The Gods' Games Volume 1 & 2: Graphic Edition (The Gods' Games Series)

by Quil Carter

  He scanned the riverside. The water touching the rocks had started to foam in the churning currents, and below a drop off smoothed by erosion. Ben could see layers and layers of sediment and rock, from thousands of years of the canyon running through. Greys, browns, even shades that were close to red.

  Ben walked. He’d had no intention of leaving his groove, but as soon as he found himself standing he felt the urge to carry on. As he looked on, he could see the canyon continue to cut through the Lazarius Plains, but from what he could see, it looked like there were areas further off were the canyon was even shallower. An even better place to climb, less a chance of him breaking his neck.

  Ben coughed into his wet sleeve and wiped his nose. He stopped in front of a large pile of river sticks, washed in from the plains above him. A current in the river had gathered them all to the side of the bed; they clustered, intertwined like a snare of bleached bones.

  Ben picked up a stick and pulled. He was weak, but he was able to unwedge it from the snare. He held it in his hands, not even knowing why he had done it.

  Ben slowly sat on a smooth rock, wincing as a shot of pain rippled up his back. He rubbed the stick with his hand; it was cold to the touch and worn sleek from the water.

  He leaned against the stick and closed his eyes. His mind starting to become hazy and disconnected. His heart was heavy with doubt. If he was this exhausted from walking just a few yards from his groove in the rock, he didn’t know how he was going to manage getting up and out of the canyon. Not to mention surviving the Lazarius Plains until Teal and Malagant found him.

  If they would even find him… the doubt echoed in Ben’s brain as he supported himself with the stick. He could be leagues and leagues away from the bridge crossing. When will they give up and carry on to Birch?

  The thought made Ben feel even more doubt. He tried to push it out of his mind and get off of the rock, but he fell back down with a cry of pain. No, no getting up yet… too weak.

  Ben erupted into a fit of hacking coughs, sounding more like barks than coughing. He leaned over, almost losing his balance and groaned, wiping a string of snot and phlegm from his orifices.

  Ben, still clutching the stick for support, got to his feet and managed to walk to a smaller groove in the ridge. He leaned up against the cold stone, and held his stick.

  I need Malagant… I need Teal.

  He pictured them in his head. Remembering back to better times, warm times. Times when his stomach was full, his hay bed was warm, his friends laughing and roasting meat by the fire, then all of them sleeping side by side, he was always in the middle. Relaxed evenings of Malagant telling stories he had heard from his father. Teal showing him how to warm pastries on the flames.

  Oh, the food, Ben was hungry. His stomach groaned and twisted in anger. He saw Malagant with the apology rabbit, with rosemary, oil, crushed salt.

  Fire, food, friends.

  Now I’m cold, shivering… slowly dying.

  Ben clutched his hands around the river stick; he could almost feel the heat from the fire on him. The first warmth he had felt in so long… he would never be warm again. His clothes would never be dry, his body would never stop shivering, shaking, trembling… he will never be… okay again.

  Suddenly Ben let out a startled yelp. He dropped the stick, his eyes snapping open. The stick fell with a clatter against the rocks; there were charred marks the shape of his fingers scorched into the wood. He looked in confusion as his hands smoked.

  To his astonishment, his hands weren’t burned. He stared at them, they were still pale and sickly-looking.

  His eyes went to the burnt stick.

  “Well, I’ll be damned…” Ben whispered. He quickly picked up the stick again and held it. He stared at it, trying to concentrate in the same way he had before. He focused, not breaking his gaze, almost cursing the damn stick to smoke again.

  The stick started smouldering; Ben let out an excited laugh and dropped it onto the ground. He held his palm up against it, and moments later the stick started to flame.

  It took him only minutes to get a fire going. The flames had given him a well-needed burst of hope and energy. He shakily walked over to the cluster of wood on the riverside and grabbed as many branches as he could carry. Soon enough he was stripped down to nothing, drying his clothes on rocks and warming his still shivering body over the flames. He was so close to the fire he could smell his body hair burning, but he didn’t care, he was on his way to being warm.

