The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  Still they returned and once more Palawi let a rip of thunder into them and he saw them both cry out in pain and vanish. The third time they returned, he didn’t even need Palawi. He stared them both down, Steven and Irrow, grinned at them and folded his arms. “Your move, boys. When you’re ready.” He felt simultaneously light headed and confidently elated, his head buzzing, dizzy but fired up for whatever they had.

  They charged, and he clenched a fist, his hand hopelessly small compared to just one of Irrow’s legs never mind its whole body. If he landed the punch, he knew his hand would break. Flesh and bone against tough iron wasn’t a contest.

  Except…

  This wasn’t the real world. It wasn’t going to make a damn-diddily difference here. His grin grew, suddenly Irrow was there, suddenly it was just Steven and the pain intensified as he stepped towards the silver haired man, each footstep an agony trying to drag him down. H

  He wouldn’t let it. Step by step he moved closer and closer until he stood nose and nose. It felt like his entire body was bleeding as he raised a fist and punched the figure hard on the nose, he felt his knuckles crack under the force of the blow and he saw Steven recoil, his nose shattered…

  The pain vanished, and this time Steven didn’t come back. For several moments, he wasn’t quite sure what had happened until he felt cold breeze against his burning skin. All the higher sensations he’d experienced vanished, slowly he felt the mundane returning to him. The sounds. The smells. The sensations.

  He opened his eyes. Everything looked better already. He blinked several times just to be sure. Still on the island. Alone in some alley, a stream of vomit down the side of a building. Palawi was sniffing at it, curiosity on his doggy features as he started to lap at it.

  No sign of the woman whose voice he had recognised but unable to place. He felt better. Maybe the pills had kicked in at last. Or something else he couldn’t explain. He’d felt like he was about to die, his entire body about to go kaput and now he felt good. He felt better than good. Sure, his face and his arm still ached but there was nothing wrong with that. His palms were bloodied but they didn’t hurt like he thought they might.

  Scott stood up and stretched. Palawi turned his attention from the vomit and gave him a curious look. “Don’t you dare think of licking me with that tongue,” he warned, unable to hide his grin as he reached to scratch his furry head. “I know where it’s been.”

  That was when he caught something out the corner of his eye and he tensed up. Palawi’s fur rose on edge and he heard the growl rippling from deep inside the hound. The air felt just that little bit colder, the sun was still just about up but he knew it shouldn’t be this frigid. Slowly he let his muscles react, Scott glanced down to Palawi and saw the dog hadn’t relaxed. He was prowling about, sniffing the air in search of the source of the discomfort. He knew something wasn’t right here.

  “What is it, Pal?” he asked, glancing about to try and seek the source. He might have just been seeing things. After all, he had just gone through a traumatic experience. Somehow, he doubted he was imagining it, unless Palawi was sharing in his psychosis.

  Scott exhaled, saw his breath in front of him. It must really have gotten cold. Already it was fading, and he heard something behind him, just a small tic of metal on stone and he turned, the growl from Palawi sounding again.

  Nothing. He was alone. Good. He visibly relaxed, shaking his head at the dog next to him. “That was weird, Pal.” He reached out to scratch the ears, grinning at his own skittishness. “Next time I do that, just bite me yeah? Tell me not to…”

  Palawi howled, too late he felt the sudden rush of something grazing the top of his skull. He’d never known he could move so quickly, hurling himself out the way with a yell of panic. Something ice cold brushed against his back, the chill rushing all the way to his inner being and he fought the urge to shudder. His teeth wanted to chatter, he bit down and did his best to stop them, felt them fight to almost breaking point in his mouth. He looked back, saw the cause seeping down into the ground. Blue, purple, black, all the shades of smoke he saw, and he kicked himself. Someone had told him there were a few native ghosts loose on the island. Looked like he’d disturbed one, something he found both surprising and delightful. He’d been after a ghost for a while. He’d known someone once who used one, it had been powerful. Scott looked at Palawi and grinned. “Let’s go and get this thing!”

