by Jeff Deck
As we head through the winding city lanes, Guhnach explains the rules of the Wager ahead. This time we can a game closer to my own experience: cards. Ulrich and I get so busy tussling over who possesses the greater skill at cards that I’m startled when we arrive at the break in the wall. The gate is flanked by blue guards and topped by a bronze sculpture of a snarling dragon’s head.
Guhnach confers with the guards, then they open the gate. We walk through and the gate closes behind us.
7
An Avariccian legend gives the Hill of Generation its name, Guhnach explains as we trudge across the field. Long ago, the world was a lonely place. The forests were silent and the rivers were empty; the people of Avariccia longed for companions. So the Hand That Never Closes tapped its great fingers on the hilltop, and the hill trembled and burst open with creatures large and small: things that flew and things that ran and things that swam.
Sure, that sounds like nonsense to me, like all religious stories (hear the one about turning water into wine? Great party trick!). I can still appreciate that the Hill is a sacred place to the Avariccians—which makes the thousand silver soldiers gathered on its summit an especially offensive sight to Guhnach. But that doesn’t mean Guhnach is afraid; in fact, the Priest Lord left its retinue of acolytes at the gate.
“There should be no reason to fear,” it tells us. “Chaum still has enough honor, I believe, not to slaughter us without cause. The Soldier Lord will recognize my caste color at a distance.”
Still, I can’t exactly relax during the walk. Every chirp and grunt from the woods by the field makes me think of all those animals supposedly bursting out of the hill. I also haven’t forgotten the dark flying shapes I spotted from outside the Five-Petaled Temple. Once, I hear a long shriek that deepens into a growl, and I wonder how such a wildly divergent sound could come from one throat.
But nothing attacks us from the woods, and no arrows or spears come flying from Chaum’s army. As we approach their encampment, three silver Avariccians come out to meet us. One stands out from the others immediately, with an extra… feature in its mask.
It has eyes.
Two human eyes are somehow planted in its grinning silver face. They aren’t just for decoration, either; the Avariccian is actually using them. They swivel, and they focus on me.
This can’t be.
Oh, it can. It can right here, where magic reigns. Just like Sol said.
Fuck magic!
I stop myself from fleeing in terror from the Avariccian with the eyes. It must be Soldier Lord Chaum: the other two soldiers defer to it. Chaum looms over me, grasping a mallet that could crush my skull. I force myself to stare deep into the eyes in its mask.
They look a little familiar. They couldn’t be… Milly’s?
Whose else would they be?
Ulrich says, in a distressed voice, “Where did it get those eyes, Allard?!”
Oh, Milly. I can’t leap to that assumption, though, and I can’t let my companions do so either. I can picture Ulrich, he of little sense, charging at the Soldier Lord, never considering that the mallet could put a serious crimp in his day.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say firmly. “We’ve got a card game to play. Now are you good at cards, Ben, or have you been pissing down my leg and telling me it’s raining? I remember you bombing—hard—against McLaren in that department poker tourney.”
The big man hunches over. “I’m… listen, you’re some kind of expert?”
“I’m better than you. I can almost guarantee it.”
“Almost isn’t good enough,” Ulrich growls. “If you fuck this up for us…”
“I won’t,” I say.
Sol touches my shoulder. “Hey—I’m pretty good at cards too. I’m a killer at Phase 10. I’ll be your second. You both get a second, right?”
“Mauguh,” Guhnach says to one of the Soldier Lord’s lieutenants, “I see where your loyalties lie now. You came to the temple to spy, not to worship.”
I’ve been so focused on Chaum that I didn’t even notice the return of the silver Avariccian from the temple: Mauguh, the one who won Galg’s anger in the Wager. That laughing female face is unmistakable. It must have reported on our arrival to Chaum.
Now Chaum speaks for the first time. Unfortunately, it’s in the Avariccian language.
“Chaum wishes to know if you’ve come to Wager,” Guhnach translates.
“Yes, of course,” I say with false bravado. “I’m ready for it.”
“M-me too,” Sol puts in.
