The Great Game

by O. J. Lowe

  The zent… Stoatley, she thought his name was, it was hard to remember amidst it all, nodded at her and Nick broke away from next to Wade, descending the three steps and offered her a hand. She took it in her gloved one and followed his lead as they rose back up to the altar.

  “… And into her husbands,” John finished, before sitting down to a smattering of applause, seating himself next to her mother who wore such a look of pride on her face.

  Husband… it was happening.

  As they stood facing each other in front of the altar, Nick reached up and lifted her veil, winking at her as their eyes met for a moment before they both turned back to the zent. He had a scar on his nose, she’d never noticed that before.

  “Beloved friends and family gathered here today of this man and this woman,” Stoatley intoned, his voice dry but powerfully reassuring. “We are here to celebrate the union of Nicholas James Roper and Sharon Melissa Arventino in devoted matrimony before the eyes of both Divine above and man below.”

  So far so good. She’d read through what he’d say the previous night. Not because she’d wanted to know. Because she was bored. And nervous. And didn’t want any surprises. Nerves. Yeah, there should be some here. But there weren’t. She felt pretty good about the whole thing.

  Nick was nervous, it was an alien feeling emanating from him. But they were the good nerves, she guessed. The sort of nerves that you battled through because you knew something good would be at the long end of it all. And so what if he was nervous. Only an idiot wouldn’t be nervous right now. What did that make her?

  “Divines give and Divines take away but to some they give more than others and when this happens, we find ourselves here in the presence of two who love each other,” Stoatley continued. “To validate this marriage before the Divines above, I ask anyone here who may or know any such reason as to why it should not be blessed.”

  Nobody said anything, Stoatley kept his face impassively professional as he looked at the two of them and spread his arms. For a crazy moment, she thought it would be over just like that. How wrong was she to be? “Let us all never forget that we are all just shades in the shadow of the Divines above and that all we do may yet never be enough to earn their approval but that we hope to evade their wrath. Let us all hope that the fruits of this union hold ripe and prime for the future, a bountiful harvest that may never wither and die.”

  A bit bleak, she thought. But in a way, it felt nice. It felt reassuring to hear it out loud for the first time when it concerned her. Ahead of them, Zent Stoatley moved a hand over the earthen urn and she heard the trickle of liquid against stone. She knew what was coming now.

  “For the success of their new life together,” the zent continued. “An offering will now be made from each of you to Melarius to bless what you have together. An offering that for all the new adventures that your life will bring you, you sacrifice something of the old for something new cannot be erected…”

  Without the old being left behind, Sharon added in her head, fighting the urge to trace the words out with her lips. She’d never seen divine fire before up close. Somewhere amidst his robes, Stoatley struck a match and she caught the acrid scent of smoke in her nostril. He dropped the match in the urn and it went up with a sudden roar of blue and scarlet fire that smelled of jasmine and rosemary.

  “Nicholas James Roper,” Stoatley said. “Your words, please.”

  He cleared his throat. “I, Nicholas James Roper, in devotion to a Divine power far greater than I ever will be…” He probably meant it to sound humble, she thought it sounded like he was taking the piss. She’d never known him to be especially devout. “… Hereby make a humble offering to Melarius, Queen of the Dei in hope you’ll recognise and appreciate the love I hold for my future wife. Dei be praised.”

  He nodded at her, winked then drew a leather case from his jacket and tossed it in the fire, it went up with a whooshing roar that brought sweat to her brow. Shouldn’t have stood so close. It’d make her makeup run.

  “Sharon Melissa Arventino,” Stoatley said, turning to her. He looked satisfied with what Nick had said. No reason he shouldn’t be. “Your words, please.”

  “I, Sharon Melissa Arventino daughter of Canderous and named for Melarius, Queen of the Dei, humbly plead to her whose name I cannot do justice no matter how long I live to bless my marriage to this wonderful man. In supplication, I forever slam shut the book on a chapter of my life that long should have been closed.”

  She drew the metal cylinder out and tossed it into the fire. It’d probably take longer to burn up than Nick’s offering. She didn’t have to explain what it was. Not to the watching masses. On the off-chance that Melarius existed and gave a shit, she’d known. Divine fire grew exceptionally hot, she had no doubt that it’d destroy the item utterly. It hurt. But the good kind of hurt. She would miss it but it was something she’d not used for a long time. “Dei be praised.”

  Again, Stoatley looked satisfied. There were some wet eyes in the crowd which pleased her in a way. It really did. So far so good. Such a good feeling bursting in the base of her stomach surely wouldn’t last forever. There’d be good and there’d be bad. There’d been both of those since they’d met. But even when you knew a feeling was only fleeting, it didn’t mean you couldn’t savour it.

  For several long moments, they studied the fire until it died out, leaving no trace of the items that had been thrown in. Even the ash had been incinerated, thick black burns covered the urn and she could feel the heat radiating from it.

