The Games of Ganthrea

by Andy Adams

  “Gemry.”

  “Gemry…you mean Gemry Gespelti? She’s good. And that’s weird. Upper level magicians and sorcerers don’t associate with apprentices and conjurers like us. Why did she offer to teach you?”

  “I’m not sure, but I told her I’d meet her.”

  “Okay, well,” Finnegan said, putting his palms out, “just…be careful. There have been instances of spellcasters sabotaging each other.”

  Brenner narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

  “Simple: eliminate the competition, and there’s less contenders for spots in Agilis and Zabrani during the Games of Ganthrea.”

  “Hmm,” said Brenner, wondering if he should second-guess his plans with Gemry, “Well, I suppose I’ll be on my guard then.”

  “You better,” said Finnegan. “And if not, tomorrow I’ll inform the sages of the reason for your demise.”

  Brenner gave him a light shove. “Thanks, Finnegan. You really go out of your way for your friends.”

  “No problem at all! And while you’re gone—I hope you don’t mind—I’ll just be rummaging through your trunk, looking for secret spy potions, spellbooks, and whatever else you’ve stolen to get your skills.”

  Brenner’s smile widened. “Finnegan, you know I’m not a spy. I’m too clueless to be a spy.”

  “That’s exactly what a spy would say.”

  “Look, how about we have our own practice—tomorrow during a break, or after dinner?”

  This seemed to cheer up Finnegan, “Yeah…alright then,” he said, then composed himself, adding, “That is, if you feel you need it. Maybe I’ll let you in on a few tricks I’ve been keeping secret.”

  “Sounds good,” said Brenner, standing, “Well, have fun at target practice tonight.”

  “Have fun being target practice tonight,” Finnegan said, eyebrow raised.

  Brenner waved him off and set out for the east doors of the Banquet Hall.

  He’s just jealous…Brenner thought, passing next to the huge, carved winged-horses…Gemry had seemed friendly earlier, didn’t she? Or was she just trying to make him think that?

  After walking across stone concourses, and through the castle passageways, he found his way out the same heavy oak doors that took him to Sage Shastrel’s class the other day.

  The sun drifted lower in the sky, but thanks to the long days of summer he reckoned he had at least an hour until it dipped below the horizon. As he strolled along the path, he noticed a few students sitting underneath giant willow trees, poring over old scrolls. But no sign of Gemry.

  He stopped and waited. Long minutes passed.

  He slowly turned in a circle on the path…Where exactly had she wanted to meet? The eastern rolling hills, right? She couldn’t have meant to meet in the forest—or did she?

  A thought crossed his mind that he had gone straight from Zabrani to dinner and then to this meeting without the one thing he needed most: a shower. Duh…that’s probably what she had in mind. Evening meal, then shower, then meet on the eastern side. That’s why she’s late. As inconspicuously as he could, he gave his armpit a quick sniff. He crinkled his nose.

  Great, as soon as she gets within arm’s length of me, this lesson’s over.

  He contemplated running back to the dormitories, but he’d hate to risk her arriving to an empty field and thinking he had purposely stood her up. So, Brenner sat with tense shoulders on a grassy knoll, the evening sun at his back, watching the east woods and the occasional parrot-like bird gliding between trees. He rolled the ends of his mircon between his hands. A burst of movement in the forest caught his eye: a poison-coat python fell from the trees and wrapped around a now motionless rabbit, gulping it down and then slinking out of sight behind bushes. His forehead creased in worry.

  Had Finnegan been right? Was this just some set-up for failure? Or worse?

  A whooshing sound met his ears—something dropped from the sky, landing at his side. Instinctively, Brenner jerked back to face the intruder, ready to use his mircon more like a baseball bat than a wand.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Gemry said, dressed in a forest green top and smiling in amusement at her startling effect upon Brenner, who relaxed his grip and lowered his mircon from above his head. “I had to get this from my room.” She pointed with her mircon at the tattered, rolled up mat under her left arm.

  “Oh—hey—no problem,” Brenner said, attempting to compose himself. “What is that? Family picnic blanket?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Yes, I couldn’t help myself; I simply adore evening picnics on old rugs. Did you remember the wicker basket full of sweet meats?”

  Brenner gave a little laugh. “Sorry, no wicker basket,” he said, trying to play along. “I was too busy…memorizing poetry for the occasion.”

  “Wonderful—what would you like to recite for me?”

  Brenner looked into Gemry’s lively eyes and thought hard. The only line that came was about love being a red, red rose, which he thought would come across as pathetic, desperate, or both. He held up his hands. “Okay, you got me.”

  “Shoot, I wanted a poem,” Gemry said, unfurling her mat on the ground and tapping it with her mircon. It floated up to her knees. “Preferably one about enchanted islands, aviamirs, or twist endings.”

  Brenner stood up next to her. “I’ll have to find one for next time.”

  “Deal. Now, hop on.”

