The Games of Ganthrea

by Andy Adams

  He wasn’t sure what to do, so waited until the instructor lumbered to one side of the room before asking, “I’m sorry, who are you?”

  “I’m Sage Ochram,” he said, “and I teach Auras and mental magic to mid-level conjurers.” He leaned in to a shelf filled with silver belts. “And this looks about right,” he said, selecting one and extending it to Brenner; it felt like leather dipped in a thin layer of silver, creating a belt that was supple but not too heavy. Brenner slipped the belt around his robe and clasped it shut.

  A moment later and they were back in the Banquet Hall, where Ochram said, “There are three groups of level five conjurers.” He pointed to a middle table in the room. “Your squad is that one.” Teenagers both younger and older than Brenner sat at the nearby table, a few looking at him as Ochram made to leave. “I look forward to having you in my class.”

  Without bothering to introduce Brenner to anyone, Sage Ochram turned and headed to the other side of the hall, which Brenner surmised must contain the sage’s quarters.

  A whole new squad…he thought with a mixture of surprise and relief. I guess I got my wish. He picked up his tray, but rather than walking over to join the new group, sought out Finnegan, who was busy regaling Maureen with a story.

  “…and when these two Arenaterro soldiers threw punches at Silvalo spellcasters,” Finnegan said. “My Pop thundered, ‘Keep your brawls out of my pub! Or I’ll have you stunned and thrown into the alley!’ They straightened up real quick when they saw three of Pop’s best mates pointing mircons at their orange cloaks…” Finnegan trailed off, his eyes flicking to Brenner’s belt. “Well, we all knew that was bound to happen,” he said in a voice of marvel mixed with jealousy, “but a week? Are you kidding me?”

  “I’m as surprised as you are.”

  “I’ll bet,” said Finnegan. Then he joked, “You’re just on a quest to break as many records as possible, aren’t you?”

  “As long as it isn’t a record for quickest death on the Zabrani field, then sure…I guess I am.”

  There was an awkward pause as it sunk in that he wouldn’t be training with Finnegan anymore. He smiled weakly. Finnegan must’ve realized this too, as he said, “Not to worry. You may have escaped Sorian and our squad, but you haven’t escaped me yet. I’ll see if I can find some time to join you for a shot or two during free periods.”

  Brenner grinned. “I’d like that very much, Finnegan. Hey, can I still work at Hutch & Sons?”

  “Sure thing. The dishes won’t wash themselves. Well they could with the right spell, but Pops doesn’t want to waste elixir on it.”

  “Thanks. And hey, you’ll probably be advanced to the next rank soon, too.”

  “Yeah, just as soon as I can cast spells without blurting them loud enough to wake a dozing dragon.”

  They both laughed. “You’ll get there, Fin.” Brenner didn’t really want to leave his friend, but sensed from the shifting glances of his peers that he was creating a scene. “I should probably go and meet the captain.”

  “Yes, you should, you lucky conjurer,” Finnegan said, and without bothering to lower his voice, added, “There’s no way he’s worse than Sorian. You know, I should melt some torch holders together and make my own silver belt.”

  Finnegan held out a hand; Brenner set down his tray and shook it.

  When Brenner approached the new conjurers, he felt a strange sensation in his forehead, pulling at his thoughts. He glanced along the row of level fives and saw a girl hastily stow her mircon next to her lap and look away.

  Here comes more mind games.

  He set his food down and sat on the edge of the group. When he looked across the table, a boy with black curly hair and a large chin spoke up.

  “Aren’t you that guy who won the last Zabrani battle?”

  “Well, my team won, and I got a couple—”

  “Thought so. I’m Cad. Been here for a couple months. Ready to get my gold belt and move on.”

  “Nice goal, Cad. Say, who is the captain here?”

  “Bianca. She’s effective, but can get a little full of herself.”

  Cad pointed out a girl with blond hair cropped to her shoulders at the other end of the table.

  “Thanks. What’s the lesson for today?”

  “Monday’s it’s Auras in the morning, then the afternoon switches to challenge games or woods training.”

  Brenner hardly had enough time to wolf down some scrambled eggs before the close of breakfast bell sounded and the groups marched for the exits like ants in a green, color-coded colony.

  He followed Cad up a flight of stairs, down a corridor lined with tendril-snake plants rustling back and forth—Brenner kept to the far side—and into an open-air plaza. Warm sunshine flooded the plaza, and Brenner saw the fat, gray-mustached sage who directed him earlier approach the front of the group.

  “Fair morn, spellcasters,” the sage said.

  “Fair morn, Sage Ochram,” the class recited in unison.

  “Please loosen your minds and prepare for our Aura training.”

  Brenner looked around and saw students closing their eyes. Some extended their mircons to their sides.