  “The offerings have been accepted,” Stoatley said in that dry imposing voice of his that had the audience so captivated. “In the eyes of Melarius, the union can go ahead. This man and this woman can be joined together in sickness and health, in trial and triumph, in life and in death. Where once there were two, there is now only one, united by love. Nicholas, can you repeat after me, please. I, Nicholas James Roper…”

  “I, Nicholas James Roper…”

  “Do solemnly swear in front of everyone present here…”

  “Do solemnly swear in front of everyone present here…”

  “To be there for this woman no matter what…”

  “To be there for this woman no matter what…”

  “To love and to cherish, to treasure and to value…”

  “To love and to cherish, to treasure and to value…”

  “Throughout the rest of my days.”

  “Throughout the rest of my days.”

  “Do you take her to be your wife?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  There was a collective sigh of contentment around the room as Wade handed Nick something, she felt him tease away her glove and slip the ring over her finger. She smiled at him. He winked again, like he knew something she didn’t. She wanted to kiss him but held off for the moment.

  “Sharon, can you repeat after me please? I, Sharon Melissa Arventino…”

  “I, Sharon Melissa Arventino…”

  “Do swear honourably in front of those here to observe me…”

  “Do swear honourably in front of those here to observe me…”

  “To be wife to this man no matter what…”

  “To be wife to this man no matter what…”

  “To love and to cherish, to treasure and to value…”

  “To love and to cherish, to treasure and to value…”

  “For as long as I draw breath into my body.”

  “For as long as I draw breath into my body.”

  “Do you accept him to be your husband under the eyes of the Divines?”

  Her throat tickled and she didn’t say anything, just rubbed at it with her ungloved hand, a flush of exasperation rushing through her. Of all the times for something like this to happen… And there wasn’t any water around.

  She tried to clear her throat, felt the dryness scraping away inside her. Nick’s expression didn’t change, his face remained impassive.

  I do… I do… Come on, why can’t I say it? The wor
ds formed in her mouth, she moved her lips and no sound emerged, just coughing. She felt dizzy, almost tripped in her heels. Couldn’t breathe. Her face felt flushed, hot and her vision blurred as she fell to the ground, a shadow cast not just over her but over the entire chapel and she was the only one who apparently saw it.

  Everyone on her side of the aisle was dead, their eyes emotionless and impassive, some had their throats cut, some bore penetrative burns through them, some missed limbs and in one case, a head. Her hand had a distinctive grey pallor to it, she saw it out the corner of her eyes as she clawed at her throat, her expensive manicure drawing rivulets of blood.

  Finally, Nick reacted, he smiled and his entire visage split straight down the middle, something else emerging from within, something spectral and shadow ridden. It spoke, a masculine voice that she heard even above her own choking. Her legs couldn’t hold her any longer and she fell to the steps, her dress tearing under the duress, nylon covered legs spilling out. Nobody else moved.

  “You know this is wrong,” the voice hissed. She’d heard it before somewhere, some part of that registered amidst her discomfort and she blinked above sticky eyes. “You know what you are and you’d forsake it for something as fleeting as love.”

  She couldn’t answer even if she wanted to, movement hadn’t quite escaped her but her limbs felt heavy. Like the gravity had suddenly been cranked up to maximum and it was drawing her down into the ground without reprieve. Hard to think, hard to focus. Her head felt like it was being squeezed by a press, the pressure incredible against her skull. Any more and she’d hear a crack. Any defence she might have formed against that power felt painfully inadequate. Weak. Pathetic.

  “I’m looking for you. I will find you. You cannot flee from me forever.” It lacked emotion, just matter of fact words, cold hard statements. “You will be needed.”

  She didn’t doubt the truth behind them. What wasn’t about to change was the fact that no matter how much she might be needed, she wasn’t going to oblige.

  “If you pursue this path you currently walk, it will be your end,” the voice said and slowly the spectre formed into a dark-skinned man, a hungered look to him like he’d been ill, his eyes wild and despite all attempts at personal maintenance, a little unkempt. “You have been warned. You must walk back into the light, Ascendant.”

  Ascendant… A title she hadn’t born for a long time. She’d almost forgotten about it. Almost. The man grinned at her, his teeth visible through the scruffy beard that framed his mouth and chin. They were yellow and she could feel his breath on her, hot and smelly. “We will see each other soon.”

  She tried to choke out sounds of defiance but all she succeeded in doing was biting down on her own tongue, the fresh pain firing up through her head, unceasing, unending, uncaring.

  She awoke with a start, face covered in sweat, Nick still asleep next to her. She glanced down at him and sighed. Heavy sleeper and all that. He could stay snoring through anything, even though she was sure she might have been screaming at one point. Wow…

  That had been different. And what did it mean? That was the problem, she had to admit. She knew first hand that dreams could be powerful things, they could be portents of things yet to come and one should not blindly dismiss them because they may be ridiculous. Yet at the same time, you couldn’t overrule the idea that the imagination was a powerful thing.

  She hadn’t had a prophetic dream for years now, hadn’t experienced anything in her sleep that had come to pass for a long time and why it should change now, she didn’t know. She hoped it wouldn’t. As visions went, it had been a particularly unpleasant one. Maybe it was doubt. Cold feet. She didn’t want to admit it but she was growing more and more worried about the upcoming nuptials by the day. It took a lot of work, time was growing short and sometimes she felt like she couldn’t face it.

