Game of Ash and Bone

Chapter 3 - I continue genuinely looking forward to gladiatorial combat

I have a few more memories but I push them aside. Mostly the same vague stuff. Nothing telling. Nothing about my murder. Tove the same, she thinks she was shot while trying to escape. I concur with this. After our first night she loses inhibitions and has me help doctor her wounds.
"Entry, exit," I say, checking the holes, "They shot you in the back."
"I think I was running," she says, nodding, "Probably going to escape."
"Yeah," I agree, positioning padding under her bra. She's in a thick sports bra I know fully well how to undo, and do for her.
"You're good at that," she comments, when I smoothly undo the little clips.
"Did say I think I'm married. Or was," I say, "Wouldn't that be a laugh if she saw me in the games?"
"No it would be awful! She'd be so upset, Cosmo!"
"I really think anybody who would fall in love with me, would think this was totally in character and know I was having fun," I say, finishing with the bandage.
I let her help with mine, just to be fair.
"You have a lot of muscles," Lyra says.
"Thank you," I laugh, "I —think I worked out. Or something."
"This was a thin blade, like—stiletto knife thin," Tove observes the wound, "The murder knew exactly where to hit to pierce your heart."
"Yeah no other injuries, I think he walked up and hugged me and did it," I admit, "Again I think it's this guy I grew up with."
"Awful," Tove winces, helping bandage the wound.
"I mean, I'm not going to lie it could be worse."
"Don't say 'we could be dead'," Arthur says.
"We could be though! We're not yet! This is honestly a cool way to go!" I point out, then I laugh, "Oh seven circles, I thought of the funniest thing, what if you only like had two months left to live anyway and you and me drop dead in another three weeks?"
"Okay, that is not the funniest thing," Tove says.
"Fuck them," Arthur nearly laughs.
"Or he could have been going to live to ninety and had like eighty more years so you both have forty years it's not great but it's seriously not that bad," Tove points out, "Same with us. We don't know."
"No we don't but it's not very surefire," I say.
"If he dies though—in the game—doesn't that shorten it?" Tove frowns.
"No it's how many years you would have had, naturally—that's how it works," I say unsure of how I know.
The wound is healing and captivity isn't so bad. We're being fed regularly and as Festus' group, we get access to the exercise yard every morning, which is more than nothing. The rest of the time we're in our cell, killing time which means mostly keeping the kids entertained. They're both malnourished and exhausted, Tove and I give them some of our food and let them nap and generally relax as much as they can.
I find out within two days that Lyra turns into a living snuggle to be read to. She'll just curl up under my arm completely naturally, bright eyes happy and attentive for her story. She can't read at all so Tove and I take turns. Which is how we find out I am a better reader than the others and Lyra picks me as her favorite.
" 'For it was rather exciting. The little dry ditches in which Piglet had nosed about so often had become streams, the little streams across which he had splashed were rivers, and the river, between whose steep banks they had played so happily, had sprawled out of its own bed and was taking up so much room everywhere, that Piglet was beginning to wonder whether it would be coming into his bed soon'," I read, checking for the little girl to fall asleep. She has. The faded and worn Pooh book tilted so she can see the glossy pages. I sigh a little. She's a baby, and I know the monsters will go after her. She's going to be terrified. I don't know how long I can keep her alive in there. But I'm going to try.
"You're really good at that," Tove observes, "Wonder where you learned to read?"
"I don't know, obviously," I say, carefully closing the book. Then I slide out of the bunk and carefully pick Lyra up and set her in her own bed.
"Imagine giving that up," Tove says, quietly, then she looks over at Arthur, "Either of them."
"I know," I say, glancing at the Arthur's back, his face is smashed into the pillow.
"Do you think you had kids?" Tove asks.
"I don't think so. I don't know," I say, "Did you—?" I don't know how old she is. My age?
"I think I was pregnant," she says, quietly, "I remember—seeing a doctor."
"I'm sorry," I say, unsure of what else to say.
