The Games of Ganthrea Read online

  During the summer after 7th grade, after he finished a book on Napoleon’s war tactics, he looked out the open window of the tower he had built (now with three zip-lines to other platforms) and felt…different.

  To mark the change, he decided to blend his first name, Brendon, with his middle name, Conner, and go by Brenner.

  Brenner was nearly at his tower now. His network of cables and platforms had grown substantially over the last six years, crisscrossing through the canopy like steel webs, but the forest had also changed, and not for the better: developers had nipped at the edges of the woods, putting up new homes; and some of the trees in the heart of the forest seemed to be withering slowly, like a disease was choking the land.

  At the base of the cottonwood, Brenner climbed the boards up the back of the tree hand over hand, pulled out a key, and unlocked the deadbolt to his trapdoor. The fresh scent of new buds and green leaves greeted him as he swung his legs up and into his chamber. Deciding he’d go for a zip on his cables before finishing his book on John Nash Jr. (Game Theory: Using the Odds and Unlocking Ultimatums), he pulled on his harness and clipped in to the steel line, when his dark blue eyes caught a glimmer of sunlight reflecting off something bright yellow.

  Curious, he unclipped himself and moved slowly toward the window, where he discovered a shiny, golden necklace neatly placed on his open windowsill. Threaded through the necklace was a glass bauble glowing green and red, whose colorful contents in the light seemed to swirl together.

  Brenner picked it up.

  In his palm, the spherical amulet was only about the size of a large walnut, but it felt like he was holding a heavy billiard ball. He did a double-take. The two colors were flowing like mini-waves within the bauble, but like oil and water, they refused to mix.

  Although something inside him stirred excitedly, he was slightly alarmed at how this item had infiltrated his tree tower. He looked around at the shelves in the tower—nothing had been taken. Other than his parents and brother, who hadn’t visited since the first day’s build, he had never told anyone else about it, and had always bolted the entrance. Either someone threw this up from below—unlikely because the narrow windowsill was more than twenty feet high and the locket was perched precisely on it—or else they had gained entry to his tower. Brenner figured it must have been the latter, but who would bother to come up, and why?

  He peered around the forest. A couple squirrels chased each other on nearby oaks, and from a ways off, ducks quacked from a stream.

  After examining the amulet for several more minutes, he started putting it into his pocket, but decided it would be less likely to get lost if on his neck. He put it on. The amulet almost seemed to resonate against his chest, like a low cello string plucked by a musician. He felt lighter, and the air had a different, pleasant taste to it, like he was enjoying a cool drink with each breath when before he was only allowed one small sip at a time.

  Maybe if I scout around the woods, I can find another clue as to who put this here. He went to the zip-line, and after strapping in, pushed off hard from the platform. The unusually warm spring air whipped by as he careened past the trees. He lifted his legs forward to absorb the impact of a small wooden platform, hit lightly, then hoisted up onto the platform.

  Footsteps and a flicker of brown and black in the distance caught his eye. Was that the culprit?

  Unhooking himself from the cable, he descended limb by limb on an aspen tree until he was low enough to drop with a soft thunk onto the forest floor. He quietly walked for several minutes until the gentle ripples of the creek came into view. Looking downstream to his right, he guessed the earlier commotion must’ve been a deer, now gone through trees. His upwind smell probably carried to it on the breeze.

  He was about to head back to his tower and read his book when a simultaneous crack and light burst from the depths of the woods, then vanished. A mixture of fear and curiosity swept over Brenner, and his breathing quickened. He wanted to know more, but also didn’t want to stumble upon someone with a gun. He turned to hustle away from the creek, when another sound stopped him.

  There was a low growl from across the stream, and then out lumbered a black bear, its amber eyes locked on its prey: Brenner.

  His own blue eyes widened. Reading about dangerous expeditions was completely different than actually standing in the path of a predator. His body felt rooted to the forest floor.

