The Tournament Trilogy

by B. B. Griffith

  “You lie,” Ian said.

  “He’s telling the truth, Ian,” Mazaryk said quietly. “But you don’t really care whom Alex may or may not have killed, do you? You hate him despite it.”

  Ellie felt Max stir again. He struggled to push himself up, to go towards the gun once more, but Mazaryk turned to him for the first time, and his look froze both of them. It was the look of a man about to obliterate something.

  Ian turned to face Mazaryk, undeterred. “Then you killed, thrice over. The Americans, and... and Kayla,” he said, and his snarl cracked.

  “Wrong again. Kayla was killed by the Tournament, and you know it. You don’t blame me, not really. I can see it in your eyes. They don’t hold the same poison when they look upon me now that they hold when you see Alex.”

  “And the other two? Did the ‘Tournament’ kill them too? Or is that just what you call yourself these days?

  Mazaryk paused and looked distant.

  “It’s taken me a great deal of maneuvering to bring all of us together,” he said, in his small voice. “I’ve arranged for a window of time, but it is a small window, and it grows smaller.”

  It was then that Ellie noticed that the sirens outside had stopped although their lights continued to flash through the high windows above. The school had become nearly silent, as if theirs was a tragedy on mute. All that could be heard was the distant, soft thumping of helicopters, and the heavy, hitched breathing of the wounded.

  “It’s time we all talked,” Mazaryk said.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  EDDIE MAZARYK WALKED CASUALLY to where Auldborne’s gun had landed and slid it over to Auldborne’s side with a delicate push of his black boot.

  “Hold him, do not shoot him,” he said, nodding towards Ian. Auldborne slowly sat up, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, throwing droplets of blood about in the process. He moved first to his knee, then slowly stood, his wounded arm hanging limply at his side. He blinked repeatedly before sighting his gun with a wry smile. “Round and round we go.”

  In that moment, Max Haulden made one final lunge at his handgun where it still lay several strides down the hallway. Ellie didn’t even notice he’d left his spot until he was nearly upon the gun; he’d shoved himself off the lockers and leapt using his good leg. His arm outstretched, he very nearly grasped the butt of the gun, until it ricocheted away from him again, as if repelled. He landed hard upon his stomach and could only watch it come to rest another stride away. He let out a cry, arm still outstretched, as if he’d dropped a precious ring into the ocean and thrust his arm after it, only to grasp the barest edge, forced to watch it glitter as it sank from reach. That stride might as well have been the depth of the ocean, for all the chance Max had of reaching it anymore.

  “Join us, Max. Won’t you? It was you that invited me.”

  Max dropped his forehead to the cool linoleum floor for a moment, before turning himself about. A wisp of gun smoke still snaked from the barrel of Mazaryk’s gun. Mazaryk walked towards him with measured steps. Max pushed himself up and backed against the lockers once again as his eyes followed Mazaryk’s gun.

  Mazaryk kept Max in sight, but continued over to the fallen handgun, which he picked up with his left hand. He eyed it distastefully.

  “Live ammunition. How crude. You expected to find me, and you carry live ammunition. I can only assume you wanted to put me beyond the veil, Max. But why?” Mazaryk’s tone was not at all questioning as he turned on his heel to face them.

  Max said nothing. He looked as though he were trying to recall a distant memory, the barest notion of which had opened a deep well inside of him and set it to bubbling.

  Mazaryk turned instead to Ellie, who by now was numb up to the waist in one leg. As he peered down at her, she couldn’t help but notice how small he seemed, and how that somehow made him doubly dangerous, like a single, short sprig of hemlock tucked amongst a handful of herbs.

  “Invited?” she asked, the question falling from her lips.

  “Even I would have had a hard time finding the woman, Troya Parker, so quickly. Funny how certain clues showed up. Certain symbols in certain places. Isn’t it, Max?”

  Max was lost within himself, even as Ellie slowly turned to look at him.

  “Child,” Mazaryk continued, his tone just loud enough so she needn’t strain to hear. “Do you know how your predecessor died?”

  To her side, Max began mumbling, but Ellie’s heart was thumping so loudly that she couldn’t hear him.

