CHAPTER 1
Bare feet pounded on the worn floorboards. Sheer dread of his surroundings pressed Cathmore to run down the hallway of dirty walls and vandalised paintings in antiquated frames. Cathmore had woken to find himself in what appeared to be his bedchamber within the castle. The state of the room, red pyjama pants and a black robe assured him of a time he wished to forget and the realisation a new game had begun.
Without knocking, Cathmore entered the couple’s room. It was what he feared; the bedchamber had once been Anndrosa’s. Torn drapes allowed light to filter in and the smell only reminded him of drinking and fornication. His eyes darted about, catching glimpses of mistreated antiquated furnishings, floorboards having lost their shine, preserving the remnants of spilt red wine. What he perceived to be his half-sister’s personal effects, amongst a male’s, sat unorganised on the dressing table. The hearth retained broken glasses, which would soon be attended by a terrified aide, slaves as Anndrosa called them.
On the floor near the double bed, as though dropped carelessly the night before, a skimpy red vest and matching pants were partially covered by a black jacket. The design and gold embroidery on the front panels of the double-breasted garment further swayed Cathmore to think he was in the enemy’s lair. For many years, he had personally worn the uniform of the Necropolin regime. Cautiously, Cathmore approached and placed a hand over his sleeping friend’s mouth, not wanting to wake the naked woman lying on her stomach beside Malcom.
Half dazed, Malcom straightened. On top of the rude awakening, the sight of a brown haired woman in his bed made him glare.
“What’s going on?” Malcom whispered, yet it dawned on him before his tense friend answered.
“New game and one that already has me worried. This is exactly what the castle was like when I left the Necropolin. They’re Anndrosa’s.” Cathmore’s eyes gestured the items on the dressing table.
“Hold on; one thing at a time.” Not wanting their voices to wake another and concerned for his wife, Malcom slipped from the bed, drawing the sheet with him to cover his nakedness. “Who is she and where is…”
“Slave, aide.” Cathmore corrected himself; the thought alone annoyed him. “Believe me, there are no morals here and if this is what I think it is, both Tegan and Rebecca are in the lounge.” Cathmore had also woken to a stranger beside him; however, the woman in his bed had been strangled.
“The lounge?” This made no sense to Malcom.
“A night on the juice.” Personal experiences prompted a hint of embarrassment in Cathmore’s expression. “It won’t be a pretty sight I can assure you.”
“We have to find them.” Malcom took the black robe his friend grasped from the floor. Tying the belt, he snapped to attention with the bang on the door, which opened without invitation.
Wearing a red uniform, the tall man was accompanied by two Death Walkers. These Death Walkers wore full body armour in rustic shades, their occupants being possessed Milonights from the desert region. Though the two guards held their rifles in an unthreatening manner, the familiar face of the man had Cathmore mumbled under his breath.
“We’re dead.”
“My Lords,” the bald man in his mid-thirties addressed Cathmore then Malcom with a bow. He glanced at the bed before gesturing with a nod for the guards to take the female from the chamber.
“General Heinrich.” Cathmore did not mean it to be a greeting, having only spoken his thoughts aloud. Well aware of the man’s ruthlessness, he never thought he would lay eyes on the General again. Having been a power onto himself, Heinrich had been immensely feared in the old regime. If the circumstances were clearer, Cathmore would not hesitate to kill the man where he stood, seeing Heinrich as a brutal murderer. The General addressed both men, yet his sights focused on him.
“Your brother has not yet stirred and I do not have time to wait. We extracted vital information from two rebels captured in the fourth dome. I am acting upon this immediately; convey this to him on his rising.” Heinrich bowed his head and turned to leave.
“Wait.” Cathmore drew the General’s attention back to him. Obviously, he had authority over Heinrich and sought to get a clearer picture. “What rebels are you referring to?” His question prompted Heinrich to express a hint of annoyance.
The General perceived that as usual, the men where hung over from a night of drinking and were not coherent enough to understand simple instruction.
“The Necropolin spies were infiltrating as workers within the castle. All staff will be interrogated; I will not see the safety of the royal household compromised.” Heinrich left the room.
Gripped by his own conclusions, Cathmore ran a nervous hand through his untidy, lengthy, blonde locks. Indeed he had formed a clearer picture, already perceiving they would lose this game play. Now able to speak freely, Malcom questioned him.
“What’s going on here? Obviously you know him.” Uneasy, Malcom watched Cathmore approach and open the wardrobe. Whilst hastily selecting clothing, his friend answered him.
