The Great Game

by O. J. Lowe

  The eyes were huge and green, the size of saucers while the mouth was little more than a giant slash amidst the pink. It had four pointed ears, two out the top of its head and two more at the sides while lacking a nose. Its scalp was covered in bristly cream coloured fur that stuck up in places. Privately he wondered where she’d found it. Such a creature, by rights, probably shouldn’t exist in the wild but they did. He’d investigated her beforehand, seen pictures of the puttlebut but had never expected it to be so…

  Bouncy? That was the right term. When Palawi had faced it in the previous round, it had been unpredictable in its movements, the bulk might look solid and heavy, but it was considerably floaty and mobile. He’d thought of Permear immediately, and his newest spirit was eager to get out and fight.

  They were down to their last and he’d rolled his dice. He smiled, took a deep breath and nodded at Permear.

  “Okay, we can do this,” he muttered out the corner of his mouth. “Let’s smash it up.”

  “You know it, bagmeat. You want it fast and painful or slow and excruciating? Because I got all the tools to do it both ways.”

  At least the ghost packed some enthusiasm about the task ahead. He was waving his fists now in exaggerated motions, like a shadow fighter trying to out-psych an opponent. Scott knew it was all bluster. The moment the buzzer went, Permear spun around and hit the puttlebut with a spin kick that sent it crashing across the arena and bouncing off the protective barrier and into the ground face first.

  “Oh yeah! Number one! Eat that, you fat fuck!”

  He wondered who’d taught the ghost language like that. Because he was certain it wasn’t him. Maybe he’d been listening to Pete. He smirked at that, gave Martial a grin. The cockiest he could manage. She returned his gaze with little more than barest acknowledgement. A little annoying but he shrugged it off. Across the way, the puttlebut floated back up, not needing to bend any part of its chubby body to get up.

  “What hells? That was a good hit.” Permear sounded outraged. “Come on chief, let me at that thing! I wipe that smirk off its face.”

  “You can’t wipe the smirk off its face,” Scott pointed out. “It’s got a permanently curved mouth.”

  Instead he gave the mental command and Permear swung out, fists glimmering with a shining purple energy and went for the eyes. They were big enough targets; the ghost could hardly miss. Apparently Martial had other plans, the giant cheeks swelled out, the mouth opened and the spirit exhaled out. It had twin effects, one the blast threatening to topple Permear from his feet, the other sending it hovering just up out of range. Permear swore as he struggled to keep his feet, had to drop to all fours to regain stability.

  “Can I push its brains out through its skull?” he inquired, his voice harsh in Scott’s ears. “Because this thing is really asking for it.”

  “I’m sure it’s not. Come on Permear, stop dicking around and start landing some blows.” Silently he added what he wanted the ghost to do and Permear nodded, begrudgingly pushing a hand inside his body. Scott heard the grunt of discomfort as the ghost tugged free a large handful of ectoplasm and brought his arm back, pitching it through the air towards the puttlebut.

  It struck the big pink spirit straight between the eyes and immediately started to send the skin smoking. They’d come up with the attack together, the lump was about as toxic as it came without inserting a face into a puddle of nuclear waste. All part of Permear’s unique physiology.

  “Pinky!” Martial yelped, her face suddenly contorted with dismay. Any composure she might previously have had was lost. “Try to get it off!”

  Good luck with that, Scott thought. Permear snickered in agreement. Pinky’s arms weren’t long enough for it to scratch its ass never mind wipe something off its face. The stuff on the spirits face continued to smoulder, Scott caught an odour of burning flesh, charring and bitter in his nostrils. He tried to ignore it, the one thing you got used to as a spirit caller was the way flesh tended to react under extreme abuse. The puttlebut dropped down to the ground and tried scraping its face against the grass to little effect.

  “Well that went better than I’d thought it would,” Permear mused, taking one bobbing step towards the downed opponent before turning it into a run up. He sprang, landed down on the giant fat back and Scott heard a great jeer erupt from the crowd, about the same time that the sound of breath being expelled from Pinky’s body broke out. The puttlebut tried to rise, turn to face Permear and Scott saw smoking footmarks across the back.