  “Prepare for simple projectiles,” Sage Ochram instructed, then flicked his metal mircon. “Auras up.”

  Large, translucent bubbles popped up and encapsulated each of the students, except for Brenner, whose forehead began sweating. What was the spell he should be using?

  “Sage Ochram—” he called, but the instructor was looking beyond the students, directing something.

  From across the courtyard, small pellets rose from the ground, and then they zoomed toward the group. Brenner dove behind the shell of the boy in front of him.

  A barrage of marbles hit the student-bubbles, ricocheting off them like hailstones. Brenner covered his face and leaned toward the ground; the marbles felt like needles pelting his exposed back and legs. After several long, grimacing seconds, the hailstorm stopped.

  “You may relax your Auras,” Ochram said.

  The bubbles around the students faded with a gentle whish. Students chatted with each other as if a sun-shower had just passed. Brenner raised his hand.

  “Prepare for stronger forces,” said Ochram, turning to cast the next spell.

  Brenner urgently waved his hand. “Sage Ochram!”

  The teacher finally noticed him. “Yes?”

  “What is the shield spell?”

  “Oh, dear me!” Ochram said, holding his hand against his head, “I just subjected you to a small torture, didn’t I? So sorry, so sorry…” The class swiveled their heads to Brenner and many giggled as they realized he had been needled by the stones.

  “The spell is ‘Totum Aura’.”

  Brenner silently mouthed the spell to himself twice. “Thank you.”

  “Would you like to practice out of harm’s way then?”

  “That would be great.”

  “Very well. Come by me.”

  Brenner strode through the ranks of conjurers, and found his place by Sage Ochram as the next projectile was unleashed on the students: jet blasts of water.

  Brenner closed his eyes and spoke lightly to himself: “Totum Aura.”

  He felt the air around him crystallize and warm a little, but when he opened his eyes, the bubble popped.

  Ochram gave a knowing nod. “Good attempt. Now try thinking about your strengths.” He then turned back to class and directed a flush of magic at the gushing blasts of water from large pipes in the wall, which reduced the water to small trickles and then to nothing. “Relax your Auras.”

  While the rest of the class took a breather, Brenner closed his eyes again and focused his thoughts on his knowledge, his ability to gather and grow new ideas, and his will to persist.

  He opened his eyes, and let out a small gasp of wonder. Encapsulating him on all sides was a glimmering, translucent shield-bubble: his Aura.

  “Now you’re getting it!” encouraged Ochram. “Go stand in with the other spellc
asters. Test the strength of your Aura. Go on.”

  Brenner felt a little reluctant.

  “Come on now, no learning by being idle.”

  He lapsed his spell. As he joined the formation, the next command from Ochram made his heart jump: “Spellcasters, Auras up! Incoming flames!”

  “Totum Aura!” Brenner shouted, not caring if he was the only one who had to speak the spell. He wasn’t becoming charred ash if he could help it.

  WHOOSH! From behind them, pure fire shot through the ranks like a savage wave.

  Brenner cracked an eye open: he was inside a furnace, but thankfully, was not being burnt alive. All around his circular Aura raced orange flames.

  Please hold…please hold…he thought, while all around them the fire turned red, yellow, and then white-hot. Sweat beaded on Brenner’s forehead, but not because of the heat (surprisingly it only felt like standing under the early morning sun), but because the spell required his complete concentration.

  Then, in an instant, as if a dragon behind them sucked in its plume of flame, the fire vanished.

  Tentatively, Brenner lapsed his energy on the spell. His Aura dematerialized.

  Small pops came from all around him: his classmates’ Auras faded, and sighs of relief could be heard everywhere, except in the back row, where one student was crying.

  “You’ll be just fine, Alyssa,” Sage Ochram called to a tall girl, channeling a blue spell at her that extinguished fire on her sleeve. “I daresay, the fire barely touched you, and my Aura addition put you completely out of harm’s way. There’s a soothing spell, and you’re fine. Just work on concentration and endurance.”

  The girl sniffled a moment longer, and then, probably because of the unwanted attention, tried her best to compose herself.

  “Conjurers,” Sage Ochram projected his voice to the class, “recall that the fastest way to gain an Aura is by bringing to mind your greatest strengths, and the fastest way to lose it is by letting your attention wane for even the briefest moment.”

  “Sage Ochram?” An older girl called out.

  “Yes?”

  “Can we practice mental Auras next?”

  “Kincay, you are overzealous as usual, but I like that in a pupil. Yes, we can conduct mental Auras now.”

  The students sprang into two lines facing each other, with Brenner shuffling into the formation.

  “Face your partner and introduce yourselves,” Ochram commanded.

  A girl with canary yellow hair and a slender nose stood across from him, sized him up, and said, “Camira.”

  “Hello…I’m Brenner.”

