My control was broken. I dove into the Flow to fill myself and drown. The magic was thin and impure. I stepped from the alley, muscling through thick, dusty lines of poor people to the next gambling game. A vendor selling meat-stuffed bread stopped before me with a little smoking cart.
I gestured acceptance and played a gambler's game on him, a game endured by only the most brave, those with the greatest hunger. It was difficult to find the root of his spirit, the basin of his life's magic, but not impossible. There and then I stopped his heart.
His brown eyes went wide. I instantly let go, but felt no guilt. He would have done the same to me. The man fell over his cart, gasping with great pain. I pushed him aside, out of my way. Fists clenched in rage, I pressed on to where Dumoss pursued Annise.
From my left came the noises of horn and armor. Both sides of the street-rich and poor-scattered, pressing themselves against walls, entering doorways and alleys.
Soldiers rounded the corner and paraded up the street. They didn't look at me, at anyone. My gambler's magic would not harm them anyway. Their hearts could not be frozen. They were strong and protected, returning from the Brothers' War. I knew what they thought, had heard their dim views of this city and its people. The feeling was mutual. To us they were nothing more than unwanted lives, refuse with mouths.
The soldiers were a river I could not cross. Dust swirled in their wake, forcing me back, blocking even my view of the casino, which, strangely, tempered my anger. Annise would be home soon enough.
I left the street, its disparity and its river of men, thinking of her. How long would it be before she gave in to Dumoss? I pulled Flow through me, for calm, for power, trying to set my questions aside. The immediate answer was simple: if Annise came home wearing the pendant, I would know her betrayal, inevitable betrayal, would be complete.
I vowed right then to defeat Dumoss for her. A man could be down only so long before his luck changed.
We lived in the bones of a thing long dead. Our room was long and wide, a landing of exposed slats broken with age supporting four walls made from thin plaster by inexpert hands. Small rocks and dirt rained down irregularly from the ceiling, made worse by the cat upstairs, whose nocturnal pacing kept me awake at night. A few oil lamps burned yellow. The wall facing the street had a window without glass, broken out during riots and storms. When the luck flowed our way, a wind unsoured by the city blew straight in.
I sat on my cot, a flat field-cushion gambled from a soldier, and tried not to think of Annise's bed nearby. Instead, I focused on my precious five cages. How many more did Dumoss have? Five times five? Fifty? My hatred for him was a palpable thing, so that even my animals- salamander, poison toad, spider, rat, and my prize, my beautiful mantis, delicate and green-grew restless. Dumoss used a mantis, his favorite sport. He could fight in the aviaries, but birds were more flash than sport, no real money. They were too hard to use, too much effort.
I didn't always like to play. The best gamblers could feel their magic fade, could taste the bad luck. The smart ones knew when it was time to back away. Everyone backed away sometimes, except Dumoss. He never said no to a fight. That wasn't quite true. He never said no to a fight of his class.
The mantis turned toward me, waved its razored arms, pivoted its head. It knew it was my favorite. The others were in their cages like soldiers. Their spirits were simple and pure, easy to control. The best gamblers knew their animals were the means to greater wealth, a better life. The animal arenas saw the greatest flow of money. Games of Bloodletting, games of Freeze like I played on the street vendor, were simple, quick, but required real nerves. The money from them was thin compared to the arenas where the winners played.
I stretched my arm toward the mantis. Eyes half-closed I drew myself into the Flow and rose above the falling dirt and darkness. My spirit followed a sense of motion and was carried a great distance, almost forever. Time was lost. Slowly the stream stopped rushing straight away. It bent, first in a curve and then in a circle. I had it. I had control.
The ghost mantis stood in my open hand, spirit drawn from its mortality. I could see through it, a mirage, perfectly still. Its corporeal form was still rigid in its cage and would remain that way until dead or the spirit was returned. My connection to this ghost was achieved with careful skill and hours of training.
I focused my thoughts on the essence standing in my palm. It raised its two arms in praise. I focused again. It lowered them. I was in control.
