The Great Game

by O. J. Lowe

  That made her mind up. The longer she remained here, the more chance that she’d make some fatal mistake and not live to regret it. She stared at the man, obviously skilled in the arts of the Kjarn and realised she might be out of her depth right now. She was tired and running on empty, a long fight would be suicide right now. Past them was the window, she could make it. Nobody would expect her to run. She wouldn’t have expected herself to run.

  She smiled at him, thrust out a hand of her own and drove him back several paces with the full force of the Kjarn. He resisted it, just barely managed to stay on his feet but then she was past him, past the brute and the woman, her kjarnblade out in front of her like a spear, she could see blue sky up ahead of her, freedom!

  She hit it, the window shattered into a thousand pieces, glass blowing back against her bare skin from the onrush of incoming atmosphere and suddenly she was out into the sweet embrace of fresh air. Kyra’s legs left solid ground and she was airborne. She looked down and didn’t even have the time to realise how suddenly screwed she was. Rather than be in a city somewhere, just a hundred or so feet from the ground, she couldn’t even see the ground for the clouds.

  Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!

  Wim Carson doubled over, suddenly exhausted from the fatigue of drawing so much so quickly while still out of shape. He’d forgotten how effective the Kjarn could be in a fight when it was used in the right way. The girl was crazy; she’d leaped straight out…

  But was she dead? He wasn’t entirely sure. He’d tried to lock down her presence the moment she’d entered the room and he hadn’t felt her snuff out yet. Maybe he hadn’t done it right. It was a tricky skill. But whether she had survived or not was a question for another time. Right now, he was more concerned that she had existed at all…

  Here? Now?

  It shouldn’t have surprised him but the presence of one of them here… A possible Cavanda running around unchecked was something that worried him immensely. The Cavanda were the ancient enemy of the Vedo, everything that they were not. And if there was one, there was at least one more out there. Somewhere. One could not gain these skills accidentally. Not the skill needed to build a kjarnblade. Not potent telekinesis. About the best one could hope for by oneself was mild unwitting precognition. Maybe prophetic foresight in dreams. Even then, they were more by accident than intent usually, uncontrolled and wild. Such was the limit without training. That was perhaps a relief. Being able to draw on the Kjarn and its power without the discipline of training and control was a recipe for disaster.

  He needed a weapon. If the Cavanda had returned to the five kingdoms, he didn’t want to have to resort solely on Kjarn abilities to defend himself.

  He saw her staring at him as his attention came back to the room around him, a bemused look on her face. The woman who’d been his saviour.

  “Want to explain to us what just happened?” she asked, not a hint of amusement in her voice.

  Chapter Forty-Six. Oh Ghost, My Ghost.

  “Two people meet for the first time. Don’t know each other. One’s a good fella, the other ain’t so good. But the not so good fella, let’s call him Jim, he asks the good fella, who we’ll call Moe for a few credits to tide him over. And Moe, being the good fella, he gives him some. Don’t trouble him none. Jim takes the credits, Moe don’t get no word of thanks and then Jim vanishes. Them’s the breaks. Few weeks later, same story. They meet, Jim needs credits, Moe gives him a few more than last time. No thanks. See ya. Them’s the breaks. Few months later, same story. Jim asks for the credits, Moe, this time he say no and Jim pulls a knife on him. Them’s the breaks.”

  Cautionary tale from Premesoir, entitled Them’s the Breaks. Author P. William Rashford.

  The seventeenth day of Summerpeak.

  Still the bug and the ape traded blows with each other, neither willing to let up until one of them was down. A dozen small cuts had left Sarge bloodied, Scott could sense that Herc was flagging. Bruises and breaks and cracks had left his body bent and distorted under thunderous punches that would have broken less stubborn opponents. Herc had stayed up though. Saarth was looking a little more frustrated right now than she had through most of the bout and Scott felt relieved by that. If she lost her focus and her concentration, he’d be able to drag her down that little closer to defeat. It was a good feeling. One he didn’t need. He needed to keep his focus.

