Games Creatures Play

  I needed to win. The gods demanded I fight and win, or die trying.

  In spite of it all—sacred duty, civic duty, and yes, human pride—I hesitated. I didn’t want to die. I recognized the hellebore on the barb of the ring; Eleon knew my weakness. I knew it would stop my heart if it pierced my skin.

  I thought about the oracle at home, and the Korax’s orders, and yet I hesitated.

  Father Zeus, aid me now. I can’t rely on the animal powers you gave me, just my human ability—

  A movement in the stands caught my eye; a flutter of familiar blue silk on a litter.

  Phryne was among the spectators.

  It was like a flag signaling the call to battle. I put my head down and charged.

  My opponent, incensed by my refusal to quit, also charged.

  The crowd roared approval.

  I kept one eye out for that right hand and the deadly spiked ring.

  His first punch landed on my temple. I fought badly, clinging to his right wrist. I flailed at his head, his body, but he was crazier than ever, made wilder by my defiance.

  I twisted again, to keep him from kneeing me. I couldn’t win, fighting purely on the defensive. I was going to lose . . .

  It began to rain, a downpour. A crack of lightning and a low rumble across the heavens.

  The rain swiftly washed away the rest of the hellebore from him. My head cleared somewhat, though every inch of me was bruised and broken . . .

  I made a decision. A bad choice, but my only one. I maneuvered, still fighting poorly, giving Eleon every opportunity to do what he wanted to do.

  Finally, he got an ankle behind mine and hooked it out from underneath me.

  We went down into the mud, him on top of me. I held his right hand with both of mine, the spike only inches from my chin. I wrapped both legs around his waist and pulled him even closer to me.

  I swung my left leg over his neck, his right hand pinned against my chest. I raised my hips and, still holding his arm, used the weight of my leg to roll him off me. Now he was on his back, my left leg over his neck, my right leg over his chest, his arm trapped in my hands.

  He should have known what was coming, but he kept struggling. He’d have to be a far more sophisticated fighter to escape me now. As it was, he was tired and sore.

  Insanity and rage will only take you so far.

  I arched my back, pushing my legs down against his body, until I felt his elbow bending the wrong way.

  He screamed, but didn’t submit.

  I arched more, his arm bending backward over the fulcrum of my body. He was risking a break and a dislocation now.

  A low animal moan and he went limp. I couldn’t tell if it was asphyxiation or pain, but he was unconscious.

  I shoved his arm well away from me and rolled over onto my belly, breathing heavily. The mud squelched, and I remembered the pigs in the sty. I growled low and wolfishly in his ear. The crowd couldn’t hear; their cheering drowned out even the thunder.

  The priest glanced at Keos and shrugged. He stepped forward and placed the olive wreath, cut from Zeus’s own grove, on my head and tied red ribbons around my arms and legs.

  My heart soared. My hurts dulled and healed, and I felt like a god.

  Or perhaps, with the hellebore washed away, I was merely regaining my ability to recover.

  I glanced up to the litter, but it was nowhere to be seen. A thing that large, with attendants and bearers, doesn’t just vanish . . .

  It came to me in a moment: Of course she’d never been there. Women aren’t allowed to watch the Games. Like the rain sent to wash away the hellebore, my prayer had been answered. Some god had sent a vision of Phryne to spur me on.

  The crowd rushed the field. I found the Korax among them.

  I should not have expected him to be smiling. He was shaking a finger at me.

  My job was only half done.

  • • •

  I’d never seen anything like the celebration feast that evening at Keos’s pavilion, much less been the cause of it. The Korax even bought me a new gown for the occasion. Not my taste, but fancy enough, and certainly cleaner than anything of mine.

  My people tend to be conservative in their ways, downplaying our deeds, chalking them up to a day’s work. Which they are, but I have to say, it was novel and pleasing to have someone celebrate my accomplishments—and as a man, not one born to the Fang. For something not only laudable by my people, but celebrated across the civilized world.