Chaum speaks again, and Guhnach says, “Chaum instructs us to follow.”
Confused, I agree. The Soldier Lord leads us through its camp to the other side of the summit. Here, several tables and chairs are set up in a dining or lounging area at the edge of a dropoff overlooking a tremendous expanse of the countryside. Now I see that the other buildings and settlements in the distance I glimpsed earlier are in a state of decay.
Sol whoops. “I’ve gotta get a closer look!” He races out to the very edge.
“Hey! Sol!” I call out. I hope I can catch him before he breaks his fool neck.
My young friend manages to avoid pitching himself over the edge, as he halts and stares down in wonder. I have to look where he’s looking.
This side of the Hill of Generation has a gaping hole bashed into it by… something. A huge, complicated wreck of metal and shattered glass, all twisted pipes and half-walls and broken corridors, festooned with several heaps of inscrutable machinery, melds with the hillside. It’s a startling contrast to the pastoral landscape around it, though nature has been working to claim the wreck for its own, growing trees through the floors and twisting vines around the machines.
“You two left me alone with those things,” Ulrich says angrily behind me. “What are you… wow. What is that?”
“How did you ever earn your detective’s badge?” I say. “That’s a giant spaceship.”
“We were once explorers and conquerors,” someone says in English. “But we forgot our history. The sorcerer helped me remember, and now we will be conquerors again.”
It’s Soldier Lord Chaum, who has apparently been feigning ignorance of our language. What a creep for Ilana to throw her lot in with, though I suppose they’re kindred spirits after all.
Guhnach places its Relic on a table and gestures at the Soldier Lord and me. “You must name your Wagers,” it says.
“I desire the human’s hearing,” Chaum says, sitting at the table. “I will Wager the same.”
Right. He’s got the eyes, now why not the ears next?
“So you’re… assembling yourself into a human being, one piece at a time?” I ask.
“I will be human,” says Chaum. “The sorcerer promised me it would be so. Humanity is the conqueror’s form.”
“Why would you listen to her over your own god, the Hand?” I say.
Chaum is grinning, but then again, he’s always grinning. “The sorcerer is my god now. It will come again, and I will rule the City of Games. Then I’ll come for your world.”
“Peace, Chaum,” says Priest Lord Guhnach. “You blaspheme with your every word.”
“I agree to your Wager,” I tell Chaum. “My hearing for yours.”
It nods. It’s convinced it’ll win no matter what, since it has the home court advantage. It’s probably right.
“Place your Wagers,” the Doxe says.
Sol and I take our seats, and Mauguh does the same next to Chaum the Soldier Lord, who puts a mailed hand on the Relic. I tentatively reach out to touch the pitted surface of the shield. One of the doors to Chaum’s suit opens and a glowing essence swirls out, attaching itself to the shield—and then I feel excruciating pain in both my ears.
I let out an agonized moan as I realize that they are ripping. My ears are separating from my head. My world goes silent.
My dismembered ears float down and attach to the surface of the Relic. I realize that with all the Avariccians wearing masks, I won’t be able to h
ear what they’re saying or even when they’re talking. My hand flies up to the left side of my head, and my fingers search the skin. It’s absolutely smooth flesh, as if the ear were never there.
As I’m gripped by panic and ready to bolt from the table, Sol squeezes my hand. I don’t know sign language, nor can I read lips. But I can interpret my friend’s attempt to calm me, and it’s working. I give him a stoic nod. If I don’t carry through with this Wager, I’ll never get my goddamn ears back.
“Okay,” I say aloud, not able to hear my own voice, “let’s get this over with.”
Guhnach deals the cards to begin the game, which is called Maw. It’s a game for four; if Sol wins, that’ll count as a win for me, and the same goes for Mauguh as Chaum’s second. We’ll play through five “tricks.” I’ll have to either win three of them or else “spoil” the distribution to prevent the Soldier Lord or his lieutenant from winning three. Each of us receives five cards, then Guhnach lays the next card from the deck face up on the table.
