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

by Quil Carter

  Jonquil was standing on top of the rock where Ben had just been. As he ran, Ben watched him; he didn’t want to take his eyes off of him for a second. Ben just walked backwards, past the corpses; he kept walking until his back hit one of the crumbling walls of the stronghold.

  Suddenly there was a brilliant flash of light, blinding Ben where he was. He shielded his eyes.

  “Kelakheva!” Ben cried out, though he knew in his heart he wouldn’t answer his prayers. “I need help!”

  The disfigured merchant looked down on him. In both hands he had a flare of black flames, pulling the moonlight into them like a small black hole.

  As Ben’s heart fell out of his chest, he watched in fear as the merchant raised his hands. He looked up at the moon, the flames exploding around him and shooting up into the dark ethereal sky, then let out a bone-chilling scream.

  The scream was nothing like Ben had ever heard. It was a haunting cry, full of despair, longing, pain, and disparity. It rattled Ben’s chest and made his body freeze to the wall.

  Then, all around them, Ben heard the cries of the plains’ animals.

  Birds screamed in distress, rodents squealed, the bellowing call of several large animals could also be heard coming from the gathering of trees. The whole plains became alive around them. Even the bugs usually dormant in the twilight, erupted into frantic high-pitched buzzing.

  Jonquil screamed again, before his hands started to glow a mixture of silver and black, he looked down and pointed the glowing orbs at Ben.

  No… he was pointing it at…

  The guards suddenly moaned; their moans were low, cracked and dead. As the sound came from their black lips, the plains went quiet again.

  “Jonquil?” Ben whimpered. He edged to the side of the crumbling wall until he felt his back start to hit air, before quickly turning around and diving behind it.

  With Jonquil looking on from on top of the rock tower, Ben watched the guards come back to life. They struggled to their feet, their mutilated bodies waving and swaying under their jerky, rough movements.

  The one with the skinned arms started towards him first, the skin hanging off of his body like bloody streamers and his arms nothing but red and black intact muscle. His eyes, still wide with horror, didn’t move; they remained fixed, staring into the pits of Shol, forever locked in an expression of terror.

  But he knew where Ben was.

  Ben clenched his fists and when he opened them, blue flames erupted like small bonfires. The guard disappeared momentarily behind a crumbling wall, before stepping over the remains. He looked around before his wide eyes found Ben’s and started running towards him. His mouth was hung open in a soundless scream, and to Ben’s sickened amazement, he had his teeth removed.

  Ben took a deep breath and a step back, and as the guard ran towards him, the flayed skin flapping behind him like streamers, Ben held up his hands and focused his maegic.

  An inferno of blue shot from his palms and fingers, engulfing the elf and whoever might be behind him. Ben clenched his teeth and concentrated on making the flames as hot as he could. Only when the smell of burning flesh was heavy in the air did he dare stop.

  Ben stumbled back, his back hitting a wall. He took in a gasping breath but all he got was a chest full of burning hot air. He found himself doubling over coughing as it seared his throat, smelling of burnt meat and grass around him.

  Once he was able to, Ben moved behind a vine-covered rune wall, himself steaming and smoking from the blaze. He looked behind him and saw two mounds writhe in their second death; their bodies coated in blue flames but some already turning orange from their feast of flesh.

  Ben let out a shaky breath and turned to find an exit to the stronghold.

  Suddenly there was a crashing behind him. Ben turned around just in time to see one of the walls come crumbling down. On the other side of it was the disembowelled guard, the one he had stepped in. His eyes had been plucked out, but like the other he acted like he could still see.

  His arms were outstretched and his teeth intact and bared. He lifted one leg and stomped roughly onto the crumbled heap of stones underneath him, then lifted the other and stomped it too. He let out a dragged wheeze, a trail of intestines still coming out of his empty chest cavity.

  The guard looked around, once, before his sockets found Ben.

  The ground shook as he stomped towards him, quicker than any elf could have done alive.

