The Godgame (The Godgame, Book 1) (3 page)

“No, I didn’t,” Ash said, rubbing his throat with his hand, thinking of his father’s stew.

“And did you know you can re-attach a severed finger or even a person’s arm with some stitching and a little slurry?”

“Nuh-uh,” Ash said, his interest piqued.

“That’s right. And you can cure psychosis with secretions from the fire-tailed frog.”

“Yeah?”

“And incontinence with herbs. And male dysfunction with fryleaf.”

“Inconti—what?”

“And getting someone to fall in love with someone else is only a matter of manipulation and persuasion. Love is such a fickle thing, so easily twisted by lust.”

“Lust?”

“People’s opinions and beliefs are easily shaped and tugged to foul purposes…”

Ash blinked.

“And when you add a few chemicals to the equation, entire nations can be swayed to violence and death.”

Ash didn’t understand what Mother Marlena was talking about, but her words excited him.

“Ah, here it is,” Mother Marlena said. She flew back to the table with a small canister pinched between her fingers.

His fear gone, Ash stepped up to the table.

“Here you go,” the old woman said to him, dropping the small container into his open palm. “Have her smear this beneath her eyes twice a day, once in the morning and once at night.”

Her hand shot out, snatched his wrist, and drew him close. Her huge eyes looked into Ash’s. Up close, they looked wet and runny. She sniffed him noisily, inhaling deeply. Her lips parted and her mouth was lined with huge square teeth glistening with saliva; her breath earthy, like decaying meat.

Ash tried to pull away, but the old woman wouldn’t let go.

“What are you?”

With some effort, he wrenched his hand free and began to back away. The old woman watched him with interest and hunger.

“What are you?”

He turned and ran from the house.

“Wait,” he heard Mother Marlena call after him. “Tell me what you are!”

Ash ran back to the village, passing through the dark street, between the small houses that lay still in the dark like sleeping beasts, afraid he might wake one of them, and be unable to run away fast enough.

JOSEF

Josef Alexander pinched the letter with his fingers, leaving a visible indentation where his perspiring thumb had been. He was staring out the window, but it was too dark to see much of anything. It was the middle of the night and everyone else was in bed. He could just make out the branches of the nova tree—after which their lands were named—that grew in the backyard, its limbs shivering in the breeze.

His wife broke into a fit of coughing in the back bedroom, which filled the entire house—seemed, to Josef, to shake the walls—despite the door being closed. Josef gritted his teeth and waited for it to pass. Every time she coughed, he felt her pain, the muscles in his chest clenching, holding his breath until she regained her composure. It had become difficult to remain by her side, to watch her suffer. He hoped she would be okay. He hoped the medicine Ash had brought back from Mother Marlena would help. It had not been cheap. He needed her to be okay. There were decisions to be made. Hard times were coming. His children needed protection; Ash most of all.

Should I give my son to war or to madness?

Josef forced himself to take a deep breath, to let it out slowly. Ash was too young, too innocent; he needed a couple more years to mature, to become a man. There were so many things Josef had failed to teach him, things he’d delayed, thinking he had more time, wanting to give his son a proper childhood, a happy childhood.

He opened the letter and read it again.

It was a simple note, but with a signature of such significance… He ran his thumb over it. The ink was raised on the paper so that he could trace the flourish of the letters:
MARROW
.

Everyone knew of Marrow and his aerial, of his great flying ship that travelled the skies. There were many stories. Some said he was a philanthropist, travelling the lands in search of those in trouble. Others said he was a healer, a man of advanced knowledge in the surgical arts, that he could fix mental maledictions by opening the skull and adjusting the position of one’s brain, that he could reattach severed limbs, or provide mechanical ones, arms and legs and even blinded eyes for those of the fleshy variety missing and beyond repair. Some claimed he could raise the dead. And many thought he must be of the immortal race, one of the arkaine—although he did not have the height or the purple hued skin—because he had lived through several human generations. Others said he was a treasure hunter, seeking the rarest of artifacts, priceless gemstones and ancient tomes of secret and forgotten knowledge. Some said he travelled in more worlds than one.