  “You killed him,” Ellie managed, and was horrified to see the barest hint of a smile play upon Mazaryk’s lips. She knew if she stopped speaking, she might not be able to start again, so she kept going, even as Max’s stirrings next to her redoubled. “You killed both of them. You were there that night, and you let everyone know it. You saw them on the dock, shot them, and kicked them in the water.” For the first time in the entire horrid afternoon, she felt her eyes begin to water.

  “Why?” Mazaryk asked.

  “Because you’re sick in the head! I’ve studied you! I’ve been warned!”

  “Have you?”

  “It doesn’t take a genius to see,” Ellie said, opening her arms to encompass the carnage. “You operate under some... some insane code of your own. You’d think nothing of killing two people and running away, so long as it proved a point.”

  Max’s breathing became erratic. A helicopter passed low overhead, its downward draft rattling the skylights.

  “I did run away that night,” Mazaryk said, nodding.

  “Because you didn’t want to get caught!”

  “No,” he said, snapping his gaze upon her once more. “Because I won’t be blamed for something I didn’t do.”

  Beside her, Max uttered a single, sobbing plea in the form of a name: “Nikkie.”

  The adrenaline seemed wiped from Ellie’s body as she heard it, and she turned to him and saw him clearly, a hunched wreck of a man who seemed not to be among them at all any longer, lost in his own nightmare. A creeping sensation came upon her, so cold it seemed pulled from the underside of a winter log and dripped over her by long, spindly fingers.

  “What did you see that night, Max?” she asked.

  Max twitched and swallowed and he stared unblinking into the past. “She didn’t know him like I knew him. She was blinded. He was already starting to rot her.”

  It took Ellie a moment to realize that the horrible wheezing sound she was hearing was Auldborne laughing. The fingers drizzled cold upon her again.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, Max was out that night. Max was bludgeoned.”

  “Is that what he told you?” Mazaryk asked.

  “That’s what happened!”

  Across the hall Draden Tate stirred and yanked the belt around his bicep tighter. He settled himself back against the lockers and watched Max, but his eyes were shrewd, and he, too, seemed to be recalling that night on the docks.

  “Nobody shot you that night, did they Max?” Auldborne suggested, nodding at his striker across the hall. “Draden found you on that stairwell, but he never shot you. He tried to beat you unconscious.”

  “He did beat me unconscious,” Max said, spittle forming on his lips, eyes black.

  “But you came back to us,” Mazaryk said.

  “She was hurt!” Max screamed. “He hurt her! He ripped out her heart once, and blinded her into thinking he wouldn’t do it again!”

  “You see, child,” Mazaryk said, turning to Ellie, “only a diode can cause a true diode coma. With a bludgeon, there’s no guarantee—”

  “You don’t understand!” Max wailed. “He was plying her heart to get her back for that night and that night only! Only the Tournament mattered to him. She was nothing to him!”

  “But to you... ” Mazaryk began, coaxing him with a subtle movement of his gun, as if weaving a spell.

  “She was everything, and everything else was nothing.” Max dropped his head and began to sob.

  “My
first great failure,” Mazaryk observed. “I will admit it, freely. I, who see everything, saw this too late. Their team was a lopsided triangle. Rotting on one side. I tried to warn Northern. I did warn Northern. I sent him a message, encrypted, hand delivered by Allen Lockton. It was three words, and three words only. ‘Beware Your Striker.’”

  “You don’t understand... ” Max whispered hoarsely.

  “Let me tell you what I saw that night,” Mazaryk hissed, glancing at each in turn. “I saw Johnnie Northern best Alex on the docks, and I saw Nikkie Hix run to him.”

  “There was nothing in his world but him... ” Max continued, blind to all around him.

  “—and I heard him tell her that he was sorry, and I saw her take him up and kiss him.”

  “He poisoned all that he touched. He would have poisoned her too...”

  “—and then I heard two shots, and I saw them crumple, and I saw Max holding a gun.”

  “Why couldn’t she see?” Max said, holding his head in his hands. “Why couldn’t she see?”