  Okay, that’s just improvising, he thought. He could have sworn Permear turned back and winked at him. But good job.

  Sometimes it was hard to remember that the ghost could hear his thoughts. Granted that was how he gave him most of his orders in battle, but when Permear started talking back, it was a little distracting.

  “You a little distracting,” the ghost said bitterly. “I don’t want you tipping around in my head.”

  “Can’t imagine it’s crowded in there.”

  “Oh, you bitch!”

  Anything else Permear might have said was cut off by the stricken puttlebut hitting it with a body check that almost knocked him off his feet. It was replaced by rampant swearing, Scott blinked several times, not quite sure he’d just seen what had just passed before his eyes.

  “How…”

  Pinky came back around again and this time he ordered Permear to dodge, the ghost leaping up into the air above the lumbering spirit. Scott peered close, still trying to work out why the attack had landed. Permear was a ghost, the blow shouldn’t have landed. Physical blows against ghosts… it was like trying to punch smoke. Or fire. It was a stupid idea and probably shouldn’t be attempted. But elemental attacks could hurt, so presumably it had been something along that line. Now Pinky was in the air as well as Permear and the ghost was on the defensive, weaving back to evade a flurry of blows hurled at him. Scott was galvanising him on, he didn’t want to take a chance if the ghost could be harmed.

  “Nice you care so much,” Permear grunted. “This is exhausting. Can’t I just hit it until it falls down?!”

  Await an opening, you’ll get one, Scott urged silently. Just try and keep it up. It might be tiring but it’s better than being dead.

  “Who for, me or you?” The words came out in exaggerated huffs as the ghost gasped for breath, Scott now sure the spirit was being entirely unnecessary in his actions.

  Now you’re just being unhelpful.

  Once again Permear winked at him, wove his face back in to avoid being hit in it. Pinky’s fist flashed through the space where he’d been a moment earlier and Scott reacted.

  Now!

  He almost yelled the word out in his head and Permear grabbed the outstretched arm and made to spin around, hurling the puttlebut down into the ground face first. It would have been a painful hit against any opponent.

  Except apparently this one, Pinky hit hard and bounced straight back up, the great bulk checking Permear head on and the ghost went sailing up into the air.

  “Okay, this is just getting humiliating. I hope nobody’s watching this,” Scott heard the ghost grumble. He didn’t sound hurt anyway, that was something he supposed.

  “Just my pride,” Permear added, hovering up near the peak of the protective shield. “Think I might just hover up here for a few. Catch my breath. While you think of a new strategy because this is just bogus.”

  “Diplomatic.”

  “Screw diplomacy, bagmeat, I… What the hells is diplomacy?”

  I’ll answer that for you later, Permear, Scott thought with an inward groan. For now, just get some pain laid out on that damn thing.

  “Thought you’d never ask.” The ghost sounded almost cheery as he lunged into the fray, ducked beneath a stubby pink arm as it flailed for him and landed a trio of punches into the bulbous side. Thick sludgy stains stuck to its skin as the blows landed, slowly bubbling away as the poison started to work. “It’s better than hitting a bag this. Reckon they make punch b
ags out of dead versions of these things?”

  To that, Scott had no answer. He didn’t even want to consider it.

  “You can’t keep ignoring me, you know that. I never go away. You can’t silence the Permear.”

  “You’re the stupid,” Scott muttered. “Nobody refers to themselves like that.”

  “I going to start a trend.”

  “Might be hard when I’m the only one who underst… Keep your bloody mind on the fight!” Out on the field, Permear had to sidestep a body check and made a point of kicking the puttlebut viciously in the back. There was a faint slurping sound as he tugged his foot free of the hefty skin.

  “Stop bloody distracting me then!” Permear almost howled, sarcastically mimicking the words Scott had thrown at him moments earlier. “You want to do this or you want me to do it my way?”

