The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  Chapter Eighteen. No Time for Regrets.

  “I’m not here to be underestimated. I’m here to get as far as I can, maybe even go and win the whole thing. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  Weronika Saarth before her bout with Scott Taylor.

  The seventeenth day of Summerpeak.

  WHAT WENT WRONG?

  Five dead in hospital shooting in Quin-C adds to Carcaradis chaos

  Exclusive by Kate Kinsella.

  The Competitive Centenary Calling Challenge Cup was once more thrown into chaos two days ago as gunfire was exchanged in the halls of a Carcaradis Island hospital between terrorists and Unisco agents in a senseless attack leaving five civilians dead and several more injured in the latest of several incidents fully exposing the folly behind the politics at the ICCC.

  Yes, Unisco can be praised for swift and decisive action in snuffing out a threat before it could turn into a tragedy. But what hasn’t been mentioned as much is the way it was handed over to them without so much as a protest by a vastly understaffed Carcaradis Island constabulary with neither the personnel or the equipment or the training to undertake such a rescue attempt. Nor has it been mentioned that such an action should not have needed to happen. Nor has it been mentioned this is just the latest mishap to mar this year’s tournament and we aren’t even at the quarter finals yet.

  What makes this whole thing even more astonishing is that following the attack, Ronald Ritellia, 78, President of the International Competitive Calling Committee and self-proclaimed most important man in the five kingdoms refused to call the tournament off following such a brutal attack citing it as ‘unrelated to the incident at hand’ and how ‘it would be a travesty to deny the public what they so desperately want to see.’ Once again, Ritellia appears to not be living in the same world as the rest of us, rather occupying his own world filled by his impressive sense of self-importance, more credits than can ever be spent and questionable bedroom liaisons with shady women.

  Yes, you read that right, the woman seen on married Ritellia’s arm throughout recent weeks of this tournament is none other than Reims executive and mother of one, Alana Fuller, 37. Reims, you might remember being the company that moved kingdom and sky to ensure the tournament ended up in a quite frankly unsuitable location which has already seen natural disasters, murders, attempted kidnapping and domestic terrorism (Which this correspondent might add are just the off-field issues plaguing the tournament). Indeed, Ritellia was not quite so casual when the ICCC building was nearly destroyed by an unknown figure, his exact words at the time being ‘if there was any justice, then the bastards would be strung up and their families made to pay for it.’

  It is often easy to be dispassionate when it doesn’t concern you and nobody exemplifies this more than the gargantuan figure in the sporting world, but what he doesn’t seem to realise is that given his efforts to bring the tournament here, any sort of controversy DOES concern him. Any person who dies on this island while the tournament is ongoing SHOULD be laid at his feet. And this is something he MUST realise rather than spouting off his own philosophy of greed. When Maxwell Brudel, 26, and Darren Maddley, 20, and even renowned Unisco investigator Stelwyn Mallinson, 44, do not come home to their families because of incidents beyond their control, it is time to question whether the right decision was made.

  And what about the tournament itself so far? For the first time in its history, it has been held in Vazara and has it been a success so far? From a competitive point of view, it has sometimes flattered to deceive, often feeling like there has yet to be a standout competitor on show, someone truly deserving to win. Of course, it is still early days, but with both Wade Wallerington and Sharon Arventino tipped as early favourites, both have gone out earlier than expected, Wallerington, 33 retiring due to injuries suffered in the terrorist attack on the ICCC building and Arventino, 28 falling two days ago to exciting newcomer Theobald Jameson, 22 in a performance that looked like she had her mind more on her upcoming wedding than the bout at hand. Arventino was involved in controversy earlier on in the tournament when it was claimed she had deliberately thrown a bout with her brother to enable him to reclaim a point. Both she and half-brother Peter Jacobs, 20 insisted the rumour was false.

  At the time, retired ICCC official Boudwjin Kacar, 71, called for an inquiry into Ms Arventino, an action never followed up on. Because after all, the ICCC aren’t amiss to having a pretty face front and centre of the action. A shame the controversy arose in this bout because it is largely believed by the public on the ground at Carcaradis Island it was one of the best bouts of the tournament so far.

  Of course, you never completely flee the past and if Jacobs was involved in any sort of fix earlier on in the tournament it has not benefitted him in the end, following his defeat to Katherine Sommer yesterday in a defeat where she showed the difference in class between the two of them. Ms Sommer, 26, said after the bout that ‘she was happy to make it through to the next round and she wished her opponent luck in the future,’ thanking him for a good bout. With the future Mr Sharon Arventino, Nicholas Roper, 29 still in the tournament and promoted to favourite ahead of his bout in three days’ time versus Blake Reinhardt, 36, it might be questioned whether Sommer can win the whole thing, but one thing is certain, we all await finding out.

  Today, relative unknowns Scott Taylor, 22 and Weronika Saarth, 24 will walk out to take one step closer on the road to making their name a part of history. Given the way the tournament has unfolded so far (and I use that word in every sense of the term), one can only hope that it is not a history permanently scarred by controversy and the stubbornness of a man who should long since have left office.