  Finally, Herc brought the great horn into play, rushing Sarge and jabbing out several neat hooks with his horn. All intended to put the opponent on the back foot. Just as predicted, Sarge wove backwards to avoid being impaled, the tip of the horn only grazed the front of his impressive six pack… Privately Scott wished he had muscles like that… leaving a fresh trace of blood to add the previous mess staining the silver fur.

  He was to be surprised again. What he hadn’t expected was Sarge to reach out and grab the horn, Herc suddenly struggling to break free as both hands clasped around the huge appendage, holding him in place. Despite his struggles, it was a futile effort as Sarge went hand over hand, pulling the bug ever closer with each tug. Herc’s wings fluttered uselessly, the ape’s hands were bleeding from caressing the razor edges of the horn but neither of them were giving up. They had too much to lose.

  That cold feeling still assaulted him, threatening to sap his focus. He didn’t let it, frantically barking out mental orders to Herc to try and get out of it any way he could. There had to be one. Arms flailed out more in hope than expectation and Sarge growled angrily as clawed arms bit at his fur, ripping it out in chunks. Bare patches of pale pink skin glared out in the daylight and Scott urged Herc on.

  It was too late, Sarge let go and wound up a big punch straight into the bugs facial area, Scott heard a terrific crack as the blow cracked the carapace, Herc tottering back on unsteady legs as if drunk. The second blow to the same area put him down on the ground. Saarth suddenly looked hungry for the victory, Scott’s heart fell as Herc hit the dirt with a thud. On his front and barely moving, the giant bug looked less so, appearing frailer and weaker.

  Sarge let out a bellow of triumph and beat his chest for several long seconds, but Scott didn’t see it, still too busy trying to reach Herc. The stagbug wasn’t defeated, he’d have felt it if he’d expired but whether Sarge realised that or not was open to debate.

  Come on Herc… Come on! You can get up. He’s not expecting it. One more hit and then you can rest. Just give me one more, please! You’ve got to!

  He saw Herc twitch and his heart leaped up from its pit of anguish. Sarge saw it as well, stopped beating his chest and raised both fists up above his head like a hammer… Herc sprang from the dirt in one clumsy motion and drove his horn straight into the flexing pectoral muscle above him. It wasn’t an easy penetration, Scott saw the bug reach out with his arms, pull himself even further into Sarge before the fists came down on his back. That was that. The bug was almost broken in two by the force of the blow, brown matter already flooding out of the break in his back. But still the gorilla was impaled, he still needed to pull Herc off before he could do anything else.

  Credit to him, he tried. He got both hands around Herc’s upper body and yanked, arms trembling with the effort. The sounds of pain that broke from the ape’s mouth were unlike anything Scott had ever heard before, anguished agony as fresh blood spurted out the wound in a fountain, mingling with Herc’s innards to paint the ground a mud colour. The movements became less vigorous the further the horn came out; he could see the ape weakening by the second. Herc was almost gone, he could see the fingers digging in deep across the stagbug’s body, each movement sending reverberations through him.

  They both collapsed at the same time, neither of them moving. He doubted they could. It wasn’t quite the clean victory he’d hoped it to be but a knockout was a knockout. That gorilla had been a tough opponent, not quite something he’d have expected from someone like Saarth. Then again, he’d learned plenty of times before now that appearances could be deceiving. Just because she looked lik
e a flirty young woman didn’t mean she didn’t have a ruthless streak in her. In fact, to make it this far she undoubtedly did. It was almost a certainty like as not. Maybe he’d forgotten that just for a moment and he’d paid for it. It wasn’t a mistake he could afford to make again.

  She offered a few words he couldn’t understand to her gorilla as she returned him to his crystal and shot Scott another smile as he took Herc back. His own thanks came, brief but poignant he felt. He wondered what to do next. Already she had made her choice and he saw her send out a veek to decide the battle for her.

  At least, that was what she clearly planned. He stroked his chin. Now what would be the best thing to fight the giant cat lizard? They could be tricky bastards to best in a fight and if he chose wrong then it would cost him dearly. Amidst contemplating his choice, he heard the laughter and stiffened up.

  “You struggling, bagmeat.”