  “Students on this side,” Ochram said, pointing to Camira’s line, “begin with a glimpse into your opponent’s memory. Mircons at the ready…”

  A memory spell? Brenner thought frantically, waving his arm at Sage Ochram, who again, failed to notice him as he turned and settled into an elevated chair overlooking the courtyard.

  Ochram called out, “Begin!”

  He didn’t have time to shield himself. Camira shot a purple spell into him, and he felt like his brain was a book pried roughly apart. Memories of Earth and his old high school rippled into focus—his peers imitating his wheezes when passing in the hallway, getting fruit thrown at him in the cafeteria, finding the amulet in the tree tower, going through the portal—

  “Halt!” Ochram announced.

  The courtyard came into focus again. He put a hand to his head and looked across at Camira. She eyed him quizzically.

  She’d seen too much!

  “How many of you were successful in looking at memories?” Sage Ochram said from his chair, as students massaged their heads.

  Along with the girl across from him, a quarter of the teenagers raised their hands.

  “Decent,” said Ochram. “By the end of the term, half of you will be able to peer at will, as memory gazing is both an art and a skill, where you must grapple with and overcome your opponent. Recall, when on the offensive with Pervideas, look at the personality and desires of your target spellcaster, then become like an army’s advance scout, prodding their mind from different angles, combing over their Aura until you find soft spots or chinks in their mental armor. To block effectively, mask your emotions with neutrality, and think of the most solid wall or refuge, and of course, cover yourself with the Psyche Aura spell.”

  Students brought their mircons up to chest level.

  “What’s the mind-reading spell he just said?” Brenner asked the boy next to him.

  “Memory-gazing? Pervideas.”

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  If others can learn to do this, Brenner thought, so can I.

  Sage Ochram spoke above the students, “Spellcasters, switch roles. And—begin!”

  Brenner pointed his mircon at the Camira, who stared smugly back at him as if to say, “I dare you to try”—he had seen this look before in gym class, one of contempt and superiority, a trait he also read about in biographies of leaders who went on to lose both their supporters and influence—which made him a tad more confident.

  I know how you think. He whispered softly, “Pervideas.”

  A ghostly light shot from his mircon, and he felt like a rushing stream converging around a boulder. He saw that the former-girl-now-boulder indeed had a tiny imperfection on its side, a dark spot near its base. He pushed on it, but now the boulder became a great wall. He zoomed around it, seeing a dome cover the top. He tested the soil under the wall—it gave way. He focused the rushing stream on it and then he was in.

  Images flashed before him—Camira was laughing with her friends after winning an Agilis course; snubbing a younger girl who was prettier than she was; he zoomed out and saw something else darkly rippling in her mind—her fears of wild jungle beasts, of drowning, and her largest fear of all, being jeered at by her peers, cast aside, unwanted—

  “Conjurers, halt!”

  A brief white light engulfed the field, and Brenner was back in the present.

  Camira glared at him, as if he had just eavesdropped on a very private conversation.

  “Switch mind gazers,” Ochram commanded.

  This time, Brenner was ready. “Psyche Aura.”

  When Camira threw her purple spell at him, she found a sturdy castle that deflected her rushing onslaught from every angle.

  And on his next offensive, Brenner quickly sidestepped her defenses, found her weaknesses, and other dark secrets—jealousies, lies, regrets—that he guessed were likely shared with no one. When the session finished, Camira’s pretty face blanched. Sage Ochram directed them to the Banquet Hall.

  “Camira,” he said, hustling to walk next to her before she joined her friends. “Your memories—I promise I won’t talk about them. To anyone.”

  She looked at him as if he had something contagious.

  “Will you do the same for me?”

  Camira considered his offer, probably thought about the alternative, and said defensively, “Fine.”

  “Great…thanks,” said Brenner.

  Then she quickly turned back to some of the other girls, who gave Brenner a funny look.

  That afternoon, their captain, Bianca, led them on an Agilis run through the thick forest on the eastern edge of Arborio—using no mircons, only amulets. Unlike Sorian, she declined the use of her own mircon, which was a relief. Although the squad climbed hundreds of feet into the canopy and jumped twenty-foot gaps between tree limbs, Brenner felt he was in his element.

  At the end of the session, after averting two poison-coat python strikes (one which sent a peer to the infirmary), Brenner was in the leading group of climbers.

  He ate his dinner quickly that evening and went back to the dormitories. As he had been thinking about his date with Gemry since Friday, there was no chance he would forget to shower beforehand. After toweling off, he dressed and headed back out to the eastern ramparts of Valoria.

  On the top of the rolling green hills, Gemry was waiting for him.

  “Hey, Brenner,” she sa
id, noticing his belt, and smiling at him. “How’s level five treating you?”

  “Apart from being pelted with hailstones and jets of fire, pretty good,” Brenner said. “Where’s Velvo?”