Josef didn’t know what to believe. He knew only one person who had ever met the man, and she had always refused to speak of him. But now she must, because Marrow’s letter was an invitation for Ash, for their son. Marrow was offering their son a place on his aerial, a position of great honor, some said. There were those who trained for such an honor; others who prayed, some even to Marrow himself. There were houses in Talos, or so the rumors persisted, which served as places of worship to Marrow, places to pray, to beg to be chosen worthy to join Marrow’s crew. To learn under Marrow’s tutelage was akin to acceptance into the greatest of colleges, into an institution of learning far older and far greater than any still functioning today.

But Josef did not trust such institutions; they were, after all, Talosian by nature. They were complex and often focused on extravagance and manipulation. They were designed for those seeking power and control over others and, sometimes, over the natural laws of the world. He was, after all, a Novan, and here in Nova they lived a simpler life. They did not have such needs.

Yet war was coming. It could not be denied. Small bands of Talosian troops had been seen on their lands and the Novan committee had begun to organize the recruitment of soldiers for their defense. They were taking anyone of age able to hold and fire a rifle. At twelve years old, Ash was old enough to join them. Kya was ten and still too young, but Ash was now considered an adult and it would ultimately be his choice—despite the protests of Josef or his wife—and Josef feared he already knew what choice their son would make.

So, what should I do? Should I give my son to the soldiers or to Marrow?

No matter the choice, he lost his son. Ash would leave the safety of their home and be forced to fend for himself. He did not trust Marrow, knew very little about him, but war was a dangerous thing. Soldiers died. Horrors were witnessed. Even those who survived were forever changed.

His wife’s coughing roused him from his thoughts.

He looked down at Marrow’s letter and realized he’d crumpled it in his fist, his fingernails white from clenching. He forced his hand to relax and smoothed out the letter. He had to speak with his wife. Lena had known Marrow when she was younger and she would have a better idea what they should do. Even if she was unwilling to share with him her experiences concerning Marrow, she might still know if he could be trusted with their son.

Josef sighed. In the morning, sick or not, he would speak with her. He had hidden Marrow’s letter from her and he had not told anyone about it. It had come anonymously marked many days ago. His first instinct had been to destroy the letter and forget it had ever been delivered, but instead, for whatever reason, he had tucked it away and forgotten about it. But now, with the army recruitment teams in town, he had retrieved it. Could this really be a better option for his son? Could this be a way to save him?

Lena would know. She was smarter than he was, and wiser to the ways of the larger world. She would know.

~

“Lena?”

His wife blinked, even smiled.

“How are you feeling this morning?”

The medicine Mother Marlena had instructed to smear beneath his wife’s eyes was now dried and flaking and she was forced to squint up at him through the crust, but she nodded. “Better,” she said.

Josef let out a sigh of relief. Color was returning to his wife’s cheeks. A knot rose in his throat and for several moments he was choked up and couldn’t speak; he could only peer down at his tentatively smiling wife, the letter clutched in his hand forgotten.

“I wanted to see you before I went to open the store,” Josef said.

“I’m glad you did.” She reached her hand out and patted the bed.

He sat and her arm came down to rest in his lap. She gave his leg a squeeze and he smiled. He leaned over to kiss her on the forehead and he saw her eyes glance at the letter.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“It’s… You know the recruiters are coming and Ash…”

Worry abruptly creased his wife’s face. She nodded.

“I could tell him stories, try to scare him, get him to say he’ll stay home, tell him we need him here. I could tell him I need his help at the store. Or, when they come, I could hide him. I could take him to Farrenhold for the day. I could…”

His wife raised her hand to stop him. She lifted herself to a sitting position, grimacing, and looked him deeply in the eyes. “What’s in the letter?”

He broke eye contact to look down at the letter. He sighed. “It might be a way to keep Ash out of the war.”

“How?”

Josef handed his wife the letter and watched her, slowly and with trembling hands, open and begin to read it. He watched the crease between her eyes deepen. She stared at the letter for a very long time, as if frozen in place.

Josef waited, trying to be patient, but when it felt as if several minutes had passed and he could no longer stand the silence, he said, “I thought—”

“No.”