  A heady wine, and unwatered.

  After the third or fourth song, I put aside intoxicating pride and returned to business. Keos had not yet appeared at his own party, so claiming the need to relieve myself, I went to the privies. Seeing no one around, I made the transformation into a wolf-man.

  The metamorphosis brought with it that godlike sense of purpose and righteousness that dwarfed the childlike adulation of mortals.

  Hugging the shadows of the pavilion, I heard footsteps behind me.

  “Forgive me, sir. I was sent to help you find your way—”

  It must have been the wine, or my head had been turned by the fuss, or I was still weak from the day’s events to have let the page get so close. I turned, snarled, and leaped on him.

  The poor fellow fainted dead away with one look at me. Which was just as well.

  In my new form, it was easy to pick up the trail of Keos. I followed it to a curtained-off area at the far end of the pavilion, near the line of tents used as storerooms. Two armed men watched there.

  Wait—why would extra guards be needed at a storeroom, in this secure place?

  I came on them quietly. One was unconscious before he spoke. The other was so amazed by the idea of a wolf-headed man that he spent too long agape in fear. Made it easy for me to incapacitate him.

  No more guards, no alarms, and I opened the door to the room, certain I was about to complete my task—

  Phryne looked up and saw me. She was stooped over an opened strongbox, an open lock and a small flask on the floor beside her. Keos was also on the floor, unmoving.

  Her shock was momentary, confusion followed by awe. She prostrated herself before me. “Tell me the right thing to do, whatever god you are, and I will do it.”

  I was so startled, I slid from my transformation and was a man once again. Curiosity overwhelmed fear of discovery. “What are you doing?”

  She did not look up, her voice muffled by her robes. “Only what I was bid, by my lord and master, Tenes. Sent to recover a document that would prove his brother Keos was a traitor, asking for Egyptian poisons to kill him. I beguiled Keos into bragging and I begged to see the poison.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “No, just unconscious. He’s not the only one who can use potions and poisons.”

  I thought quickly, made my voice as deep and . . . godlike . . . as I could. “We work to the same purpose, then. How will you convey the letter to Tenes?”

  “No need, lord. I’ll bring it to the edge of this encampment and deliver it to a priest. To sully the holiness of the Games . . . it will be enough to have Keos banished.”

  She was telling the truth, I could tell. I would watch her from a distance, make certain the exchange was effected. My goal would be achieved.

  Without thinking, I stooped down and took her hand, raising her up.

  As she raised her head, she gasped. “It’s you!”

  “Uhh—” As I’ve said, I’m no actor.

  She drew back, as far as she could. “You had the head of a wolf! Are you a Neuri, from beyond Scythia, who can change into a wolf? Or a descendant from cursed Lycaon, who offended Zeus by feeding him a child’s flesh?”

  I instinctively made the sign to ward off evil. “No! You and I share the same ambition, to serve the gods and preserve the sanctity of the Games.”

  “Huh
,” she said, dryly. “I meant only to serve my master.”

  It suddenly occurred to me that with Keos gone, Tenes would inherit his estate and become one of the wealthiest men in the world. And Phryne would be richly rewarded.

  “Tricking Keos was your idea?”

  She looked down demurely. She had the craftiness of a man.

  “So much cunning behind that lovely face,” I said, shocked.

  “And what of you?” she snapped. “Lying, sneaking about, abusing the hospitality of Keos, your host? Who knows what kind of sins you committed, to be so cursed with a vicious double nature?”

  “I serve the gods!”

  “And so might not I? Who knows how I was directed here, if not by the gods? I was succeeding before you arrived!”

  A shout: The boy who’d fainted early had come around, no doubt. No more time to waste.

  “This way.” She stuffed the letter and pouch into the front of her gown and hurried out the door. She led me down through the labyrinth of pavilions. We ran into guards running toward the strong room; she neatly ducked out of my way. I threw one aside and used the other’s own shield to bash him.