"I don't know if that's why I ran—maybe. I just," she shakes her head, "I don't even remember it. But I want it. How did someone throw away either of these like they're nothing?"
"People are cruel, that's it," I say, "We'll take care of them."
"I know you want to win but—please help me, take care of them," she says.
"I will, I promise," I say. I wonder if I keep my promises. I didn't keep my promise to Lex I doubt. Well he probably killed me and took my wife so we're even. My heart burns again with jealousy.
I was used to repetitive dreams, but tonight is something now. Sparked by my jealous no doubt?
I'm lying in the grass, in the warm sun. My shirt is off and I'm lying on my belly, watching clouds go by in the reflection of the water. That's a nice estate, so where am I?
"They detest war as a very brutal thing, and which, to the reproach of human nature, is more practised by men than by any sort of beasts. They, in opposition to the sentiments of almost all other nations, think that there is nothing more inglorious than that glory that is gained by war; and therefore, though they accustom themselves daily to military exercises and the discipline of war, in which not only their men, but their women likewise, are trained up, that, in cases of necessity, they may not be quite useless, yet they do not rashly engage in war, unless it be either to defend themselves or their friends from any unjust aggressors, or, out of good nature or in compassion, assist an oppressed nation in shaking off the yoke of tyranny," Lex is reading from a worn book, sitting next to me in the grass, shirtless, soft gold curls drifting against his pale face, in the wind. Those bi colored scanning the pages swiftly as he reads to me.
"You don't have to read me an entire brutally long book to prove that you don't like it," I laugh.
"Some scholars, insist that it's real. It can't be. This would never ever work. More was an Englishman yes, but this wasn't in England, the UK was never that organized for one for another it's pure fantasy," he says, leaning an elbow on my back.
"Fine fantasy though," I say.
"Is it? 'but if any of their people are either killed or wounded wrongfully, whether it be done by public authority, or only by private men, as soon as they hear of it they send ambassadors, and demand that the guilty persons may be delivered up to them, and if that is denied, they declare war; but if it be complied with, the offenders are condemned either to death or slavery.', that isn't even good fantasy. It relies on compliance people don't comply," he says, lying down so his head is next to mine, and holding the book before us. Weathered yellow pages.
"Where did you steal this?" I ask, touching the pages reverently.
"Never you mind," he whispers in my ear, then goes back to reading, " 'The magistrates never engage the people in unnecessary labour, since the chief end of the constitution is to regulate labour by the necessities of the public, and to allow the people as much time as is necessary for the improvement of their minds, in which they think the happiness of life consists.' it's rubbish."
"No. They're meant to be perfect that's the point," I laugh, "The idea is that it's idealistic."
"Rubbish," he laughs, wrapping his arms around me to try to tickle me. I roll over ontop of him, laughing, and we roll down the grassy bank till I'm kneeling over him. He still has the book in hand.
"You had better return that," I say, tipping my head down to his.
"I won't it's a whole entire metaphor," he smiles. That damn smile. A classic raw smirk. I put my hand over his face, taking the book, to inhale the pages. Sweet paper, and the long dried and now fading ink.
I wake again with a jolt.
That didn't help at all. Except to make mad. He was getting us in trouble, stealing things, especially something so valuable as that book whatever it was. How dare he? He was my best friend. How dare he murder me and steal my wife. How fucking dare he.
It's two days till we start the Game. I need to shake off memories and focus. I can't destroy Lex now. If I'm lucky he's already dead. And if not well I hope my wife kills him. I can't stand to think of her with him. Whoever she is why don't I get memories of her beyond that hazy stuff? I need to get my head right but I can't.
I fall back asleep to have gentle dreams of just lying in bed. The sensation of cold hands against my skin, fingers drumming down my ribs. A hand playfully twisting in mine. As lips meet mine. I know the kiss. That much is true.
