Origins. James Frey
are evenly matched, that the choice between them is a coin flip. It’s easier that way; it’s how friendship works. But surely, he thinks, their instructors can tell that it’s an illusion. That Marcus is just a little better, a little more determined. That between the two of them, only Marcus would sacrifice everything for the game, for his people. That only Marcus truly believes he’s meant to be the Player—and not just any Player, but the one who saves his people.
They’re both pretending not to be nervous, but deep down, Marcus really isn’t.
He knows it will be him.
It has to be.
He reaches the top with a whoop of triumph, Xander still several meters behind. Instead of savoring his victory or waiting for his best friend to catch up, he anchors his rappelling line, hooks himself on, and launches himself over the cliff. This moment, this leap of faith, it’s the reward that makes all that hard work worth it. There’s a pure joy in giving way to the inexorable, letting gravity speed him toward his fate.
Tomorrow, everything changes.
And it can’t come fast enough.
The amphitheater is filled to capacity. Every Minoan within 200 kilometers is here to learn who their new Player will be. Marcus sits in the front row with all the other prospects, remembering the last time he was at this ceremony. He was young then, too young to understand what it meant or imagine that someday it would be him.
It’s strange now, thinking about his life back then. It doesn’t feel real, or at least it doesn’t feel like his life. He was a different person then, before he knew the truth about the world and his place in it. His life, the one that matters, is defined by Endgame, and by his friendship with Xander. Before them, he was just a fraction of himself. Now he’s whole.
Elias Cassadine, the camp leader, takes the podium to deliver a speech about the import of this decision and the honor he is about to bestow. Marcus has endured many a lecture by Elias, and knows the man will drone on forever about the long-lost Minoan civilization and its tradition of heroes. How the legendary King Minos was actually an alien god, who chose the Minoans, of all peoples, to live among and rule. Elias will speak of Endgame as a sacred compact between the Minoans and the beings from the stars, a chance for this chosen people to rise above the rest—if their champion can rise to the challenge. He will boast about the camp’s rigorous training program and the care with which the instructors have selected their Player. As if it takes some kind of genius to pick out the best. Elias will talk duty and sacrifice, and how everyone in the audience owes a debt of gratitude to their new Player. He’ll blather on forever while everyone fidgets in their seat and pretends not to be bored out of their skulls.
Xander catches his eye and Marcus mimes choking himself. Put me out of my misery, he means, and of course Xander knows it, because Xander always knows what he means. For the last five years, everything he’s done, he’s done with Xander. It’s going to be strange, going forward alone. Yes, he can do it on his own, but why would he want to?
Marcus wonders whether he might be able to talk Elias into defying tradition and letting him keep Xander around. Batman had Robin, Theseus had Daedalus—why couldn’t Marcus have Xander?
It’s a brilliant idea, and he can’t believe he didn’t think of it before. He’s working up some good arguments in favor of it when he realizes that Elias Cassadine has stopped droning and excited murmurs are rippling across the crowd. Beside him, Xander has gone pale.
“Meet our new Player,” Elias says, and Marcus is already rising to his feet when his brain kicks in and processes what he’s just heard. What he’s hearing now, as Elias says it one more time, almost drowned out by the thunder of the cheering Minoans.
Xander’s name.
Xander’s name, not Marcus’s.
This isn’t happening, Marcus thinks, because it can’t be happening.
This is just a dream, Marcus thinks, because he’s had many like it—nightmares, really, but then he always wakes up.
There is no waking up this time.
This is real. The announcement has been made. The choice has been made, and it’s Xander who steps hesitantly up to the podium, lowers his head as Elias sets the golden horns atop his wild curls. A tribute to the legend of the Minotaur, these horns are the official marker of the chosen Player, and it’s Xander who will bear them. Xander who clasps his hands over his head in triumph, Xander who’s been named the best. Xander who’s been named the Player.
It’s Xander who’s won.
It’s Marcus who’s been left behind.
Things move quickly after that. They are all expected to leave the camp by the end of the week. Soon a new group of children will arrive to begin seven years of training and claim the camp as their own. Marcus and the others will go back to their families, while Xander goes forward. Somewhere.
“You really can’t tell me where?” Marcus says. They’re packing up the room they share. Seven years of memories dumped into a few cardboard boxes, taped up, and sent away. Of all these belongings, the only one that means anything to Marcus is the golden ax—and even that has lost its shine. The labrys was supposed to mean something, was supposed to mean he was chosen. Now? It’s nothing but a rusty old ax. Marcus thinks that he should offer it to Xander as a gift, a way of saying without saying, The future belongs to you.
Instead he tosses it in a box, and resolves to throw it away as soon as he gets the chance.
“I really can’t tell you.” Xander pulls out a pizza box that must have been sitting under his bed for weeks. That would explain the smell. “They swore me to secrecy about all Player stuff, and I don’t think they’re kidding around.”
Don’t be jealous, Marcus reminds himself, like this is even possible. Like he’s not seething with rage.
“No worries,” Marcus says. “Feel free to lord it over me with your super-special Player secrets and your exotic classified missions. I’ve got secrets too, you know. You’ll never guess what I’ve got hidden in this sock drawer.”
“A pack of condoms you ordered online and have been hoarding for so long they’ve probably turned to dust,” Xander says, without missing a beat. “Plus some incredibly foul socks.”
He’s right on both counts. It only makes Marcus angrier.
How dare Xander keep secrets?
How dare he act like everything is the same between them, like they’re still best friends, like everything is fine—when everything is ruined?
How dare he win?
There’s an awkwardness between them now, a stiff silence, and Marcus knows it’s his fault.
“I really thought it would be you,” Xander says, not for the first time. It makes Marcus want to punch him, because how’s he supposed to respond? “So did I”?
Actually, that’s not a bad idea. So he says it out loud. Then laughs, like it was a joke.
Xander laughs too. Fakely. It’s even worse than the silence.
Marcus knows he’s acting like a spoiled brat. Like a child who doesn’t get what he wants and throws a temper tantrum. But it’s not like Xander’s any better, with this humble aw, shucks act, like he’s not loving every minute of this. Maybe it would be different if Xander would just own it, rub his victory in Marcus’s face.
That’s always been the way between them—always crowing, always bragging, never apologizing.
They could afford to be honest, because they were on such even ground.
Not now.
Now every word out of Xander’s mouth sounds like an apology, and Marcus sees that for what it is: pity.
“We’ll still be friends,” Xander says, tossing a sweatshirt in his suitcase.