The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

The whistle blew, and Scott watched as Theobald Jameson and Katherine Sommer went for each other in the first of the semi-final bouts of the Competitive Centenary Calling Challenge Cup, their spirits tearing across the grassy battlefield, ready to lay into each other.

  Scott had made it a personal task to be present. This stage of the competition was a little unusual in that the last three contestants competed in a round robin for the chance to fight in the final, they each fought each other across three matches for points and the top two advanced. He was here to watch Jameson and Sommer, before he fought Jameson himself and then Sommer last. Privately he was pleased with that. Common consensus was those who fought consecutively had a slightly better chance than those who to wait between their bouts. Theo had been given the so-called favoured draw because he would complete his bouts first. Scott wasn’t sure. If Theo lost his two bouts, he wouldn’t have to do much against Sommer at the last. He could pretty much relax, learn her strategies and take it to the final where he’d put all the effort in. He wouldn’t be the first person to do that. These bouts were one spirit each, winner took the points. Not that he’d want to throw it but sometimes you need to employ strategy a little more judiciously than normal.

  Both callers had chosen wolves to fight for them, strangely. Not the same breed though, Theo’s wolf was thickly coated, its fur the colour of iron and one eye left white by a ferocious scar. Scott had seen images of wolves like it, he got the impression they lived in a forest environment. Meanwhile Sommer’s wolf was easily bigger, despite the coat not being as shaggy. What the thinness of its fur emphasised was the contour of the muscles beneath its pelt. Crucially, Sommer’s wolf had both eyes, both glowing like embers against the coal-coloured fur. Both wolves hit each other, the one eyed one going for the throat. With a nimbleness that belied its big bulk, the svartwolf… Scott had heard the commentator in the stadium call it that… had darted away and spat a great gob of fire towards its one-eyed opponent. It had been Theo’s turn to call a dodge and the grass still smouldered as the fires licked at it. The one-eyed wolf bared its fangs, muzzle twitching under the growls. It was meant to look intimidating, Scott guessed.

  He couldn’t help noticing with some bemusement it looked to be a mirror of Theo’s style. He’d had run-ins with the cocky arrogant son of a bitch once or twice before the tournament, and in his opinion, he was the absolute worst example of what a spirit caller should be, brusque and standoffish as well as downright unpleasant in battle. Of course, the flip side was he’d won a lot more bouts than Scott. So maybe he had a point. In another life, Scott could have been like him.

  Everyone knew he’d been training with Anne Sullivan and it showed. Scott had fought Anne Sullivan before and she’d not just beaten him, she’d absolutely destroyed him in efficient fashion. Admittedly some of them had been a while ago but still, they rankled. He’d look forward to knocking out her pupil. And maybe something else, if the rumours in those blogs Mia read were anything to go by. Note to self, he thought, never let Pete know you’ve just thought that. Across the last few days, Pete had slowly started to come out of his shell a bit, he’d promised to come to Scott’s two fights here and for that he was grateful. Having his buddy back would be a blast, he knew it’d happen sooner or later if he gave it time. There was nothing else he could do. Pete wouldn’t get over it overnight; Scott knew for a fact given the same situation he’d be struggling as well so that Pete was slowly improving was impressive. He was glad that he was improving, he hated seeing his best bud like this.

  More gobs of fire came the one-eyed wolf’s way and yet none came close to landing, the smaller wolf was just as agile on its feet, easily darting out the way. If Kitti Sommer looked bothered by it, she wasn’t showing it. She just stood there, chewing her gum, manicured fingers tucked into the waistband of her jeans, one leg crossed over the other. If there had been something to lean on, doubtless she would have been. This might have been a training exercise for all the stress and worry her demeanour showed.

  Privately Scott envied her, as another fireball went wide. He’d been chewing down his nails to the quick the last few days, trying to fight off the nerves. Nerves were good, he’d heard somewhere. If he was stressed out with worry, it’d only urge him on to battle twice as hard. That was the hope anyway. He’d need everything to get past these two, knew he was already being talked about as the underdog and it was starting to aggravate him. He might not have the trophies to show it, but he was just as good as them. He’d need to prove it though.