  Gathering every ounce of resolve, he finally broke into a scramble, dashing backward over rocks as quick as his legs would take him, wondering whether his asthma would take him down…or if the bear would. Or maybe it wouldn’t chase?

  A roar ripped through the trees and water splashed behind him.

  Nope.

  He had maybe a hundred-meter head-start on the bear, and his tree tower was not close enough. Heart pounding, Brenner spotted his only escape: a gnarled Douglas-fir tree with a branch easily twice as tall as himself. At 5’6”, the highest Brenner had ever jumped was to skim his fingers against the net of a basketball hoop.

  Another roar sounded.

  He would have thrown a rock or a stick to stun the bear, but finding one would cost him the small lead. The branch ahead was too high, but it was all he had. He threw a final glance back, and saw the charging bear, teeth barred. Sprinting forward, he launched himself up, arms extended.

  The bear bellowed at his back, swiping a paw.

  Brenner’s outstretched fingers hit and held the high branch as the bear roared past underneath, clawing at his left heel, and ripping off his shoe.

  Brenner kicked upward, hooking his legs onto another branch a few feet higher. As he pulled himself up, the bear carved its claws onto the tree and climbed, snapping off the limb below him. It tried a different bough and continued scraping its way up. Sweat dripped from Brenner’s forehead into an eye. The bear was almost at his feet. He could keep climbing…or…

  He looked down, and timed a kick right as the black bear thrust its head upward—hitting the beast squarely in the snout. That same instant, he could’ve sworn a beam of light hit the bear.

  The bear shook its head in anger, or quite possibly disbelief, and to Brenner’s immense relief, scraped back down the trunk. With a last bellow that sent a nest of birds flying, it shambled away from Brenner’s tree.

  Trembling on the branch, Brenner watched the grumbling bear stalk off to find easier prey. His adrenaline gradually lessened with each passing minute, and the full shock of his narrow escape set in: he had out-sprinted and out-jumped a black bear. Strangest of all, his asthma hadn’t kicked in. Air flowed effortlessly through his steady, rhythmic lungs.

  Brenner sat high in the tree, holding up the amulet and staring at the green-red contents.

  He became dimly aware that his lower leg hurt. He looked at his foot—thankfully his shoe must’ve gotten the brunt of the bear’s claws. But there was a small tear in his pants where the bear had scratched his ankle. He waited another half hour before he was satisfied that the bear was gone, then carefully descended through the branches, and shimmied down the trunk. He found his shoe stuck in some bushes. The heel was torn. He put it on anyway, looking up at the snapped branch he had grabbed. Yes, it was about twelve feet high, maybe more.

  Could I do it again? Or was it a fluke from all that adrenaline?

  He was still breathing fine, which was as shocking to him as the high jump, since he couldn’t remember a time when he had sprinted for close to two hundred yards without an asthma attack. There was only one thing different: the amulet.

  He listened to the woods and watched for any signs of movement. When nothing unusual happened after another ten minutes, he tried another test.

  Backing up a hundred yards, Brenner crouched low, and again began sprinting full tilt toward a slightly higher branch on the tree. He expected the usual symptoms of his asthma to flare up: his chest to tighten as though a python squeezed it, his throat to cinch shut, and his head to throb, begging him to stop. But the only sensation h
e felt was…joy…pure joy as his legs practically flew over the ground, kicking up pine needles.

  He readied himself for the jump…“3, 2, 1 – now!” Springing from the ground as though it were a taut trampoline, his hands outstretched, he watched as they easily rose up to meet the high branch. Grasping tightly, he swung back and forth on the limb, and then did a chin-up, pulling himself onto the branch.

  It was not a fluke.

  He peered again at the amulet.

  Two hours later, Brenner quietly opened the back door to his house, and walked past the living room, where his parents sat on their leather couch, glued to the television. He forgot to step around the middle of the wooden floorboards, which creaked loudly.