“But he’ll—”

“Has Ash seen this letter?”

Josef’s jaw clenched and he shook his head.

“Good.”

Josef leaned forward, clutching his wife. “I know,” he said. “It’s just an option.” He faltered. He didn’t know what else to say.

His wife’s arms were limp by her sides and she had a pained look on her face. The letter lay like a fallen leaf in her lap.

Josef felt the question slipping out before he could stop himself. “What did Marrow do to you?”

Lena turned her eyes on him, somehow both angry and sad at the same time. “You said you’d never ask me that,” she said, but not with the same conviction he’d met the other times he’d dared to ask her about Marrow. Her body slumped, exhausted, looking old and worn.

“I’m sorry,” Josef said.

His wife shook her head. “It’s okay. I should tell you. I just... I’ve always wanted this life to be different, simpler, free of the past, my past. Please. You understand.”

“Yeah. Understood.”

“Burn that letter,” Lena said. “I don’t want our son to go to war any more than you do, but he
is
old enough to decide for himself. And we both agree it’s necessary, right? If Nova does not organize a military force, the Talosians will sweep through our lands and we’ll be helpless to stop them. Ash has to forge his own path through life, just as we have. Here in Nova he has the freedom, just as we do, to make his own choices. They’ll make him clean the tents or serve the food. He’s too young to see any fighting. Don’t worry.”

Josef gave his wife a strained smile. “You’re right. I’m just happy to see you feeling so much better.”

Lena’s smile returned. “Glad to be feeling better. What about you?”

“Me? I’m feeling okay.”

“No. Will you join them?”

Josef blinked. “You mean the militia? I hadn’t even considered that.”

“You could stay close to Ash, keep him safe.”

“But you’re sick. Who will take care of our daughters?”

“I’ll find others in town to help. We’ll be okay.”

Josef looked at his wife closely. He sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Lena said. “We have to protect what we’ve built here. They were supposed to leave us alone. We can’t let them destroy it all now.”

ASH

He is in an empty field, stretching flat in every direction. At the furthest reaches of his vision, there is a darkness that seems to move, pulsing, wriggling, as if large things lurk just beyond the reach of his eyes. He can feel the grass beneath his bare feet, damp, and the air is thick with moisture against his skin and heavy in his lungs. He turns and there is a lone chair of simple wood standing not far from him. He begins to walk toward it... And then he is climbing a tree and looking up through a tangle of branches and he really wants to see what’s in the sky, needs to see it, something flying high above… And then he is standing alone in a blackened crater and there is a towering pile of dead things burning and the smell… And then his feet are padding through soft powder like snow, but it’s not snow; it’s warm and puffs up in little clouds with every step. All around him are windowless buildings smooth and gray and there is something coming toward him and it has no face…

~

In the morning, Ash could not remember his dreams. They had been strange and dark. He usually dreamed about adventure, about cutting his way through dense forests to discover forgotten caves or ancient cities filled with treasure. He sometimes dreamed of building tree houses, ones with many platforms and walls and windows. He’d dreamed once that he was a captain of a ship sailing across the ocean to rescue his sister who had been kidnapped. Sometimes he had scary dreams—running from lumbering beasts with claws or men with large smiles and shiny knives—but nothing like the shadowy ones he’d had last night. Last night he hadn’t felt scared, only uneasy, the danger looming and still far away, but getting closer and closer...

A shudder ran through his body as he pushed himself out of bed. He stood, stretched, jumped up and down a couple of times, and felt better. He didn’t have to go to school and that thought made him excited. School had been cancelled all week.

The rifle!

His pants from the day before were crumpled at the foot of his bed and he hurriedly pulled them on. He slipped into his shoes, tore open his dresser and grabbed the first shirt he saw.

Everyone else was still asleep, so he burst through the front door without being seen and ran around the house and toward the beach.

~

There was a battered open-topped buggy parked in the dirt in front of his house when he returned a little while later. Ash ran up to it. It had rubber wheels and was made of metal, painted an earthen green color. He brushed his hand over its rough surface. He ran around to look at its engine, mounted at the back, a complex hulk of gears and pistons. “Cool,” he said. He found the cap where the slurry, which fueled the engine, was poured, caked with dark, congealed smears.