  The svartwolf did something very strange following the next missed attack, it let the fireball go and then followed up, launching a sudden beam of pure blue-white ice across the field, miniature snowflakes floating to the grass. The one-eyed wolf sprang to evade it, the svartwolf followed it with the rake of the beam, focusing it on the opponent, determined there’d be no chance of escape.

  Theo’s wolf rolled to the side, a tight controlled motion and then shot back an attack of its own. The ice beam died away, the uniblast tore into the svartwolf’s flesh, burning away fur and filling the stadium with the stink of broiled meat and the eerie sole howl of a wounded wolf. It made Scott’s skin go bumpy even in the heat of the Vazaran tropics. A weird sensation, it lasted only briefly but that made it no less unsettling.

  Apparently ignorant of its wounds, the svartwolf lunged from a standing position, great paws tearing the earth beneath its claws as it sprang on its one-eyed opponent, the difference in their size even more palpable as they closed in on each other. The one-eyed wolf hadn’t stayed stationary, it too had charged, and hit the larger opponent square in the stomach like a furry missile, jaws ripping at the exposed underbelly. The svartwolf let out a woofing bellow, Scott thought he heard a crack, he suspected broken ribs, before the svartwolf got off a blast of fire, singing the smaller wolf’s tail. Another yelp of pain rang out, the svartwolf taking the chance to bring its jaws down on the scrawny neck of its opponent. Theo had other ideas, his one-eyed wolf rolled aside, dropped to its stomach and spun out the way, one powerful back leg kicking out, hitting it in the muzzle. Scott raised an eyebrow, a nice move he had to admit. It wasn’t something a beast would expect in the wild, Sommer hadn’t seen it coming either judging by the way her spirit was now spitting out its own teeth. Around him somewhere, the stadium announcer was commenting how this was the first time he’d seen someone really give Sommer the run-around. Normally she was already imposing her will onto the opponent, taking control of the bout.

  He’d be fighting her second, Scott knew it might be decisive and he studied her, not entirely sure what he was looking for. It was hard to avoid focusing on her looks, she might have been Mia’s older sister. He could see some clear similarities between them in their choices of clothing, jewellery and body art. They even didn’t look a million miles different, both slender, both attractive, both dark haired. Kitti Sommer looked like she liked it dirty in the bedroom and she would be just as eager to return the favour in kind.

  He’d been lost in his thoughts, he’d almost missed the way the one-eyed wolf had sprang up and landed on the much larger canine’s back, digging claws and teeth viciously into flesh, tearing away. Blood shot out in crimson spray, staining the one-eyed wolf’s face. The svartwolf went berserk, bucking and jinking to try and tear it off, suddenly panicked and the crowd went silent as if anticipating something special happening. It was not a pleasant silence, Scott noted, if you were in the section cheering out their hearts for a Kitti Sommer victory. Most of them appeared to be guys of a certain age and style choice, most had tattoos that, this made him smirk, weren’t even good tattoos. They looked like they’d done them themselves with a poor-quality ink gun and gritted their teeth through the pain, even as their hands shook with the agony. Most had beards. Most looked like the idea of exercise was an alien notion. Premesoir burntnecks in the extreme. Scott smirked and settled back in his seat.

  Summoning strength from somewhere, the svartwolf found a moment and twisted the one-eyed
lupine down from its back, a dull crash as it hit the ground. Some sections of the crowd broke into applause, a little too enthusiastic for Scott’s liking considering it wasn’t even close to approaching a knockout. Still the one-eyed wolf looked like it was struggling to move following the rough landing, Theo’s right eye was twitching badly like he was ready to lose the plot. He can’t have been happy, Scott noted. He should have had this wrapped up by now, with how it’s gone. He’s been on top and now it looks like he might have blown it.

  Personally, he’d rather be the other way. Defend for most of it and then come strong at the end. It’s not how you start but how you finish. Those words had defined most of his career, been the bedrock of his strategy, the cornerstone of his planning. The first bit of advice he’d ever been given in regards of spirit calling.