  He reacted to the voice by almost jumping a clear foot in the air. He turned, saw the face staring up from his shadow. Three eyes, yellow and lined with malice, huge mouth and brows. Same eerie high voice. Same damn ghost.

  That explained the cold.

  “How long you been stood there,” he hissed out the corner of his mouth. He couldn’t stand here and have a conversation. Not in the middle of a bout. And not in a live one. People would think he was going crazy talking to what looked like himself. Particularly since he wasn’t sure if anyone else could see the ghost. Nobody had reacted. And he’d face disqualification if he took too long to decide. “And how the hells can I understand you?”

  No reply. The eyes blinked several times as they studied him. “Where else I go? Everything seems fun round you. Fun and violent.”

  “Well I’m busy,” Scott hissed. “Leave me alone, we’ll do this later.” It probably looked weird to those around, him with his head leaned out over his shoulder and his mouth moving too quietly to hear the words. He hoped there were no lip readers in attendance watching what he said.

  “Later? But I bored now. Want to do something.”

  He blinked. “You’re not mine.” He almost said it out loud. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “You here bagmeat.”

  Scott knew somewhere at the back of his mind, he was running out of time. He’d be getting a warning very shortly if he didn’t pick it up. On the field, Saarth’s veek with its tawny fur blended with acid green scales continued to pace, razor sharp claws leaving shallow gouges in the battlefield. So much menace in such a compact package.

  “What?!”

  “You here. I here.”

  “I didn’t claim you!”

  “Don’t know what that is. I know you.”

  “Don’t think you know how this whole thing works.” Only then did Scott realise just quite how ridiculous this whole thing was, he almost laughed out loud. Would have done if it wasn’t at such an inconvenient time.

  “I don’t. Just feel you. You feel I?”

  He couldn’t deny that at all no matter how much he might have wanted to. “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

  “There we go. We link. I know you bagmeat Scitt.”

  “Scott,” he said almost as a reflex. “My name is Scott.”

  “Yo.”

  “What’s yours?” It sounded stupid even as he said it, the realisation dawned that the ghost probably didn’t have a name. He. It was probably a male. It sounded like it was male. Then again given that spirits shouldn’t be speaking at all, he could probably sound like whatever the hells he wanted. His head hurt thinking about it. The video referee beeped a warning, the stadium announcer was coming out with a list of consequences, he could hear murmurings amongst the crowd that he hadn’t done anything yet.

  “Want a name.”

  “And I’ll give you one,” he said. “Look…” The sense of urgency was not lost on him. He wasn’t about to get kicked out of the tournament on a technicality. “… In a few. I really need to get back to this now. I’ll deal with you later.” It sounded a little callous, he couldn’t help that.

  “Want to fight.”

  “I can’t fight with you now.” He drew Sangare’s spirit crystal and prepped to slot it into his summoner. He’d have to do this now. He just hoped the ghost didn’t interfere. That’d be a disaster. Especially if he started telling tales on him.

  “Not with you, bagmeat. With that.” He stuck his head out of Scott’s shadow and pointed a hand at the veek. “Want to fight that. It smells funky. Like bad meat.”

  That took him by surprise, cutting off the words he’d wanted to say in the small of his throat before he could let them loose. “What?! You…”

  Can’t. He was about to say can’t yet why couldn’t he? Granted he might well regret it. It could go horribly, horribly wrong for him. Without being linked to him via a crystal, there’d be nothing to stop the ghost going walkabout and leaving him in the lurch. But he’d seen first-hand how powerful he could be. And it’d be a trump card. If Saarth had researched him, she’d not know about the ghost. Plus, there was undoubtedly some sort of link between them. It could work. Sometimes, it just felt like you needed to take a gamble. Shuffle the cards and let them guide you on your path. He grinned.

  “Okay,” he said. “Do your worst.”

  The ghost sprang out of his shadow and landed on the field, waving confidently to a surprised crowd, even blowing kisses to the opponent. They were a mismatched pair, the veek all feline and lizard grace, deadly in its movements and the ghost, short and fat with four ears, three eyes and a mohawk.

