The Games of Ganthrea

by Andy Adams

  Brenner tried, but found that Windelm’s suggestion gave him the opposite feeling.

  They walked another hour through the forest until the light filtering through the leafy oakbrawns was getting dim.

  “We can make camp here,” Windelm said, motioning towards a section of mossy ground, sandwiched between two huge tree roots. Sitting himself against one of them, Windelm reached into his cloak and pulled out a tan satchel, about the size of a magazine. He loosened the leather cord cinching it shut, then reached his hand in…and kept reaching…past his elbow—“It’s in here somewhere,” he said, rummaging until, somehow, he was up to his shoulder.

  “Here,” said Windelm finally, pulling his arm up and out of the satchel, “have a few bites of these.” He tossed Brenner a soft, doughy ball, and a stick of something dark.

  Brenner caught them, noticing the rumbles coming from his stomach. He bit into the soft bread and smiled: it tasted like semi-sweet buttered rolls. “What’s this?” he asked, holding up the stick of what looked like dark meat.

  “That will be your biggest obstacle yet, Brenner,” Windelm said, holding up his own piece and tearing off a hunk with his teeth. “It comes from an animal that has an insatiable appetite for living things,” he said spookily, “and it uses its cunning to blend in with polka-dot birch trees.”

  Brenner looked cautiously from Windelm to the piece of meat. Do I really want to eat this?

  Windelm waited another moment and then broke the silence. “And that magical creature is called… a cow! You’ve had it before, yes?”

  Brenner shook his head and laughed under his breath, “Jerk.”

  “Jerk-y, Brenner, Jerk-y,” Windelm corrected him, clearly amused with himself. “Plenty of our diet is similar to what you have had back on Earth,” he said, chewing his last bite, “but the parts that are different are usually—in my humble opinion—far superior.”

  Glancing around the roots and tree, Windelm said, “Oh good!” and pointed up. Brenner saw a large cluster of silver and spaghetti-red mushrooms, each the size of a large plate, staggered up along the tree bark.

  “Rombell mushrooms!” Windelm said with unmistakable delight, “My favorite. If you please, Brenner, we’ll need two long sticks for these.”

  Brenner took to his feet and scoured the grounds. Walking across the forest floor, he saw giant logs and some prickly bushes, which contained a clump of red fruits that smelled alluring, like raspberries.

  “Are these edible?” he asked Windelm.

  Windelm looked over to him. “Ruberia somnums? They are, if you want to spend the next week in a coma.”

  “Hmm…I’ll pass on that,” he said, collecting a few sticks to bring back to their camp. Windelm had gathered some dry logs into a pile, and pointed his mircon at them. A small stream of light came from the staff, and the wood started to flicker, then smolder with flames.

  “Those will do,” he said, as Brenner handed him a stick, and Windelm traded him one of the big mushrooms. It had good heft, like a sirloin steak. Brenner imitated Windelm by spearing it through the middle and rotating the mushroom over the flames, which eagerly licked at it.

  Windelm’s mushroom soon was golden red, and he took a bite of the crispy edge. “Mmmm,” he said, smacking his lips, “nothing beats a plump Rombell mushroom.”

  Brenner pulled his mushroom back from the fire, blew on it and took a bite. He found himself agreeing with Windelm when a rich umami flavor met his tongue.

  “Windelm,” said Brenner, “About that portal you took me through. Do they happen often?”

  “No, the natural-forming flare portals are rare. I haven’t seen a flare portal since the first time I came to Ganthrea.”

  “Did you come with someone else?”

  “That was a solo accident. When I came to Ganthrea, I was disoriented and unprepared for magic—especially the creatures. If a basilisk, wurm, or dragon had found me first…” Windelm looked into the fire. “I wouldn’t be with you now.”

  “How did you know where to go?”

  “I didn’t. A group of spellcasters on their way to Arborio noticed me on their path: waving my arms, speaking to them in what they thought was complete gibberish.”