  Ben coughed a hacking cough into his arm and rubbed his hands together, smoke erupted from them again. With a smirk, he brushed his middle and pointer finger over his palm like Teal had shown him and, sure enough, a small bright flame centered.

  Ben flicked his fingers making the tiny flame move from finger to finger like a small fireball, before he extinguished it with a clench of his fist.

  For the first time in his life, Ben could do magic.

  As his clothes steamed in the heat, Ben huddled close to the flames. Even his lungs felt clearer from breathing in the hot burning wood. He had played with the idea of building a giant bonfire to try and alert his friends but had quickly dismissed it. There weren’t enough sticks for it to burn long enough, and the ones he did have were dry as bone, and burned white hot. The smoke would be nothing but wisps once it reached the top of the canyon.

  No, he needed a plan now. Ben reached out and felt the damp leather of his jerkin, still wet but it was getting better. He still wished his cloak would wash ashore. Even a dry jerkin and trousers wouldn’t keep him warm at night. At least if it rained he could firepalm himself some heat and hopefully another fire.

  Get warm and get the hell out of here, Ben decided. He shifted his back and groaned as the stab wound gave an angry jolt. Half his body was bruised black and the other half seemed covered in small cuts. His bones ached and cried with every movement, the heat from the fire seemed to unthaw them, waking up the beast of pain frozen solid from the cold and wet.

  With the fire stoked, Ben laid down in front of it, probably looking like the sorest hibrid in all of Alcove. If Teal and Malagant found him now, they probably would have a good laugh at him. Naked, shivering, his body contorted around the small fire like a house cat to a hot water bottle.

  Ben coughed again and sniffed. His nose was raw with all the rubbing and blowing. He ignored the pains in his body, the cold ache in his chest, and the fluids he kept coughing up, and just tried to relax. He watched as his jerkin dripped water onto the fire, making the fire sizzle and spit with every drop. He counted them, his mind too hazy and groggy to think of anything but keeping warm. He made it to a fifty-five before he passed out again.

  When he woke it was afternoon, or he assumed it was. The sun had disappeared from the canyons, and the rays were done shining on the river and had vanished with the afternoon.

  Ben wasn’t in good shape. He woke up still shivering around the fire, which had burned to embers. His clothes were dry though, which was the most important part.

  Ben sighed as he tied up the strings of his trousers and the sides of his jerkin. His clothing was warm and comfortable and, as an added bonus, clean-smelling and washed.

  Ben lit the fire again to warm himself, coughing more as he did. The phlegm he coughed up was now thick and foamy; he didn’t know what that meant and he didn’t want to know.

  “I’m not getting better here,” Ben mumbled to himself. He got up and walked out of the canyon groove and wedged another stick free from the river. He used it as a walking stick and walked along the river bank.

  He wanted to go back to his fire in the small alcove of the Jarron, but he knew if he fell asleep again he would only wake up worse. The canyon bottom would be a death trap if he became too weak to climb out. The ridges over-hung too much, anyone looking down would only see river unless they were on the Valewind side. Which he knew Malagant and Teal wouldn’t be.

  Ben left his warm fire and continued to walk down the ridge, carefully and cautiously
. He decided on an adequate place to climb and tucked his new walking stick into his empty scabbard still strapped to his back. He let out a loud victory yell to try and pump himself up and started to climb.

  The rocks were sharp and strong, Ben found himself climbing easier than he had thought he’d be able to. His limbs ached, and were heavy to lift and grip, but the crags around him had many grooves and juts for him to get a firm hold on. It took him the better part of an hour to reach the top of the Lazarius Plains, and by the time he did he was out of breath and exhausted.

  Ben collapsed onto the green plains and inhaled. The grass was sweet and welcoming, a small comfort to his stiff body. He stayed there, still to the world, trying to catch his breath, hoping he would hear Teal and Malagant’s cries but still there was silence. No voices, no horses, nothing but insects and the waters of the canyon now muffled by the rocks.

  It was his coughing that jarred his consciousness back. He hadn’t fallen asleep, more just tuned-out of the world around him.