  He felt the silence fall over the stadium, surprise and shock heavy in the air. Hey, it wasn’t any less unconventional an entrance than the way Kitti Sommer had rode into her battle with Pete yesterday. It was convention to use a container crystal. Not a requirement. He smiled at Saarth.

  “Hey,” he said out the corner of his mouth to the ghost. He turned his head back and glanced at him with a bemused expression as if to say ‘what?’ “Permear.”

  “What?!”

  “I’m calling you Permear if you’re sticking with me. You get me?”

  “I Permear.” The ghost didn’t look happy or unhappy with the name, he only shrugged. “Fair.”

  The buzzer went to signal the start of the round and he suddenly felt the first traces of doubt creep into him. He tried to quash them, not quite sure if he was ready to admit he’d just made a horrible mistake or not.

  Either way, he’d live or die by his decision here. He couldn’t look back, he had to keep staring forward and hope for the best. As strategies went, it was a poor one but when victory came, he had no doubt it would taste that much sweeter.

  Of course, there were going to be problems. The first thing he realised was that with no traditional bond between them, he couldn’t issue silent commands. The second thing was that he didn’t know the complete capabilities of the spirit he was commanding. The third… That veek looked pissed off and ready for battle. Already it lunged for Permear and swiped out with glimmering claws.

  Dodge… “Dodge!” he yelled, the action bringing a surprised look out of Saarth. Fourth problem. When you could issue the command mentally, it was like working with an extension of your own body. You thought, you did. Here, you thought, you spoke, you did. And in that time, the split seconds might make the difference.

  He was starting to regret it more by the second, especially as the dodge was delayed, Permear lunged backwards and the claws only raked his front, scattering ectoplasm down onto the ground. It faded into the dirt almost immediately but that wasn’t good. If that veek could hurt Permear then it might be a short fight. Part of what made ghosts such an intimidating foe was that they were hard to hurt. Techniques to trap and damage them were becoming more common, callers becoming more ingenious in their strategies but you couldn’t plan for everything.

  “That hurt I,” Permear groaned. H wasn’t sure if Saarth could hear the ghost or not. If it was only him that could hear Permear, it might get awkward. “Let me at him.”

&n
bsp; “What can you actually do?” Scott wondered. “Got anything powerful?”

  “I is powerful.” The ghost sounded insulted. “Want I to prove it?”

  “Wait, no…!” Scott almost yelled, saw the veek coming and he didn’t know what Permear had in mind but it didn’t feel like it’d be a good idea to let the ghost call the shots right now. The claws were outstretched again, ready to slash deep into the permeable membrane that was Permear’s skin and then suddenly the ghost wasn’t there any longer. Saarth’s eyes widened, the veek crashed gracelessly into the ground and rose up to all four feet, hissing angrily as Scott saw it sweeping its head back and forth in search of the opponent.

  It didn’t see Permear burst out of the ground below, swinging a shining purple fist up square into its face. Scott heard the thud, saw the blood fly and heard the howl. As Permear ducked down, hiding again, he saw the bloody mess the blow had left of the face.

  His spirits leapt, he silently urged the ghost on, even if he wasn’t sure if he could hear him or not. The feline face lashed back and forth, half blind, searching out a possible target but there wasn’t any.

  Not until Permear swept up behind it and tugged the tail playfully. It brought a laugh out of the crowd, even a smile to Scott’s face and Saarth looked furious as her veek lunged backwards, snapping crooked yellow teeth at the ghost. They passed harmlessly through his skin and the next thing Scott knew, something had flashed with a malignant black energy and suddenly the veek was airborne, thrown up by a wave of pure force. Scott saw it crumple as it hit the ground and winced. That had looked painful.

  “Damn right it painful,” Permear said. One moment he was stood several feet from the fallen veek, the next he took one step and was suddenly stood above it, his body contorting almost acrobatically to make the movement.

  “Sataris!” Saarth yelled, her façade of cool broken for the moment as Permear stood lazily above the veek for a moment as if contemplating how best to break it. It was comparable with the look of a destructive child and Scott found himself wondering if that wasn’t such a bad comparison. There was something almost appalling in the state of careless innocence cast around the ghost.