  He took another bite of mushroom before continuing, “One of the full-magicians on the trip, DeFarras, took pity on me as their caravan went by. Through him I learned the Silvalo customs, and after many foggy months, the language, and after training and practice at Valoria, the spells. Which reminds me.”

  With a flick of his wrist, he pointed his mircon at Brenner, then closed his eyes, and channeled a white, vaporous spell at his face.

  Brenner felt his forehead tingle with cool then warm sensations, as a flow of words and images came to him. Like a gentle stream, a language washed over him, meshing with his memories and thoughts like molecules bonding together. Then the warm sensation stopped; Brenner’s pupils dilated and shrank. His mind swam with activity, and he looked up at Windelm with wonder.

  “You just…taught me a new language.”

  “Indeed. I thought I’d catch you up to speed—it certainly beats the months of hard study which I had to do. I’ve found that the language here, Gentril, is quite descriptive. Since I’ve already assimilated it, and know the structure of English, I can pass the knowledge to you.”

  “Thanks,” Brenner said, playing with the word associations in his head, his lips and tongue forming the new phonemes. “Can everything be learned that fast?”

  “Spells can transfer simple logic and linguistic patterns between minds quite easily. It’s only the harder stuff—physical dexterity, muscle memory, or magic usage—that I can’t imprint directly into you.”

  The two finished eating their roasted mushrooms, and then Windelm reached his whole arm into his satchel and pulled out a blanket.

  “Here,” he said, tossing it to Brenner, “The nights get cool.”

  “Thank you,” Brenner said, pulling his backpack off and padding it into a pillow. He laid back on it and looked up to the dark canopy above, from which came rustling sounds and ruffling feathers of nocturnal creatures. “Windelm,” he said with a yawn, “do you have family here?”

  There was a long pause from the other side of the root alcove. “Yes, I have a wife. Her name is Sherry; she’s beautiful and caring—the love of my life. You’ll meet her when we reach home.”

  “Any kids?”

  Windelm took a deep breath. “I…had a son…” he paused, and when he spoke again his voice had lost its warmth, “…but he has passed on.”

  Brenner said gently, “I’m sorry, Windelm.”

  A gulf of silence hung between them as if a canyon had opened up.

  Finally, Windelm spoke again. “It’s in the past and can’t be changed. Tell me, do you like games, Brenner?”

  He brightened. “I’ve always loved strategy games, yes.”

  “And athletic ones?”

  Brenner thought back to that golden day of football.

  “Now that I can run…yes.”

  “Good. Over thousands of years, Silvalo—and all of Ganthrea—has developed and played games that test spellcasters’ wit, speed, and cunning.”

  Brenner propped himself on his elbow to listen.

  “There are individual and team games. At Valoria, they’ll have you start with the game of Agilis, which tests your daring against obstacles and other players. Later, you may get the opportunity to play Zabrani, which is on a changing field with teams of twenty-one players, each vying for land control, glowbes, and attacks on the other king. After you’ve shown expert-ise with that, and control with your mircon, you will be allowed to duel others in the martial art of magic: Contendir.”

  Brenner tried picturing the games…Agilis sounded like an obstacle course…Zabrani sounded like paintball mixed with chess, and Contendir sounded like Kung-Fu…“Why do they play them?”

  “Several reasons: games are the real application of magic learned, games test spellcasters’ daring and inventive
ness, games determine who is promoted within Valoria, and who gets the best offers after Valoria. Reputations are won or lost. And of course, they’re some of the most fun you’ll have.”

  “Have you played all these games?”

  “Many times.”

  “Which was your favorite?”

  Windelm smiled and looked up past the fire. Brenner caught a glimpse of a few twinkling stars past the dark treetops.

  “They are all engaging…but I excelled at Zabrani. I liked forming landscapes that kept our treasures defended and positioning my squads to make gains into our opponent’s territory.