This was the weapon I would use to defeat Dumoss: a mantis. The mantis arenas were the best favored in the city. The knowledge of my secret weapon felt like a hidden dagger, ready for a final, fatal blow. The Flow I had taken filled places in my thoughts like rainwater gathered in pools. Each pool wrought a feeling, a comfortable pressure. I released one of the pools.
Washed, the mantis-spirit glided away from my palm, up my arm, attacking the air in practice like a toy. I watched as its back legs dragged and its body slumped forward a fraction too far. My face felt weighted down with disappointment. I wriggled my fingers and its head jerked up, and the body turned to attack. I brooded over my control, fine for the salamander and toad, but not enough for this difficult creature.
The mantis approached my fingers with caution. Every animal's spirit had its own challenges to overcome.
But I didn't want to wait, didn't want to continue experiments that led to disappointment. More practice time meant Annise would have more opportunity to find another home. I needed to hurry.
The early days, when we first met, were sunken memories. The room had been ours for two years. We found each other in much the same way as everyone else: it was a matter of mutual need. We both needed our luck to change, and we both needed someone to share the cost of the room. I learned she had been beaten by a lover, a string of lovers-one of the reasons she didn't like to be touched. I decided she needed to be part of my life.
My eyes lost focus, and magic continued its spiral from my spirit to the mantis. The time of my vending in the streets was long over. Back then, I knew people. One of those people got Annise her job bringing drinks to tables at casinos. I was proud when she moved to better bars. I felt I had done something good, helped someone worth caring about. I gave up the streets to learn gambler's games, the only road to power in this city, the only road out of this city for someone like me.
Annise no longer needed my help. Remembering that tightened my hungry stomach. She no longer needed my help because she was making it on her own. She no longer needed me. I told myself I was happy for her.
The mantis bit my thumb, drawing blood. My control was solid, but I failed on the details. My thoughts were on Annise. Drawing breath, I released the spirit back to the Flow. It faded and was gone. In the cage, the mantis returned to life and tilted its head.
The wound stung where the spirit's teeth cut my flesh.
I didn't bind the gash, but instead held my hand up to slow the blood, letting some drip onto the floor. Living with my animals, caring for them, made me a good gambler. It made the animals trust, opened them to my control.
The lock, badly in need of oil, clicked under the slowly turning iron key. Carrying a basket, Annise forced the door open with a shoulder, cursing softly. She glared at the door and the lock, cursing everything. I could do nothing but wait for her to complete this ritual of anger. She'd been following the same pattern for several months, since Dumoss first approached her with the promise of that pendant, that magic, he wore.
She shouldered the door closed again and dropped the covered basket onto a table in the corner. Her foot caught the hem of her long, red skirt, and she nearly tripped. She didn't like to be helped. I continued to wait.
Dressed in the rich crimson of the casino, she finally looked at me, thumb bloody, sitting near my cages. She said nothing, remained motionless. Her magic was small, so she was forced to rely on her hands and her beauty.
"I'll make us something to eat," I said.
She nodded, frowning
. Annise took from a pocket a spool of thread, needle, and gold lace. Her features were not delicate but filled with strength. She had long fingers and elegant hands.
I nodded toward the lace. "You've been bumped up?"
"Today. Raised my salary." She fell on her bed, slipped off her blouse, showing a colorless shirt underneath made of worn cotton.
I wanted to look at her. I loved to look at her. I hoped she was not angry with me for something. The food was simple, bread and old cheese and water. These fears about her were always more frequent, stronger, when she was near.
"I'm going out. There's a traveling game near the town hall."
She let out a breath. "Please stay with me tonight."
"Do you want to come? You can watch."
No answer. She never watched me game. I asked many times. She never liked to share her most personal effects, and by that token, never wished to share mine.
I said, "I need to work."
"I'm earning a little more money. Can't you give up tonight. Just tonight?"