  Ben’s body froze and for a moment he was too scared to even move. He regained himself just in time to duck a burly arm being swung by the undead guard, but it brought down the wall behind him with a deafening crash.

  Crumbled brick and stone fell on him, but with his quick reflexes he ducked to the left and ran, hearing the wall he had just been under come crashing down.

  Ben desperately looked for the main walls of the stronghold, but every wall he jumped around only led to another. The stronghold was like a rock maze, each room deceptive, each room a shell, and a trap. Where was the exit?

  Every stone wall, covered in snaking vines and brambled bushes, looked the same. In the distance Ben could hear the disfigured mage who had once been Jonquil, muttering and talking. Or was he muttering spells? Ben didn’t know.

  Then Ben slammed into something soft. He fell back, a flash of stars disrupting his vision, and he hit the ground hard.

  Ben looked up, but he wished he hadn’t.

  He had been the guard Jonquil had been in the middle of mutilating when Ben had spotted him, though he was no elf anymore.

  Most of his face had been covered in embedded teeth. The small, dull objects had been pushed into his face, root first, only a centimetre separating each one, and a border of blood. His cheeks, chin, forehead were completely covered; Ben could even see teeth embedded in his eyes. Some of the teeth were pointed like a hibrids, others smooth like an elf: molars, incisors, eye teeth… all of them, embedded in the guard’s face.

  The mutilated guard leaned down and put two cold, clammy hands on Ben’s shoulders. He then lowered his head and started pressing his tooth-filled face against Ben’s cheek; a string of saliva dripping from his slacked-open mouth.

  Ben gave a cry of disgust and, with a focus of his maegic, he drew a force of air from his palm and shot it at the guard.

  It worked. The guard shot backwards and hit the wall with a sickening thud.

  Ben got up gasping, he felt drained. His maegic stores were still low and easily depleted. He looked around and felt a cautious pang of relief as he spotted a small crack in the stone wall, plains and hills could be seen behind it.

  Ben leapt out of a small break in between the stone walls, and started to run.

  His legs couldn’t move fast enough, they seemed like jelly as he ran away from the stronghold and towards the gathering of woods, only a half a league before the pass that would hopefully hide him.

  Ben kept looking forward, refusing to glance back. He was too afraid he would see the sunken, distorted face of Jonquil on his shoulder. He kept his eyes focused but his ears open, although the wind had muffled them.

  He was almost at the trees when another moaning scream echoed around him. Like before, the animals of the plains started to cry out with him. They all seemed farther away though, they had been running too, Ben knew it.

  Ben ran into the gathering of trees and hid behind a large birch. He held his chest, panting, trying to slow down his breathing. His chest ached and each breath was an orchestra of popping and crackling. Ben’s lungs felt shot, the running seemed to have destroyed whatever healing the medicine had done to them.

  He let out a stifled cough, pressing himself up against the rough bark. He looked around the dark trees wildly and heard the crying of the animals die down.

  Then the silence came back, though that was almost worse. The crickets stopped, the frogs stopped. It was a dead silence, a silence you would only find in the deepest of caves or in the darkest depths of the ocean.

  Ben kept looking around,
his hibrid eyes making everything a slight grey tinge. He could see well, but there was still nothing to see – just trees, greenery, grass, and brush.

  Ben sunk down to the ground and brought his knees up to his chest, he was panting into them as his lungs throbbed and burned. He coughed again and cursed himself for making so much noise. He knew he should run, but he couldn’t now, soon… but not now.

  All of a sudden another ear-piercing scream sounded. This time at the edge of the trees Ben had been hiding in.

  Ben let out a sob but he didn’t move. He just folded his hands over the nape of his neck and closed his eyes tight. Through whimpers he tried to stay as still as he could, but his entire body was trembling.

  Then more silence… dead, deafening silence. No animals screaming and crying, no buzzing of flies, no squawking of birds – just silence, like none of those things had existed in the first place.

  Ben kept his hands clasped behind his neck, his eyes still closed. The only thing he could hear was his breathing, and the slight ringing in his ears from the scream.