  “Anyway, we should get some sleep. Your mind and body need a rest before the remainder of the journey. At daybreak we’ll continue to my home.” He pulled his cloak over himself and leaned back against the tree. “Sleep well, Brenner.”

  Brenner turned over to his side, still trying to make sense of all the new things: the forest, food, magic, language, and games, but above all, he was most grateful for his new companion, who, though he had only known him for three days, already seemed more familiar…and more caring, than the parents he’d always wished he’d had…

  “Goodnight, Windelm.”

  Chapter Seven

  Silvalo Flight

  Brenner was jolted awake only once during the night.

  Crack!

  What sounded like steel-toed boots kicking a windshield echoed around him. When he looked up, cold terror flooded his veins: eyes like burning candles stared down at him from the root above, then the creature—something like a black panther—bared its fangs and snapped its paw down at Brenner. He covered his face.

  Crack!

  It should have struck him, but for some reason, didn’t.

  “Windelm!” Brenner shouted, scrambling over to him. “Wake up!”

  He grabbed Windelm by the shoulder, just as the giant tiger scraped over to the other side of the root and swiped at him again—

  Whack!

  Thankfully—it missed again. Instead of leaping into action, Windelm merely looked up and said, “Don’t worry, it will hold. The Nightshade should tire soon.”

  “What?!” said Brenner. “What will hold?”

  “The Aura,” Windelm said calmly, pointing up.Double thuds rang out around them. Brenner’s heart was pounding…but Windelm was right. The giant black tiger swiped a few more times, but each time was blocked by an invisible wall. It leapt away and padded off, growling behind the oakbrawns.

  “How did you…?” Brenner began.

  “The Aura? It’s protective magic…acts like a cocoon,” said Windelm. “Conjured it before we went to sleep. As long as we don’t get a barrel-wurm or a dragon crushing down on it, we’ll be fine. You can go back to sleep now.” Windelm rolled over and, within a minute, was snoring.

  Brenner tried…but it was another hour before he could fall back asleep.

  A hand gently tugged on Brenner’s shoulder. He stirred, blinking his eyes to the warm sunlight filtering through the canopy.

  “Didn’t much care for that Nightshade, did you?” Windelm said, holding something out to Brenner.

  “That was— No, not at all…”

  “They’re actually quite beautiful—when they’re not trying to eat you, of course. Not to worry, they’re nocturnal. Mostly. Here, try some of this.” He handed Brenner a soft, red fruit the size of a pear. Brenner bit into it, and a sweet taste like pomegranate filled his mouth. In a moment, he devoured the pulpy fruit, and Windelm tossed him another.

  “Not bad, huh? It’s a tangy red-nectar, a treat of the Silvalo forests.”

  “I’ll say,” Brenner said, nodding his approval.

  “We should get going. I’d like to get to the cottage by lunch.”

  They trekked on through the deep jungles, Windelm leading, and Brenner kept watch for any sudden movements in the treetops. After a while the colossal trees thinned, and Brenner could hear the sound of water rushing through a gorge. They climbed past ferns, and emerged on a rock outcropping overlooking a great river shimmering blue with froths of white. Windelm turned to Brenner.

  “How are you feeling?” he said, resting on his staff.

  “As good as ever,” said Brenner, unscrewing the lid from his canteen, and taking a swig.

  “Excellent. In that case I propose that from here, we fly.”

  Brenner gave him a dubious look and said, “So, I just spread my arms like this?” He fanned them out and stood at the edge of the rock.

  “If your brain has been replaced with one from a bird, yes. But for someone traveling with a sorcerer, that’s not necessary.”

  “Oh?” Brenner said quizzically.

  “Now,” said Windelm, “you will feel an odd sensation as the magic surges around both of us, but by now, you should be used to that.”

  Brenner looked over the edge and felt a mixture of fear and excitement swell within. Windelm continued, “Above all else, do not let go, because I only have enough elixir to fly as a whole unit, and not to gravitate both you and I separately. I would hate to have your final lesson in Ganthrea be one of unassisted falling.”