When morning comes I don't want to leave those memories. But I have to. I don't want to want them as much as I do. At least see what my wife looked like. I wake to tracing my fingers over my left pinky. There's the smallest line of lighter skin, and indent. A ring was removed. Typically that's where a wedding band is worn on a woman I assume maybe the ring didn't fit or I just did it to match her? Either way I'm annoyed I didn't even get to keep that.
We are all woken with the news that Festus is coming to get us today. We're going to be taken to new accommodation, pack up. There's very little to pack so it's not a tough request.
Our new accommodation is a room with cameras, where we get to go if we get a break, and where we'll stay if we're in between rounds if we win. I realize that's not likely to happen so it's just a way for the audience to get a look at us.
First though we're taken to a conference type room, except there's no chairs just a long table laid out with supplies. Backpacks, stiff hiking ones, new clothes, and most interestingly weapons. Whose is whose is obvious by size, the kids have littler, Tove has one the same size as mine but her backpack is maroon mine dark blue, and her clothes obviously contain bras and the like. Weapons wise we each have a practical knife, but Tove has a bat as well, more a club, with spikes on it. I have an axe.
I'm happy because an axe is probably the best weapon I could ask for, but more than that it's clearly well made, with a solid handle and extremely sharp edge. This is neither standard issue nor has it ever been used.
"Why does he have that?" Tove asks, frowning. The kids don't have anything besides the knives.
"Yeah I want a weapon," Arthur says.
"Generous sponsor, sometimes they like to bet on the new team," Festus says, twirling a watch chain idly.
"Okay well one great weapon is only so much use when all three of them are barely armed. Can I trade this for four halfway-decent axes? What is the exchange rate of lethal weapons let's start there?" I offer, very rationally I think.
"That would have sounded more genuine if you weren't hugging it," Tove says.
"Shh this is my best self," I whisper, face pressed against the axe blade. It's so light. And versatile. And pretty. God I love this axe.
"Clutching an axe about to fight to the death after being murdered and you don't even know why?" Arthur asks.
"Total disclosure the whole situation feels typical," I nod.
"No. You cannot trade. You will fight in the arena for whatever you need," Festus reasons. It's not helpful to be honest.
"You want us to win? Let me trade for more stuff. I'll—do something for you," I offer.
"No shut up," Arthur says, covering Lyra's ears.
"No, against the rules. Now get changed, you're going to your rooms." He leaves us with the guards.
Changing in front of each other is no longer a novelty and we are more than happy to strip off the basic scrubs in favor of actual clothes. I find in my stack two pairs of heavy cargo pants, practical if basic hiking boots, and three plain bright yellow t-shirts.
"Our team color I assume?" I ask, disdainfully.
"Something like that," Arthur has nearly identical clothes though he has only one pair of pants and two shirts. I realize after a heartbeat it's because he's not expected to survive that long.
"No women were on this team who picked out clothes," Tove mutters. I glance over, she's got on a very tight sports bra which feels practical enough. Then I realize she's talking about Lyra. The little girl has similar clothes to Arthur, except she has little training bras, hardly necessary for the nine year old.
"Here," I hold out a hand to take it.
"It's a waste of space," Tove asks.
"If I put this on and start dancing will that or will it not confuse the hell out of anyone trying to kill or eat us?" I ask.
"I can't believe you're my best hope for survival. Why do you have half my lifespan? You're gonna lose it," Arthur is narrating this I guess.
Tove just shrugs and hands me the training bras. Both the girls are supposed to be in knee length, admittedly heavy skirts.
"Here," I give Tove my other pair of pants.
"Thank you," she says, taking it. She then gives me one of her two skirts. The extra fabric will be more protection plus it's more pockets.
We don't have anything extra for the kids to layer so we leave it be, prioritizing organizing our bags. That gets cut short by the guards, seeing us changed, hurrying us up to our 'room'. They say this like it's generous. It's really not.
