The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

  He shot a glance over at Nick, he was pale in his face but keeping stoic. There’d been a few awkward moments between them. At least he hadn’t been the one to find her dead like Nick, bones shattered, and her body impaled. When he’d heard… Well he’d not taken it well. He wasn’t proud to admit he’d shed tears but at the same time he was glad Scott hadn’t used it as an opportunity to take the piss. Neither had Mia. He felt like the odd one out between them, a little like he had when Scott had been with Jess, but here they’d been good to him. He was grateful for that.

  The zent’s white robes shone in the afternoon sun, contrasting violently against his dark skin as his deep voice spoke powerfully. He didn’t know many of the faces here, but there were some he recognised. Many of the great and good names of the spirit calling world had managed to make their way here, some he didn’t even know Sharon had been on speaking terms with. “The Divines above have a way of operating,” the zent said slowly. Although his voice was languid, it was deep and had a way of drawing attention to his presence. “A way many of us cannot claim to understand or even approve of. Their way can seem cruel, it can seem unjust and harsh, but it is necessary for without death, there cannot be life and it is often in the most painful of times we find the strength to carry on.”

  Pete didn’t know if he found this comforting or not.

  “When Gilgarus took on human appearance and was subject to brutality and death to safeguard those who couldn’t defend themselves, future generations were reminded that although it may hurt now, there can be no pain without joy, just as there can be no good without evil to counterbalance it. No good deed can be performed without opposing acts of depravity to weigh the levity of it. That is why we were given choice. Because the decision of what to do with choice always will be what gives humanity its place in this world. Sharon Arventino was well loved, well known but at the same time humble. Nobody ever had a bad word to say about her and she was taken all too soon.”

  Long pause. Pete thought he heard someone sobbing in the background, he wasn’t entirely sure who. “But take solace in your memories of her, remember both the good and the bad for she is with the Divines now, away from the stresses of a world that ultimately she was too good to remain a part of. It’s a worse place without her, she might have gone on to reach even higher plateaus of greatness, she might have gone on to fall so, so far. Ultimately, we will never know, for she leaves this world as we would, given a choice. At the top. At the peak. Greatness personified. Kind. Gentle. Unselfish. To honour her, take a moment to join me in prayer, to remember her as she was and to try and touch the Sharon Arventino in all of us. There is no greater privilege than to be remembered and to try living life the way she conducted hers.” He cleared his throat and began to chant. This one Pete knew, he kept trying to blink back the wetness in his eyes.

  “Oh Gilgarus, high and mighty above, take her into your embrace. Let her not miss those left behind, nor mourn what might have been.

  Griselle, guard her shade from the blackest eternity, let her never forget that which has been.

  Dainal, take the time that passes and let the pain lessen as the sun rises and falls, let her eternal spark never burn out, let her name never fall from history.

  Pellysria, as memories fade, let them remain strong and undiminished, let her inspire and keep her mark on a world, let future people hold her as an example.

  Garvais, let her body nourish the soil so even in death, she will continue to do some good, that one final act might ensure the survival of others.

  Kalqus, let the tears of those left behind nourish the kingdoms as final tribute to a beautiful soul, let us see a remnant of her face in every beautiful raindrop.

  Rochentus, skyrider, let her forever watch over those she loved and loved her, allow her the knowledge she made a difference to sooth her passing.

  Melarius, mother of all, take your newest daughter under your wing, love her as we loved her, and may she be the best of them all.

  Temperus, Stzorn, Incenderus, take our despair and keep the snows falling, Stzorn, take our screams of pain and make thunder with them, Incenderus, take our pain and use it to fuel the fires ever burning.

  Leria, grant us knowledge that we might spare this pain ever again, Farenix, let her greatness be reborn anew. Ferros, spare her your fiery punishment forever. Divines take this lost beautiful soul and see that what she left behind might never fade, that what she might have done yet still may come to pass. Divines above be praised.”

