The Games of Ganthrea

by Andy Adams

  He turned and disappeared under the archway.

  “Brenner,” Windelm said, walking to Brenner and putting a hand on his shoulder, “This is just a larger version of Agilis at the Vale Adorna Mindscape. You have what it takes. You can beat this.”

  “Okay…” Brenner said, wishing he could share Windelm’s confidence.

  Windelm turned, strode back through the door, and a moment later, the two older men were peering out an open window overhead. The deputy swept his mircon in a spiral and called down loudly, “Begin!”

  As Brenner surveyed the landscape, a small pack of glowbes shot out from behind him like ghostly will-o’-the-wisps and darted through the terrain, some remaining visible like lanterns in the distance, while others zoomed past the treeline and out of sight.

  He took a step onto a carved image of a hunter, and a ripple of energy flooded out from his pedestal into the arena. Strange noises and growls emanated throughout the woodland, as if beasts had awoken.

  Brenner clenched and unclenched his hands, trying to suppress the urge to turn around and flee. It just keeps going and going… he thought, looking at the vast arena ahead of him. How am I supposed to get through the whole—?

  A ghastly shriek from deep in the distance interrupted his thoughts. His neck hairs bristled; he took a step backward. Is this worth it?

  If I don’t do this, I’ll never get a mircon, never fit in with the Crestwoods, just be another outsider again…he looked at the doorway behind him. I could just tell Windelm I quit, save my skin, hand back my amulet, go back to Earth…and to what? To parents who don’t really care? A school where I’m practically invisible? A life alone…

  “Brenner!” Windelm’s bright voice called from above. “Just take one obstacle at a time. You can do this!”

  Brenner tried to distance himself from his darker thoughts. Okay, if Windelm thinks I can…he steadied himself, placed his hands on his hips.

  Then I can. I must.

  With great effort, and against the advice of a small voice in his head, he walked to the edge, looked down, and forced his body to jump off the stone platform into the gamut. The air whistled against his face as he fell ten feet to the rocky base of the first stage. Brenner landed on his feet into a crouch, and then straightened up. His brain entered high-alert mode; his amulet warmed against his chest.

  Then he saw the first obstacle. It didn’t assuage his nerves.

  Directly ahead of him stretched a dark chasm, emitting a musky, dead smell. Longer than an Olympic-size swimming pool, the forbidding pit stretched from the left side of the arena all the way to the right. It was much too far to leap across in one bound, and looked…bottomless.

  He walked closer to the edge, searching for anything he might use. Dreary clouds blocked the sun, and a moment later his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Then he noticed gray objects scattered throughout the chasm, and his mind made the connection: stepping-stones. They looked like over-sized toadstools; only, they weren’t supported by anything, just hovering

  over the inky darkness.

  Brenner saw a floating stone not far from him. He walked to it and tested it with one foot, straddling the pit with his other foot firmly on the ledge. The stepping-stone held him. Cautiously, he shifted his full weight onto it, and after a moment, sighed in relief. Good, it can support me. He lifted his gaze to the chasm. I wonder where the next…

  The stone began to tremble. Suddenly it fell.

  “Aghhh!”

  Brenner jumped backward and caught the edge, pulling himself back up, breathing fast. A distant, dull thud echoed up the walls of the canyon. So, there was a bottom.

  Surveying the whole chasm again, he noticed an assortment of stepping-stones on one side, some as large as shields and others more like the plate-sized, Rombell mushrooms. He was confident he could run across that side without too much trouble—provided the footing held long enough for him to step and rebound.

  And then a glimmer of light caught his eye. On the other side of the pit, where it stretched widest, there hovered a glowbe in the middle of the canyon. There was only one problem: it hung between two stepping-stones, which looked more than twenty feet apart.

  Brenner gauged his ability, remembering the giant leap he performed at football…undoubtedly, this would be on the edge of his range…but his intuition told him that he could it, and if he had to cross the canyon anyway…

  He jogged over to the far side, clutching his amulet against his chest. There were six toadstools before the middle chasm, and six after, looking like dull, gray mirrors. He would have to pace himself. He backed up, then looked ahead, focusing his mind.

  Go.

  His feet pumped into action across the rocky ground and to the edge of the abyss; he jumped out easily to the first stone, about five feet away, caught it square in the center with his left foot, and sprang to the next one. Brenner’s foot rebounded not a moment too soon, for he felt the resistance of the stepping-stone fall away the instant he left it.

  His right foot landed on the next one, six feet away. His left found the next at seven feet, then eight feet, nine feet, ten feet…NOW!