  “Down to the river!” she said. “No one will think to look there. Hurry.”

  She took my hand; I followed. She knew the maze of elite lodgings well and was clever at avoiding detection. A few moments later, she stopped and waved me away into hiding. She ran to a man; when he removed his hood, I recognized him as a priest. He took the parcel and bowed to her with more respect than I expected. She said a few words, then returned to me.

  “Thanks for your assistance. He will escort me safely to my master. And Keos will be taken away for questioning.”

  “If it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t have needed help with those guards.” I realized her plan had been perfect, until I’d come along.

  “If you hadn’t come, there wouldn’t have been any ruckus, and I might have been discovered missing from the party,” she said impatiently. “Don’t try to second-guess the Fates.”

  She reached up, kissed me on the cheek, and then hurried away with the priest.

  I turned into a wolf. I ran, the rushing wind in my ears. It helped blot out my tumult of emotions as I made a speedy escape.

  I was past the pavilions when I heard a hiss. “Hey, boy! Over here.”

  Korax was dressed to travel. He had my bundle with him.

  “We gotta get out of here. I arranged for a horse at the edge of the village.”

  I shifted back to a man’s form. “But everyone will know I broke in—”

  “No. I chucked a gown identical to yours in the pigsty, then told a guard I’d seen Eleon dragging you back there.” The old man cackled. “He’ll have a hell of a time explaining—” He stopped abruptly. “Hades. She kissed you, didn’t she?”

  “How did you—?”

  “That woebegone look. The whiff of roses. Also, I had a vision, which is why I am so prepared to run. Didn’t I tell you to stay away from—?”

  “But I’d completed my task! The proof of Keos’s treachery is in the hands of a priest—”

  Korax took my hand, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Okay, I know that one. He’s no true seer, but he serves his temple honestly.” He blinked, then returned to normal. “I said, no women!”

  “Keos was stopped, the Games preserved!” I protested.

  “Yes, yes,” he said, dismissing my words. “But if you hadn’t let her kiss you, you could have sneaked back to the celebration and enjoyed an entire night devoted to praising you. Now you’re running from the greatest victory a man can know, in the middle of the night, with a crazy old man. And in every nymph you sculpt, every scrap of wood you whittle, you’ll find her face. You’ll pine for Phryne as long as you live. I’d hoped to spare you that, at least.”

  He was right. I’d forever hear the songs about the mighty athlete who was murdered the night of his greatest victory and have to pretend it wasn’t me. I’d claim no prize money. I’d remember beautiful, clever Phryne with longing, forever.

  Difficult enough, O gods, to make me a man who was also a wolf—why complicate things with oracles’ riddles and a hetaira with the mind of Odysseus? Why give me all the powers I had, then force me to fight without them? Why also send Phryne to do the work I was sent to do? Why inspire me with a vision of her, when I could never have her?

  It was as though the gods set rules for us, and then made sport of us.

  It wasn’t for me to question any of this, I realized, as we fled through the raucous crowds. Zeus could play us however he chose. It was his Game.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE:

  While descended from pankration, today’s various forms of mixed martial arts have far greater restrictions regarding tactics—and the athletes are generally clothed. I relied on Neil Faulkner’s A Visitor’s Guide to the Ancient Olympics and advice from Joe Basile to create Niko’s world in the early fourth century BCE.

  THE CASE OF THE HAUNTED SAFEWAY

  AN EXCERPT FROM HUNTER HUNTERSON’S WAR JOURNAL

  SCOTT SIGLER

  New York Times bestselling novelist Scott Sigler is the author of Nocturnal, Ancestor, Infected, Contagious, and Pandemic, hardcover thrillers from Crown Publishing, and the cofounder of Empty Set Entertainment, which publishes his Galactic Football League series (The Rookie, The Starter, The All-Pro, and The MVP).

  Before he was published, Scott built a large online following by giving away his self-recorded audiobooks as free, serialized podcasts. His loyal fans, who named themselves “Junkies,” have downloaded more than fifteen million individual episodes of his stories and interact daily with Scott and each other in the social media space.