A cement room, not a cell because it has a door, but the door locks. Instead there are cameras in every corner, hardwired and behind glass so we can't fuss with them like I immediately thought of doing. There's a circle of small, heavily worn, sofas, as well as a table, which looks to be bolted down. In each corner there's a bed, looks marginally more comfortable than the cell, with rough blue blankets, and two pillows each. Beneath the beds are drawers, fairly courteous considering we don't have any stuff beyond our backpacks. The floors are concrete, and the room smells of bleach as if it was sprayed down from the last occupants. None the less some sign remains, a few people have managed to chip either initials or full profane phrases, into the walls.
The only, extremely minor, upgrade on our life is the presence of an actual bathroom, which on inspection contains a toilet and shower, as well as sink and a plastic coated mirror. The entire place screams 'suicide watch'. Wouldn't want one of us offing ourselves before the games, and taking a kinder way out.
The bathroom has no door but it doesn't look like the cameras have a good view in, which means that at least we can shower in relative peace.
Lyra and Arthur quickly choose beds, and Tove and I take the two remaining. In the drawers beneath my bed I find a clean towel and soap. I sniff it and then take a small bite. Standard, unflavored. I spit it back out wincing. Yet so distinctive.
"Did you just bite the soap?" Arthur asks.
"Please don't talk to him more than necessary," Tove says.
"I might have a plan," I put the soap in my backpack. It's disgusting anyway. What did I think it should smell of? Lavender? Peppermint? Yes, peppermint. Liquid, not bar, yes smelling of peppermint, with the carrier fat of highly prized coconut oil. "One of us put the soap in the shower. The rest, pack it. I might be able to do something with it."
"Okay," Tove shrugs.
"Why?" Arthur asks.
I'd rather not answer so I decide to lie. "We'll be in there for days, we might need to wash a wound, or if we're in a safe room scrub down an area."
"Makes senses," Tove shrugs at me, like wondering why I didn't say it to begin with. I ignore her.
"Rub it on after showering, leave it on your skin it'll repel bugs," I tell mostly the kids. Tove frowns a little like trying to remmeber if it's a thing or not. It sounds true enough for them to go with it.
We all take turns showering, and organizing our bags. We need to travel light as we can but we're also in there indefinitely. To that end the bags have to be workable on the run, and comfortable. Tove and I mess with getting the straps adjusted so they sit comfortably on our backs. Then we go through the supplies. As tempting as it is to have one person in charge of one thing, we each need a set of supplies in case we're separated or one of is killed. However, I'm the strongest, and it makes sense I carry more water than say Lyra.
"We die in three days without water. If they want the game to continue we have to access it, so I'm going to bet it's a trick to weigh us down early with a lot of water, they're trying to slow us up. Watching people dehydrate isn't entertainment," I point out. Each of our bags came with a two liter bladder of water, which is not near enough for more than a day. That said there's plastic bottles here in the room for our use now. I'm guessing that's a decoy intending us to snatch as many as possible, only to be weighed down.
"They think anything is entertainment," Tove scoffs.
I can't disagree.
Both Arthur and I have our hair shaved short, there's no safety razor so I don't get to shave I guess. The girls have no hair products, beyond rubber bands.
"The braids can last," Tove reasons.
"Ow," Lyra wiggles as the older girl braids her hair tightly to her head.
"Food at the top, it might distract a monster but total disclosure I don't think they want that either. Clean clothes are probably going to turn into bandages," I point out, "Let's see if we can make any bed blankets fit."
There's no bedroll in the bag itself, but the blankets from our beds roll up and can be clipped on okay. There's another problem that Tove thinks of before I do. We have Arthur and Lyra test their bags and also roll their clothes up to fit, they need to know the order everything is packed anyway. That keeps them occupied in one corner of the room while we loiter in the other. Arthur likely know's we're talking about them but he's polite enough to keep Lyra occupied.
"We need to agree now what to do if one of us is hurt," she reasons, "No arguing, when it happens."
"I mean the game is live as long as possible, we're not getting out alive," I point out.
She dips her head in acknowledgement.
