by O. J. Lowe
“You caught any of the Quin-C so far?” Wade asked. If Ruud wasn’t coming back, there was little point in carrying on the discussion. Their information was classified, it was kept that way for a reason, no point Ruud knowing more than he was meant to for now. A lot of the tenseness faded in the room with that, all professionalism gone and suddenly they were just three old acquaintances left together, chatting about old times and the impending futures…
Chapter Seventy-One. And Here We Are…
“Everybody loves that final day. It’s a time of hope and expectations, a time when you can dare to dream. And for one of these two callers, their dream is going to come true. Neither of them probably expected to be here, they’ve defied all odds… In a way, you could say they’re both winners. At least until that final spirit falls anyway.”
Terrence Arnholt.
The ninth day of Summerfall.
Scott couldn’t sleep. Small wonder really. He rolled over, looked to the clock on the bedside and saw there were still another three hours before it was even reasonable to consider getting up. He let out a little sigh, the sound lost amidst the delicate little snores coming from Mia, her head on his chest. Her breath was warm, she was a comforting presence, being this close to her made everything feel so very vivid. Somewhere out in the night, Permear was floating around but Scott didn’t know where.
Part of him really didn’t want to know. The ghost had been acting more than a little strange recently, as if he knew something weird was going on but was unwilling to share it with the rest of them. If it was something, it might not have been, it could be nothing but at the same time, he couldn’t shake that weird little feeling that he was going to have a very bad time sooner or later. He just hoped it wasn’t going to be during that small event that was coming his way. The Quin-C final.
Weeks ago, he could only have dreamed about being here and yet it had become reality. Very bright and shiny reality that he couldn’t quite believe had come to him. He let out another little sigh. The past few days, well ever since the semi really, they’d all gone by in sort of one big blur, they’d been a mix of research and practice, sparring with a mix of Pete, Mia and Matt, none of whom were any sort of substitute for what he’d face against Theo but it was good to keep his eye in.
He’d faced Theo once already, in the semi and he’d failed miserably to even come close to beating him but that didn’t matter now. He’d researched him even more thoroughly now than he had then, he’d had Kitti Sommer to worry about at the same time, but with that barrier out of the way, he’d thrown all his attentions towards Jameson. More than that, he knew that Anne Sullivan had been training him, so he’d looked at some of her styles as well. When being trained one on one by another spirit caller, it wasn’t uncommon that sometimes some remnants of their style would creep in on you.
More than once, he’d considered even asking Terrence Arnholt for some sparring practice, the man was infinitely more skilled than either of his children were and a lot more experienced than either himself or Pete. It would have been the smart thing to do and yet at the same time, Scott had refrained from doing it. When he’d met him for the first few times, when Mia had introduced him to her father as her boyfriend, he’d been more than a little uneasy about it. It was like he was looking through him with those emotionless grey eyes. There was something more than a little off putting about Terrence Arnholt, Scott got the feeling that he didn’t entirely like him.
Or maybe he just doesn’t like what I’m doing to his daughter, he’d thought later. That was entirely possible and not at all unreasonable. He smiled a little at that thought.
Mia coughed in her sleep, an adorable sound. He closed his eyes, settled back and once more tried to let sleep overtake him. No use. He shifted a little around underneath her, tried to get a little more comfortable. She coughed again, three little hacks in a row this time. Something wet hit his bare chest. Nice, she was drooling on him. He’d have to remind her about this in the morning, see her squirm a little. More droplets hit him. For some reason, he could smell the ocean. The scent of salt and the sound of ocean birds, the lap of waves against rocks…
That coughing turned into choking, more water touched him, Scott jerked bolt upright in bed and Mia fell off him, spasming helplessly amidst the choking, water flooding out from her. Suddenly the bed was soaking wet, puddles forming about the carpet, her hair billowing out around her head like she was submerged. Slowly her flailing took on a violence, her foot caught him in the chest and kicked him off the bed, he hit the carpet with a soggy squelch and then he saw her movements slow as the chokes died down and her head fell listlessly against the bed, water still streaming from her mouth. She wasn’t breathing…
He was immensely proud of the fact that he didn’t wake up screaming. He’d never done it before after bad dreams and he wasn’t about to start now. Not even close. Not even Permear stood floating above his head, if that was the right word was going to put him in that frame of mind. The ghost glowed eerie bright blue in the darkness, his tongue out in front of him listlessly in the air as if he were trying to catch bugs.