  “What kept you this time?” his mother, Miranda, asked without looking away from the giant flat screen, while artificial audience laughter rose and fell in the background.

  “Oh, I couldn’t put this down.” Brenner held up the game theory book for them to see, but they didn’t bother turning to look at him. He changed the subject: “My homework’s done, and I’m not very hungry. I’m going to take a shower if you don’t mind.”

  “No, do the laundry and wash the dishes first,” his mother said, gesturing idly with her hand in the air towards the dinner mess she and Albert had left in the kitchen, but still not looking at Brenner, “then you can do whatever you want. I’ll be out with clients all day tomorrow,” she continued, mainly to the television, “so you’re on your own for dinner.” Miranda was schmoozing clients more often than she was home, so Brenner was used to fixing his own meals.

  But that night, Brenner didn’t mind doing the chores. After he was done, he spent several hours on his computer researching one idea to the next: lockets, amulets, healing crystals, unstable elements, record-breaking jumps. But nothing quite explained the strange necklace he was wearing. He was so excited by it that he almost wanted to tell someone, but who would believe him? Not his parents. And even if he did have friends, could he trust them to keep it a secret? No, better to keep this to myself…conduct some more solo experiments with it.

  He only took off the amulet to shower, afterwards slipping it under a t-shirt and climbing into bed around midnight. He set his alarm-clock forty-five minutes earlier than normal.

  Sleep usually came easy to Brenner, but not tonight.

  His thoughts kept jumping to what he might do tomorrow: longer runs, bigger jumps…going to gym class, and for the first time in his life, actually playing with a chance to win against other kids. He had always told himself that knowledge and creativity were all that mattered. But there was a part of him that wanted to go beyond mental games and chess and prisoner’s dilemmas, and feel that surge of triumph that commanders of old must have felt when they wagered everything on a battle…and won.

  He smiled into sleep.

  Chapter Three

  The Nearly

  Golden Day

  On Wednesday, just to be sure he hadn’t imagined the whole bear encounter, Brenner rose shortly after sunrise, checked that the amulet was still underneath his t-shirt, and ran a mile-long route around his neighborhood. He still felt better than ever: no wheezing, and no side aches, as though he had the agility of an Olympian. He came home, ate some eggs, and then caught the bus.

  After Biology first hour, Brenner restrained his urge to sprint to gym class.

  Mr. Burliss, a past-his-prime gym teacher dressed in a faded track-suit, blew his whistle for the start of class. Since this spring was warmer than years past, their gym class had started playing flag football outside on Monday.

  “Shawn, your team will play Tonya’s,” Mr. Burliss said, as Brenner and the other sophomores assembled into their four football squads on the fields. “Garrett, your team will play Ann’s. Winners stay on the same field, and losers —” Brenner felt the eyes of his classmates stare at him, “—switch.”

  Tonya, the prettiest girl in class and captain for Brenner’s squad, sulked, “That’s not fair! With him on our team,” she gestured at Brenner as though he couldn’t hear her, “we’re basically playing one person short.”

  Mr. Burliss said simply, “Then play harder. No trades.” He blew his whistle to start the games.

  Tonya’s team went to the line on defense, but instead of staying as a blocker near the middle like yesterday, Brenner went to the far side, matching himself with Shawn’s best receiver, Parker Stevens. Parker, an olive-skinned boy with thick calves, looked at who was guarding him, grinned, and waved to his quarterback, Shawn.

  “Get a load of this kid,” Parker called out, and the rest of his team glanced over, saw Brenner, and laughed. “Tonya, you’re making this too easy!”

  “Wheezeridge, what do you think you’re doing?!” Dennis yelled at him. “Get back to the line where you belong!”

  “That’s okay,” Brenner said, watching Parker, and predicting the next Hail Mary play to him. “I got this.”

  “If Parker scores, I’m gonna punch you harder than Shawn does,” Tonya shouted, then motioned for Dennis to play deep zone, for when Parker would inevitably fly past Brenner.