  Why was I in the frozen foods aisle of a Safeway store at three in the morning? Because it was haunted, of course, and my job was to make it unhaunted.

  My name is Hunter Hunterson. Technically, you can add a junior to that, but since Pa passed away there ain’t much confusion on the name front. This here is my War Journal, where I track the exploits of Hunter Hunterson & Sons, my family business.

  And what is our family business, you might ask? Monster stompin’. It runs in our blood: I’m second-generation, my kids are third.

  The Case of the Haunted Safeway was a doozy, that’s for sure. Stick around and I’ll get into that story, but first, a little background for you.

  A few months back, we chased this parole-jumping, methed-out vampire across country, following his trail of victims from our home in Slayerville, Kentucky, all the way to San Francisco. We bagged that vamp, of course—that’s what we do—and turned him in to the Netherworld Protectorate for the bounty.

  When we did, the local NP officials informed us that there was a job opening, on account of the local NP marshals getting eaten on the job. The supernatch were running unchecked all over San Francisco, Oakland, and the Bay Area—if I was of a mind to clean up the place, they’d make it worth my while.

  I ain’t much partial to this area of the country, but the money was regular, and too damn good to pass up. A man’s got to provide for his family, you see, and five years from now I could have three kids in college at the same damn time.

  So, that’s how a truck-driving, gun-owning, country-music-loving Republican family came to live in the world’s most liberal place. This town has already shown us some wild times: we’ve seen late-night diner zombies, homophobic fairies, an Oni with an attitude problem, a deadhead wizard up to no good, escaped-convict goblins, and a lady monster hunter who’s way more dangerous than the monsters she’s supposed to be hunting. We’ve been zapped, shot at, bitten, stabbed, scratched, glamoured, punched, and pummeled.

  And yet for all those turmoils and travails, it was that haunted Safeway that got to me the most. That case taught me something: there are things worse than death. If you’ve loved someone as deeply as I have, you’ll understand wh
en you read this.

  Everything in this story is true, so I hope you enjoy this journal entry.

  —Hunter

  • • •

  “Pa,” my son said quietly, “since we’re here, can we get some Twinkies?”

  My son is six foot three and weighs upward of two hundred fifty pounds. He’s sixteen; God knows how big he’ll be when it’s all said and done. All he ever thinks about is girls, basketball, monster stompin’, and what goes in his belly—not necessarily in that order.

  I leaned back and whispered to him: “Dammit, Bo, there’s a ghost right there in front of the frozen veggies. We’re here to do a job, not eat.”

  “We’re in a grocery store,” he said. “We can do a job and eat.”

  I’m happy my kids are smart, but I ain’t too keen on it when they’re clever.

  “Bo, if I have to tell you again, I’ll—”

  “Sorry, Pa,” he said quickly. “I’m watching the ghost.”

  He made a show of looking around the end cap of aisle eight to stare to his right, at the frozen food cases, in front of which floated half a semitransparent body: chest, arms, and head. Instead of legs, it seemed to balance on a cloud of blue mist; the classic case of a half-torso apparition, a default form for some ghosts.

  The Safeway was a normal grocery store: ten long vertical aisles that led to a horizontal aisle along the rear. The dairy case, meat section, and a nice-looking deli section lined that rear aisle.

  So far, the ghost hadn’t done any damage—from what we’d been told, that would soon change.

  We were there to evict or ’vaporate that ghostie, clear him out so that the Safeway night-stock crew could get back to work. We couldn’t make a move yet, though, because we’d been told this haunting involved two ghosts—they apparently threw things, knocked over fruit displays, and basically mucked up business in general.

  Bo is my oldest. He’s adopted. Not that you need to be a detective to figure that out or anything, what with the fact that most rednecks like me don’t have kids with pitch-black skin. He already outweighs me by fifty pounds—another little clue for you if you’re keeping score.