“He was Necropolis’ right hand man; a sadistic murderer with absolutely no conscience. Here, put these on.” Cathmore handed his friend a shirt, black uniform pants and a jacket identical to the one on the floor beside the bed. Malcom spoke his thoughts.
“Let’s just find the others and get out of here.”
“And go where? If I’m right, we’re the bad guys and the Necropolin are the…”
“You’ve got to be joking!” Malcom glared; the thought alone unnerving. “That means…”
“A role reversal of some kind.” Cathmore sighed. “What are we supposed to do; help the Necropolin win the game and the board?”
“If we are the enemy, the other team are…”
“The rebels.” Unnerved, Cathmore thought his aunt insane for agreeing to such a game play.
“They’ve captured two of them. Are they pawns or gifted?” Malcom was unprepared for a chilling response.
“They’re already dead.” With his mind racing, Cathmore ran a nervous hand over his unshaven jaw line, his sights looking at nothing in particular.
“How do you know?” Malcom put on the jacket, ignoring that the clothes were a perfect fit and in fact, created for him.
“I know General Heinrich; no one leaves his interrogation unit alive.” Their eyes met. “You wake Nathanial. I’ll get dressed and meet you both in the lounge. Whatever you do…” Cathmore paused, trying to think of a way to put it. “Just don’t be nice to anyone.” Acknowledged with a nod, he hastily left the room.
Cathmore resented putting on attire he had personally designed when with the Necropolin. Insulting was the Mariard emblems in enemy colours and tempting was it to rip them from the upper sleeves of the jacket. Sitting on the edge of the double bed, he straightened the hem of tailored pants to cover slip on boots. Rising to his feet, the draping, black, ankle-length coat made Cathmore cringe, aware he would stand out as he had before. Noticed was the undesirable female attire within the wardrobe, the skimpy red and black leather garments he assumed were there for Rebecca. Other items in his chamber included bottles of fragrant oils, hair ornamentation, knee-high boots with pointy heels and a brush containing hair consistent with his wife’s mousy brown colouring.
Contemplating General Heinrich’s attitude towards him and Malcom, Cathmore believed they were in no immediate danger; nonetheless, he knew how this evil realm operated. Although the thought disturbed him, he perceived they should act in accordance with their situation, just until they learnt more and could devise their own plans.
His surroundings were a vivid reminder of what he had once been and hated so much that it pained him. The game already had Cathmore infuriated, considering the struggles he had faced to become a Mariard member and overcome his own dark nature, likening his present situation to reliving a nightmare.
The thought of even participating in such a game play had Cathmore clearing the mantelpiece of candleholders and used goblets with a swipe of his hand. He could not do this again; inflict cruelty and pain to survive his circumstances nor drink himself into oblivion to forget who he was. A moment of enlightenment had Cathmore seeing his own growth in specific areas. He had not cowered in the presence of the General. Gone was the fear of the man’s influence and authority within the regime and over him personally. With renewed strength and confidence, Cathmore promised himself that before this game was through, the General would not only cower before him, but he would see the man dead.
It was what Cathmore expected to find. The trashed lounge area from the previous night’s events saw broken glasses, spilt wine and half-eaten foodstuffs covering a low table and littering the rug-covered floor. High-ranking military personal were sprawled out over couches or wherever they had fallen in drunken stupors. Both male and female slaves bore the evidence of brutality and the cause of their deaths. Amongst this were his wife, cousin and Yamane; the three women wore similar skimpy red and black leather attire.
Gently moving the man’s muscular arm from his wife’s waist, Cathmore woke Rebecca in the same manner as he had Malcom. With her eyes glaring at him, he gestured to be silent. Not wanting his wife seeing what disgusted him, fearing it would alarm her, he scooped Rebecca up, forcing her face into his chest.
Out in the hallway, Cathmore kept a low tone, he would explain shortly. He wanted Rebecca to be silent and just wait for him whilst he brought out his cousin and Yamane. The look in his wife’s eyes told him she was not only aware they were in a game, but she was already on edge.
Standing together, the three women expressed disapproval of their attire, made entirely of leather strapping, buckles and studs. The amount of exposed flesh had them shivering and feeling embarrassed. Uncomfortable metal clasps held Yamane and Rebecca’s hair tightly back in high ponytails. Cathmore hid his uneasiness with Tegan’s messy hair. Although knowing better, it gave him the impression of a rowdy time, prompting bad memories of such debauched parties.
“We are in a new game, aren’t we?” Rebecca further tensed with her husband’s nod and the state of the ground floor hallway. “Where is Ghillian?”
“The children aren’t here, thank goodness. You’re not going to like this game at all.” Cathmore glanced up and down the hall, eager for others of the team to join them.