“Hey, bagmeat,” he said nonchalantly. “That was a doozy of a dream, I think. Why you all damp?”
Acutely aware he was sweating, Scott ran an arm across his brow, saw it had plastered his arm hair down flat. It was warm in the room, but he didn’t think that had much to do with it.
“Is that the most drastic bed wetting example ever?” Permear continued. “Or is she part mermaid? No wait, she wouldn’t drown, would she?”
Scott looked up at him, raised an eyebrow. “You saw that?” He didn’t know why he even made the effort to sound surprised.
“Yeah,” the ghost said. “Was tasty shit that dream. Little dreary.”
“Wait, what?” He’d heard rumours of that but never actually met anyone who’d been able to lay proof to it one way or another. “You ate that dream right out of my head?”
“Well duh, bagmeat. Can’t live off what you don’t feed me.” Manic laughter broke through the room, somehow still not waking Mia up. Scott glanced down at her, shifted his hand under her nose just to feel her breath on his fingers. He wanted to check she was still breathing. It was there, no mistaking it. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he let out a brief sound of relief.
“The more messed up the dream is, the tastier it is. Angst? It’s pretty good shit seasoning, yeah?” Permear said, carrying chattering on as if none of Scott’s actions were of any interest to him. “Not quite as good as fear. That’s a good one. I don’t like lusty dreams though. They leave a sour taste. That’s why I stay out her head.” He pointed at Mia. “She got some freaky shit in her head. Ask her about leather. That’s all I say. I a traditionalist. I believe it look better on the animal. Which I not that far removed from. Six degrees of evolution. And life.”
“Fascinating,” Scott said, though he didn’t mean it as Permear burst out into raucous laughter at his own joke. Just because the ghost could talk, didn’t mean he was always worth listening to. And yet at the same time, sometimes there was gold amidst the shit. He glanced once again at the time, still too early. His head hit the pillow, he wondered if there was anywhere still open on the island he could get a drink.
It wasn’t so much the dream itself that truly bothered him. Everyone had nightmares every now and then. No changing that. And he’d had some truly freaky ones in the past. No, there was something different about this one. The fact that he’d suffered through it every night for the past week didn’t help settle his mood where it was concerned. The only time Permear knew he’d had it, there were six that he wasn’t aware about. Maybe. More than that, Scott was worried.
The second the bout was over tomorrow… Today even… he was already going to be making plans to leave, no matter the result. He wasn’t staying here on this island longer than he had to. It felt like he’d outstayed it. Given everything that had happened, everything that looked like it was about to happen, he wanted to be as far away as p
ossible. All he knew was what he’d seen, that some crazy woman had declared war on the five kingdoms. It had been all over the media the previous days, shouts of outrage and fearmongering, how they were all going to be murdered in a bloody tide of retribution for some imagined slight.
It brought about a troublesome problem. Where would be safe? Nobody knew where she was so therefore how did you get as far away from someone as possible without knowing where they were to start. It felt a little difficult.
These were problems still troubling him hours later when Mia let out a small grunt, a result of her having twisted her face into his chest and bolted awake with a start. Her eyes were red and fogged, her hair stuck to the side of her face. Not an attractive look by any prospect of the imagination and yet at the same time, she pulled it off in a messed-up way.
“Morning,” she muttered. “What time is it?”