  He pushed himself as hard as he could go, shooting up across the gap—his fingers slapped against the glowbe and it shimmered from white to green—his mind already moving to the landing of the next stepping-stone. His arc descending, he felt the sickening suspicion that he was coming up short—his arms wind-milled—

  His hands lunged for the toadstool, caught it, and instinctively he swung himself hard underneath and kicked his legs up, letting go and arcing up toward the next platform. Midair he saw that he was on track to land on it, and stretched his foot forward. It was large enough to give him two quick steps; he caught it and jumped away as it fell to the abyss. Focus. Four more. Jump—land. Three more. Bound—land. Two more—leap!—one—

  As he flew toward the last toadstool, it suddenly flipped on its side, making the once manageable landing like aiming for the back of a snake. Brenner pointed his foot and barely hit center, wobbling him off balance for his final jump to the other side of the canyon.

  VAULT!

  But it wasn’t enough. The approaching wall was too far for his feet; he would come up short—

  Crack!

  His body smacked the wall, his fingers scraping onto a rock under the lip. Just. Hang. On. He struggled, pulled, then heaved himself onto the ledge. Rolling onto his side, he exhaled.

  He had made it. One down.

  Blood pumping, he tried to refocus his mind as he entered the second stage, jumping down to a level of packed, red clay. The ground ahead looked as though a giant had scraped out a long, sloping bowl about three

  hundred feet across. As the sides were all steep and smooth, there was no other route but down.

  Brenner watched his step while descending into the canyon, and when he looked up, he noticed a white glowbe hovering in the middle. Unlike the first obstacle, it was too high to jump for.

  But, in front of the glowbe and leading above it, a couple of poles floated.

  Suddenly a deep, grating sound filled the air, as though under the earth plates were grinding angrily against one another. Brenner’s neck hairs stuck straight up. High on the walls behind him, he saw stone archways slide open, one on either side of the arena, revealing black caverns. In the darkness, figures loomed closer, and then came rushing into the light.

  Boulders the size of bull-elephants rolled down both sides of the course behind Brenner in two furious waves, causing the ground around him to quake.

  The rocks funneled to the center, smashed, then gathered energy as gravity hurtled them all the same way down the canyon: directly at Brenner.

  Brenner’s eyes widened; he turned and sprinted. The rumbling boulders pounded the ground behind him, quickly gaining. He was nearing the center of chasm but didn’t see how he would make it out before being crushed by the rock-balls. Up ahead, a small network of floating poles hovered just out of reach.

  Then he
saw a small hope: one of the poles from above had broken off, leaving a fifteen-foot piece on the ground. Grabbing it, he ran forward until he saw a crack in the ground. He slammed the end of the pole into it, and used the momentum to vault upwards—grabbing one of the poles above, just as the boulders crashed into his stick and bashed against his feet, sweeping them forward.

  His feet shot clear over his head from the force of the impact, and then a wave of boulders stampeded underneath like a herd of mammoths. He climbed hand over hand; his heels throbbed.

  The boulders charged through the middle of the canyon and far up the other side of the bowl before losing energy, pausing, and then tumbling back down the course towards Brenner again.

  Brenner hoisted himself onto a levitating bar, about as thick as a stop sign-post, balanced upright, and then stepped along it heel to toe like a tightrope walker. When he got to the middle of the canyon, he stopped. There was a short vine hanging down, directly over the glowing orb.

  He lowered himself down on it, holding with both hands to the last piece of vine. He stretched with his foot…the glowbe was just out of reach. The boulders were now arcing back around for another rush towards the middle. If he stayed in his dangling position for more than ten seconds, they would certainly smash into him.

  He rocked his upper body back and forth, creating a swinging motion, then lunged and kicked out his leg again—the glowbe was still a foot away. The rock-balls hurtled towards him, thirty feet and gaining.

  He let go with his left hand, swung back, kicked forward—

  He hit it!

  Then the boulders bounced up, about to bash into his torso—

  He reached up with his left arm, grabbed the vine and with both hands swung his legs up—

  The boulder grazed his exposed back and then barreled away, up the hill.

  Quickly, Brenner seized the vine and pulled himself back up to the safety of the bar. A few moments later, he had navigated to the end of the pole, jumped down, and was safely on the other side of the canyon; the loud clanging of rock smashing against rock behind him reverberated around the giant stadium.

  He saw the next obstacle, and understood now how the previous entrants had been impaled.

  Below him stretched a pit filled with swords, glinting silver as their blades pointed eagerly towards the sky; in front of him were more floating poles, some round and long like javelins, others thin and sharp. The only problem was the grid didn’t start before the edge of the pit: it started a good ten feet after.

  Knowing he would get one shot at this, he chose his first target carefully, and then ran and hurled himself over the chasm of the swords, willing himself to latch on to the bar. He swung forward, then back, lifting his torso to the bar, and pulling himself onto the pole.

  The first beam was as thick as a staff, and he walked across without difficulty. The next, however, was narrow, like sticks of dynamite fused end-to-end. Thankfully, there seemed to be a guard rail running parallel to the beam at waist-level. He proceeded cautiously, but halfway through his foot slipped off the thin beam. Falling to his right he instinctively grabbed for the guard rail—and cried out as an icy stab of pain shot through his hand.

  His first instinct was to let go of the bar. But with all his willpower he fought this urge, knowing that doing so meant plummeting to the daggers waiting below.

