keep that in mind. Only give them enough to be satisfied. We’re not in this for the betting, we don’t care who wins, we just want to stop Urser from destroying this world. And survive.”

  I remembered the list I wrote on my arm. “And live,” I added.

  He looked askance at me. “That’s what I said.”

  One day, I planned to show him what I meant by living, not just surviving. Last night was a perfect example. I felt whole with him. And not just in the biblical sense. We were two opposing ends of a magnet snapping together. Over and over again. In the shower, on the bed—liquid heat shot to my core and my face echoed a flush. How quickly my thoughts derailed around him.

  Cash stopped walking and blocked me with an arm, halting me. I bumped into his solid body. He stared down at me, consternation on his face.

  “Stop it,” he said. “You need to concentrate on what I’m telling you.”

  “I am.”

  “I can smell your mood, Roo. I know what you are thinking.” He folded his arms. It only served to make him look even more desirable. He wore a similar shirt as yesterday. It stretched nicely across his chest, showing off his manliness.

  I fought back a smile and stared at my feet.

  A sound something like a grunt came out of him. “What did I say?”

  “Uh, that I should fly under the radar.”

  “Right. That’s close enough. Come on.” He touched my arm lightly to spur us onwards. “As long as you don’t die, you can’t fail this trial. Even if you lose the sparring match, you still get let into the Game, so just take it easy.”

  “That, I can do.”

  Chapter 24

  A doorman marked our arrival to training arena as we entered. He gave us a paper program that held the order of proceedings and directed us to preordained seats—down the front and to the right. Row one, seats four and five.

  A group of people chanted “Carpé Ludus” and I cringed. Seize the Game.

  Sports were never my thing in school. I was more likely to be found in the bathroom stalls sharing wine from our vineyard with my troublesome friends. Anything to get the attention of my absentee father. It never worked. These days, I did everything in my power to avoid his attention.

  We made our way down the concrete steps to where the numerous training mats had been removed, and an enormous central one replaced it. To the far side sat a bench with five empty seats in front of it. That must be the Tribunal’s panel. Spectators filed into the stadium, nicely filling it up. From all the pre-game chanting and laughing going on, obviously this trial was a favorite. Except for me.

  Sweat prickled my skin.

  “How many do you think are here?” I whispered to Cash.

  “About fifty or so, but my guess is it will fill to around a hundred.”

  “Whoa. Good turn out.”

  “The trials and the Libertine Ball are the events of the decade for each nation’s Ludus. All the Watchers around the country come.”

  “Every decade?” I asked.

  “There are smaller events and trials, like the one I was in a few years ago. But this particular trial coincides with the breeding program.”

  “Are you saying I might have a ten-year-old sister or brother around?”

  “It’s possible. But, stop thinking of them as your siblings. They’re not. And children aren’t allowed into the Ludus. They can’t keep it secret. That’s why Nephilim aren’t inducted into the Game until they mature. Here we go.”

  We’d made it to our seats.

  Like a gentleman, Cash stood back so I could enter the row first. We passed three strangers and then found our empty seats. Next to those sat Bruce. Next to him was Lincoln and then Ava with the rest of Epsilon House, including the mega douche-bag who spiked my soup with cyanide. My father glanced up from reading his paper program.

  “You appear to have made a miraculous recovery.” The tone of his voice suggested the attack on my life was more like an illness, or a common cold. Something a bit of rest and relaxation could fix.

  “Not too shabby for the second attempt on my life, right father dearest? This meat-suit is getting a thrashing. At this rate, you’ll have nothing left to marry off.”

  Anyone within earshot gasped.

  Nerves jangled in my body. My mouth went dry and wouldn’t work. Perhaps that was too much.

  Bruce narrowed his eyes but didn’t say a word. No way in hell he’d sit there calmly when I’d spent the night away from his apartment. He was up to something.

  I noticed a few familiar faces in the crowd. Cetus House with the delicate Wren and puppy eyed Cygnus looking less peaky than before. Then there were a couple more familiar faces with Aldebaran House. They looked buff, beefy and ready to crush some skulls. Most of the chanting came from them. Lena was here with Jesop and a medical standby kit. A few rows back, I spotted Jed watching with a severe cast to his gaze.

  Cash side-stepped me and positioned himself in the seat next to Bruce, blocking my view of him. The action irritated my father, but put fire in Cash’s steady gaze. It made me smile as I sat.

  “You’ll be called up at some point and they’ll tell you what to do,” Cash said to me, his voice almost drowning in the roar from the crowd as it escalated.

  Excited people equaled high energy and the sudden burst made me almost swoon. Breathe in. Breathe out. I could handle this. But… so much power… it stung my eyes.

  “Carpé Ludus.”

  “Carpé Ludus.”

  My heart-rate increased. Dizziness engulfed me as I thought of what happened last time I was in an excited crowd this big. It was a beach party in Margaret River. They were all drunk, and I got drunk off their energy. Intoxicated, more like it. I had no control over myself. I’d mashed people’s auras together, causing them to fall instantly in love with the person next to them. I still don’t know what resulted of my metaphysical manipulation. Did those people still love each other? Or did they turn obsessive, like my ex-boyfriend Steve. Shame speared my heart when I remembered I’d tried to manipulate Cash’s energy back then. Thankfully, he’d sensed it and was able to draw away. What scared me the most was that was only a taste of my full skill-set. I’d grown since then. What if I fucked up right now? Before the trial started?