He skipped up to the house, opened the door.

“No,” his dad said. “Go away! Ash, get out of here!”

“Dad? What’s going on?”

There were two strange men standing in the living room and he knew immediately what they were by their uniforms—plain navy, nova tree badges: soldiers from the Novan army. Their rifles were leaning in the corner and the bearded one—smiling at him—had a pistol clipped to his belt: an officer of some ranking.

The bearded officer bent a little to look at Ash. “Ash, is it?”

Ash’s heart was pounding. “Yeah—I mean, yes, sir!”

The bearded officer smiled.

“No,” his dad said again. “He’s too young.”

Ash snatched a bread knife from the table and pretended to stab an invisible enemy in front of him. His little sisters watched from the corner. He winked at them. He tossed the knife back to the table.

The bearded officer began to laugh, a rumbling chuckle.

His little sisters began to laugh too. The other soldier bent down to them, picked up one of their dolls of woven sticks and pretended to make it walk.

“Alright, say what you have to say,” Ash’s dad said, sitting at the table with a sigh.

The bearded officer righted himself and turned. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “All must do their part. We’ve been sent on a recruitment mission.”

“I know.”

“Ash is old enough to decide for himself now.”

In the corner, the soldier laughed with Ash’s sisters. The soldier made gunfire sounds. “Boom,” he said. Shrieks of laughter.

Ash saw the soldier had ripped the doll’s head from its shoulders and tossed it away. He watched as little Alex picked up the head, walked over to the fire, and tossed it in. She put her fingers in her mouth and sucked. Terry began to cry.

“You can’t,” his dad was saying. “You can’t take him. He’s too young.”

“Just the same,” he heard the bearded soldier say.

Ash watched his sister take the rest of the doll and toss it on the fire. He watched the fire consume the dried roots, a goofy grin on his face.

Behind him, his dad was making strange sounds and he could hear his mom coughing in the other room.

~

That night, his mom ate dinner with them, although she looked sicker than ever, slumped in her seat, the medicine dried and hanging from beneath her eyes like flaps of skin.

His dad reached across the table, ripped a chunk of bread from the loaf. His hands were shaking. He looked tired too, very tired.

“Will you be okay?” Kya asked him.

“Of course,” Ash answered easily. “Don’t worry. I’m fast. And they’ll give me a rifle to shoot.”

His mother made a sound in her throat.

“Are they going to make you kill people?”

Ash raised his chin. “They’re only Talosians, Kya. They’re bad.”

Kya nodded. “Oh.”

Ash’s dad grumbled. “It’s not that simple—”

“Don’t,” his mom said.

Ash’s dad fell silent.

He could hear his little sisters giggling in the corner. “Pow-pow-pow,” one of them said.

“Listen to me, Ash,” his dad said to him. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Ash nodded.

“Be careful,” his Dad said. “Don’t do anything foolish. Don’t be a hero. I’d go myself, even just to keep an eye on you, but they won’t let me. I’m too old.”

“I’ll make you proud, Dad.”

His dad gave a pained smile. “Well that’s that, then. They come for you in the morning.”

His mother choked back a cough.

Gunfire continued to giggle from the corner.

~

Lying in bed, he was too excited to sleep. He hadn’t found the rifle on the beach that morning, but that no longer mattered. Tomorrow, he’d leave his village behind and start a whole new life. He was going to help the cause, keep the Talosians from invading. In the morning, he was going to go with the bearded officer and the other soldier. They were going to give him a uniform and a Novan iron rifle. They were going to teach him to shoot. They were going to train him to be a fighting machine. He was going to belong to something important.

The crack in the ceiling looked as if it’d spread. He couldn’t quite tell. It looked as if its striations had meandered from just over his head to down toward his feet.

He blinked, took a deep breath, and turned over.

It was dark and warm. He wondered if Brent was going too. He hoped he was. It would be good to know someone, at least until he made new friends.

He closed his eyes, and dreamed…