  No sooner had the words left his mouth, he felt something shove him forward, the same cold feeling rushing through his shoulders and he fell once again on injured hands. Palawi snarled and lunged forward at his command, electricity crackling through his teeth, only to snap down on empty air. Scott rolled over onto his butt and swore as Palawi landed.

  “Okay,” he said. “The minute you see it, zap its ass.”

  Palawi let out a yip of confirmation, started to sniff the air again, ears twitching as he sought any sign of their slippery spectre. Whether he could smell it or not, Scott hoped it’d give them a chance to find it before it attacked again. That was the thing with ghosts. They were good to have, but an absolute bastard to get. Presumably because of shit like this.

  You could get specialised equipment for hunting them, he’d heard, but that felt like missing the point. Besides it was expensive to rent and, to the best of his knowledge, nowhere on the island sold it. He hadn’t sought it out, but it was the sort of stuff you tended to notice.

  No, if he was doing this, it would be the old-fashioned way. A spirit and an empty container crystal. He’d done it this way for all his spirits, wasn’t changing now.

  He glanced to Palawi, hoping for some sort of clue. He didn’t want more cold shocks. This always was a risk when trying to claim spirits. Sometimes they did go for the caller rather than the other spirit. The trick would be avoiding that, hope it went for Palawi.

  Scott saw the look in the pooch’s eyes, felt something screaming at him to move and he threw himself aside, the blast of electricity rupturing the space where he’d been stood a moment earlier. He heard an ethereal shriek, felt mixed emotions, worry and relief mixed together. Worry he’d nearly been fried on the spot, relief he hadn’t.

  “Careful Pal,” he muttered, the thought already dying away as he saw the twitching ghost where he’d been stood, not down, not defeated but affected. “Next time try not to take me out as well.”

  That was all he planned to say on the matter. At his command, Palawi hurled himself at the ghost, the same electric bite attack he’d utilised earlier and bit down on the spectral space, Scott heard the shriek and let out a mental cheer as Palawi growled, shaking the spirit as sparks streaked through its smoky body. He reached into his pocket, digging deep. He had a spare container crystal somewhere if he could find it.

  His distraction a factor, the ghost suddenly jerked to life, twisting wildly and he heard the yowl as Palawi was thrown free and crashed against one of the oversized trashcans lining the alley. The pooch lay in a pool of his own blood, whimpering in pain and Scott felt a twist in his heart at the sound. Still Palawi tried to get up, legs unsteadily supporting him. A chunk of fur had been torn from his back, blood everywhere. He thought he saw bone protruding, he tried not to look, glancing around for a sight of the ghost.

  This was starting to become annoying.

  A thought exemplified as he caught another cold blow about the face and he went down, half blind from the chills rushing through him. He couldn’t feel the left side of his face, numbed by the blow and he flailed impotently. Vision slowly crept back, the flashing darkness replaced by a jumble of images he could just about bring into focus. Where was it?

  It rose in front of him, large and powerful, he could see it wholly for the first time. Ghosts did have a shape when they chose to. This one looked like a short fat little imp with four pointed ears and a mohawk sticking all directions out of its head, what passed for skin all blues and purples and blacks. It had a mouth out of proportion to the rest of its body, large enough to see the vo
id inside when it smiled, behind stubby white teeth. That tongue was huge and slimy, flecked with silver spittle that stank of death and decay. The three eyes it bore were yellow and malicious, the brows heavily protruding, giving it a judgemental look.

  It laughed, not a pleasant sound and he steadied himself for a blow that never came. He sensed the static in the air a fraction of a second before the blast hit the ghost and Scott saw Palawi had stood up, three legs still quivering and as he had with Irrow, the current was still being generated. The pooch was dropping hundreds of thousands of volts into that one space. And it was working, despite its incorporeal body, he could see the ghost was feeling the effects, reeling on the spot. Knowing he might never have a better chance, Scott took a deep breath and went for it, clumsily tugging the empty crystal from his pocket. He slammed it against the permeable cloud of smoke passing for skin, felt it penetrate the ghost. Immediately his arm felt like he’d dunked it in a bucket of cold water and the shivering ran up his body. Inside, he reached out with the very essence of his entire being, found the ghost’s presence and reached for it.