Thankfully I know my way around a deck of cards back on Earth turf, and these Maw cards are roughly equivalent, taking their suits from four of the five castes of Avariccia: golden coins (merchants), red five-petaled flowers (priests), brown hammer and tongs (peasants), and silver swords (soldiers). Instead of aces, kings, queens, and jacks, the “face” cards are gates, Lords, Sublords, and Relics. The only real, non-cosmetic difference here is that there are four suit colors rather than two, with each affecting the ranking of that suit’s gate. The card that Guhnach turned over, a four of swords, shows us that swords will be the trionfo (trump) suit for this round.
Guhnach told us back in the city that Avariccians call playing this game “heaving at the maw,” because the tension is high enough to make a player sick. Now I understand exactly what it means. I look at the hand I’ve got, blinking in bewilderment. If the Hand That Never Closes determines the cards I’ve gotten, then he must have it in for me.
Mauguh is to the left of Guhnach, so it goes first: eight of coins. Now Chaum must either play a coin card, to match the suit, or one of the four trionfi: five of swords (which they call “five fingers,” presumably to represent the Hand That Never Closes), Relic of swords (also known as “Noble Lord’s Relic”), gate of flowers (hmm), or gate of swords.
Chaum lays down a Noble Lord’s Relic. I’m next, and I’ve got… nothing good. I put down a three of coins, knowing that I’ve already lost this trick and not wanting to waste a better card. Sol lays down a gate of swords.
“Hey,” I hiss at him, hoping my voice doesn’t come out too garbled. “You’ve gotta hold onto your trumps if someone’s already put down a higher one. Otherwise you’re wasting them.”
I read Sol’s lips clearly enough during his one-word response: Shit.
So Chaum wins the trick and then gets to start the next one. Unfortunately, it wins that one, too. Its eyes, Milly’s eyes, glitter at me with cruelty. It’s probably cackling right now.
Clumsy. Stupid. Get with it, girl.
Chaum needs one more. I’ve been holding onto this trionfo for too long. I put down my gate of flowers. None of the other players is able to beat it, and I take my first trick. I lead the fourth trick with the stronger card of the two I have left. Sol hesitates, looking at the card. If he can win this trick, he’ll help stop Chaum from getting his three. If he throws the trick to me and I win it, that’ll be two for me, but if I lose out to Chaum, it’s game over and ears gone for good.
Sol plays it conservatively. He tops my card, neither Chaum nor Mauguh can beat him, and he takes the fourth trick. Sol leads off the last trick, and the rest of us rapidly throw down our last cards. I exhale in relief as I see I’ve narrowly beaten the Soldier Lord with my eight of hammer and tongs over his seven.
Priest Lord Guhnach gathers the cards. Since no one collected three tricks, the round was “spoiled.” Now we start over with a new round, and this time the trump suit is flowers. Since the gate of flowers is a trionfo no matter what, according to the rules of Maw, that leaves only three trumps instead of four.
Then everyone but Chaum visibly startles and looks up at the sky. I follow… suit. A fanciful silhouette soars over us: the head and wings of an eagle, the body of some sort of large cat. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we’re all looking at the underbelly of the mythological creature known as a griffin. Just like the name for the roll o’bones that cost Galg his most prized emotion.
But I do know better, so I remind myself to emphasize the “myth” in mythological. It’s an illusion. A distraction somehow conjured by Chaum or his lieutenants to make me lose.
I won’t fall for it. I say loudly—I think it’s loudly, but who really knows?— “Are we gonna play, or are we gonna watch the wildlife?”
Mauguh and Sol and Ulrich and Guhnach turn back to me. Ulrich is wringing his hands. Guhnach gesticulates at me; it’s probably saying something, but damned if I know what. I ignore it and start the trick with a Sublord of swords, which no one beats—I take the trick.
Laughing Mauguh takes the next. The Soldier Lord catches both Sol and me napping and takes the third.
I have to win the last two tricks. Chaum will do his best to spoil me.
