The Game of the Gods

by C G Gaudet

  My eyes focus on the death-cleric, and all my annoyance and anger of the day comes rushing out of that one glare.

  “Three months I saved for my pillow.” My voice reverberates in my ears as though there are a dozen voices speaking through me in unison. “Because of you, it’s now neither soft nor cuddly. I’m going to destroy you for what you’ve done.”

  Though the death-cleric’s face is hidden by a hefty beard, I’m positive his lip quivers in fear.

  Chapter Three

  Deep Sleep

  Having worked in various shops most of my life, I haven’t spent a lot of time building up strength or fighting skills. In fact, I’ve never been in a fight in my life. Never really argued with anyone either. Hard to keep your job if you yell at your boss, and you have to have friends and family in order to argue with them. So, the anger that pumps through me to cause my feet to move and my arms to swing the weighty scythe around is a new feeling for me.

  Luckily, my body seems to understand what to do, even if I don’t consciously. The world outside of the death-cleric dims, until the only things I’m aware of are him and the terrain directly in the path between us. Shimmering symbols flicker above his head, just as they did with the scythe, and I quickly examine them before they too fade.

  Gordon – Champion of Adoria

  Level 2 Caster

  Health: 8

  Armor: 8

  Abilities

  Magic: Blast

  Magic: Elements

  The arched blade of my scythe-pillow slams into Gordon’s shoulder, hitting the silver skull there, shattering it into pieces. The explosion of bone shocks me into taking a step back. I thought the armor would be stronger. He keeps it so shiny looking, I thought it would do more than explode after one hit. A shimmering light confirms otherwise.

  Gordon – Champion of Adoria

  Armor: 4

  He grunts and lifts his staff to cast another spell at me, but I’ve seen how long it takes him to build the magic up for an attack. I have plenty of time to catch the staff with the curve of my blade and pull it out of his hand before he blasts me once more. He scrambles to try to keep hold of it, but it’s no use. I’m clearly stronger than him.

  Without the staff, his face goes from smirking and confident to fearful. My body moves on its own, twisting around in an elaborate set of blows that smash the last of his armor before knocking him down to his knees in a splash of blood.

  Gordon – Champion of Adoria

  Health: 4

  I pause for a moment to catch my breath and give him a chance to beg for mercy. I’m not particularly inclined to give it to him since he just blew up my house with who knows how many people inside, but there is some part of me that feels a little sorry for him. Clearly his skills weren’t a good match for whatever I just pulled off with no training or prior knowledge of how to use a weapon.

  His hands twist and a blast of fire springs from his palm to fly into my stomach.

  I react without further thought, slicing him down with a final blow and taking a step back to shake the blood off my scythe with a flourish.

  Damage: 3

  Health: 6

  The illuminated symbols flash a warning before my eyes which are gone within the span of a blink.

  A quick pat-down of my apron puts out the flame, though it leaves a slight throb of pain in my side. I feel like I’ve been hurt more from touching hot wax even though I just took a fireball to my stomach. The sensation is worrisome, but I have more important things to deal with, such as killing the man who brought this trouble down on me.

  I slowly turn toward Kesarre, and from the way he flinches, he has some understanding of what’s going on in my head.

  “That was impressive.” His hands go up as though to show he’s got no weapons. Still, he grins as though he’s sure I won’t do anything to him. “I mean, really. I’ve never seen anyone adapt to their powers so quickly before. And the way you wielded that scythe?”

  His appreciative whistle is cut off short as I swing the blade at his throat. The blade stops inches from his skin. I try to push it forward, but my body won’t listen to my command.

  “Sorry.” He doesn’t look sorry at all. If anything, he looks amused. Smug even. “I’m your patron now. You can’t harm me. Not with the weapon I created for you.”

  I punch him.

  My fist lands decently, though I get the feeling I didn’t hurt him nearly as much as I would like. No flash of numbers appears and he swings his head to the side more out of surprise than any real pain.

