Molly snapped her fingers, and a great sandstorm rose up out of nowhere and swept forward, slamming into the dark streets. Brick red dust, from a red planet. More appeared around her, filling her half of the circle. The ancient overwhelming sands of the Martian plains, older by far than this world, and far less forgiving. The red sandstorm blasted through the dark streets the Bones Man made, scouring through the open spaces and blowing the zombies apart. The sands smashed the windows and the foul lights went out, and nothing moved there any more. And for the first time, the Bones Man took a step backwards. Because he’d never encountered anything like old Mars.
He braced himself, surrounded by one small area of his own darkness, untouched by the sandstorm. And Molly smiled at him. She snapped her fingers, and Mars was gone. Replaced in a moment by the one place she knew best. The wild woods.
Tall trees surrounded her, old trees and ancient, even primordial. From when we all lived in the forest, because there was nowhere else. Green grass and green leaves, and living things everywhere. All the triumphant vegetation of old England, untouched by human hand. Bright sunlight, full of life, shining down through the trees in great golden shafts. Birds singing, filling the air with joyous noise. And all the old creatures of England’s past: the wolf and the boar, the bear and the stag, the lion and the unicorn.
England’s Dreaming.
The sunlight blazed forward, into what was left of the Bones Man’s darkness. Throwing back the dark and dispersing the shadows. And where the clean light touched the broken creatures, it healed them. The rats and cats ran away, into the woods; turning their backs on the dark in favour of a new wild freedom. The last buildings disappeared, replaced by trees, and the Bones Man backed away, bewildered, as his world was destroyed.
In Molly’s woods, birds came flying down to dart and circle around her. The beasts bowed down to her, and she patted their faithful heads. My heart ached to see the world she’d given up, for me. A single squirrel hopped forward to stare at the Bones Man. He glared down at it, and raised a foot to stamp on it. The squirrel fixed him with a cold eye.
“Don’t even think about it, rube.”
It hopped back into the woods. The sunlight blasted forward, and the dark was gone. Leaving the Bones Man standing alone, blinking dazedly, in his half of the circle.
He tried to call up one world after another, but they all failed and fell apart, in the face of the wild woods. He had nothing half so strong or half so vital. He had nothing to offer, in the face of the woods we all came from. So he just gave up. He bowed to Molly, and sank down on one knee. Molly looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded briefly. The birds and the beasts left her, and the wild woods faded slowly away. Nothing left but an empty stone circle, with a beaten man and a triumphant woman. The audience made a soft sound, as though they hadn’t wanted Molly’s woods to go.
She strode forward to face the Bones Man, who rose smoothly to his feet again to face her.
“So,” said Molly. “I own your soul now.”
“Hardly, me child,” said the Bones Man. “I would not be so foolish as to risk my own spirit on a game of chance. You have merely won the souls I won in earlier games. And much good may they do you, being the small and pitiful things they are. Be careful, little witch; some of them are . . . restless. And watch your back, for I will revenge myself upon you for this humiliation.”
“Go for it,” said Molly. “I mean it; right now. You’ll never have a better chance.”
“In a time of my choosing,” said the Bones Man. “The lords of the loa will tear your soul apart.”
“Oh, piss off!” Molly said loudly. “Sore loser!”
The Bones Man gathered up what little of his dignity remained, turned, and strode away. The crowd booed him and cheered Molly. A uniformed flunky came forward and presented Molly with her obol, her symbol as winner of the Game. And while she was distracted with that, the Bones Man attacked. The crowd cried out a warning, and Molly spun round to see the Bones Man transform himself as he took on the aspect of the voodoo loa he served: Damballah, the snake god. He rose up, growing larger, becoming huge and swaying, a massive serpent . . . and Molly braced herself, stray magics discharging around her raised hands. I was already up and running forward, my Colt Repeater in hand. But before either of us could do anything, a dozen flunkies appeared out of nowhere, surrounding the massive serpent in a great circle. They didn’t speak, or move, but the snake collapsed, falling in upon itself, becoming just a man again.
The Bones Man stood alone, surrounded by things not wholly men.
“We have been given power in this place,” said one of the flunkies, “to enforce the rules of the Games. Such behaviour as this cannot go unpunished.”
“You think you can hurt me?” said the Bones Man. “You small, stupid, artificial things?”
“We can do more than that,” said the generic flunky.
And just like that, the Bones Man lost his shape. His face melted away, replaced by simple, characterless features. His hair fell out, his name disappeared, his existence reworked. Made over, into just another generic flunky. He stood there helplessly, not knowing what he should do yet. The flunky who’d spoken turned to Molly and me.
“We will take care of him until he is ready to take on his duties here. The rules of the Games must be followed.”
He looked at the gun in my hand, and I put it away. The flunkies left the circle. I hugged Molly tightly, and she hugged me back, and we left the circle arm in arm.
“You weren’t worried, were you?” Molly said cheerfully. “He never stood a chance.”
I looked at her thoughtfully. “What was all that about I know the loa, and they know me? Is there anyone you didn’t make a pact with to gain power when you were starting out?”
“I don’t think I missed anyone,” said Molly. “I was very thorough, and very motivated.”
“Some day your past is going to catch up with you,” I said. “And all those pacts will have to be honoured. And on that day, I don’t know if even I will be able to protect you.”
“Worry about that when it happens,” Molly said briskly. “Ah, Frankie’s here. How did we do in the betting?”
“One thousand, four hundred and thirteen souls!” Frankie said proudly. “Can’t speak for the quality, of course, but . . .”
“Do we have enough to get us into the Big Game?” said Molly.
“Not yet,” said Frankie. “But one more really big win should do it.”
“So, what next?” I said. “Who do I have to challenge, and what do I have to play?”
“I think everyone here knows enough now to be wary of both of you,” Frankie said carefully. “So you’ll have a hard time getting anyone to go up against you, one on one, in any game. And that affects the odds I can get. . . . But, there is a Game, a group Game, where we could still get really good odds. It’s a bit risky, but . . .”
“The Games we just took part in weren’t risky?” said Molly.
“Not compared to this,” said Frankie. “Because the Game I’m thinking of is a free-for-all. Anyone can enter, and it all comes down to Last Man Standing. Or at least, last person still alive.”
“Okay,” said Molly. “That doesn’t sound too bad; what makes it so specially risky?”
“Most people who participate in this Game are lucky to get out alive,” said Frankie. “You can’t take any weapons in with you, but anything else goes. It’s all about survival. But outside, you can bet on any number of things! How long you’ll last, what kind of damage you’ll take, as well as whether you last long enough to win. This isn’t a Game I’d recommend to most people, because with so many participating, anything can happen. But you do seem to have that certain lucky something going for you. . . .”