"If it's a quick escape or the like then we can carry each other short distances. We expired already right? Borrowed time, leave me," I say.
"Agreed," she says, "I'm not leaving one of them."
"No. I can carry either of them so can you. And let's face it Lyra's more likely to get hurt first," I say. She's going to be terrified of monsters. "Let's rig my backpack so Lyra at least can sit on it. She could twist her ankle—anything could happen."
"Mine too, I can take a turn," she agrees.
I agree, we're grimly ignoring the fact that we likely won't be able to keep both kids alive for very long. And it's intentional. A bit of pathos for the audience and I'm nearly pissed I'm buying into it. Alone, or as a pair, we'd get pretty far, have a fighting chance at a safe room anyway. With the little ones? We're probably not going to get them both out of the first level, and statistically speaking one or both of us are going to die trying to save them. And a voice in my head, which is weirdly selfish, and has a large vocabulary, is telling me that I should definitely not be worrying about anybody else if I want to win. Using bigger words than that, but I've been ignoring it for some time. Fuck that. These kids didn't ask to be here. And Arthur, albeit unwillingly, traded half his life for me, the least I can do is keep him alive.
"I'm a bit bigger, I'll take him you take her, if it comes to it?" I ask, "Life debt, something like that."
"Yeah," Tove nods.
"Little bird, let's see if you can ride on my backpack okay?" I ask Lyra.
She nods her head very hard, "Why?"
"In case your feet hurt or you get a bit scared when we're walking through the maze," I say, calmly as possible.
"I don't like scary stuff. I'm not allowed to watch scary stuff," she says, nodding.
"Sounds good," I say, "Yeah good plan. All right we're going to practice you riding on my back okay? We're going to walk pretty far."
That takes some doing, because I've never done this so far as I'm aware and don't have a really clear idea as to how it should work. In the end after much adjustment, Tove and I rig our bags so that the kids can ride in between us and the back of the backpack, using the rolled up blankets as a seat. It's not totally comfortable for anyone but it was probably never going to be. We loose the straps so that this can be achieved immediately, then tie them together in the interim. We grimly agree we'll likely need to carry someone sooner rather than later.
Other than that we're trying to rest, think of anything else we could possibly need, and staying off of our feet. We're on camera but frankly the others are too bitter about this to agree to be interesting. I suggest a song and dance that's quickly shot down. Sponsors or not, we don't even know how many people are watching. And we need to save our energy. We'll be walking long days in the labyrinth, we need to sleep now as much as we can and in Tove's and my case heal from actually dying.
With basically no toys Lyra is entertained by books, and within a few hours Tove and I conspire to make a doll out of torn edges of the bedsheets. we use the knife to slice them as neatly as possible and Tove ties and knots them into a doll. That pleases the little girl to no end and admittedly gives us something to do other than pace and take turns using the bathroom. We advise the kids to hydrate as much as possible and keep them drinking and eating small amounts. They were both malnourished to begin with.
Tove and I share our dreams, fellow resurrected. I want to get closer to figuring out who I was before all this. So does she, even though we don't dare admit it likely won't matter.
"I think I was in prison. Or something. I was definitely locked up," she says, "I don't know what I did. I was looking for a child? Or caring for a baby I don't know if it was mine or what?"
"Maybe it's okay," I say, encouragingly, "Or got out."
"Maybe," she says, nodding, "What about you?"
"Absolutely nothing! I keep having memories of this dude who we think killed me and stole my wife. We were best friends so I don't know, I mean I assume he's the one betrayed me why else would I be so fixated on remembering him?" I say.
"Maybe he was there," she offers.
I frown, "But if it's just someone who is there why is he a more significant memory than my wife?"
"Have you remembered anything more about her?" She asks.
I hold up my hand to show her the faint indent on my finger, "I was wearing a ring. And it's just —like I know I should be waking up with someone."
"That's sweet," she says.