  “That makes two of us,” Brenner said, trying to shake the nervous tension in his body by kicking a few loose pebbles over the edge, and watching as they plunked down the canyon. “Just one question.”

  “Yes?”

  Brenner turned back and grinned, “Why didn’t we do this yesterday?”

  Windelm gave a loud laugh. “You certainly are my great-nephew. Well, I did have some reasons: first, your body had to acclimate from the portal crossing to Ganthrea; second, you needed to experience how the ecosystem of Silvalo lives and breathes; and most importantly, in the half-light of the evening, it’s quite easy to fly headfirst into the gossamer web of a giant Demon-Spider. Am I correct in guessing you don’t like to be smothered in webs and eaten alive?”

  “Yeah,” Brenner said nodding, scrunching his face at the thought of a man-eating spider, “that’s a safe assumption.”

  “Do you have your amulet?”

  “Of course,” said Brenner, pulling it from underneath his shirt.

  “Good. Keep it close always. Others would snatch it in a heartbeat if they could.”

  Brenner looked again at the swirling reds and green inside the amulet, then slipped it under his shirt and tightened the straps to his backpack. “I’m ready,” he said.

  Windelm looked east; the sun was now a couple of hands high over the green horizon. He turned right and slightly southward. With strong fingers, Windelm took hold of Brenner’s hand, and then the spell surged into him—warmth racing up his arm, into his chest, then splitting into every artery and permeating his whole body like liquid-pleasure.

  Brenner looked at his feet, which were no longer on the ground, and let out a shout, “I’m flying!”

  Windelm smiled. “Hovering, really,” he said, and then with a hint of showmanship added, “This is flying.”

  Windelm tilted his chin up, and immediately their floating bodies careened off the rock ledge and hurtled forward through the air. Like swallows, they dipped and banked and soared above the blue waterway. Below, he could see rapids swirling and frothing. Then, in a pool off the main channel ahead, he saw a herd of deer bending down to drink by floating logs.

  As they flew overhead, Brenner did a double-take when one of the logs lunged forward with a splash, clamping onto a deer, and dragging it underwater. Beneath the surface sunk the tail of an alligator.

  Windelm increased their speed. The trees and river and rocks began whipping by below. Then he realized Windelm was shouting at him.

  “I should have asked earlier! But do you—” a gust of wind from ahead hit them.

  “What?!”

  “DO YOU,” Windelm hollered, “Have a HEART condition?!”

  Brenner furrowed his brow. “NO!” he shouted back. “WHY?!”

  The pattern of river, rocks and trees that had repeated beneath them suddenly ended mid-air. With his stomach lurching and tryi
ng to eject itself from his body, Brenner realized why.

  Windelm flew them lower to the waters’ edge as the roaring headwall of a giant waterfall approached. Then they were soaring over the edge of a terrifying wall of water, the white-blue cascade falling probably a thousand feet into distant mists below them, as Brenner’s heart also attempted to escape up his throat.

  “The Pearlescent Waterfalls!” Windelm called over the airflow.

  Safely beyond the edge, Brenner looked back and marveled: there was not one, but three waterfalls carrying their shimmering currents down to the lake below. Windelm had taken them over the tallest waterfall, like the top level of a podium, with the other two falls flanking it.

  He looked forward, and Windelm guided them higher, up above the tall crowns of oakbrawns that stood like dignified skyscrapers. Brenner estimated they must be at least two thousand feet above the ground—the only benefit to a drop from here would be a quick death, which would be a shame because, at that moment, he was feeling very much alive.

  Brenner looked to his right past Windelm, and saw the dark green splotches of trees continuing to the horizon, with copper red mountains edging above the curvature of the land. He looked left, and saw lime-green groves stretching into a distant band of orange sand. Windelm now accelerated such that the treetops below blurred together. Their feet floated behind them as they flew parallel to the clouds above. Gushing air currents blew into their faces, making Brenner wish he had packed one other item: goggles.