  Brenner looked at the mat, gently rippling like an underwater fern. He wanted to make a good impression on Gemry, not like his failed lake run that got him drenched, or his indecision before the transporter launch where he backed up the line—so he decided the best thing to do was gingerly put his foot on the outer edge of the rug; then he shifted his weight onto it.

  Suddenly the mat shot out from under him, sending him toppling backwards onto the ground. Like a spooked animal, the carpet flew up and zig-zagged violently in the air above.

  Gemry let out a great belly laugh, which caused some of the students nearby to look up from their spellbooks and squint their eyes at the commotion. Still giggling, Gemry reached down and extended her hand to Brenner.

  “So then, this is your first trip on a carrier carpet?”

  Brenner looked up at her grin, and brushed the dirt off his pants. “Yep.” Taking her hand, he said, “Thanks,” and stood up.

  “For starters,” she explained, “you have to step on the inner portion of the rug, not the tassels. That’s like stepping on someone’s fingers. And Velvo hates that.” She shot a thin spell at the carpet still circling them; like an obedient dog it glided down to Gemry and waited patiently, hovering at her knees.

  “Velvo…?”

  “Yes, Velvo. Our carrier carpet. You didn’t get out much in the boonies, did you? Here, watch,” she said, turning and stepping on the rug’s mid-section of brown and green diamond embroidery, which barely sagged from her weight.

  She met Brenner’s eyes and said in an overly-reassuring, motherly voice, “Now your turn. Eeeeeasy does it.”

  Taking great pains to avoid the tassels, Brenner stepped aboard the carpet, which was soft yet surprisingly firm, like a door laid flat, and stood next to Gemry. When he got his footing, he realized the space between the two of them was embarrassingly intimate—less than an arm’s length. Her green eyes sparkled; this close, she was even more stunning. He hoped he didn’t smell as bad as he thought.

  “Much better,” Gemry said, lightly applauding, and not seeming to mind the close proximity.

  “Thank you,” he said, still feeling foolish. Could this evening have gotten off to a clumsier start? “So…where to?”

  “First, let’s see if you can hold your bearing. Velvo, forward please.”

  Like an excited sparrow, the carpet jolted forward, which sent Brenner flying backwards. He would have flown off, too, if Gemry hadn’t firmly grabbed his wrist, pulling him back on the carpet.

  Now on high alert mode, Brenner steadied himself, and breathed a little quicker, not least because he was no
w face to face with Gemry, and she had both her hands fastened on his arm.

  “Thanks…a second time.”

  “My pleasure,” Gemry said, releasing his arm as though she did this all the time. “I’m sure it won’t be the last. Quick tip: You need to lean forward into the ride.”

  He did so, and noticed his wrist tingled from where she had gripped it. She was stronger than he had thought, which reminded him that he wasn’t the only amulet-amplified teenager.

  “Got it. I’m ready now,” he said.

  The carpet rotated a quarter-circle so that he was now riding in front of Gemry, and in many ways it seemed like riding a large surfboard, which he had never done. He turned his stance sideways, bent his knees a little, and twisted his torso forward, bracing himself for the coming wave.

  “Velvo,” said Gemry firmly, “increase speed.

  The rug raced forward in the evening air like an uncaged animal: first grazing the ground and then ascending to ten feet above the blurring green grass. Brenner was sure Gemry had planned this height so that his next fall wouldn’t be quite so painful—likely just a mild concussion.

  Wind whistled past his ears as they raced over the knolls surrounding the castle. They surged toward the forest trail entrance—and abruptly pulled up, above the path, above the trees, and soon well over the canopy. Brenner lowered his stance. He could see the eastern ramparts of Valoria: a mix of towers, turrets, and stone walls stood vigilant, cemented into oakbrawn trees, resembling old illustrations he’d seen of medieval fortresses.

  They whisked up and north, until they came to the outer stone perimeter of the Zabrani field. Giant stone columns rose up higher than them, and while Brenner appreciated the magnitude of the colossal field, he also took a moment to pray, Please don’t let me slip. Please don’t let me slip.

  Rounding the northeast side of the oval stadium, they veered left. While they had flown over the shorter treetops nearby Valoria, they now coasted along at only half the height of the five-hundred-foot trees of Arborio, which was still plenty high for Brenner. It’s like zip-lining, he thought, but with none of the reassurance that a trusty harness clipped you in for safety. A fall from here would be the end.

  Majestic, mysterious, and seemingly endless, the tree-city of Arborio was like a beehive humming with activity: spellcasters flew between high-rise buildings and wooden additions made to the sides of redwoods, oakbrawns, Douglas firs, and new kinds of trees he’d never seen before.

  As they glided between the huge trunks, Brenner felt as if he was flying among respected elders. Each tree looked ancient and somehow even proud: it was as if they had graciously permitted humans to live under the protection of their regal, green crowns. Caught up in the moment, Brenner temporarily forgot his fear.

  “Looks like you’re getting the hang of it!” Gemry’s voice called from behind.

  “Maybe,” Brenner replied, briefly turning back, “but that doesn’t mean I want you to speed up.” He saw her lips pull into a smile.

  “Okay then,” Gemry said, “how about some bank turns?”