  “Wow.” He rolls his jaw and looks me over with an even bigger and more irksome smirk. “You’re something else. I’ve never had anyone hit me before. Cry, yes. Whimper about how they never asked for this, sure. I’ve even had the rare person thank me, but no one’s actually taken a proper swing.”

  “You ruined my pillow.”

  His eyebrows rise at the blade I shove into his face. “Really? I think it looks quite lovely. Such a beautifully balanced creation. Perfect for reaping in the rewards of a harvest, or brutally murdering your foe. Life and death all wrapped up in a sleek ivory design.”

  “How am I supposed to nap with this thing?” I keep trying to hit him with the blade, but it’s more out of curiosity than malice at this point. The edge never touches him as though there’s an invisible barrier a couple of inches from his skin I can’t push past. “I’m more likely to lose an eye than have a good sleep.”

  “Oh,” he seems to suddenly understand what I’m saying and touches the tip of the blade closest to his throat. “You can change it back.” The blade shimmers and the feel of smooth ivory shifts into something much softer in my hands. “Actually, you can change it into whatever object you desire. You just have to picture it in your mind while holding the weapon and it will listen.”

  And just like that, I have my pillow back.

  My filthy, stinking, questionably stained pillow.

  “Of course,” Kesarre says while noticing the same issues as me, “no matter its shape, it will still retain any damage—or dirt—it receives.”

  My pillow is covered in Gordon ooze.

  I turn to glare at the caster as though this is his fault, he shouldn’t have bled on my weapon so much, but he’s gone. No sign of him dragging himself away, and I know he didn’t simply get up and walk, not after the beating I gave him.

  “Don’t worry about that,” Kesarre said. “He’s probably fine. There’s no reason to worry about killing someone. You did great.”

  “I’m not worried about killing him.”

  “You’re not?” His heavily mud-covered eyebrows lift. “That’s new as well. And a little troubling. It’s possible I should screen my heroes a little better and make sure I don’t get any sociopaths.”

  “He destroyed my house and whoever was inside at the time.”

  Kesarre turns to look at the rubble behind us, a hand on his hip as though he’s only noticing the empty space where my building once stood for the first time.

  “He was a murderer and deserved to die,” I say.

  “Right.” He frowns at the building as though he was trying to figure out how much change to give back to a customer. My face scrunches up at the very thought and my heart goes to him for having to work out such a difficult problem. Even if he was the cause of this issue in the first place. “I suppose I could fix it for you, if you ask nicely. Consider it a gift from your patron for accepting your role as my champion with such beauty and intensity. Though, I won’t be able to bring back every building destroyed. It’s an exhausting feat, and you will need to learn responsibility and restraint with your new powers.”

  He stares at me as though waiting for me to say something, though I have no idea how to respond to his nonsense. Does he expect me to thank him for ruining my life? Since he clearly isn’t going to do a thing until I give him an answer, I nod and hope the vague agreement is enough.

  A smile and a pat on my shoulder later, he turns to the ruins and lifts
his head toward the sky. Sparks of white flames form around his hand in a twisting swirl. The stronger they become, the harder I find it to breathe. I want to run away while his back is to me, but it’s like his body is a magnet, and I’m drawn closer to him with every spark of energy he pulls from the air.

  My hand moves of its own accord, reaching out for his back just as he releases the magic and sends it swirling over the rubble. Whatever effect his magic had on me is released and I drop my hand instantly before he could see what I was about to do. It feels too intimate, though I only planned to press my palm against his back. Without the draw of his magic, the idea becomes ludicrous. He’s too strong, too powerful for someone like me to dare touch him. Suddenly my punch seems like the actions of a suicidal fool. He could crush me with a look and I dared to confront him? Next time I was so foolish, I’d be sure to die.

  The understanding of his power overwhelms me, keeping me staring at him rather than the building he’s using his magic on.

  “Satisfied?” He asks with a smirk that tells me he won’t be happy with anything less than a shriek of delight.