“Too bloody early,” Scott said. At least she hadn’t started leaking salt water out of her mouth, he knew he was awake that way. He couldn’t even grin at that thought, he was just too bloody weary. A good start to the most important day of his life, to be sure. “Wake me up ten minutes before I’m due on the field, yeah?”
She playfully hit his chest with her fingers. “I’m sure you’re not… Bad dreams again?”
That got his attention, he hadn’t… “What makes you think I’ve been having bad dreams?”
“A little ghost told me.”
“Sorry bagmeat,” Permear said from somewhere in the room. His guess, the ghost was under the bed. The sun was up and he didn’t like that, as much as Scott had been able to infer from conversation. “But it slipped out.”
“How?!”
“Well I sort of told her to stop having mushy dreams, they were giving me cramps and…”
“Why do I ask him,” Scott muttered under his breath as Mia giggled quietly. “Why don’t I just let it be? Thumbs up and smile, that’s all it takes.”
“… And well she got all pissy, women eh and…”
“Perm!” Mia said loudly. Scott winced at that. How and why Mia had suddenly developed the ability to understand Perm, he didn’t know. Or perhaps it had been Permear who had found a way to make himself understood. Either way, it had been causing no end of trouble so far. Two ways of looking at it, one, it was good she knew he wasn’t imagining it. Two, it was a little more awkward now when the ghost went off on a tangent. “Who taught you to say stuff like that?”
“Your mother!”
“See, I think it’s a lesson you need to learn as well,” Scott said, twisting around to look her in the eyes. “Just let it go.”
“... Anyway, when you two are done bitching, I sort of let it slip you were having these bad dreams like a scared little bitch and she got all worried. Surprised she couldn’t keep her mouth shut about it.”
“He’s definitely getting more eloquent,” Scott said, ignoring the look Mia was giving him. Passive-aggressive curiosity really didn’t suit her. “I’ll give him that. Not exactly sure that’s a good thing.”
“You look terrible,” she said. “I mean it.”
“Bit candid, aren’t you?” Scott said. “I mean I know honesty is supposed to be good for a relationship…”
“No, it isn’t!” Permear said loudly. “Lie! Keep lying!”
“… But that was a bit brutal for my liking. I can’t help what keeps rattling around in my head.”
“What do you dream of?”
“Believe me, you don’t want to know.”
“Well it’s obviously distressing you. They’re just dreams, Scott. Nothing special, nothing ominous, just your own subconscious telling you something.”
“That really doesn’t help me with the problem, you know.” He held his breath for a moment and then sighed. “It’s about you. Every night this week, I’ll get to sleep and I’ll still be in bed… Or out and about, on a boat, in a restaurant, even on the battlefield once and you’ll be there. And you’ll look damn fine and all that because hey, I’m not aware it’s about to all go south.” Deep breath, he saw her look more than a little mollified by what he’d just said. That look wouldn’t last.
“And then you drown. I’m not joking. Not a drop of water in sight and you’re suddenly choking it up. It’s horrible.”
Theo had already been awake for an hour and in the cooler morning temperatures, he’d taken to his early jog around the resort, keeping a steady pace and focusing on his breathing as he went in on his second lap. Anne had been right, he hadn’t believed her at first when she’d told him it was surprisingly therapeutic, good for focusing the mind and all that. He’d slept well, he was just building up his appetite before breakfast. A good few hours before it was all due to start yet and while he wasn’t looking forward to the various bits of window-dressing that they insisted upon going along with at the start and the finish of these events, ones that he’d no doubt be close to, he was looking forward to the battle itself. What wasn’t to look forward to? He’d beaten his opponent once, not that that had a bearing on anything. He wasn’t about to take him lightly, but if he performed to his maximum then there wouldn’t be anything he could do.
Already he was running through various tactical outlines in his head, possible combinations to lead off with, anything to confound and confront his opponent. Doubtless he’d have done his research; Theo had done the same. To fail to prepare was to invite failure upon you. No more distractions. It had been bad enough having his father appear again, the first time he’d seen him in many moons. Not that he could really describe him as a father. John Cyris had many qualities and none of them were probably applicable for a good stab at parenthood. He’d made Theo’s childhood a misery and an absolute horror to recall and yet at the same time, he had a point. Those trials had hardened him to the point that he was ready to drive home to victory today. He could win.