I piled the food onto a plate and brought it to her, my smile pained. "You had a hard day?" I didn't mention that I watched from the alley.
She nodded. I wanted to put a hand on her shoulder, but she didn't like to be touched, particularly after work.
"I have to make this game. The money will buy back some of the things we lost."
Her eyes slowly swept the room. Once we had a chair, a real book too thick to finish in a year, and a mirror. That had been the last to go. Her eyes settled on the cages. Of course, these would never be sold. They were the means to my living.
Her eyes finally fixed on me, and she smiled, nodded understanding. "If I had your magic, I would have better luck. There'd be more money." She waved, despairing, absent. "More magic, more luck. More luck, more money."
I leaned forward to stroke her hair, but stopped myself. Instead I stood to get some water. She threaded the needle to sew the gold lace onto the cuffs of her red blouse, the symbol of rank at the casino. Water from the jug filled my cup. My thumb caught the rim of the jug's handle. It started bleeding again and dripped into the filled cup.
"Let me try the game on you," she said.
"What?"
"That old gambler's game," she repeated with a coy smile. "Let me try it on you."
I turned to face her, smiling. "All right, try it."
Her magic was weak. Her hands fell into her lap, eyes slowly closed. Annise breathed deeply and evenly. I had the sensation of the Flow being drawn from me to her. Time passed as she concentrated on the game.
She lifted her arm with great deliberation, elegant hand palm up, open fingers spread as if they held a melon. She opened her eyes, concentrating her gaze on mine. No longer coy, she held an expression of honest enjoyment. She must have seen little joy in a day.
Her magic sought the root of mine, the source of my spirit. Her fingers slowly closed, and she laughed lightly. There was a vague feeling of constriction in my chest. The mysterious power making my heart pump was being influenced by her magic. The sensation was nothing more than a discomfort. From a more powerful practitioner, it could kill. Surviving was the other part of the game.
I clutched my chest and emitted a false groan. Her magic fell away as if dropped into a ravine. She sighed loudly, drew deep breaths.
"Excellent, very good."
"Thanks." Smiling at her own fatigue, she motioned for the water and managed to add, "Fun."
I stood over her, water in hand. I gave her the water. She drank it greedily.
"Please, more."
Arenas were fixed or floating. Fixed arenas were housed within the casinos themselves and owned by Dumoss and others like him. Floating games were announced in secret, preventing "interference" by players with more magic, like pendants brimming with control, like Dumoss. These true gamblers ruined evenings without effort and drove arena bosses out of business. They smashed chances of lesser players without regret. Nobody ratted out a floating game to a professional. To do so and get caught meant death.
Town hall games were large, loud, and hidden in unused sewers and tunnels. The torch burning in the town hall's high tower announced the arena was still open; no torch, no game. Dustfall started early that night, before sunset. Jogging, I covered my head with a scrap of cloth to keep out the city. Still, my face felt dirty, and my nose itched from dust. Some people believed that the falling dust were the ashes of the dead, ashes from the war. I didn't worry about that much, since it meant time away from practice and training, time too precious to waste.
I entered the arena near a row of houses, all of brick, all better than mine, all kept empty by the floating arenas. There were many such blocks controlled by the bosses, because it prevented major players from learning in advance when and where a game would be played. Invitations came by word of mouth, came quickly to those living on the street, in cheap flats, or parks.
Two men stood in the shadows on either side of the door. I moved to the short line of gamblers shielding themselves from the dust. Testing the luck, I let my eyes drop half-closed: not weak, not strong. Perhaps a trick such as I had planned would win the night. When luck ran my way…
Luck made everything better. There was no other way to describe it. Your animal could do something surprising, your opponent could slip, could sneeze, could look away. Looking away was the worst, the most common mistake. It broke concentration and confused the animal. Good luck made all the difference.
A hand fell on my chest at the door, pushing me back a step. Another hand lifted the cloth from my head. Grunts sounded from the dark, and I was pulled into the darkness. The guards were different tonight, looking for professionals like Dumoss. I ignored them and stepped from the darkness, lamps and candles lighting the path to the arena.