  If before had felt like dunking his arm in a bucket of cold water, going in for the capture felt like he’d jumped in head first. Not only did his skin shiver with clammy cold but he felt the sensation of a hundred little pinpricks moving over him, fought the urge to recoil as he tried to keep a grip on the slippery presence. Here, they were evenly matched. It wasn’t seeing, not as such, more being everything and everywhere, just a small part of the whole and at the same time not being able to care. He’d done this too many times and each time was different, the duel between potential spirit and future owner.

  The ghost wasn’t letting go easily, scratching and biting, attempting to suffocate him, smoke in his mouth and nose, ears deafened, and eyes blinded. All he could feel and see was the objective. The ghost he’d come this far for and he wasn’t about to let it get away. The scratching and struggles were annoying, but he knew it wouldn’t leave any permanent damage. Nobody knew quite the explanation behind this state, the best way he’d heard it described was as a higher state of being, an acknowledgement that life is connected. As exists you, so exists the potential for a connection.

  Strangely enough, that quote hadn’t come from a scientist but rather a priest of Gilgarus. Go figure that one out.

  The fighting was a two-way street here, he brought back a metaphysical fist and smashed the ghost between the eyes. They always fought and always it was a challenge. Claiming Palawi had been the easiest but even he’d snapped and bit and howled, he’d not gone out easily. Sangare had been hardest, the dragon of Threll had nearly engulfed him completely. Three times he’d attempted that. As the ghost went down reeling, he made to jump on it. The sooner he got out of here, the better. His body passed through empty space, the ghost no longer there and he rolled onto his back, a wave of panic going through him.

  The blow slugged him right in the heart and he let out a wheezing gasp, doubling up into a ball. He nearly blacked out, nearly lost the connection but even as some of it slipped away, he clutched down and managed to retain enough of it to keep hold. The ghost stared down at him and laughed, a malicious bellowing sound amidst the darkness and the shit did something he’d never have expected, something he’d not heard before and doubted he ever would again.

  “You keep fighting, bagmeat,” it said in an eerily high masculine voice. “What?”

  The fucking thing had spoken.

  It had fucking spoken to him. He was so shocked he let the connection fail, he let go and suddenly he was back in the real world, light and life coming back to him. He blinked several times, his eyes dry from the trance and he saw the ghost fleeing, leaping up the side of the building and away over the roof, gone into the night by the time he’d had the chance to stand up.

  Scott looked at Palawi, still not quite sure what had just happened. The dog cocked his head in bemusement.

  He was good looking in a dark sort of way, Anne thought as she studied him. She could read not just his expression but his emotions and for the moment he was radiating cold, calm curiosity. Anything but that aggressive anger that normally came from him was good.

  “Explain again,” he said. “You want to make it interesting how?”

  She shrugged. “Anyone can fight. You fight best when there’s something at stake. Like now in this tournament. Would you say you’ve done your best because of a bigger prize?”

  It was his turn to shrug. “I go out to win every time. It’s nothing unusual.”

  “Except it’s all in your head,” she said. “It’s the way you view things. You can’t keep going at things a hundred miles an hour and hope to overwhelm like you’ve done so far. Sooner or later you’ll meet someone who can weather it and then you’ll be in trouble. Or you’ll burn out long before the final. That which burns twice as bright burns half as long and all that stuff. Don’t get me wrong but you haven’t fought anyone top notch here so far. How do you think you’d do against Sharon Arventino? Or…” Thinking of Wade hurt, so she quashed that example down inside her. “Or… Nick Roper.”

  If he’d been calm before, the wave of rage that struck her at that name was like a hammer and she had to steady herself, regain her composure before speaking again. That was interesting. Something she hadn’t heard about, it would seem. Maybe she’d try tempting that out of him soon, see how keen he was on sharing. Now though, he wasn’t going to. She could only push him towards the door. He still needed to walk through it himself.

  “I can take anyone on my day,” he said grimly. “Anyone.”