  Brenner nodded.

  Parker leaned across the line to Brenner and sneered, “I’m gonna smoke you.”

  “Hike!” Shawn called, and Parker took off down the sideline, but for the first time in his life, Brenner stuck with the receiver every step. Ten yards, twenty yards…Parker glanced back at the line of scrimmage, and by his hungry smile, Brenner knew the ball was thrown to him…forty yards out…Brenner was still shoulder-to-shoulder…he looked up to see the football plummeting down just ahead of them, Parker outstretching his arms, ready to catch it in a final push past Brenner, but the ball never reached him.

  With a tremendous leap and half-spin, Brenner overshadowed Parker and caught the football with both hands, before landing backwards and backpedaling. Parker skidded to a halt in the end zone. Brenner stopped his backward momentum, looked downfield, and switched to forward gear.

  For a long moment, the entire field of players stood frozen like statues, stunned at Brenner’s interception.

  Then Shawn rallied his team out of their stupor, shouting, “Get him!”

  Bursting into motion, Brenner ran past his own 10, zipping past the first opponents trying to rip his flags off.

  Six players were now left to stop him, and came at him like a rushing wall. They probably expected him to continue his run up the sideline, content with the interception and thirty-yard return before being pushed out-of-bounds.

  That wasn’t Brenner’s game-plan.

  As the play unfolded, and almost in slow motion for Brenner, Shawn’s eyebrows lifted in astonishment when, twenty feet before his opponents hit him, he abruptly changed course: he hurtled himself toward the middle of their oncoming wall.

  Shawn, well over six feet tall, led the charging brigade at him like a crashing wave towards a lone swimmer.

  “Bad choice, Brenner!” Shawn said, a grin pasted on his face.

  Brenner sprinted hard. A dozen feet away from the wall of players, Brenner thrust his right foot into the ground and pushed off, vaulting clear over their heads. For a brief moment, he felt like a stuntman flying a motorcycle above a stretch of semi-trucks. He reached the apex—their raised hands didn’t even brush his feet—then Brenner hit the ground mid-stride and finished with a trot into the end zone.

  Touchdown.

  He grinned. An almost giddy sensation overcame him. For a long moment, nobody spoke.

  Mr. Burliss’s whistle fell from his mouth to the ground. If someone had walked up to the field and been asked to explain the crazed look on the old coach’s face, very likely they would have told you his appendix had just burst.

  For the rest of that glorious gym hour, Brenner was untouchable. He caught half-a-dozen passes, outmaneuvered tacklers, and when he lost track of the score, tapered back his jumps to be more like a normal 10th grader. More than once he ripped off Shawn’s flags, and accidentally knocked him to the ground.


  Later that afternoon, as Brenner hopped off the bus, he couldn’t remember a time he had had a better day. Apart from football, when he was given a surprise examination on the Renaissance, he remembered nearly every detail from the humorous presentation Mr. Quinn had given the previous day, and answered all thirty questions exactly right.

  Two other kids got off the bus behind him, and then the yellow vehicle rumbled down the street. Usually the three students then parted. Russell Wilcox, two grades older, turned left and walked to his house. Susan Sheffield, a slender, pretty girl his age he’d been around since elementary school, usually turned left, too. But this time before they parted, Susan asked, “Do you mind if I walk with you?”

  Her question caught him by surprise.

  “Sure, that’s fine,” Brenner said, adjusting his backpack, deciding to take a different route to his house.

  They walked for a bit before Susan asked, “So, is what they’re saying at school true?” Her light brown eyes flashed at Brenner.

  “What are they saying?”

  “That you scored six or seven touchdowns, tackled Shawn Ripley, and jumped over a whole team?”

  Brenner tried masking his smile. “I don’t know about the jumping part,” he lied, not meeting her eyes, “but yeah, I scored a couple times today.”

  “How’d you do all that?”