  She could. Of course, she could. It was just working up the courage to do so. These things didn’t happen overnight. They had all the time in the world.

  She couldn’t forget the dream though. She wouldn’t. Nor the words that had been uttered to her within. They’d been considerably vivid. She’d been warned what would happen if she carried on. But that man was dead, wasn’t he? Dead and powerless, she’d been told that. Sharon wanted so badly to believe that he was just her doubts given a physical form, their way of telling her not to ignore them.

  She wouldn’t ignore her doubts. But nor would she listen blindly to them. She knew what she was doing was the right thing.

  The sixteenth day of Summerpeak.

  If he was honest, Pete truly couldn’t believe the tournament was carrying on considering what had happened the previous day. Terrorists take over a hospital not a few miles away from the stadium and yet here they were about to keep on going despite it. It was lunacy. What was Ritellia doing? He’d already been criticised in the media for saying that they would not cancel the tournament because of a few disenfranchised. Fresh criticism had come his way suggesting that maybe he didn’t quite know what that word meant. Either way he’d proved before he had the thick skin of an armoured rhino and if it was getting to him then it wasn’t showing.

  Still it was what it was. And privately, although he’d never admit it aloud, he was glad it was carrying on. This was something he wanted to win after all. He really did. He didn’t think there was any shame in admitting that. And he’d gotten this far, he had a chance. Shame he had such an impressive obstacle in his path in the shape of Katherine Sommer. He didn’t know her but he knew of her. She had a reputation as a juggernaut, someone implacable, someone unstoppable but that couldn’t be true. Everyone and everything had a weak spot, a stopping point. That had been proved the previous day when Sharon had faced down that Theobald kid and despite everything, he’d nudged her out. It had largely been downplayed in the media thanks to other events but it hadn’t entirely escaped notice. He’d never known that kid was that good. The worrying thing was it hadn’t looked like Sharon was having an off day either. He’d seen her at her best and her worst and she hadn’t been bad. Maybe he’d just been hungrier.

  Except now wasn’t the time to think about Sharon. Not with his own bout up ahead. He took a deep breath and stepped out into the sunlight, hands in the pockets of his shorts. Pete could feel every set of eyes bearing down on him, he was alone on the field,

  Kitti Sommer hadn’t arrived yet and he decided to milk the applause being directed down on him, raising his hands above his head in an enthusiastic greeting. He’d probably look a prat when it was played back but for the time being, he couldn’t care. If this was what it’d be like for a third-round tie, imagine it for the quarter or the semi or even think ahead to the final. He grinned in glee. This would be spectacular.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he heard the commentator say above the cheers and applause. “I give you contestant number one… Peter Jacobs!” If anything, the adoration intensified and he felt a warm contented feeling in the pit of his stomach. Scott was probably among the crowd. Probably Sharon. Maybe Mia. He even wondered about Jess, if she was watching or not. Would she be rooting for him? He didn’t want to speculate or not on that part. He could see pockets of support holding placards bearing his name and he appreciated that if nothing else.

  Then deathly silence fell over the crowd and he turned his head back to stare across the battlefield towards the other contestant tunnel. He somehow knew she was coming. Leave it to her to be fashionably late. A dramatic entrance never hurt anyone and he saw her ascending the steps, not walking but riding a majestic stag, head bowed low so the antlers wouldn’t catch on the roof. He shook his head in disbelief, the crowd went wild even more so for her than they had for him.

  “And the opponent, contestant number two arriving in style there… Katherine Sommer! What an entrance, she knows how to play to the crowd!” Well, it already looked like the commentators knew who they wanted to win, Pete noted with a grimace. He’d have to upset them. Oh well. If everyone in the stadium was crying becau
se she’d lost, then he’d take that.

  That stag though was a majestic beast, he dwarfed Basil in size with dappled white and chocolate covered fur across his back, cream coloured down traced out down his chest. The antlers looked sharp and durable, they shone in the sunlight and he didn’t want to think about what they might do in combat. The hooves were the size of dinner plates and looked like they’d been especially designed to do more damage when they were smashed into something.

  On the stony battlefield though, he could hear them clattering against the rock and he gulped down a big breath of air, staring past the stag and at the caller.

  Kitti Sommer had often been compared to his sister and he could sort of see why. They didn’t look like each other of course, Sharon was taller, statuesque and blond, Kitti was shorter, curvy and her hair was cut in a short blue-black bob. Black rimmed her eyes and her lips, she wore a red and black cut vest revealing tattooed arms and a pair of tight blue shorts that showed off her legs, a sight Pete could appreciate even from across the field.

  The true comparison of course came with their abilities on the battlefield, they both had reputations for exceptional efficiency when it came to dispatching opponents without mercy. He thought Scott might have fought her in the past but he couldn’t be sure. He’d meant to ask him but stuff had been happening and he’d never had the chance. Funny the sort of things you remembered when it was just too late.

  The stag trotted out onto the battlefield, clearly her first choice as the video referee relayed down the instructions and already Pete was contemplating the best strategies for dealing with it. There had to be a good way to deal with it.