  “—and then I saw him walk up to his teammates,” Mazaryk continued, but here he paused and his face fell and his voice dropped an octave. “And I saw him push first one, and then the other into the ocean.”

  “He didn’t love her!” Max roared.

  “And you did! But your love was poisoned. It went too far and became something worse. It became obsession. Nikkie’s love was different. Her love was pure. It forgave. But it would never be yours. It was for Northern, and Northern only, and it drove you mad.”

  Max lunged toward him, grabbing wildly, paying no heed to the gun or the man. He snatched Mazaryk’s arm and pulled him down close to his face in the blink of an eye.

  “How dare you speak of her!” he said through gritted teeth, eyes wild. “How dare you speak her name as if you knew her. I knew her. I knew her soul. I saw myself there!”

  Mazaryk pulled his hand away, but Max held on. Any notions of attack he may have had were put to rest as Mazaryk snapped the butt end of Max’s own handgun against his head, stunning him. He shoved him back against a classroom door adjacent to the row of lockers and stepped back to sight him as screams erupted from behind the glass window inset. Max’s head lolled but he still stood, his back against the door and his teeth bared, like a drugged animal. His eyes never left Mazaryk’s.

  Ian Finn started to move, but froze as Auldborne cocked his hammer back with his thumb and made a tsk-ing noise. Auldborne shook his head, a grave smile still upon his face.

  “My second great failure,” Mazaryk said, raising his voice once more, “was to let him go. After he killed them both, he ran back towards the shipyard, and I let him. I knew how it looked. I knew who would be blamed. And so did Alex. Just before I turned to go I saw Alex come to. Both of us had seconds to react. Both chose to fight another day.”

  “How could you, Max?” This the small but steady voice of Ellie, still seated, shuffling weight off her deadened hip as she watched him, aghast. “How could you kill someone you loved?”

  A thin stream of blood dripped down Max’s forehead where Mazaryk had hit him, dipping around his eye and sliding down his cheek and neck as he spoke:

  “Greer asked me a question once, in the very beginning. He had two envelopes and he asked if I could take orders. I answered yes, and he handed me one folder. That was all that separated us, Northern and me. If I’d answered differently, it would have been me that led us. I would have been captain. She would have come to love me.”

  “So you murdered her?”

  “I saw them kiss. I saw her eyes. He had taken control of her. She was better off,” Max said, unblinking.

  Ellie pushed herself away from him. Ian Finn shook his head and cradled his dead arm. Tate huffed and turned his head away, disgusted, and Auldborne laughed.

  “At the end, John turned to me,” Max said. “I looked him in the eye, and he knew that I would free her, one way or another. He also knew that he needed to die.”

  In his left hand, Eddie Mazaryk held Max’s handgun, loaded with live ammunition, and now with his left hand he sighted Max. Max smiled widely and stood as tall as he could.

  “You wanted me dead so you could place the murders on me. The world would have believed you, I’m sure. The dead answer for everything with their silence,” Mazaryk said. “But you didn’t think that both Alex and I would follow your trail.”

  “Don’t get righteous. Look at you. All of you! Hatred fuels each and every one of you, in its own way. I’m a spider surrounded by vipers, but I’m the murderer?”

  Mazaryk cocked the hammer back and it was as if he’d become stone. It was a sculpture of a man who spoke, the flesh and blood gone.

  “You’re right, it’s all a matter of degrees” he agreed, eyes glittering. “But in the end, I’m the one with the gun.”

  “She would have loved me,” Max insisted, more of a prayer than a statement. Then the bullet, a single shot, ripped through his forehead and ballooned his brain. His head snapped back against the pane of glass in the door, shattering it upon him as he slid down to the floor, painting a gritty trail in his wake.

  Ian fell to muttering, head tucked into his shoulder as if he could wipe the hallway clean of everything and everyone by closing his eyes. Ellie scrambled over to Max but paused just before she touched him. Her hand hovered over his chest, unmoving, as she took in his face. The entry wound was clean, a simple red circle with a single drip of blood. His furrowed brow was finally smooth. She tried to see the killer in him, but saw only a hint of the boy he’d been, a boy trapped behind a glass wall of his own. His eyes were open but held none of the madness of moments before. His mouth still formed around his final words. She eased her hand upon his still chest.