  My fate would be like that boy who got canceled at the registrar’s office.

  I started to hyperventilate.

  “What is it?” Cash squeezed my hand.

  “Energy. Crowd.” Two words. That’s all I could get out, but he knew what I meant.

  “Don’t let it in. Fight it.” He rubbed my hand with his thumb, and I focused on that sensation. Stronger together. I forced my lungs to slow.

  “Good. Keep it up. Look at me. No one else. Breathe.”

  I did. Soon, the buzz of the crowd was nothing more than their voices.

  I dipped my head to his shoulder and soon I filtered all my nerves into my feet. They tapped erratically on the floor, and my nails found their way to my chattering teeth. I didn’t swoon, I didn’t lose control, but the bad feeling never left.

  Cash’s arm stretched around me to rest on my shoulders and he pulled me into his body. He frowned. “We’re going to have to work on that control.”

  The stadium lights dimmed a
nd then brightened a few times. The main event was about to begin. I stiffened.

  Cash moved our joined hands to my thigh, and I let go of my breath. On exhale, I caught Ava glaring at Cash’s hand on my leg, then at my face. Her eye twitched. Her aura echoed.

  A shrill whistle sounded in the arena, capturing our attention. Immediately, the room stood, and I followed.

  In walked five Tribunal members. Jacine in the lead with her pink bob and tight white dress. Octavia and Felix followed her. The fourth and fifth, I’d never seen before. Perhaps they’d flown in for the occasion. One man had long silver hair with an ageless face. He wore a white suit over a slim figure. The second man had light brown hair with a clipped beard. He also wore a suit but filled out the fabric with his muscular physique. His gaze raked over the front row until it hit Aldebaran House. He nodded in their direction, and then I understood where the muscles came from. Perhaps he was a mentor for them.

  Each of the five stood at the panel desk, raised their right arm and took a blood oath of impartiality and fairness. Jacine added that although she was the head of Vernalis House in Europe, today she put her house ties aside to stand on behalf of the Gamekeeper who was off world. This disturbed me most of all, and I began to wonder if Marc would ever return in my lifetime.

  “Let the second trial begin,” Jacine said, her voice amplified. “As is with Ludus tradition, we will pull the competitors names from the traditional Ludus Patera.”

  I sat up, curious. A male attendant stepped up to the desk holding an ancient looking flat, ornate, gold bowl. Jacine reached into it and pulled out pieces of folded paper. “Our first two contenders are Drew Lyra and Darius Eridanus.”

  The crowd murmured with anticipation as the two stood and took to the mat.

  Drew, with his backwards cap, designer muscle T-shirt and baggy shorts looked the opposite of the tall, lithe Ken doll that was Darius from Eridanus House. Wren and I had laughed at the Eridanus motto at the depository—Always Virile—but now I saw it was no joke. Darius sauntered down to the mat with edgy, well-oiled movements, making me think he was completely aware of being admired. His slicked, blond head stood a foot taller than Drew and he wore the compression attire that athletes favored. His physique was, well, it was virile. The perfect specimen of a man.

  “Referee, be a dove and activate the trans-astral portal. Set the timer for fifteen minutes. We’ve got a lot of people to get through today. Let’s make it snappy.” Jacine returned to her seat.

  The referee, a man with short hair and a striped shirt, made his way around the center circle to hit a button on a series of half pillars. There might have been fifteen or twenty of them at least. When each was activated, a tower of energy shot up to hit a receptor on the ceiling. Upon final activation, an enormous sucking sound emitted from the pillars and a circle of light joined them. The mat disappeared. Instead of standing at the center of the arena, Drew and Darius stood facing each other on a sunny grassed field. The sucking sound died down to a small hum. The original Ludus crowd was no longer visible behind the circle, but replaced by a backdrop of distant mountains, tall trees, and flashes of blue sky. It was like watching a lifelike hologram.

  “Oh wow. That’s amazing.”

  “Yes,” Cash murmured, half in thought. “Those are the Kaskasapakte mountains in Sweden. The trans-astral reach has improved since the last time. Cetus must be making progress with technology.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  “Not if they use it to figure a way off this world.”

  And take the dark serum with them.

  “But they’re a long way from that happening. It’d be quicker to get the old star-gate functional than to develop new technology.”

  “They can do that?”

  He smiled briefly. “No. I made sure of that.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. The queen’s bio-key is needed to activate the controls, and seeing as she’ll never physically return to this planet, there’s no risk.”

  His words made me look for my father. To the left of Cash, he already watched us.

  Chapter 25

  When Drew and Darius’s fight ended fifteen minutes later, the scenery returned to the arena, showing faces of the crowd across the way ready for the next show. Both participants walked off the mat with only minor bumps and bruises.