  What’s your way? Scott wondered silently. Pulling brains out through skulls? From the other side?

  “Nah, that’s an easy trick. All you have to do is manipulate a void inside the skull and…”

  “Yeah that!” Scott almost screamed. “That! Do that.”

  Martial looked at him like he was losing his mind. Some of the front row sections of the crowd had surprised looks on their faces, he tried to ignore them. Using Permear here might have been a mistake, he was willing to admit that if he won. There was still a lot he didn’t know about the ghost and it might cost him.

  “You know I can hear you, right?”

  Yeah, you’ve reminded me several times. Just do it… He studied the puttlebut, shook his head. Wait, wait!

  “What now?! You want me to do this or not?”

  Just, think about this. That worked before because… MOVE!

  Permear was already hurtling out the way as Pinky came charging in like an out of control mag-rail train. The ghost whistled as Scott cursed this annoying opponent silently.

  “Ooh you got a really dirty mouth, bagmeat.”

  The veek he’d unleashed Permear against had been a completely different shape, it had been unlike this thing. Given the puttlebut didn’t appear to have a head, it’d be hard to pinpoint exactly where its brain was. Or given that it was all body, it’d be almost impossible to guess where the vital spots were. Having Permear randomly throw voids into it would be a bit of a fool’s errand without some specific idea of where to start. A waste of both time and effort on their part.

  Okay, can you form up a series of voids, one after another?

  “Probably. You want me to try that now?”

  “Well yeah, that’s why I asked you.” He fought the urge to kick something. Probably not a healthy urge. Aim for the arm. See if you can do some damage.

  “You know what I do when I want to kick something? I kick something.” Permear broke into a stream of manic laughter before staring at Pinky with an evil grin. The onrushing puttlebut suddenly stopped mid-rush, a bemused look on the giant features. Scott saw the saucer-sized eyes move to the left arm, he saw the skin was bubbling away like it had been exposed to acid.

  “My pretty?” Martial asked, her words puzzled. They almost mirrored the surprise on her spirits face. “Is something concerning…”

  She was cut off, almost screamed as Pinky’s arm exploded in a shredded mix of blood and flesh and bone. Only a useless stump remained, Scott turned his face away to avoid taking a chunk in the eye. It hit his cheek and slid down onto his shoulder. Calmer than he truly felt, he flicked it away and deliberately rolled his eyes. He imagined it looked exceptionally cool for the cameras, typical really that there’d be something recording his reaction right now. Martial looked like she’d avoided it, uneasily slipping to the side as a big lump of fatty flesh hit her technical area.

  “Want me to just keep doing that?” Permear asked. Casually he reached down, grabbed a piece of already baking meat and took a bite out of it. “Because…”

  “Eyes!” Scott yelled. “Now!”

  This time he made sure to cover his face, watching only through the cracks of his fingers as Pinky’s eyes started to bubble, one stubby arm and one stump struggling to get to them, seeking out any sort of reprieve from the pain. A dull moaning sound emerged from its cavernous mouth, he almost felt sorry for it.

  Almost. Not quite. He couldn’t afford sympathy for the opponent at a time like this. The moan turned into a scream as twin brutal pops broke out across the suddenly stunned silence of the stadium. Scott allowed himself a momentary look until he was satisfied he wasn’t going to be struck in the face with eye gunk, saw twin gaping caverns which had once held eyes staring back at him.

  “Eye see you!” Permear chortled, dancing around just out of reach as the puttlebut flailed ineffectually at him. “Want me to lend a hand? Or an eye?!”

  “That’s terrible,” Scott muttered. “Just let it go. No more eye jokes. Put it out of its misery.”

  He could hear the ghost sigh. “Just once, I want to be allowed to express myself. Just once. None of this ‘do this Permear, do that Permear, kill this for me Permear.’ I feel like a slave sometimes… When I could be having a ball! Hahahaha! Come on bagmeat, tell me that wasn’t hilarious.”