More than that, he was going to go tooth and nail to ensure that he absolutely did win. Nothing would stop him from claiming that title. He had his coach in his corner, he wouldn’t have done it without her… That gave him mixed feelings. He’d wanted to do it under his own steam, not ask for help. To the best of his knowledge, his opponent hadn’t sought out any help. He’d done it all by himself, and Theo found that a little galling. Because he, Theobald Jameson, wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t lucked into getting some aid, help that he’d never asked for and yet wound up with anyway. It was a strange feeling, a maelstrom of conflict inside him, the knowledge that what he’d done had turned out to be right, or it would be if he won, and the feeling that he should have been able to do it under his own steam.
That was all he’d ever wanted. To be able to say he’d done it by himself.
“And we’re here outside Carcaradis Stadium, live above Yeboah Walk where the fans are streaming into the stadium. We’ve got people from all over the five kingdoms coming to see this event today, billions more watching from afar and it promises to be an absolute cracker of a final.”
“Yeah, we’ve seen a lot of competitive spirit calling over these past few weeks, we’ve seen some absolute quality on show, we’ve had excitement, we’ve had brutality and it’s all about to come to a head today, Tom.”
“You’re listening to the Tomani Lister and Mike Ellis show; we’re building up to the final of the Competitive Centenary Calling Challenge Cup where two relative unknowns before the start of the competition are about to face off against each other for the highest honour in the sport. Nobody would have predicted it before it all kicked off, Theobald Jameson and Scott Taylor have stuck their middle fingers up to the predictions and both are going to be remembered by the annals of history today. Come win or lose, each of them will probably go onto have a sterling career after this, it can only be the start of something incredible.”
“And we’ve got a special guest just walked by us, we’ll pull him in…” A few moments of silence and then the speech returned. “… None other than the former Quin-C defending champion, here to make the symbolic gestur
e of handing back the trophy, Ruud Baxter, how are you Ruud?”
“I’m good, thanks, Tomani, Mike. Good to be on the show instead of just listening to it. Big fan.”
“Ruud, you probably get asked this question a lot, why didn’t you defend your title this year instead of just showing up at the end to hand it over?”
“Because I chose not to.” It was a tone of voice that suggested the speaker didn’t want to go into further detail. “I’m effectively retired as a competitive spirit caller these days. And today isn’t about me.”
“Okay. Who do you think will win today?”
“It’s too close to say but I think it’s going to be a memorable final, I think that there’s going to be a lot of drama and I genuinely can’t pick a winner. I think they both have their strengths, they both have their weaknesses, I think the one who capitalises on both his own strengths while undermining his opponents the best will be the one who takes home that trophy. I think… Jameson to shade it. Narrowly.
I think the longer the battle goes on, the better he’ll cope. But I wouldn’t be surprised if it goes the other way. Taylor has some interesting qualities of his own and he’s the sort of caller who’ll never give up no matter how hopeless it looks. Never underestimate just how important that is. I saw that fight against Steven Silver earlier in the tournament, it was the single most impressive performance I’ve seen in a long time.”
“Thanks Ruud. So, what does the future hold for you if spirit calling isn’t an option anymore?”
“Well I’ve not fought competitively for five years now so it’s a bit late to be asking me about my future…”
Scott stood up and switched the radio off, he didn’t want to hear another person come on and say how he thought that Theo was going to win. It seemed to be a recurring thing, it hurt a little bit and more than that, he didn’t know where it had come from. Neither of them had been favourites for the tournament before it had started, anyone who’d claimed they’d known the two of them would reach the final was a liar. If they’d known that, they’d known a lot more than he did. They’d also be a lot richer than him if they’d put their credits where their mouth was.