  The echo of the last four words rang around the funeral. Pete felt a little queasy. He’d never liked overtly religious ceremony, he was sure Sharon hadn’t either. So, all of this felt a little tasteless, he wanted to say. Sure, it was nice and twee and all that stuff but given the choice he felt she’d have picked otherwise. Then again, given a choice he was pretty sure she’d have kept on living. Bile threatened to rise in his throat as the zent continued to drone on and he found himself trying to pick out the bits relevant to her. He wanted to say a few words, they still hadn’t quite formed yet in his conscious mind. He wasn’t sure he could plan something long and concise ahead of time, just go up and say it off the top of his head. Not like that zent. He had no emotional attachment to the whole thing. It was just a job, do it, go home, go to bed.

  That time came before he was even close to being ready, he found himself making the walk to the podium amidst the smatterings of applause, displacing the zent there with a heavy heart. He adjusted the microphone, straightened his tie and cleared his throat all while trying to avoid the dull ache in his heart.

  “Good afternoon,” he said. “My name’s Peter Jacobs and Sharon was my sister. Well half-sister. Or so we used to say. We used to joke about it, but the truth is she wasn’t my half-sister. She was my sister. We might have had different fathers, but we shared a family. We were blood. I loved her, and I like to think she loved me. For my whole life, she was there, something to live up to. I always thought that was an impossible task. Maybe part of me resented that, just a bit but you know what? Overall, I didn’t care. It’s in the past now, seems stupid when I think about it. Whatever stuff someone may do when they’re alive, you’ll miss it when they go. Knowing you’ll never see them again makes it that much harder.”

  He tried to keep the quaver out of his voice, couldn’t quite manage it. He took a few breaths, managed to hold his composure. Breaking down here would be exceptionally embarrassing. And no matter how justified it might be, he’d probably not live it down. Best keep it short. “I’ll really miss her. A sister is like… Well you can say the same about family really. You appreciate them more the older you get. You never realise just how much having them being there for you if needed means to you.” He turned to look at the coffin, grateful they’d closed it up. He’d been to see her before the ceremony, she’d looked so peaceful, though he was truly grateful the wounds had been hidden from sight, that they’d fixed the back of her head up. “Life is short, I guess. Sometimes we don’t realise quite how short.” He bowed his head. “Thank you.”

  More applause followed him from the podium as he made his way back to his seat, slightly more enthusiastic than it had been for the zent. Next, he announced Nick Roper to the podium, a sombre looking figure making his way up there. It was a very different Roper from the one he’d first met, he looked drained, older and tired, clenching and unclenching his fists as he strode past.

  “Thank you,” Nick said quietly. There was no emotion in his voice beyond pure control, keeping it together with supreme calm. In his position, Pete was sure he’d have been doing much worse. “Well I don’t want to have to follow what Peter just said for long, so I’ll keep this short. Sharon Arventino was a wonderful woman, possibly the best I ever met and as much as this might cause some hurt around the five kingdoms, maybe the only one I ever truly loved. People like to dwell on her achievements, how she was this master caller, how she took on all challenges and conquered them, but I’m not going to remember that. I’m going t
o remember who she was as a person. I have genuinely never met a kinder soul in my life. I remember there was a time when we were in Premesoir, she’d just won this tournament and I think the first prize was something like eighty thousand credits.”

  He managed a weak grin, looked like he was struggling to speak. “She gave it all away to a local charity, a little girl who needed replacement lungs. Crazenbergs syndrome. The parents had been in touch, asking for some signed stuff to auction off. And I remember what Sharon said to me as she handed the credits over. She said, “It’s only credits but for them it’s a life,” It’s a true story she asked to be kept out of the media because, as we all know there’s those who try to find a negative in any positive situation. She was happiest with knowing what she’d done and that the parents were grateful. That was the sort of woman she was. That’s the sort of memory I want to keep of her. Thank you for hearing me out.”