  “Yes,” she said. “You might be able to. But the key is to ensure every day is your day. If you’re at your best and your opponent is at their best then the key is to ensure if you don’t win, you don’t lose easily either. It’s not always about pure power sometimes. Sometimes a little guile and craft goes a long way. You miss that from your game.” She leaned over to one of the targets that his anklo had shattered with a leaf and rapped it with a knuckle. The wood was three times as thick as her hand, she noted.

  “I’m going to prove this to you,” she said. “And here’s the deal. If you win, I’ll shut up about it and let you chase your own path down to victory.”

  He looked moderately interested, although she didn’t detect any radical switch of emotion. Maybe he liked the idea, or maybe she didn’t. She didn’t know which she’d prefer.

  “And if you win?” he asked. His voice was bored, listless. Completely out of sorts with his being. She could sense intrigue.

  “You keep a tight rein on your emotions,” she said thoughtfully. “Don’t you?” He didn’t reply, and she flexed her fingers out in front of her. “Tell you what. You lose, you buy dinner. How does that sound?” Been too long since a good-looking man bought me dinner. She didn’t say that aloud, almost wished she had, would her cheeks not have flared up like fireworks if she had.

  She felt the stab of emotion run through him, curiosity, surprise, bemusement… Got you, she smiled.

  “Good thing I don’t intend to lose then,” he said. “Isn’t it?”

  “You can intend all you like,” she replied as the spirit emerged from the crystal locked into her summoner. “Intentions are the cheapest currency you’ll find unless you act on them.” Paws formed out of the energy and stretched out her lithe body with a little yawn, powerful muscles flexing as she extended her claws. Purple and white spattered fur covered her feline body, tail twitching lazily in the air-conditioned room. A trio of silver jewel-like protrusions emerged from her forehead, shiny in the artificial light of the training room. Anne had caught Paws up in the Fangs in Serran, a native snow leopard she’d done some tweaking with. Compared to Theo’s giant anklo, she looked small and slight. Weak. Insignificant.

  Paws was none of those things.

  “Is that your choice?” Theo asked, a little note of curiosity in his voice. She sensed the cocky confidence radiating from him, she fought the urge to smile. Those who underesti
mated their opponent had already started on the path to defeat. Maybe he would win. Maybe she underestimated his abilities. It would be interesting either way.

  “Of course,” she said. “Whenever you are ready, we will commence.”

  He attacked first, she’d seen it coming a mile off as the leaves shot from the back of his anklo and swept towards Paws. She could see them spinning through the air, like mini-saws, just as she saw the light glinting off their edges. She smiled, a mirror reflection of the expression passing across Paws’ face as the leaves halted mid-spin, not falling, not moving.

  Though she couldn’t see them, she knew the crystals would be glowing, unlocking the full potential of the upgrades she’d given her spirit. The look on Theo’s face was something to behold, surprise etched into every pore of his skin as she smiled sweetly at him and gave Paws the silent command. Almost immediately the leaves lunged back towards the anklo, digging deep gouges into its face and shell. The roar of pain shook the room and she felt the anger emanating from Theo and fought the urge to smile. That wouldn’t improve his mood.

  “Getting angry doesn’t solve anything,” she said. Atlas looked just as pissed as his caller did and she mentally cajoled Paws to remain vigilant. If the anklo suddenly attacked, it wouldn’t be good to get caught beneath those heavy feet. Whatever Paws’ telekinetic abilities might be; she wouldn’t want to wager on her being able to stop the anklo in its tracks.

  “Who’s angry?” Theo sounded nonchalant, but she didn’t buy it. Not even for a moment when she could see past his words. Not that he knew that. “I’m calm.”

  You’re not though, are you? Again, she fought the urge to smile. Paws’ forehead protrusions shone again and from their epicentre, a beam of pure white light striking Atlas face on, Theo’s attempts for the anklo to block just a fraction too late. This time she did feel the rage like a hammer blow and she subconsciously took a step back. She swallowed, found her composure and this time she did smile. “You’re easily distracted. And that can be…”