  That single smile from him melts away the fear I was feeling with his back turned. He’s just some guy who’ll get me in more trouble than he’s worth after all.

  Even so, there’s the building that was in ruins only seconds before, standing as though nothing happened. I walk forward so he can’t see my face in case it slips from mild interest to amazement I’m sure would go to his head.

  “And the people within?”

  As I say the words, the front door opens and Lady Daria herself steps out.

  “Oh, Miss Jenny, you’ve come home again, I see.” Lady Daria’s lips pull up in a sneer that might have made me feel miserable about myself if I wasn’t so happy to see her alive. “Well, I guess it can’t be helped.”

  “It’s lovely to see you, Lady Daria.” I show her a quick curtsy, though her eyes are on Kesarre behind me.

  “You aren’t bringing a boy inside are you, Miss Jenny?” Lady Daria’s eyes scan over Kesarre and her sneer increases to show she does not approve of the filthy man, though even she must see how beautiful he is despite it all. “You know that’s against the rules.”

  “Of course not,” I answer quickly. “I don’t even know who this man is.”

  My answer seems to satisfy her as she gives a curt nod. “Very good. Have a pleasant evening, Miss Jenny.”

  “And you, Lady Daria.” She’s already off before I finish saying her name.

  “Pleasant woman,” Kesarre mutters. “I’m so glad I wasted my energy bringing her back.”

  And with that, he collapses into the mud, unconscious.

  Chapter Four

  Bedroom Talk

  Leaving him behind would be easiest, but then some other poor unsuspecting soul might stumble across him to be cursed by his magic. And so, after a glance to make sure Lady Daria isn’t within view, I drag him into the house and up to my room. Though, dragging isn’t the most accurate description. A few hours earlier, I’m sure it would take all my energy just to get his tall form through the muddy street to the bottom of the building’s stairs. Whatever magic he cast on me makes it so I can pick him up and fling him over one shoulder. His feet drag since he’s still at least a foot taller than me, but it allows me to carry both him and my pillow into the house without incident.

  Well, almost.

  “Jenny, is that you?” My neighbor, Willow, steps out of her room without looking up from her book, “Do you mind keeping it down, I’m trying to…” Her eyes land on the filthy man in my arms. She turns to me as I try to think of a way to explain the situation, then slowly backs into her room and closes the door without another word.

  I consider begging her to keep silent about the whole thing, especially to Lady Daria, but I decide to leave well enough alone. Willow and I don’t talk much, both of us keeping to ourselves for the most part, but she’s always seemed a reasonable person. Perhaps she’ll pretend she never saw a thing and move on with her life as I would in her place.

  It’s tricky to unlock the door to my room with both hands full, but I manage, and drop Kesarre on the floor inches from the pile of cloth covered straw I call a bed. There’s little else in the room. A chest sits next to the window that holds my few possessions. It’s rusted to a partially open position, so I always scrape my hands on the metal edging every time I try to get anything in or out. Inside are my night clothes, an extra set of day clothes, and a sewing kit with a dull needle with barely enough thread to close even the smallest of rips. A wooden stool sits near the bed with one leg slightly shorter than the other two so it always wobbles, and a tiny fireplace I can rarely afford to light despite the cool damp air of the room, no matter the season.

  I lay back on my bed with my filthy pillow under my head and listen to my stomach growl. I have no food, of course. I spent the last of my week’s coins to purchase the pillow. I thought it would be worth it. With Gordon goo sticking to my hair, I wonder what would have happened if I’d waited one more week to purchase the pillow. How much better would life be if I came home directly after work and never met Kesarre at all? I’d have money to buy food. I wouldn’t have a boy in my room lying a few inches from me and leaving stinking mud stains all over my wood floors. I would be simply worrying about getting through another day of work tomorrow.

  “Are you not able to quiet that belly of yours?” Kesarre doesn’t open his eyes as he speaks, and I remain silent in hopes he’ll fall back asleep. No such luck. “Seriously, it’s like having my head next to a blacksmith’s forge. I don’t know how you can rest with it gurgling away like that.”