  The svartwolf went for the one-eyed wolf’s throat, big crushing jaws clamping down around them. Scott winced, the crowd went wild, once again sensing something violent coming. Twisting ferociously the svartwolf looked all on to win, the one-eyed wolf was fading out, blood gushing from its wounds. He saw the first glowing hints and realised something was going to happen, Scott instinctively threw a hand up in front of his eyes to block out the blinding flash, winced at the thunderous crack echoing around the arena. He blinked away sunspots, shook his head to clear his vision.

  Huh…

  Both spirits were down in defeat. The svartwolf had something red and glistening caught between its jaws as it lay in a crumpled heap, fur and muscle burned away by the uniblast. Bone could be seen in places, protruding ugly through shattered flesh. The one-eyed wolf on the other hand was missing most of its head. Scott nodded to himself. He wasn’t sure if a draw would do him any good, because both would be out to beat him now. If they both did, he’d be out. He couldn’t let that happen. Still it was interesting to know Theo’s strategy hadn’t changed that much. He’d seen his spirit was doomed so he’d gone for the suicide attack. The one-eyed wolf’s throat had been about to be torn out, not much could survive that, so he’d chosen the devastating power of an imperfect uniblast. With it being fired from the mouth and therefore up through the throat, said throat being blocked by the svartwolf’s teeth, the power had intensified, reaching critical levels until the throat had been ripped away and the blockage removed. Kaboom. No wonder the one-eyed wolf was missing a head. Theo had obviously decided gambling for a point was better than losing all three.

  In a way, Scott appreciated that sense of ruthlessness his opponent had in spades. In another entirely different one, he worried about what that might mean when he faced him.

  The time had come quickly, only an hour since he’d stood in the stands watching but it only felt like minutes, the seconds rushing by and Scott was starting to feel queasy about as he strode onto the battlefield, ready to begin his first semi bout. Theo across the field, still the same grassy backdrop but with hasty work carried out to repair mangled sections, gave him a tight-lipped smirk. Scott got the impression he was looking way too forward to this. Hands in his pockets, his gaze followed the last of the grounds staff off the field.

  He already had his summoner in his hand and Scott’s nerves were intensifying by the second. It was the first time he’d experienced a bout of this magnitude, though he would have been amazed if he was the only one to feel nerves like this. As far as he was aware, Theo was a rookie at this level too, yet still he exuded calm impatience and it worried him perhaps more than it should have. Somewhere in the background, he was aware the stadium announcer was going through the rules for the benefit of anyone who’d been living under a rock for the past several weeks. He could hear the dull thud of Theo tapping his foot impatiently on the soft ground of his caller area, he could hear the throbbing anticipatory hum of the crowd all around him. Mia was somewhere out there, Mia and Pete and Matt and probably even Samandou N’Kong and although he didn’t know where, he could feel reassurance from their presence. If he focused, he might be able to place them but that wasn’t important. The where didn’t matter as much as the actuality, he knew that they were there and that was all that mattered.

  Across from him, the video referee was whirring into life, Scott took a few moments of comfort in that one familiar crumb of comfort and then he mentally berated himself. Pull yourself together, you dick! This is the single biggest opportunity of your life and you’ll never forgive yourself if you throw it away! You might never do this again, so you best have no regrets!

  He felt a little better at the tirade Not by much but some. He had a strategy he’d have to stick to. He could even feel Permear tugging at his attention, the ghost perched in his shadow, but he ignored him. This wouldn’t be the ghost’s fight.

  Theo sent out a huge grizzly bear and Scott grimaced. Huge didn’t even start to cover it, the giant bear towered over them both, its claws the size of Scott’s fingers and looked sharp enough to punch through steel. Still he’d done his research on his opponent and he’d made provisions over what he’d used to counter every possible combination.

  His own spirit materialised from his summoner and Snooze entered the fray, the two ursine combatants easily matched in height though Snooze had a huge advantage in bulk. Snooze’s fur was thick, damaging it wasn’t easy. If he was hoping for some sort of roar and a show of bear pride, he was to be disappointed. The grizzly let out an angry bellow and rose to its hind legs, Snooze only grunted and scratched his ample gut.

  “So, we have slow and sleepy versus angry and even angrier,” the stadium announcer remarked dryly. “Let the second semi-final begin on the referee’s mark. Three! Two! One! And… We’re off!”