  As he made to walk down back to his seat, he hesitated as the zent announced Ronald Ritellia was to say a few words. Pete stiffened, he hadn’t heard about this. As far as he’d known, their mother was to speak next. What Ritellia had to say about Sharon, he didn’t know. The applause for Nick died down as Ritellia made his way towards the podium, waddling his way there in a too tight suit.

  “Speaking of people who like to spin the facts,” Nick suddenly said loudly, startling everyone into silence. “Or ignore them completely.” He moved from the podium, past his seat and towards Ritellia. “Who gave you the right to speak here?”

  For once, Ritellia seemed at lost for words. “As president of the International Competitive Calling…”

  “You’ve clearly misinterpreted what we’re trying to do here. It’s not about you, it’s about the woman whose death you’re indirectly responsible for!” Nick said viciously. Any hint of control he might have had earlier was dangerously failing. “You chose to have the tournament placed here, you ignored the earlier warnings and you carried on regardless.”

  “Is this the time and place for it?” Ritellia asked.

  Nick looked to be considering it for a moment, before visibly relaxing his body, his mouth twisting into something resembling a weary smile. “Probably not.”

  And that would be that, Pete thought with relief. A dangerous situation defused. At least until Nick stuck a punch straight on Ritellia’s mouth and things descended into chaos…

  Chapter Six. Cubla Cezri.

  “Once again, Cubla Cezri comes up for discussion. Once again, we need to decide what to do about it. And once again, it seems we don’t have a reasonable answer.”

  Premier Leonard Nwakili, to his advisers and ministers.

  The twenty-fifth day of Summerpeak.

  An aura of silence pervaded the cockpit of the Unisco hoverjet as they made their way first across the seas and then into Vazaran airspace, Leclerc and Noorland seated behind the controls. Neither of them felt like talking, only communicating with the kingdom below or occasionally to the people in the back. Derenko, Aldiss and Fagan had nothing to say for the time being, just sat content to their own devices. The holding area of the ship was roomy enough for the three of them to be comfortable. Fagan worked nonstop, cleaning the individual parts of his disassembled X7. Derenko lay back on a bench, eyes closed and oblivious to the world. None of them had been sleeping well recently, hard to find a peaceful night’s rest when the call to action might go out at any moment. Privately they envied him for being able to get away with it right now. And ever since Sharon had been killed, the level of tension around the island had only grown. People had started to leave, potential newcomers had stayed away, worried they might be next.

  Max Brudel, the first high profile victim had been ruled a suicide for the time being, given they’d never had a chance to fully interrogate Harvey Rocastle over any possible involvement. Darren Maddley’s cause of death had been deemed down to snake venom administered by a species not uncommon to Vazara. More than that, some nests had been seen on Carcaradis Island, he’d even had bite marks on his body. It wasn’t impossible someone could have commanded a spirit to do it, but the case was slowly spinning into inactivity. Privately Fagan was convinced Ritellia had done some begging to play them down for the time being, anything to avoid a hint of controversy on his precious tournament. The incredible nerve of that man…

  But when someone was brutally murdered in their hotel room without anyone in surrounding rooms being aware, it really put things into perspective that maybe you’d be better not being here. Aldiss was reading something, Fagan saw him out the corner of his eye and wondered what he found so interesting. He and Leclerc were taking point on this mission, Aldiss and Derenko backing them up if it went wrong. Given where they were going, that was always a possibility. They’d been flying above Vazara for a good hour, past most of the major cities as they left the coastland and were above the deserts when Leclerc suddenly jerked the ship to a sharp left, the action bringing Derenko straight up into a sitting position. Beneath them, he saw nothing but useless desert wasteland for miles, nothing but sand and faded scrub. Looking at a map, the settlements were usually classed as the Vazara Ring of Cities, for they formed a large ring around the biggest expanse of desert. And of course, Cubla Cezri was over the other side. Fagan had been trying not to think about what would happen if they went down in the middle of nowhere.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice not fogged with sleep. “What happened?”