“Where’s Triligen?” Tegan asked with arms folded across her chest to cover what she considered little more than nudity.
“I thought she’d be in the lounge. When Malcom and Nathanial get here…” Cathmore suddenly noticed the two men hastily coming towards the group. Their black uniforms were exclusive to royal members of the household; Nathanial’s jacket held the most decorations. Cathmore addressed his panting cousin. “We’re all here except Triligen.”
“She is not in her chambers, we looked.” Nathanial glared at his wife, expressing her awkwardness.
“What is going on?” Yamane’s distinct Bedulin accent conveyed she feared the worst. Her husband shrugged and both shifted their sights to Cathmore.
“Perhaps she wasn’t put into play.” Cathmore hoped this to be the case for Triligen’s sake. “Let’s go to the library, we can talk privately there.” He guided his wife forward.
Moving down the hallway of the ground floor wing, a ragged slave cowered with the group approaching. Nathanial was about to air concern to who he perceived an elderly woman, but Cathmore grasped him by the sleeve, prompting him onward.
“Don’t speak to them unless you have to.” Cathmore anticipated being questioned and continued. “You haven’t the heart to treat them as the Necropolin do. It’s not her age that sent her hair white, its fear.”
Many of the bulbs had blown in the chandeliers. Only one amongst the group was not surprised to see the large library area desecrated and none of its historic memorabilia present. Bookcases bore axe marks whilst others had been torn from their wall mounts. Considered irreplaceable works, dusty pages ripped from their bindings littered the entire library. Centred, the polished surface of the large antiquated table had been ruined by spilt wax from the silver candleholders, broken glasses, wine stains and the crude carvings of Malcom and Nathanial’s initials.
“I didn’t do this!” Malcom glanced over their faces, overwhelmed it incriminated him.
“Neither did I.” Nathanial aired disappointment. The library was his favourite chamber in the Mariard castle and although the setting was that of his grandfather’s time, he reminded himself that all was not what it seemed.
Sitting around the table on chairs with slashed upholstery, the group sought Cathmore’s thoughts on the new game. It appeared they were in some form of role reversal, perceiving they represented evil and could only assume the Necropolin were the rebels. The replica of their home was in the exact state prior to his defection, right down to clothing and General Heinrich.
On the subject of the man, the General’s loyalty to the regime saw him richly rewarded. Although Heinrich never overstepped his boundaries, Necropolis and Anndrosa gave him power and the freedom to do as he pleased. Anndrosa also paid him in sexual favours to do her dirty work. At the time, Heinrich did not hide the fact that he thought Cathmore a weak-link and a drunk. Although the General showed some respect for his royal status, he not only turned a blind eye to Anndrosa’s cruelty towards him, but also encouraged it. The General’s influence on Necropolis and his half-sister made Cathmore feel alone, having had no one to turn to. This explained why he feared all of them and had just done what was expected of him.
The thought of the Necropolin player, having reintroduced the epitome of evil back into this game, sparked another recollection to mind. Distraction stopped Cathmore from conveying aloud what made him cringe. With the library door creaking open, Cathmore rose to his feet. He was not the only one who relaxed a little on eyeing a slave letting Triligen in, before closing the door behind her.
A black vest and skirt with a split front showed Triligen’s shapely legs. Clearly, she was shaken, reinforcing Cathmore’s fears regarding their situation. Nathanial quickly pulled out a chair for Triligen, who could not bring herself to make eye contact with anyone. She took a moment before speaking up.
“I, ah, presume we are in a new game.” Triligen’s fear caused shallow breath. “I awoke beside…” She paused, unable to bring herself to speak the name. “Apparently I am the master’s concubine.”
“Damn it!” Cathmore spat angrily. “Necropolis is here too.” The urge to go on a killing rampage was strong. Like the others, Cathmore saw Triligen as a family member, whose heartfelt love and wisdom was a blessing to them. He thought it sacrilege that a woman of her grace, intelligence and purest beauty should be degraded in this manner. Moving to the seated woman, Cathmore took her hand of white pearl pigmentation in his.
“I am so sorry; I should have known. I didn’t think to search the other chambers for you.” Cathmore’s eyes expressed deep remorse. Triligen gently rubbed the back of his hand, sensing incompetence in his gifting, which greatly disturbed him.
“Oh Cathmore, you have nothing to be sorry for; after all, it is a game. I am just a little overwhelmed. When I awoke in his presence, I thought for a moment I had been captured.” She glanced nervously at Malcom.