"Is it though? It hurts like—what if she's worried about me? Now we're on there," I look up at the cameras, closing my hand over where I wore the ring.
"It's worth it, caring for someone. Otherwise what's the point?" Tove asks, glancing over at Lyra who is happily rocking her doll.
"Yeah, it is," I sigh, looking at the axe. I can't help but think my past is more complicated, even than a simple love triangle. First the food, now the axe? It's almost like I'm being singled out somehow. What if I'm wrong and Lex isn't a slave, and he's the one who made sure that Festus bought me, and now he's setting me up for his own cruel amusement? And I'm getting more and more unnerved by the relentless memories. I can read perfectly well, and I have a more extensive knowledge than the others of the games, and of it seems basic survival. It's pretty obvious Tove was in some sort of institution, or prison, she's perfectly familiar with this environment. Me? I have a host of unusual scars, and I'm used to sleeping with someone in a more comfortable bed. For some reason I know about—foreign food, and my mind automatically weighs the odds of survival. None of the information about the games seems unfamiliar. In fact I had opinions beyond what the video told us.
"What if I've got this all wrong? And I've been here before?" I ask Tove.
"What?" She frowns.
"In the Game—that's why I have sponsors already. What if I was killed—in a later level, and then they sent me back?" I ask, "the first time I was just sold in or whatever and Festus bought me again? That's why he was so cagey with giving me the axe."
"And it's why you know about some of this stuff," she says, looking at our bags.
"It could mean I get targeted. I don't know, let's just keep our guard up," I say. I have the unsettling feeling that my past is far from straightforward. And in the coming days the last thing I need is for it to come back to haunt me.
That night I go to sleep and hope for better dreams. I'm not disappointed fully.
I'm ontop of a building. It's dark out, and it's the dark hours so for three hours of total darkness the stars will be visible. I'm like in the last memory, probably in my mid to late teens. But dressed in street clothes. Being out that late is illegal.
"Will you look?" I laugh, hand out over Lex's book. He has a flashlight and is clearly still reading.
" No, no here, listen to this, 'The only difference between the saint and the sinner is that every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future'," he laughs, reading aloud from the worn volume. What does that mean? Was he planning on killing me even then? He wraps an arm around my neck lazily, pressing his face against mine, " 'One should always be in love. That is the reason one should never marry'." That was definitely a threat. But I don't see it. It was clearly a threat. I'm wearing a ring, I am married. He is threatening my wife.
"Stop reading Oscar Wilde for half a moment, and look, I love watching the lights go out," I say, amused though, finally taking his book from him and turning off the light.
The electric lights are slowly going out. Looks like—that's not even London. Where are we? Paris? Yes. I see the ruins of the Parisian Tower. It used to be of religious significance centuries ago. It got destroyed in a bombing now there's just part of it. They still light it up. But now the lights go out.
" 'A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world'," Lex says, still holding me from behind.
"Oh you memorized it good see? You don't need the light. This is why I don't take you on stake outs," I say.
Stake out. Stake out? What in god's name are we doing?
"I'm having fun!" He laughs, putting his hands under my jacket. It must be cold. "I'm just bored."
"We have been up here, maximum ten minutes," I say, grinning though at my friend's impatience, "This is why you don't come."
"All night? I don't know how you stand it without electricity," he says, watching as the lights go out.
"I don't need it," I say, turning my head to press against his, "Isn't the darkness beautiful?"
"You're not looking," he says.
I laugh.
"You're an idiot Nyx," he says, kissing my temple, "Yeah the darkness is beautiful."
I wake with a jolt and am immediately angry. And a bit nervous. What were we doing? Why did I ever leave the island? And why kiss me like that that's what my wife does? Those quotes were definitely a threat. Yet the memory was so peaceful. I had no idea what was coming. And I really still have no idea what's coming. My memories make less and less sense. What I walk around have furtive conversations with my future murderer? I maintain he must have killed me. Why else did I wake with his name on my lips?
But that does me no good now.
Tomorrow the games begin.