  Already Scott had to react as a uniblast erupted from the grizzly’s mouth and he ordered Snooze to fall backwards to evade it. The bright orange beam seared through the air, catching the top of his bear’s head but other than the smell of singed fur, it looked superficial. Snooze had never been capable of nippy evasive tactics but had enough weight to fall quickly and evade that way if needed. The bad news was he was now on his back, temporarily vulnerable until he rolled back into a standing position. Mia had helped him develop the technique, the roll being one of the spirit dancer’s tricks. Granted it had worked a lot better when smaller spirits like Seasel and Palawi were doing it, Snooze and Sangare had shown trouble with it. Permear had just stared at him like he was nuts and walked off. Still if he ever needed something to work…

  It did. Just. Snooze twisted his neck, flexing the powerful muscles beneath the fur. Just because Snooze sometimes resembled the average house in width, it didn’t mean he wasn’t strong. Underneath that fat was enough muscle to crush the average house into tinder. In an instant, the grizzly was upon him, swiping out with giant paws like a great shaggy shadow fighter, a flurry of blows bouncing off Snooze’s copious belly. The sloth-bear gave his smaller opponent a puzzled look, and then on Scott’s command, backhanded it viciously and Scott felt a momentary thrill as the grizzly hurtled backwards across the arena, bouncing off the shield and into an undignified heap on the grass below. That had to have hurt. Anything else would have broken bones from an attack like that. If there was, it showed no sign of them, Theo’s lip curled into a sneer and he folded his arms as the grizzly rose to its feet and shook itself off. “Griz,” he barked. “You’re not really taking that, are you?”

  Griz bellowed out in disagreement and sent another uniblast screaming towards Snooze, Scott already utilising the same evasive tactics he had before. It might have worked, had the aim been directed at Snooze. Instead it tore through the ground at the sloth-bear’s paws, punching a groove through soil and grass. Snooze tried to roll again, suddenly struggling in hot mud threatening to boil under his bulk. Burns covered his fur and then Griz was upon him, not in any way debilitated by injuries. Those big claws raked into Snooze’s exposed rump and it was the sloth-bear’s turn to let out sounds of pain as blood was drawn.

  Just as the wolf had earlier, that memory flashed through Scott’s head and he had Snooze kick out
blindly, but it was slow and cumbersome, Griz was nimble enough to evade, shuffling onto all fours and darting out the way before powerful jaws bit down on Snooze’s other leg, tearing into the muscles across the calf. Still Snooze struggled to get up in the slippery mud, more and more burns and filth covering his hide by the second as he flailed in the sludge, all while Griz chewed at the exposed leg.

  It took an almighty effort but finally Scott managed to coax some retaliation from his spirit and he felt the flash of pain surge through him as Snooze managed to kick Griz off. It had very quickly gone sour, he noted as he studied his spirit. Snooze was bleeding and burnt, could barely hold his weight on one side where fangs had torn into muscle and one giant hamstring. Griz wasn’t unscathed but, and he could have sworn he could almost feel it, the anger rushing through it was keeping it strong. Rather than succumbing to its injuries, it was ignoring them in blind rage, fighting through broken bones and wounds. It charged again, Snooze threw out a fist to try and push it back, but fell well short and in moments, the grizzly was on Snooze’s arm, ripping chunks of flesh and fur out by the mouthful.

  He could hear Snooze’s wails of pain, couldn’t do anything to avail them right now. The sloth-bear hurled out his other arm, crashed it into Griz’s side with blunt claws out, the grizzly bellowed half in pain, half in shock as it was knocked away, the breath forced from its lungs. Snooze lowered his head at Scott’s command, half lumbered, half fell forward with the intent of delivering a brutal head butt. With all that weight behind it, Scott had seen it flatten spirits bigger than this grizzly.

  It landed, he fought the urge to wince as he heard the crunch of skull against skeleton, saw the flash of light all too late as the grizzly leaped back with the momentum of the blow, simultaneously unleashing a uniblast towards Snooze. This time he did screw up his face in dismay as the huge blast almost completely engulfed Snooze’s face. Griz landed hard but the sloth-bear landed worse, piled in an untidy broken heap, with no chance of getting back up. Worse, Griz did rise again, slowly standing proudly and bellowing a roar of triumph.