  “Apologies,” Leclerc said. “Should have warned you. Will asked me to check something out while we’re here. Something he was curious about. Taking a quarter hour detour. Just look out the windows, tell me what you see.”

  A strange request but one Fagan was willing to comply with. Quickly he put his X7 back together, stopping short of reloading the power pack. He took aim, dry fired it twice to check all was in working condition before slotting the load back in and holstering it. He was the last to the window, curiosity biting at him now

  “Will transmitted these records to Agent Aldiss and I before we left,” Leclerc said. “According to what he had to say, this is where Reims acquired most of the building material from for the Carcaradis Island project.”

  “The desert?” Derenko said. “Interesting. Suggestive I think.”

  Below them, nothing but sand. If there were any people down there, they were too high to make out. The people weren’t the issue here. Sure, there were nomads in the desert, but they weren’t important. If Okocha wanted them to scout something out, hopefully it’d be noticeable.

  “Aye,” Fagan said quickly. “I think it’d be something like that.”

  He blinked several times, not quite sure what he was seeing. Noorland got up and left the co-pilot seat to get a better view of the ground far below, seeing immediately the huge black serpent winding its way across the sands. He had to blink several times to register what he was seeing. “Oh shit!” he said animatedly. “They scar mined the whole thing.”

  “Scar mined it?” Aldiss asked. “I thought that was illegal.”

  “Yeah, it is,” Derenko said. He folded his arms grimly. As far as Fagan could see, deep ugly scars had been carved into the ground, the area around them blackened and burnt beyond anything recognisable. They extended out for miles and miles, spread in every direction. “If you get caught. And I don’t see many environmental cops out here.”

  “Scar mining?” Fagan asked. “Divines weep!”

  Scar mining had been an illegal process in the five kingdoms for years now, it had started back when someone had come up with the idea of fixing a wide-range high-intensity low-power laser to the bottom of a hover jet and running it over an area rich in minerals.

  Here it would be ideal, the sand would have been superheated to the point of shattering, whatever was in the ground below exposed and melted in the same way to the point suction machines could suck it out and it could be transported in liquid form to be reconstituted and then shaped into whatever was needed, an easier process than it before, due to a new t
ype of nanite designed to help shape it while still in liquid form. The scientist who’d created it had made an absolute fortune out of the process. Judging by the extent of the scarring, they must have taken easily a couple of thousand tonnes of metal out of the ground. Even that, Fagan realised, might be a conservative estimate.

  “I can’t believe they did this,” Noorland said. He sounded annoyed. “What the hells is wrong with people?”

  “I imagine we could throw this at Reims,” Leclerc said. “This is evidence of clear wrongdoing. Breaking the laws of not just Vazara but the five kingdoms. I don’t think they’d get away with it unscathed.”

  “At the very worst, they’d be fined,” Derenko said wearily. “Maybe some minor custodial sentences. It’s easy for the people at the top to shout innocence, be that true or not. It always looks like a worse crime than it actually is.” He sighed, lay his head back down on the bench. “No, I think this is only part of a bigger picture. We’ll report this back to command, see what they want to do with it. For now, gentlemen, we have an appointment with Joseph Itandje.”

  “Maybe he’ll have some answers about this whole thing,” Aldiss said. “Somebody has to. Resume course for Cubla Cezri.”

  “Speaking of unsightly scars on the landscape,” Noorland offered. He sounded like he meant it to be a joke. At the same time, his voice carried very little trace of amusement in it.

  He was sort of right, Fagan considered as he glanced out the window as they came in for descent. Comparing Cubla Cezri to a scar on the ground wasn’t as unfair a comparison as it might have once sounded. The stories went it had once been quite a decent place to live, until undesirable criminal elements had moved into one of the neighbourhoods and slowly started to drag the quality of living down until once affluent areas had been submerged beneath the squalor. Mansions had been broken down into shanties, boutiques into brothels, still regular people trying to make enough credits to get out toiling down there. By the looks of it from the sky, the town was split into three distinct sections, each an ugly overflow of building spilling out into the desert around it.