  Scott ignored him as the ghost hopped into the air, floating his body listlessly above Pinky’s head before dropping a punch down onto the puttlebut from the top. The enemy spirit never saw it coming, flattened under the force of the blow only to contort back into shape pretty much straightaway. Had he not dug in, Permear might have been thrown clear, instead ethereal hands dug in, tearing away at mangled flesh.

  It probably wouldn’t be the cleanest win he’d ever be awarded. But as the damn puttlebut finally went down, he couldn’t help but be relieved. A tricky opponent and he’d conquered her. He’d bloody done it. Quarter finals, here he came.

  “What do you mean, you did it?” Permear sounded irritable as he strode over, shaking himself off. “You did nothing but flap around like an idiot. I was the one who had all the good ideas. I should get the trophy.”

  “What trophy?” Lost in the heat of the moment above the applause of the crowd, Scott looked down at the ghost.

  “You know, for winning this thing.” He threw a hand out at the fallen puttlebut. Martial looked upset. Scott wasn’t surprised really.

  “You don’t get anything for winning at this point,” he said. “Got to win four more bouts yet. This was the third round.”

  Permear’s eyes widened bulbously. “You joking with me right?”

  “Nah, there’s a long hard path ahead. This was probably the easy bit.”

  “You call that easy?” Permear sounded outraged. Scott paid him no attention, walked past the ghost and over to Martial. Behind him, Permear continued to explode with disgust, words fading to sound as he tried to hide his enthusiasm.

  “Hey,” he said to Martial. She looked despondent, he could almost feel the sorrow radiating from her. “Well done.”

  “Suppose you expect the same from me?” she asked, her accent heavier than normal with grief. Her eyes remained dry and her expression steadfast though. She folded her arms and fixed a beady stare on him. “I will give you one. Congratulations, good luck with the rest of the tournament? Satisfied no?”

  It lacked for sincerity, he had to admit that but there wasn’t anything that he could do about that. There wasn’t anything in the rules that said you had to lose with grace. Sometimes when he’d been on the wrong end of a defeat, it had been all he could do to get to the locker room without kicking something on the field.

  Still, it sure was something. Him, Scott Taylor, into the quarter final of the Quin-C. The last six… Of all the spirit callers in the five kingdoms, he could say he was in the top six… Well he could say it anyway. Part of him felt like there’d be plenty to dispute that.

  The twenty-third day of Summerpeak.

  Okocha had had enough and judging by the look of impassive frustration on his face, Noorland had too. They’d both spent way too much time in these makeshift offices on this trip and right now, Okocha was under
the feeling that if he never saw another cabin again in his entire life, he’d be happy. Really happy.

  “Hey, Will.”

  He tried to ignore the voice, didn’t need the distractions, just wanted to keep working until stuff made sense. Just keep turning the facts over and over in his head until something clicked. There had to be some sort of connection, all of this, Reims and Blut and the Quin-C and everything that had happened since.

  “Will.” Something hit him on the back of the head and he snapped back to attention, just about managing to suppress the urge to flail his hands about wild.

  “Wuh-what?” He shook his head violently. “Sorry, miles away there. This whole thing is starting to get to me.”

  “Yeah you look stressed,” Noorland said. “Want me to take over a bit?”

  Okocha shook his head. “Nah, I’m fine. Got to keep working. Got to keep going. Need to find a connection. If one exists…”

  “I already brought this up,” Noorland cut in. “I don’t think we should solely focus our investigation on Reims. There’s a chance that they have nothing to do with this.”

  “And there’s an even bigger chance that they don’t,” Okocha shot back. “There’s an even bigger chance that they’re a snake in the grass and they’re just waiting to strike. Without warning!”

  “Will, piss off and get some sleep,” Noorland said as gently as he could manage. “You’re not doing anyone any favours working yourself into the ground like this. We’re all tired, we’re undermanned and someone’s going to have a breakdown if things stay like this. Don’t let it be you.”

  “I’m fine. Just…” He let his sentence hang to yawn. “Just…”