  He opened his eyes and watched a small beetle crawl over an emerald blade of grass. He debated eating it, but knowing this was Alcove, it would probably kill him if he did.

  He did cough on it though, the beetle rolled onto its back before scurrying away disgruntled. Ben moved himself up to the sitting position and looked around.

  Nothing but green and jagged grey rocks. He was completely alone.

  Ben stood, getting his walking stick out of his scabbard. He wanted to reassure himself, but doubt and fear were heavy inside of him. Just green and grey, all around him, even on the Valewind side. The terrain was completely different now. The trees were sparse and in small clusters, dotted around the landscape around him. The woods and the riverlands long gone probably dozens of leagues back. He was not only alone, but incredibly lost.

  Ben took one look at the canyon, feeling a lump form in his throat. The realization that he couldn’t stay here sunk into him. There was no food, and now that he was above the canyon, no water. For all he knew his friends could have passed him, or been leagues off… or perhaps they assumed him dead and had headed for Birch.

  Either way, Ben knew he couldn’t stay here, waiting for the off-chance that his friends would find him. He had to make it to Birch on his own. Perhaps he would luck out and make it there before Teal and Malagant did. He didn’t know Anagin, but he knew enough of his son to convince Malagant’s father that he was a friend in need. Hopefully Birch wasn’t far off but, then again, Birch was northeast and the river had taken him east. At least he knew which direction to walk in now, not straight ahead like before but an angle. He hoped to find a traveller or a town since, obviously, his directions were pathetic at best.

  A town, he had to find a town, or someone to help him, give him some food, bandages… anything. No, no, he couldn’t stay here.

  Ben started walking. No trail this time, no road to tell him where to go, he just walked away from the canyon, into the plains ahead of him. It wasn’t the best plan, but he knew he had to move.

  He coughed into his sleeve, wiping away the white sticky foam with a grunt. He had to get help, and soon.

  The morning of the third day since Ben fell into the canyon, found Malagant and Teal walking along the canyon side. Teal was watching the river’s edge as usual, but Malagant was watching him.

  Teal’s emotionless eyes never left the canyon, his shoulders slumped and his movements stiff. He was detached and distant again.

  The happiness they had experienced when they had found Ben’s cloak was gone now, replaced with doubt and fear, which had only amplified with every day passing.

  Teal hadn’t been sleeping and Malagant knew it. He was now swallowing yellow little bean pills and giving Malagant the orange penicillin to swallow. The pills to stop his infections had been working as well as they possibly could, for earth medicine, but Malagant could smell several areas on his hands that were starting to smell off. He hadn’t told Teal though; he just kept them as clean as he possibly could. Teal had enough to deal with.

  He didn’t know what pills his friend was taking. He asked but Teal had only replied that it was for his strength. Malagant assumed it was helping him stay awake, but the lack of sleep was still making Teal even more off than he had been the morning he’d killed Sorah. Malagant’s friend was shutdown, cold, and a million miles away. When he did lay down to sleep, Teal curled up into Malagant’s arms and cried until fatigue took him, and while he slept he twitched and whimpered, only stopping when Malagant would do Ben’s trick: lightly caressing his hair and even going further and stroking behind his ears.

  Even though Malagant was worried about him, he let Teal do what he needed to do to make it through each day. Malagant wasn’t in the best of states either. His body was stiff, aching, and weakening by the day. He hated admitting it but he needed Teal to help him take care of himself, and take care of them as a whole. With his mangled hands he was useless making camp, and even more useless making food or tending to his wounds.

  It was difficult; Malagant had always taken care of his hibrids. It was tough to swallow that he was dependant on someone. He hadn’t been alone for as long as Teal had been, but since he fled from the Serpents he had been living by himself, surviving by himself.

  The prophecy walkers were broken, and it showed. The two friends were falling apart day by day without Ben. Malagant missed his human dearly, and thinking of him being somewhere in Lazarius alone, injured, and sick was almost too much to bear. He was a healer at heart, like his father and brother, and not being able to take care of himself or Ben and Teal was a terrible feeling.