  Each second was excruciating as the razor rail cut into his palm and fingers. With his feet on the main pole, and one hand on the razor beam, he pushed against it, winced, and like a pendulum swung back over the middle, then quickly wrapped his body around the thin, main pole.

  For the remainder of the obstacle, he clutched the pole upside-down, legs crossed over the top, and struggled hand over bloody hand toward the end of the grid. His eyes caught the familiar glitter of a glowbe hovering over a particularly nasty section of razor poles, and he decided this orb was not worth it. At the end of the bar, he righted himself on the top, then jumped the final gap over the swords onto a stretch of grass.

  His right hand was still bleeding. He made a fist to try to staunch the flow, then plucked blades of grass to stick to it as a makeshift bandage.

  He now realized that beautiful string music was faintly playing ahead, emanating from behind bushes and a thick stand of trees. He plodded ahead, keen to not be caught off-guard by more dangers. Poking his head around the last tree, he saw from where the gentle notes were coming: a small pond lay to his left, and in it, an even smaller island.There, a shining, golden harp was being strummed by an angelic woman.

  Brenner gazed at her, forgetting his stinging hand. She had long, red hair, a carefree smile, and was wearing a dove-white dress. When she saw him, she blushed, and continued playing the harp. He thought he spied a light coming from near the harp. Without another thought, Brenner ventured towards the water surrounding her little island.

  A cloud passed overhead, and Brenner saw a rowboat in the water not far from him along the grass. He put his foot onto the wooden boat, rocking it slightly, then sat down. Brenner pulled an oar from either side toward himself, then began rowing towards the island; The glowbe must be behind her harp, he thought, rowing through the placid waters, looking at the radiant musician.

  The soft spell of music grew lovelier still; the red-haired woman was now standing and walking towards the beach he would soon land upon. He paddled harder; the cloud above passed on and sunlight now reflected on the water, warming his face, and he chanced to look on the rippling water toward the island—and jolted upright.

  Where the reflection of the beautiful maiden should have been, instead was a dreadful, hooded banshee with blood-red eyes and a wide, wicked grin.

  He gripped the oars harder and immediately started backstroking. The smile of the maiden faltered; she beckoned to him once more, and then, when he did not change direction, her mirage dissolved. In its place stood a grotesque, dark-robed woman with a sharp-toothed grin, looking more dead than alive.

  She shrieked like a bird of prey and then dove into the waters toward him.

  Brenner redoubled his rowing efforts. Sweat trickled down his brow as the banshee swam with surprising alacrity through the waters. As quickly as he could, he beached the boat and jumped from the deck; then the shrill cry of the woman pierced his ears, momentarily disorienting him and triggering a headache.

  Trying to regain focus, he fled from the water, looking over his shoulder and shuddering to see the ghoulish woman had reached the shore and was gliding towards him. He saw a bright light coming from the other sidewall of the stadium, and noticed an orb floating along the rocks by the wall. He rushed towards the outcropping. A mixture of limestone and granite boulders formed a ledge, and he bounded up the rocks without thinking, only hoping the path would continue. The banshee reached the rocks beneath him, and as he ascended to the final plateau, she let out another ear-splitting screech. Instinctively he clapped a hand to his ears, causing him to lose his grip.

  No! Before he could gain a strong hold, he slipped and fell a few feet, hitting his head hard against the granite wall.

  The next scream sounded like it came from an arm’s length away.

  Brenner focused his energy, hung on, and climbed upward despite the screeches that assailed him. His head throbbed.

  At last, he reached the plateau where the orb waited, jumped to touch it, and when he did, the screeches subsided. But he didn’t dare look at the ghoulish figure again, fearing that another scream would drop him to his knees. Spotting a flight of steps carved into the sidewall, he followed them briskly up to a higher level.

  Panting, Brenner walked out onto the next section of field. His headache pulsed, but with the relative quiet of the new stage, it thankfully started to lessen. Ahead of him, piles of granite boulders and red slabs littered the field as though a mountain had shattered to pieces here. Rocks rose up like huge tombstones, casting shadows into a labyrinth of chasms below.

  Brenner scanned for movement around the rocky landscape. There was no
ne—so far—only wisps of smoke puffing from the dark pits, and faint echoes of stones tumbling down the sides. In the distance hovered a familiar, white glow of an orb.

  He made his way slowly at first, navigating across a heap of rocks, then leapt across a ravine. Finding a path, he took it, scrambling up, hugging against a wall, then squeezing between boulders. Because it seemed the quickest route across, he wanted to keep on it as far as possible before being forced to descend into a chasm. Climbing onto a pile of rubble, he looked to the end of this obstacle, when a whooshing sound filled his ears and he flattened himself to the ground. A giant, vulture-like bird swooped down on him—“Argh!” Brenner yelled, as its talons grazed his shoulder. He ran his palm across it and looked down. Good, no blood.

  The bird squawked angrily. Speeding through the air, it doubled back to take another dive at Brenner.