Though I’m pretty good at cards, I’ve never thought them worth more than a way to pass a quiet shift. And games involving chance are a waste of money. I remember your frustration during the one time we ever visited a casino, that time when you dragged me along to the Hairless Werewolves show down in Hampton. Do a little bet, you said. It’s not fun if you don’t bet. I told you I was having plenty fun just being with you… and didn’t you roll your eyes at that.
With you, it was never fun, never an adventure, unless there was something at risk. Something at stake. I never understood that. Really, you should be the one here in my place to rescue Milly. You knew how to play the odds and win. Until, of course, that night when Councilor Stone handed you your first real loss, and your last.
Well, Hannah, this one’s for you. I’m playing to win.
Are you? you respond. Then why don’t you take a closer look at your opponents?
You—or my sleuthing brain, or some metaphysical combination of the two—have got a point. As I look carefully at both Chaum and Mauguh, I notice something crucial. I’ve been so focused on winning Maw the “right” way that I overlooked the advantage that the two silver Avariccians offered me from the start: the reflection of their cards in their chestplates.
Good god. I could have used that information twenty minutes ago. But it’s not too late. I can only hope that the Avariccians’ pretend deity doesn’t strike me dead on the spot for cheating.
Well, neither of them can beat a ten of flowers unless Chaum plays that gate of flowers it’s got. I don’t think it will—it’ll save that trionfo for the last trick. So I’ll save my own trionfo for then too.
I play the ten and I take the fourth trick. I start the last trick by throwing down the five of flowers, the “five fingers,” the stand-in for the god that Chaum can’t stop profaning. It won’t be able to beat the five fingers. No one can.
There.
Eat it, eye-stealing fucker.
Soldier Lord Chaum bolts up from the table. Mauguh grabs Chaum’s arm before the sore loser can flee—the Soldier Lord must stay here for what happens next. As Guhnach said, there are dire consequences otherwise.
My detached ears rise from the Relic. They look differently shaped than I’m used to, and they’re glowing brilliantly, the essence of Chaum’s hearing clinging to them. Then they fly toward me, and the reattachment to my head is almost as painful as the detachment. I scream mutely until the sound pierces my consciousness.
Then other sounds flood in: Chaum’s distorted protests, questions from Sol as he shakes my shoulder, Guhnach denouncing the Soldier Lord, angry shouting from Chaum’s army, and… further sounds. Distant footsteps, things crawling, things laughing and bellowing and crying, the flap of a far-away flag…
… and underneat
h it all, a murmuring voice. It’s coming from the Relic. I can’t figure out how to turn the other sounds down so I can hear what the voice is saying, but I have the hair-raising feeling it’s talking to me.
“—hear me?” Sol says again.
“Yeah. And a hell of a lot else too. Almost too much.”
I lean in toward the Relic, but Guhnach stops me. “Don’t listen too closely to the Hand,” it says. “Not yet. You’re the first human to hear its voice. It may drive you mad if you’re not prepared.”
“Here we go again with the tiny human brain stuff,” I snap. “Don’t tell me what I—”
A surge of voices and other sounds from the City of Games overwhelms me then. I sit down hard on my haunches, clapping my hands over my newly regained ears. Rustling, chewing, scraping, giggling, whispering, screaming, tapping, thumping… Too much at once. Too much!
“Focus,” commands the Priest Lord through his sorrowful mask. “Focus on what’s around you, Allard. Tune out anything you don’t need.”
Easy for him to say. I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate. I try to re-categorize each sound according to its distance from me. I picture a stage of endless breadth and plop the sounds down on the stage in two general groupings: near and far. Then I unfurl a heavy red curtain to cut off the far sounds—they’re now backstage. The tension in my head eases, and the furor dies down.
“Good,” says Guhnach, mask nodding. “I had wondered at the foolishness of giving humans my people’s superior senses. But you’ve shown you may not be crushed entirely by the experience.”
“I’m—glad,” I say. “To be a credit to my species and all.”
Sol is looking closely at my ears. “Can I, um, touch them?”
“Sure.”
I feel the brush of his fingertips—good, at least they’re not numb zombie ears—and then he experiments with tugging at an ear. I bat his hand away. “Okay, that’s enough.”