  “Malagant,” Teal’s emotionless voice sounded. Malagant looked in the direction his friend was looking and saw it. Two thick ropes stretched along the scar of the canyon, one on top of the other. It was a suicide line, a rope for your feet and a rope above it to grab onto.

  Malagant had climbed on one before, when there weren’t any bridges nearby. He would be able to cross, using his shoulders rather than his hands… but Teal…

  “I can do it.” Teal seemed to have read his mind; he sped up walking towards it. Malagant did the same, although his legs kept buckling.

  Teal was testing the rope as he approached it. It was a thick hemp rope, and it didn’t look like it had been there for long.

  “Are you sure?” Malagant said, massaging his hands. They were still hot and swollen and now increasingly itchy. He kept having to stop himself from absentmindedly scratching the moonsilk threads imbedded in his skin.

  Teal nodded. “I have nothing to lose now.”

  And he meant it, he didn’t even hesitate. Teal stepped onto the rope and started to slowly walk along it. A moment later however he paused; he looked over at Malagant and made his way back.

  Malagant was sure his friend had lost his nerve, but to his surprise he opened his backpack and took out several feet of rope Malagant had taken from Lelan Castle. He then led Malagant silently over to the rope bridge and tied the rope to Malagant’s trouser belt, and then tied the other end to the top line of rope.

  Teal nodded to himself, before stepping back onto the rope bridge.

  Malagant tugged on the Lelan rope. “You don’t need one?” His friend had been so terrified crossing the rickety bridge leagues back, but he seemed unfazed and indifferent to the danger of crossing this one.

  “No, I’m fine,” Teal said, his voice once again going flat. Teal seemed to be switching from the cold, disconnected Teal to the old Teal every hour. Though Cold Teal was showing his face more and more as time went on.

  Whatever you need to do to cope, my friend, Malagant said to himself with a sigh. He watched as Teal quietly inched his way over the canyon, the rope waning and dipping under his weight, but it remained strong. We’ll find Ben, and you’ll be fine then. We’ll both be.

  When Teal made it to the other side, he hopped off. “It’s sturdy,” Teal called to him.

  Malagant put his first foot onto the rope bridge and tested it. It l
ooked tight, and with Teal’s twin swords he weighed about the same as him. Malagant wrapped his arms onto the top line and tried to firmly lean on it. Using his hands to grab onto the rope wasn’t even an option. He couldn’t grab onto anything anymore, he could barely move his remaining fingers. Even trying to move them shot pain through his hands and arms like they were full of white-hot needles.

  So if I fall… I’m done, if I stumble… I’m done…

  Malagant slowly inched his way across the canyon. He looked down, watching the river, dozens of feet below, run and crash over the sharp rocks. He wasn’t afraid of heights, but looking did make him dizzy.

  Malagant shifted his gaze so he was only looking straight ahead. He didn’t like how much he had to lean against the upper rope, much more than Teal had to. It seemed strong though, it definitely hadn’t been up for long. Probably passing travellers, or even more of a possibility, some nobles wanting to attend Korivander and Gorat’s council but wanting to remain unseen.

  Malagant’s jaw began to hurt; he didn’t even notice he had been clenching it so hard. He wished to be as disconnected and out of it as Teal seemed to be. He would give a gold covi to not care about falling into the rocky river right now.

  Another inch… another inch…

  The wind seemed to pick up. Malagant gripped his arms harder over the rope, sucking in a tense breath. He had done this hundreds of times back in training, but he had done it with the use of his hands.

  He was past the middle now and could feel Teal’s eyes on him. Teal was standing frozen in place. His hand was resting on the rope, twitching at the fear of Malagant stumbling or the rope breaking. It looked like he was ready to leap into the river if Malagant fell.

  But he didn’t get the chance, with a victory sigh Malagant stepped onto the green grass of the Lazarius Plains and immediately rubbed his underarms.

  “That’s going to chafe,” he muttered. He reached over to untie the white Lelan rope when he let out a painful grunt. He kept forgetting his hands were disabled.