  Despite my pre-fight prejudice, it turned out Drew kicked Darius’s ass. The sound inside the pillars had come through muffled and disjointed, like a broken radio frequency. This effect had been welcome because Drew was more than a disrespectful party boy. He’d created thunderous sound vibrations when he clapped his hands. Darius not only cowered from the sonic boom, but had been hurled against the invisible barrier five feet from my face. Like a total newbie, I’d thrown my hands up to protect myself. Nothing came of my freak out, except Ava’s sneer in my direction.

  I blinked at the memory, hands itching to reach Cash for comfort. Instead, I flexed my fingers on my knees and searched the arena for corners to count. There weren’t many in the round room, but I tried regardless.

  The trial carried on for hours, and name after name was called. A shapeshifter, an illusionist, and a puppeteer were among the stand out abilities. One of the goth people I’d seen at the cafeteria had precognition—amazing!—except I wondered if that’s why she stared at me with suspicious eyes from her cafeteria table. She’d known I was about to be poisoned but did nothing to help.

  Some people simply fought each other with few special abilities in sight. These rounds were a game of physical prowess in lieu of supernatural power.

  “Lincoln Urser and, ooh, let me see. I can’t—”

  I looked up to catch Jacine fishing in the ceremonial bowl.

  “Oh, yes. Here we go. I’ve got one now.” She unfolded a square of paper, then frowned at the referee holding the bowl. She held the paper out for him to read. “This can’t be right. That’s not a name.”

  The referee pointed and said something under his breath.

  “Okay.” She read the paper again, making an effort to annunciate carefully. “Crank Lyra.”

  A loud whooping sound came from somewhere in the audience followed by some youthful cheering, probably from Drew, now finished his part in the trial and allowed to sit wherever. Whatever the case, it lightened the mood.

  A few seats to my right, Crank stood up and wiped his palms down his thighs. Like Drew, he wore his cap on backwards and wore the same baggy workout clothes. No gold chains in sight today. Lincoln, in comparison, wore a sweatband around his blond ringlets, a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt turned inside out. The short sleeves were rolled up and had a pack of cigarettes tucked into one arm. He walked from my left to meet his friend at the entrance of the mat and mock bowed to each other, grinning.

  Everyone laughed.

  Except my father. An unreadable expression stole over his features that, when combined with his suspiciously still aura, churned my insides. He was the calm before a storm. Razor sharp focus on Lincoln didn’t waver. Bruce’s body didn’t move. Not a twitch. I couldn’t place my finger on it, but the gleam in his eye was more than parental concern.

  If I hadn’t already been watching him, I might have missed it—the almost imperceptible nod he made toward Crank’s mentor a few seats to my right.

  I tapped Cash on the thigh. “Did you see that?”

  “See what?” he replied.

  My father looked my way, as if he’d heard, so I mumbled, “Never mind.”

  Lincoln spoke to the referee who then moved to a computer tablet and tapped it a few times. When the pillars activated, the scenery changed. I almost laughed when I recognized the new landscape—the meadow from Lincoln’s fake window with Palomino horses grazing in the distance. It was Lincoln’s personal rebellion to my father for rarely letting him out of the Ludus.

  The performance began with Lincoln pulling out a cigarette, lighting it up and sticking it in his mouth. He rotated until he stood side-on to Crank
. It all had a rather tawdry magic show vibe. I half expected them to pull out a rabbit from Crank’s baseball cap, or to get one horse to disappear. As it was, Crank sized up Lincoln’s cigarette with exaggerated attention, aimed, and fired something from his mouth straight at it. The cigarette knocked right out of his mouth. A collective gasp of surprise and more laughter erupted around me. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad.

  The next time, Lincoln stood the cigarette packet on his head for Crank to shoot off. The crowd responded raucously, out of control. The Lyra mentor stood in his seat and whistled at such a pitch, we all blocked our ears and stopped talking. I caught his shared glare with Bruce before he redirected his piercing whistle through the barrier. I winced at the sharp crack of sound and noticed something I thought no one else did. Maybe it came from my ability to sense auras, but the sound the mentor made became visible as it traveled from his mouth. A thin line of air warped like the tailwind of a flying bullet. Inside the pillars, the sound wave found Crank. He jerked as though hit and then straightened himself. Amusement dropped from his features, fun time over.

  Lincoln’s mouth moved as he spoke, but from where we sat, only muffled sounds came through. Crank didn’t respond, but advanced until he punched Lincoln in the face, sending him flying backward onto the grass. Crank towered over him, scowling. Then he kicked Lincoln in the side, making him hunch to protect himself. He kicked again. Lethal and precise. Lincoln rolled to the side and scrambled to his feet, holding his palms out in surrender. Crank didn’t seem to notice, or care. He pursued.

  The jovial vibe in the arena morphed to antagonistic. The bloodthirsty crowd cheered and jeered. Some volleyed for Lincoln, most for Crank.

  Crank’s mentor stood and yelled, “That’s my boy. Show them what you can do.”

  Crank cocked his head our way as though he’d heard, then turned back to his opponent and puckered his lips, whistling. The sound increased in crescendo to a point we heard clear as a wailing banshee. Lincoln suddenly seized, his eyes flared wide. He blocked his ears and dropped to his knees. A trickle of blood oozed out of his nose.