  “Crude weapon, so permanent,” Mazaryk said, looking down upon the gun in his hand before tossing it away like clump of dirt. “Let this serve as a lesson. Anyone in our organization who touches this type of death will be met with a similar end. Our tool is the diode, not the bullet.”

  “You’re no better than him,” said Ellie.

  “You should be thanking me, child. Without him you are finally free to grow your own way, like all of us did. It’s why you were chosen.”

  “Chosen... Ellie muttered, shaking her head. “I’m no killer. I’m no warrior. I’m as far from a soldier as you can get. I put my head down. I’m forgotten.” She sagged towards the floor, her lower half finally giving out on her.

  “If we’d wanted to create a contest between soldiers we needn’t have bothered. It already exists. It’s called war. But war is about death, and the Tournament is about life. Rebirth. It was created as a direct response to war, in a time when a war came very close to destroying our world and everything we held dear.” He bent down and picked a long, jagged shard of glass from the ground by Max’s head, examining it as he spoke.

  “If Northern was meant to be here, he’d be here. If Max was meant to live past today, no force on earth would have allowed me to end his life.”

  With one swipe he slit her face open from her right cheek to the corner of her mouth. Ellie sucked in a gulp of air and her hand shot to her face. She knew the cut was very deep because there was almost no pain at all, and yet her hand ran over with dripping warmth and came away as if painted red. Mazaryk stood back and observed her.

  “They are dead while you still live. Take that as you will. As for your self-doubt... if you continue to live, you will come to realize a simple truth. The finest warriors in this world are often the least expected.”

  Mazaryk turned away, leaving her dripping, and walked towards Ian Finn. He paused for a moment next to Draden Tate before extending his hand down to him. Tate looked coldly at him for a long moment, let out a big breath and took his grip. Mazaryk stepped back and heaved Tate upright, supporting him as he limped slowly towards his captain, the belt held tight by his teeth.

  “They’ll hang you for this,” Ian said, weaving slightly where he stood. “You weren’t the killer
before, but you are now.”

  “The world will applaud. Now give me your arm.”

  Ian stepped back. Auldborne stepped forward, his gun inches from Ian’s face. “Do it, Finn, or when you wake up—if you wake up—you’ll be pissing blood for a month and puking for another.”

  “In this game, our gifts are unearthed from deep within us. Yours was artificially created, not earned,” said Mazaryk.

  Ian tucked his left arm in.

  “Hold it out,” said Mazaryk. Ian didn’t move.

  “Ian,” Auldborne chided, “hold it out, or we will shoot you into oblivion first, then hold it out for you.”

  Ian slowly extended his left arm, his heavy breathing punctured the stillness.

  “Palm up,” Mazaryk said.

  Ian flipped his arm, revealing the snaking mark of Team Green, its soft curves lapping down and just around his thumb. Without hesitation, Mazaryk set the glass shard across his forearm and, leaning down, sliced it neatly open. Ian screamed and collapsed, and Auldborne flinched as blood sprayed across his face.

  “Now all who were here are either dead, dosed, or marked, like the two of you. Fitting. You will never set eyes upon me without paying penance. Remember that.”

  Ellie, still amazed at the volume of her own blood dripping down her front, looked up at the distant sound of shattering glass in the atrium. She heard, vaguely, the mechanical whine of helicopter blades above her.

  “Come,” Mazaryk said to Auldborne and Tate. “Our window is almost closed.”

  Auldborne grabbed Tate and half helped, half shoved him towards the stairway, his wounded arm swinging like a noose. At the base, Mazaryk paused, but Auldborne continued up, pushing Tate ahead of him. Turning back to the two still left, Mazaryk spoke one last time:

  “The Tournament must remain above every law of man. Soon you will come to think as I do. Others already have.”

  He looked upon Max Haulden’s body.

  “Team Blue is out,” he said, thoughtfully. “The fifth cycle of the Tournament has come to a close.” At this he allowed the barest hint of a smile. “Black wins.”