  Ben didn’t move; he didn’t open his eyes. He stayed there listening, terrified, but there was nothing.

  Was he gone? Did he lose him? Can you actually lose a mage? Ben didn’t know, all he knew then was the darkness pressing into his eyes and the terror ripping through him. That was his reality now, and in that moment he knew nothing else.

  Ben sat there. The cold was starting to seep into his jerkin, but he stayed as still as a statue. His eyes were shut tight, his hands clasped over his neck, covered with stone dust and dirt from his ordeal. There still was no sound; it was silent around him but for his rasping breaths. By now it must have been at least an hour, or more? Less? Ben had no idea; all he had to keep track of time was his confused string of thoughts.

  As more time passed his breathing slowed to normal, though the gurgling and crackling was still evident with every breath. Jonquil seemed to be gone, and Birch had to be close. If he ran and ran, he could make it by day… couldn’t he?

  I need to open my eyes… start walking…

  Ben wanted to be brave; he wanted to be the hibrid he had convinced himself he was, but he was too scared. Jonquil’s deformed face kept appearing in his head, and the guard with the teeth screwed into his face. The entrails, the hollowed chest cavity… everything. Jonquil had mutilated them. He seemed to have taken them apart piece by piece, exploring and dissecting every organ.

  But why?

  The moonlight had made the blood look black, the organs too; the whole area underneath the guards were black, glistening black.

  After another hour, Ben started shivering again. The dead of night was on him now, the cold of the plains seeping into every area of exposed skin, and soaking its way into the wet parts of his clothing.

  Okay… time to open my eyes and move.

  Ben took in a rattling breath. It had been quiet now for a long time. He must have lost him.

  I lost him.

  Ben gathered himself and exhaled. He unclasped his now sore and stiff hands from behind his head, and opened his eyes.

  Right in front of him.

  Only an inch away.

  Was Jonquil grinning face.

  Ben screamed and dug his heels into the dirt trying to push himself back, but he was pinned against the tree.

  Jonquil grinned wider – No… fuck, it wasn’t Jonquil.

  It wasn’t Jonquil.

  It wasn’t Jonquil.

  Not anymore.

  The thing had large white eyes and pupils like Jonquil’s black flames. His face was thin, his lips tinged blue, and his eyes rimmed with black. Framing his face was white stringy hair, which fell down to a thin, boney neck, and pasty white shoulders.

  The creature’s eyes were looking directly at Ben, his mouth expressionless. He was kneeling in front of him, his long thin arms resting only half an inch from Ben’s hips.

  He had been there the whole time.

  He had been there the whole time.

  Ben could sense his mind break as a feeling of unhinged terror and dread killed every other emotion inside of him. He broke down and screamed, turning his face away from the elf.

  He had been there the whole time, for hours, only an inch away from his face.

  But as Ben turned his head away from him, the elf turned his too. Ben tried to close his eyes again but he found he couldn’t. Every turn of his head, found the hollow piercing gaze of the skeletal-looking elf.

  “What do you want!?” Ben cried, shouting as loud as he could.

  The elf didn’t flinch but around him the air started to become distorted. As the terror ripped Ben apart like a current, he felt his sanity start to slip away. It rose like the insects Ben could now see filling the air, though like his sanity these insects didn’t disappear. They buzzed and grew, forming a swarm so thick it blocked out the moon’s glow.

  They were flies, tens of thousands of flies.

  The elf withdrew his face from Ben’s, and to Ben’s horror it held a thin hand to his chest. He could feel the frigid coldness of it through his jerkin.

  The buzzing became deafening, Ben still couldn’t move. The flies flew, landing on him, crawling into his ears, his nose, his eyes, but still he couldn’t move.

  Ben coughed and gagged as they started to fly into his throat, cutting off his oxygen. Soon they started covering his eyes.

  The last image Ben saw, before he blacked out, was a puzzling one.

  As he looked closer at the elf swarming with flies, Ben realized it was no elf at all.

  His ears were smooth.

  He was a human.