The air was heavy with the scents of dust, dirt, and sweat. Noise from the arena built slowly. My heart beat harder. This kind of excitement was better than the Bloodletting game, better than the Freeze game I played with Annise. People watched the arena, acknowledging the victors. My feet carried me faster.
A game ended as I entered. The crowd jumped to its feet. I smiled and shouted along with everyone else. I'd seen nothing, but it didn't matter. The thrill of the arena moved me. Money was collected by arena guards and given to the victor, someone I didn't know. Faces were hidden by darkness, sometimes washed red by torches.
The arena guard lifted his arms to ask for the next challenger. I pushed through bodies like the arena was a crowded street-men in poor clothes, men in city work uniforms, men in rich blue with gold trim-so many I cannot remember them all. The bright light blinded me, sand shifted under my weight. The crowd was ready for more.
Two chairs sat facing each other in the sand of the arena. The other man-my height, average weight, straight dark hair going gray-was already seated. His magic was new to me but he had won, and that said he must have some skill. The unfocused magic in the crowd made it hard to tell without concentrating. I took the seat boldly but slowly, staring into his shadowed eyes.
This arena was for lizards and related creatures. From the tracks in the sand, someone had summoned the spirit of a snake, a salamander, maybe a chameleon. There were too many tracks. I couldn't tell who had won, but I would have bet on the snake.
Expressionless, the other man raised his hands above his head, palms toward me, elbows bent. I raised my arms, more slowly, menacing, turning my palms when my elbows were in line with my ears.
The guard stood in the middle of the arena, calling for bets. My eyes didn't break the gaze of my opponent, though I heard the shouts, laughs, and curses, and the clattering chips representing betting numbers. Everything was washed in the light of the brazier above. Betting went quickly, but the casinos took more time. Placing bets, collecting bets, everything took place at a rate the poor could not afford.
My thoughts drifted to Dumoss and Annise. My anger returned, but I managed to keep it down. The smell of bodies pressing against the arena finally
overpowered the dust in my nose. The place reeked of excitement. My face remained blank; I showed no fear.
The shouts died out as the guard held up his hands, calling for final bets. There were none. He clapped once, twice, turned in place, and clapped again. The din of voices receded to a restless quiet. The weight of eyes and hopes were on us. I dared to think some had bet on me, the newcomer, the stranger, against the evening's current champion.
The guard cut the air between us with a hand and a sharp cry of "Fight!"
I brought my hands together with a clap, my arms outstretched. I reached into the Flow and rose above the noise and smells. The stream stopped rushing and bent toward me, into me.
I opened my palms. Sounds gushed from the crowd. Some had bet on me and were disappointed. My opponent held out a small snake, fast with great fangs. In my hand, spirit drawn forth, was my poisonous toad. To the audience, it looked like just a toad. My expression revealed nothing. The other gambler would not he so confident if he suspected the toad's venom could kill his snake in seconds.
I got lost in the joy of the arena, of gambling. Time was lost as I concentrated on the spirits of my animals, drawing from the Flow, filling the pools in my thoughts with power, then releasing them. I drew more magic, more luck. I felt at ease and fluid.
The ghosts of our animals slithered and hopped across the sand. They had no weight, but they still left tracks. The snake curled and raced to the edge of the arena. I let the toad turn to face the snake, let the Flow run slowly through me. Little sounds of anticipation seeped from the crowd hoping for action, for victory. My confidence was good. Nobody suspected my toad could easily kill with more than teeth.
The snake moved in closer and attempted to strike. I kept my hands on my knees, half watching the spirits, half losing myself in the magic, as did my opponent. Control was easy. I felt comfortably loose as I shifted against the toad's nature to leap and attack. It was a simple creature with a few limbs and a tongue. Poison secreted from its skin. Even its phantom could kill another phantom.
The Colors of Magic Anthology (magic: the gathering) Page 22