  “I should have left you to drown in the mud.”

  “Not a very nice thing to say to your patron.” He sits up with a speed I’m not expecting, and I do the same just in case this is a sign we’re about to get attacked again. “I suppose now we have a few minutes, I can answer any questions you must have.”

  I fall back onto my pillow and groan as the slime squishes into my ear.

  “I don’t care,” I say as I close my eyes to try and get some sleep.

  “As you’ve probably already surmised, I am Kesarre.” He gets to his feet to strike a heroic pose with one fist on his hip and the other hand clasping upward as though he might hold the world in his palm. An impossible light appears around him, casting him as a partial silhouette. “Deity of balance.”

  He remains motionless for a long moment like an uncomfortable statue, probably waiting for some response from me. I use my apron to wipe off my ear as best I can.

  He clears his throat and with more passion this time declares, “Deity of ba-”

  “I’ve never heard of you,” I interrupt. His shoulders droop with defeat and he collapses into a cross-legged seat on the floor. Guilt sprinkles over me like a light rain, and I feel compelled to comfort him. “There are like three hundred deities. It’s impossible to know all of them unless you’re a priest and it’s your life’s work. I don’t mean to insult you.”

  He waves away my words with a turn of his head as though to hide unshed tears, not that I see any in his unusual eyes. “It’s fine,” he says. “It’s to be expected really. There’s a reason why I had to resort to trickery to find a champion. This may surprise you, what with my being such a powerful and attractive god, but there aren’t many who follow me.”

  “I’m shocked,” I say entirely for his benefit.

  “If I’m to be completely truthful,” he continues as though I care, “there are only three others who have fewer followers than myself. Lassier, deity of winter streams, Adoria, deity of the waning moon, and Safferro, deity of mist.”

  “That must be difficult for you,” I say in the same dry tone he’s yet to understand is my way of saying ‘shut up already.’

  My rumbling stomach keeps me from getting comfortable. Perhaps Lady Daria has an old bit of cheese stored away I could borrow without her noticing. While she clearly doesn’t know it, she does owe me fo
r getting Kesarre to rebuild our house and unsquash her.

  “It’s quite frustrating as a deity of balance to not be considered equal to your two hundred and thirteen siblings and cousins,” he nods solemnly. “Especially since Jusain and Larra have decided they want to limit the number of deities to merely thirty, knocking the rest of us into demi-god status, or worse, mere titans.”

  “Jusain and Larra I have heard of,” I point out. “The god and goddess of life and death. Everyone has heard of them. Are they nearby? Because I feel like they would be able to help fix my pillow and maybe get me something to eat if they were.”

  Kesarre twitches a finger and a tingling feeling tickles my scalp. When I touched my hand to my hair to see if the goo has attracted bugs, I find my hand comes away clean. No goo to be found. The pillow is sparkling as well, and when I turn to be sure Kesarre isn’t playing another trick on me, I discover the mud he tracked in has completely gone, leaving him shimmering in a white suit that fits him perfectly.

  “It was Adoria’s champion you met today,” Kesarre continues as though he hadn’t just performed a miracle. “She’s been tracking me for a few days now. All part of the game Jusain and Larra have forced the rest of us to play. Everyone is determined to prove themselves worthy of a place by their side, even though it’s clear we all should continue on as we were, as things were working perfectly fine before this chaos began.”

  I don’t really want to believe him. If I do, then I currently have a god in my tiny apartment complaining to me about a bunch of other gods being mean to him. But, then again, while I’ve heard of people being able to control elements and occasionally even make things explode, I’ve never heard of anything like what Kesarre has shown me today. His being a minor god makes just as much sense as anything else.

  What doesn’t make sense is why he would ever choose me to be a champion, even if he was desperate.

  “Why didn’t you just kill that guy yourself?” I ask. “Clearly you have the power to.”