“Perhaps that’s what we need to…”
“Capture,” Nathanial interrupted, shaking his head. “We cannot capture what is already Mariard owned. As you know, the book of rules spans many games and what is relevant in one play may not be relevant in another.” His sights shifted to Triligen, who though feeling a little more relaxed in the company of her friends, continued to firmly hold Cathmore’s hand.
“So what is actually happening here?” Triligen asked, addressing no one in particular. Nathanial snapped angrily.
“A nightmare, that’s what’s bloody happening!” His wife thought his tone uncalled for.
“She was only asking Nathanial.” Yamane saw his expression change to one of total embarrassment.
“My sincerest apologies Triligen; I don’t know what came…” His sister cut him short.
“Practice what you preach Nathanial.” Tegan thought her brother had been rude. “In game play we have to consider our emotions and…”
“I know what I said and thank you for the reminder.” Nathanial forced a smile. “We all made the policy to support and forgive one another during game play, no matter what the issue.”
“Don’t worry Nathanial...” Malcom shifted his focus to Tegan. “I’ll keep my temper under check.” He would rather seek an answer to their immediate problem than go over past discussions. Though no team member would be held responsible for actions out of their control, it was the responsibility of each individual to apply lessons learnt.
Again, Cathmore was asked to give any information pertaining to their surroundings and those in it. Clearly too all listening, Cathmore could not stress enough the danger they were in.
The Necropolin team and hierarchy treated slaves as disposable items. Abuse and cold-blooded murder were a way of life for the underprivileged. For everyone’s sake, it was best to avoid using manners or even speaking to a slave unless in the privacy of their bed chambers. Cathmore knew all too well the repercussions of pleasantries and favouritism towards those thought dirt. They should also not react to suggestive behaviour. Hierarchy flirted and conducted unspeakable acts, and not all was done in private.
Earlier, whilst getting dressed in his room, Cathmore had spoken to the elderly gentleman stoking the fire. The aide cowered in fear, as did all staff of the household when in the presence of authority.
“I asked of the children…” Cathmore’s sights shot to Malcom with his friend interrupting.
“What children?” Malcom aired intolerance. All eyes were on him, dismayed at the statement. His son’s name suddenly came to mind and in turn, his expression changed to one shaken. “Simon,” Malcom blurted.
“There are no children here; well, not in the castle.” Cathmore continued to rationally look at Malcom, assuming the shock of their surroundings clouded his friend’s thoughts. “I suspect the aide now thinks we’ll go after their children.” His wife drew his attention.
“I can’t sense Ghillian or Simon’s energy signatures.” This did not make Rebecca feel any better nor did her husband’s response.
“If this is a role reversal, I don’t see our opponents playing parents; they have no offspring of their own. Besides, we ourselves could not enter the play until twenty-one.” Cathmore’s sights shifted to his cousin, whose tone reflected her fears.
“I won’t rest until I’m certain.” Tegan only glanced with Rebecca responding.
“Neither will I, but how can we make enquiries without drawing suspicion?”
“Rebels,” Malcom answered. “We talk to the aides; maybe they can get a message out. Heinrich did say informants were caught in the castle.”
“No.” Nathanial leant forward, resting his elbows on the table. “We don’t know the full story. These rebels…”
“Us,” Cathmore interrupted. “In the first game, the Necropolin referred to you and anyone associated with the Mariard as rebels.”
“What do you mean us?” Nathanial snapped angrily. “You were on the other team and part of the bloody problem.” With all at the table silently glaring at him, Nathanial suddenly went rigid in disbelief. “I… I didn’t mean to say… My deepest apologies Cathmore, it was totally the opposite of what I was thinking.” His sights shot to his brother-in-law, who became the centre of attention.
“Yeah, sure it was,” Malcom scoffed. “You’re such a weak bastard Nathanial. Stop crawling to get…” Slapping his hand over his mouth, his eyes burst wide open in shock.
“Oh crap,” Cathmore muttered, his tone becoming louder. “Oh please no.” A sensation of numbness ran through him. “We’re in trouble.” The thought of the team turning into that which he hated the most, totally unnerved him.
“We can handle this.” Nathanial conveyed doubt in his tone. “We have to remain calm and…” He sighed. “I feel so damn irritable.” Closing his eyes, he rubbed his forehead with his fingertips.
Leaning towards her husband, Yamane rested a comforting hand on Nathanial’s back. Wanting answers and with concern evident, she looked to Cathmore, who diverted his eyes, drawing a deep breath to calm his nerves before speaking up.
“I’m going to be blatantly honest here.” Cathmore glanced over worried faces, all anticipating a full role reversal. “You can’t begin to imagine what evil this place churned out. There was no family unit here and Necropolis… Malcom?” He noticed his friend was distant. Having drawn Malcom’s attention, the underlying animosity in his tone was cause for alarm.