  Our hearts go out to the families of all those who will never come back from this island. If they were to be asked if it were worth the tournament continuing, I’m sure they would reply in the negative. It is to those people President Ritellia needs to open both his ears and his heart to. Not the money men. Not his advisors who at times appear to be little more than sycophantic yes men, lackeys of the highest order or, even worse at the other end of the scale, men and women actively working against him to further their own ambitions, nor even the empty space where his own shrivelled conscience should be. But the people. Nothing is more important than the people and to proclaim otherwise is to set yourself on the first steps of a stony path that will break your feet.

  Should Ritellia wind up crippled by his own actions, it is unlikely many in the spirit calling world would shed a tear for him. Gross megalomania and alleged corruption charges can harm even the most stubborn of individuals and the man who sailed into office on the crest of a wave looks ever closer to leaving it in disgrace. Only time will tell. But this correspondent for one, thinks it can’t come quickly enough.

  We can all but hope his successor will be a better man.

  “I’m glad I’m not Ritellia this morning,” Sharon said, lifting her eyes from the article. “She goes to town a bit on him, doesn’t she? I don’t think you can blame everything bad that happened here on him. Tempting as some people might find that.”

  Pete said nothing, just took a gulp of his juice and swilled the contents slowly around his mouth, letting it dribble down his throat without really tasting it.

  “You’re still upset I can see.”

  Still he said nothing. He hadn’t since they’d gotten to the Verdant Café for breakfast, quality brother-sister time she’d called it and she gotten the impression he’d been moping since the end of the bout. At least that’s all he needs to worry about. Least he’s not having dreams of his own death…

  And she wasn’t either. Not really. She wasn’t letting that dream get to her. She couldn’t. After all she’d long since learned not to take dreams at face value. Sure, there might be instances where they were mildly prophetic. It wasn’t uncommon. There was a ton of lore on it, she’d spent an hour the previous day going through some of what she could remember and a great deal of time it wasn’t so much about what was on
the surface, rather about the subtext. Just because she’d suffered and been told she was going to die didn’t mean it was going to happen. It might just have been nerves telling her that her life was going to change. Death was a pretty over-the-top way of emphasising the point, but it did the job. To move on and become a new person, the old you would have to die. Bleak but there you go. Either way, it wasn’t important, despite the way she was dwelling on it. It didn’t change what she would do. It just meant she’d take a little more care with things.

  “That’s a spooky ability you got, sis,” Pete said grumpily. “You see me grinding my teeth here, bit quiet and you can tell I’m upset.”

  “There’s always next time,” Sharon said. “There’s no shame in losing to someone better. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve lost at this tournament, is it?”

  “No but I’ve gone out now,” Pete said. “And I didn’t just lose, I bombed.”

  “I think that’s a bit harsh. I thought you did well,” Sharon said. “Different people develop their abilities at different ages. Some are better younger…”

  “Like you?!” It came out as a challenge and she blew out a hard breath.

  “I was well trained. See you never had that. I had a lot of experience on you by the time I was your age.”

  “Yeah, we can’t all get trained by Ruud Baxter,” Pete said dryly. She raised an eyebrow in surprise at the sudden comment. That, she hadn’t been expecting.

  “I wasn’t aware I’d ever told you about that.” Baxter had showed her some spirit calling techniques, sure, but most of what she’d learned from him had been about as far away from the sport as you could get.

  “It’s in the public domain, Sharon. There’s pictures of you two looking all cosy at tournaments.”

  “Either way, it’s irrelevant,” she said, her voice going hard. She liked the effect. He sat up a little, like he was at least taking notice which was good. Maybe she could shock him out of his funk “I’ve not seen him for ages. I’ve become my own woman since then. I’ve built on the foundations he helped lay and become someone new. It’s not where you start, it’s where you finish. Pete, you’re still young and there’s no limit to the number of these things you can enter while you’re alive. If you keep on qualifying, you keep giving yourself a chance to win.”

  She paused to take a sip of her steaming drink, the bitter taste flooding her mouth. It tasted good, although the way her brother was going on, perhaps there was enough bitterness present already. “My point was, before you interrupted me, some are better younger but it’s very hard to keep up youthful potential. Look at what happened to me. There’s always someone out there who’ll want to knock you off your perch. When you get to the top, you never stay there as long as you think. That’s when the hard work really begins. It’s better to start off slow and get better with age. Learn from your defeats, make your mistakes early.”

  She sighed, leaning down to look him in the eyes. “I don’t know why I thought of him, but Luke Maddley did it the right way. Took some beatings, won some, got to the top, lost it all, died.” It came off callous, but she didn’t care. “That’s the natural order of things.”

  “I’ve never heard you talk about him before,” Pete said. His funk looked to have faded now, what with her mention of Maddley. It was good to see she was getting through. Maddley was always a good example for making people realise things could be worse. Her brother was no different in that regard. “Thought it was a touchy subject. Do you ever think about him?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “You ever regret that he killed himself?”

  “No.”

  “Why?” He sounded surprised, if anything that annoyed her. They might share blood, but it didn’t mean he knew her. Far from it. Maybe if their ages had been closer together then they’d be closer as siblings. If they’d shared the same parents… Then he might be dead. She didn’t want to think about what might have happened if Canderous Arventino were his father.