  “I think I’d rather—ahh!”

  The carpet swooped left, then cut right, as though carving up and down a half-pipe. Brenner’s heart leapt to his throat. At the apex of each turn, gravity forced his body to lean over the void, beyond the fluttering tassels of the carpet, so much so that his amulet dangled out from his shirt, and his eyes bulged at the distant street some two or three hundred feet below.

  “Hey!” he yelled. “Take it easy!”

  Despite his suggestion to the contrary, they flew faster around tree trunks, underneath elevated skyways, and each time he began to fall off, the rug—earning Brenner’s eternal thanks—seemed to sense his feet leaving it and swung underneath just in time to save him from a free fall.

  “Woohooo!” sang Gemry in a high voice that was far too cheerful for Brenner’s nerves.

  At the peak of their sharpest turn she yelled, “This is great, isn’t it?!” which was when Brenner decided to stop leaving his fate in the hands of a berserk carpet, and crouched low, gripping the side of the rug for dear life.

  “Awww,” Gemry said, a tinge of playful disappointment in her voice, “something tells me you’re not enjoying yourself.”

  Brenner tried to get a word out, but they banked hard left again, this time to avoid an oncoming Pegasus mail carrier—and his body nearly somersaulted off the side.

  “I suppose we can cut back on the thrills,” Gemry said.

  The carpet stopped its hairpin turns and sailed gracefully through the sky like a schooner over the Caribbean. Although there were interesting sights above and below them, Brenner wasn’t watching: sprawled on his knees with his face planted firmly against the rug, Brenner had locked his hands in a death grip around the edge, probably looking to passing spellcasters as though he was practicing a very uncomfortable type of yoga.

  “You’re awfully quiet up there, Conjurer,” Gemry teased.

  Still grasping the edge of the carpet, Brenner forced his gaze from the bottom of the carpet back to Gemry. “I thought…we were going to practice the art of flying.”

  “Oh—” she smiled innocently, resting her cheek in her free hand, “not the art of flinging people to their death?”

  “Exactly,” said Brenner, “not that art.”

  Gemry clicked her tongue and shook her head, chiding herself.

  “So, that’s why no one wanted to take flying lessons with me twice.”

  She leaned over and sat down cross-legged next to Brenner, smiling lightly as her brown hair fluttered gently behind her. Slowly, his wits returned to him, but he kept his guard up.

  “And here I thought everyone was just avoiding me,” said Gemry.

  “Funny, I thought the empty carpet seats on the return trip would’ve clued you in.”

  She laughed. “Well yes, but those occasions were for the unwanted guests.”

  Brenner turned forward just in time to see a large flock of yellow and blue birds flapping straight at them—

  “Look out!” he shouted, shielding his face, and felt a whoosh of wind as feathers fluttered and wings beat on all sides of them. He peeked through his fingers to see the last stragglers of the flock hurtle at them, then peel away and fly off.

  “So,” Gemry said, unruffled, “what have you learned about flight so far?”

  At first Brenner thought she was being facetious. But when she was silent a moment longer, he realized she was actually serious.

  “Well, start low until you get your bearing…push into the wind, don’t let it push you.”

  “Sometimes let it push you, but right, not usually.”

  “Okay. Hmm…watch out for trees, mail carriers and other flying objects…”

  “Always.”

  “…and…I don’t know, what else?”

  “Imagine you are…what?”

  “The wind?”

  “Too unpredictable. Too whimsical.”

  “A…bird?”

  “Now you’re thinking. Which one? And please don’t say pigeon.”

  Brenner had always enjoyed watching the birds from his tree tower…swooping and soaring…

  “A hawk?”

  “That works,” she said, nodding approvingly. “Personally, I think of being an eagle. The initial take-off is hard work: you’re fighting the bonds of gravity before the spell takes hold and you’re harnessing momentum and air currents…then once you get your wings beating—”

  His quizzical look paused her.

  “Figuratively speaking, of course—then the flight spell carries you forward, and you’re exerting a fraction of the energy you did during lift off.”

  As she spoke, she pointed her mircon down, steering their carpet lower around the massive tree trunks, passing by what appeared to be apartments built against the mid section of trees…yes, through a window he could see a family eating dinner…and on they continued, with the tree-houses hugging tightly in spirals to the oakbrawns, their steps and s
ometimes railings connecting to others, looking like a giant sequence of toadstools dotting the sides of the great trees.

  A breeze blew from behind, and a faint, sweet smell of honey and hybrid tea roses came to him. Gemry’s hair and clothes blew towards him, but she didn’t seem to notice the fragrance. Oh. He smiled as he drew the connection, making a mental note of the similarity between her and the rare climbing roses he sometimes saw in his old forest…that’s her.

  They flew lower toward the streets below until they were about thirty feet high, above the foot traffic making evening errands after work. Brenner realized this was a popular level to fly at: spellcasters and carrier carpets whisked at them until Gemry steered them to one side of the street, joining a throng of airborne people, allowing flyers to pass safely on the other side.