  46

  Malagant was awoken that night by something laying down in bed beside him.

  He was in his old bedroom, it was unbelievably nice to be back in his old bed. A wonderful bed stuffed with goose down, with a quilted blanket and a down comforter underneath. He loved squishy beds you could sink into; his father had always teased him for that.

  Anagin had a thinner goose down mattress, so it was more firm. Though both were used to sleeping on the ground, Malagant’s father had never been able to switch to real beds afterwards. Malagant was raised sleeping in fluffy comfortable things and had hated the hay-stuffed nightmares in Fort Greybane. A cozy, sinking bed filled with soft fluff suited him just fine. Let him be teased until their hearts were content; he wouldn’t lose any sleep over it… literally.

  They had left Teal to sleep on the couch, and Malagant knew his friend well-enough to know eventually he would come slinking up the stairs to his room. He had hoped Teal would choose the right room, and though Josiah wouldn’t dare try anything inappropriate with his companion Malagant still knew better than to wave fresh poultry in front of a fox’s face.

  Teal let out a small sigh, before shifting around again.

  “Too unbelievably comfortable for you?” Malagant mumbled.

  Teal froze. “Sorry…” he whispered. “Want me to sleep on the floor?”

  Malagant grunted and rolled onto his back. He put his arm out as an invitation and, sure enough, Teal crawled into it and rested his head on Malagant’s arm.

  “You know, we really only started doing this in the canvas tent to keep warm. Dad’s going to be giving us a lot of funny looks,” Malagant said, shaking his head.

  “I’m used to it now,” Teal mumbled. “I sleep better this way, but if you mind…”

  “I don’t mind, even if you twitch and mutter.” Malagant yawned and closed his eyes. “Just try and stay still. I don’t want them thinking we’re doing things so try not to cry out during your sleep too.”

  “You…you really think…”

  “No,” Malagant grumbled. “It was a joke. Now shush. I’m tired.”

  Teal was silent but as the seconds ticked on Malagant got an uneasy feeling. He opened up one eye and saw two glowing orbs peering at him.

  Malagant groaned. “What!”

  Teal shifted around. “It’s raining again,” he whispered quietly, his
voice was sad. “It’s cold out too.”

  Malagant opened his eyes, knowing he wasn’t going to be sleeping any time soon. He shifted himself over onto his side. Teal was shrouded in darkness, but he could read the expression on his face.

  “Tomorrow I’m going to get Pontis to lend us some guards, see if some towns-elves want to help too. We’ll search everywhere.”

  Teal was silent. “What if we don’t find him?”

  The air around them seemed to chill. It was the same thing Malagant had been worried about. The search party was something he did fear as well, because in the end it would bring the answer to the question they had both been asking themselves for the last few weeks. Is Ben alive? If the party searched all the way to the canyon and didn’t find him, the answer was no. The search party would confirm to them what they both didn’t want to admit out loud… that Ben might be dead.

  Malagant’s father’s words wrenched his heart, words he knew he could never tell Teal. The prophecies were writing wrong, everything from the way they wrote to what they wrote. The false book could very well have told them to go to Birch when they should have kept looking.

  All of this from the very book that was supposed to guide them safely to Garas.

  Malagant felt sick. They should’ve kept looking for him. He remembered Teal’s heartbreaking cries when he made him leave the edge of the canyon. He had repeated to Teal over and over again… that this could mean Ben was in Birch, that Ben had moved on from the canyons. Why else would the book tell them to stop looking? It would have told them Ben was dead, to find another sapphire pendant carrier or something of that sort.

  Malagant had ran it through his head a thousand times. The prophecies wouldn’t do that, the fates wouldn’t kill Ben. He had replayed it over and over again until it became fact in his head. Ben was alive, he had to be alive. He had to be in Birch, or near Birch, or somewhere close.

  But he had been wrong… Ben wasn’t here, no one had seen him. The prophecies might have misled them. He had made Teal leave the canyon side, when he had begged for them to stay. He had made them abandon their search and head to his father’s for answers.