  “I didn’t make him kill himself,” she said. “I didn’t hand him the pills or the rope. He was an adult and he did it of his own accord. He did not kill himself because I beat him in a bout. That might have been the start of it all, but a lot of time passed between then and the end. He was a sick man and he took the only way out of it he thought he could. I’m not saying he was right but that was his choice and I had nothing to do with it. If I felt guilt for what he did, it’d be like feeling guilty that people died in that hospital shooting because they came to the island to watch a tournament I was competing in. It’s sad but that’s life.”

  “Huh.” He genuinely looked like he’d never considered it that way before and shrugged. “Fair enough.”

  “What, you thought your sister was a killer all this time?” she said, mock-hurt. “Thanks, bro. I appreciate that.”

  “Nah, nah, I didn’t,” Pete said. He was quiet for a moment. “Sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry.”

  Silence for a few moments and then he grinned at her. “Being fair though, Sommer was pretty good, wasn’t she?”

  “Outstanding,” Sharon admitted. “She’s a talented girl. I wouldn’t like to face her the form she’s in.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I mean I would, but I’d be worried.”

  “Hey, you got beat by some no-mark,” Pete scoffed. “At least I went out to someone decent.”

  “You going to the bout today?” Sharon asked. “Scott’s?”

  Pete nodded. “Yeah, I’ll go support him for the rest of the tournament. He’s done it for me. Even if he is getting a bit obsessive lately.”

  Sharon gave him a quizzical look. “Obsessive? With the tournament? Some people do chase winning like it’s a drug.”

  “Strangely enough no,” Pete said. “It’s not the tournament. It’s a ghost.”

  “What?”

  “He’s chasing a ghost. He even got Alvin Noorland to build him a particle barrier. Says it appeared to him, spoke to him, kicked the crap out of him and now…”

  “Spoke to him?!” Sharon exclaimed. “Are you sure?”

  “Well I didn’t see it,” Pete admitted. “Or hear it. I’m going solely on his word of mouth. But he claims he had a fight with this ghost, it spoke to him and ran off. He says he can feel it on the island. Seriously!”

  Sharon said nothing for a moment, not quite able to believe it. “He does know that’s impossible, right?”

  “I should hope so.”

  “Does he have a history of delusion?”

  “Unless you count most of his relationships? Not that I know of.” Pete smirked as he said it, she noticed and felt relief. If he got out of his funk, that’d be good for all of them. Nobody said defeat was easy. But there was a right way and a wrong way.

  “Maybe he imagined it.”

  “He did look pretty messed up after the whole thing,” Pete said. “I mean it was after he beat Steven Silver.”

  That caught Sharon’s attention. She’d seen that bout after all. Who hadn’t? She’d seen it more than once, bemused by it all. Down to the wire and apparently against insurmountable odds, Scott Taylor should not have been able to win. But he had. And he’d done it in such a way that suggested there was something strange involved. It wasn’t normal the way he’d reacted like that, bordering on supernatural. If he fought like that every time he took to the field, he’d win ninety-eight percent of his bouts.

  So, why didn’t he? She had a strange suspicion, one she had no way of proving. In conjunction with being able to sense this apparent ghost from far away… It all became apparent Scott Taylor was not a normal man by any stretch of the imagination. She found that interesting.

  “You know what,” she said. “I think I might come to his bout later. Should be worth seeing, I think.”

  And I want to see if he does it again, she added silently. It was entirely possible his previous round bout had been a fluke, in which case she would have nothing to worry about. If it was, he’d be found out sooner or la
ter.

  Weronika Saarth was a slender girl with flaming red hair tied back against her head in a series of knots, a shade of colour not unlike Jesseka Blake’s but perhaps more pronouncedly ginger, a pretty face beneath the hair. Her eyes were covered by a pair of heart shaped glasses and she smiled at Scott from across the field as the two stared each other down. When she moved her head, the afternoon sun caught against the piercings hung from her ears. There were no unnecessary additions to the battlefield this time, just flat duraturf between them, he’d tested it with his foot to find it spongy. Her stare felt uncomfortable, but he didn’t tear his eyes away. This was part of the psychological process. If he looked away now, he’d be less effective come the actual bout.

  Across from them, the video referee was going through the rules of the bout, three spirits each and no time limit… He didn’t know why they stated that. He’d never seen a bout yet at this tournament that involved a time limit… and the victor would be declared when one caller had three spirits unable to keep on fighting. In the event of a tie, sudden death would be enabled. He’d heard it all before. It lost its effect after a while. Instead he thought about his choices of spirits. He’d be onto the quarter final before long. Ha, see you in my dust, Pete.

  He didn’t know why he sounded so jubilant at that thought. He doubted he’d do much better against Katherine Sommer should it happen. She’d swept Pete aside the previous day and he’d felt gutted for his friend. Still what were the chances he’d have to face her next round?

  Getting smaller every time he won, was the simple answer.

  “Good luck, Scott.” He looked up, jerked out of his thoughts by the soft musical voice of his opponent.

  “You too,” he said, before grinning. “But obviously not too much of it, yeah?”