“I’d watch what you say Cathmore, the walls have ears. Heinrich executed two of the vermin and until he weeds out the rest…” Malcom jerked himself out of the chair. The realisation of what he was saying had him glaring. Unbefitting his character, the emotional sensations caused a sense of panic and he took deep breaths, trying to calm himself.
“I had no control over it.” With his wife at his side, Malcom drew more breaths before continuing. “I had this ah, overwhelming sensation come over me. It’s like…”
“Darkness,” Cathmore interrupted. Malcom acknowledged with a nod and still shaken, responded.
“Look, I want to apologise now for anything I say or do that hurts anyone.” Malcom again eyed Cathmore. “You know what to do if it gets out of hand…” He sighed relieved. “It’s subsiding thank goodness.” On sitting down, Malcom took his wife’s hand in his. He could now sense her terror with his gifting. His brother-in-law drew his attention.
“I felt the same thing.” Nathanial hoped they were the only two affected and shifted his sights to his cousin. “But I also felt this fear of you, like you wanted something from me.” He had no idea what it was.
“The crown.” Cathmore sighed, shaking his head disillusioned. “Oh jeepers, it will distort our perception of reality. Our insecurities will…”
“I’d watch your back Nathanial,” Rebecca interrupted with a cold look in her eyes. “Why shouldn’t he wear the crown? Cathmore is stronger than you, a better man in fact.” Rebecca’s expression changed with her coming back to reality. Yamane suddenly snarled at her.
“How dare you speak to him like that. Show some respect or I’ll beat it into…” Yamane abruptly gasped. Stunned, she was about to apologise yet Rebecca got in first. Both women felt so awful and embarrassed, their experience left them on the verge of tears.
Terrified by her own thoughts, Tegan fought to remain calm. Her capture in the last game was not the issue; the vicious character reference Lamech had implied now churned her gut. Squeezing her husband’s hand, she addressed her cousin.
“Cathmore…” Their eyes met. “We should leave here, go to the city. Perhaps it’s something in the air, like what happened with Rebecca and I in the dead lands.”
Thinking Tegan had made a valid point, Cathmore hastily made his way over the mess to the back of the library. Closed, dusty drapes covered tall, leadlight windows. He wanted to look out over the city, already expecting to see it dismal as in the first game. Drawing the drapes open, Cathmore stood flabbergasted. The others came to join him.
In their eyes, this was a game board unlike anything ever seen before. The castle and its entire grounds were under a colossal dome constructed of what appeared as massive panes of triangular glass framed in raw metal, tubular steel. Patches of white and grey cloud formations implied a poorly projected image of the sky on the panes. The dome itself was elevated, enabling them to see beyond to the tops of additional domes.
Made of the same materials, a great semicircular tunnel protruded from the dome and ran between the structures, enormous in comparison to the one they were in. Equally distanced apart, one row of domes mirrored the other. The domes were connected to a central, elongated, mainframe; unseen were the smaller tunnels linking the structures. Distance prevented the team from seeing what lay beyond the mainframe, yet they suspected another elevated dome accommodating their opponents.
Although containing vast modern cities, those within the first three domes were in ruins and without power or amenities from battles won by the Mariard regime. Medically induced brainwashing turned the majority of captives into combatants where others were utilised as slave labour. Relocation of concentration camps came with the push forward, leaving only pockets of scavengers living in the shadows of rubble. Electric powered trains passed through the domes, carting slaves to and from designated work areas within the castle and its grounds. This left the main tunnel open to ensure safe passage of troops, weapons and even royal or military dignitaries, who were couriered in airborne transportation.
This massive structure was not on a surface but surrounded by blackness. To one side of the dome, the group could just make out the top of a sphere. It appeared to be the Mariard world itself and they presumed Eden was out there also. On opposite sides, the two familiar moons, one blue-grey, the other blood red, cast light on the game board. The sense of being closely watched by the players only furthered tensions with thoughts of the Necropolin having planned a dirty challenge to rob them of a win.
The gifted did not know what to make of it. Nathanial reminded his team it was a game to be played out with millions of pawns at stake and a game board to be saved. In his opinion, it was no use them running away when they had no idea what the situation was. A combination of the unknown and panicking could see them in a worse position than they were now.
The library door edged open, diverting the team’s attention. Trembling, the young male slave announced their breakfast awaited them in the dining room. Looking over nervous faces, Cathmore wanted everyone to follow his lead. This was not going to be easy, considering their morals and beliefs. A wrong reaction could give them away, which he feared happening.
