Marcus Sedgwick: The Truth is Dead

As a player in the Final, Monkey8 was allowed to hang around the court as long as she wanted. She knew her father would not be allowed in, so she loitered in the concourse, accepting compliments and more gifts, all the while looking out for Mungo. When she finally spotted him, she realized he must have been there for a long time, watching her. She shrugged.

He came over.

– Want to see the court? she said.

They went inside. There was no one else there. He looked up at the scoring ring and she held up a rubber ball.

– This is the one I scored with.

– Give us a shot.

She threw it and he jumped, catching it on his knee and sending it straight through the hoop first time.

Afterwards they lay down on the red playing surface. The sky seemed to ripple into darkness. The moon rolled over the lip of the court like a big red ball.

– We could play one-on-one. Just the two of us. It’s my court tonight.

– We’ve played one-on-one every day of our lives.

– Does my father know what I did here today?

– Aye. He’s at home crying. He knows he can’t get to you now.

– Maybe he’ll be proud when I win. Maybe he’ll be pleased when he sees the gold they gave me. Do you think I’m richer than him now?

– Maybe.

– Let’s play.

– Too tired.

– Too scared.

– Of you?

– I defeated Neza.

– He didn’t want to win.

– Everyone wants to win.

– Not this game.

– Especially this game.

– Wait. You mean they haven’t told you? You don’t know what happens after the Final?

– Nothing. I told you: that’s why it’s called the Final. It’s the final thing before the end of the world.

– The winner is the best player in the empire, right? Best person. So the winner—

– Will be me.

– The winner, they’ll rip her heart out and offer it to the gods. To Tekutizcatetal or whatever, to see if they can change his mind.

– You’re lying. Lying ghostdirt.

– Ghostdirt?

– How could you change a god’s mind?

– By giving him your nice juicy heart to eat, apparently.

– It doesn’t scare me. It’s the Final. Everyone will die. If I die first, that’s an honour. If Tekutizcatetal takes my heart, that is the greatest honour. Anyone would be proud.

– Not Neza, apparently, or else why did he throw the match?

– He did not throw the match; I defeated him. I scored. I won. I hate you.

– And I asked you to run away with me. And you didnae come.

She walked away but he followed. He grabbed her blouse and untucked it; then, taking the hem of his cloak, he knotted the blouse and the cloak together, just like the groom does to the bride when the Real People marry. They had played weddings sometimes when they were younger, but only when she wanted to. This was the first time he had started it. She laughed.

And then he said – We could still run away.

– No, we couldn’t. I’m famous now.

– We could go in disguise. To the Dreamcountry. Say yes.

– Maybe I will.

They walked towards the great arch, where they found the Interpretation waiting for them.

– We are so glad to find you here, they said. – We have made our decision about tomorrow.

They were not threatening. They had no soldiers with them. But all the same, it was impossible to argue with them. It was as though the whole world, the way things worked, was talking through them.

– We thought about what you said, that the more unlikely something is, the more clearly it is a message from the gods.

– Did I say that?

– Yes. So we have decided that your opponent tomorrow will be this boy.

They pointed to Mungo.

They entered through opposite arches. He seemed unbelievably far away and unbelievably pale against the red surface. They had played one-on-one since they were five, so often that it was more like a dance than a game. They never kept track of who won. Today the winner would die and the loser would live. Today they were playing the same old game, but this time to the death.

She looked at him standing on the centre spot, and the sound of the crowd and the colours of the stadium seemed to vanish. Everything was as ghostly as his pale skin.

– We’ll never see each other again after this.

– Good. You’ve bloody killed me. We should have run away.

– Let me win.

– Why would I do that?

– So I get killed and you don’t. It’s no great thing for me to die. I believe; you don’t.

– I believe in doing the right thing. I’m going to win; you’re going to live.

– Let me win. When the world ends, I’ll be waiting for you at the door of the Good Place.

– I’m going to win. I’m not going to let them kill you. I’d rather be dead than see them kill you here.

– It doesn’t make any sense. Let me win.

– You’ll never beat me, because I won’t let you. I’m playing for your life. Nothing will beat me.

The ball was in play. She missed it completely and realized she was watching him and not the ball, trying to remember him, a picture to take with her. The ball bounced high. Very high. She tried to wake up. She had to beat him. To save him. He was already running into position. The muscles in his legs coiled, ready to spring.

But then they both stopped. He was staring into the sky. She was staring into the sky. The crowd was staring into the sky. But not at the ball.

She was staring at the… what was it? A thing like a cross, like the wooden thing that Mungo’s weak god was nailed to. It was moving across the sky and making a noise, a coughing, choking noise. Like a weak thing. And it was coming nearer, falling out of the sky. In the stands people were screaming and scrambling out of their seats. But Mungo kept staring up. He made a sign like a cross on himself.

Then it was clear that the thing was going to land on the court itself. She dragged him out of the way as it struck the red surface. There was something on the front that whirled like an angry club, and smoke poured from the back. There was a thing like a single eye on the top; at least, she thought it was an eye, but then it opened and a figure stepped out. A male figure the same size as an Aztec man. Black like a man of Sheba, only blacker still. And his hair woolly and white. He stood on the wing of the thing and he waved! Just the way a man might wave. Everyone stood still and then waved back, imitating the god’s wave. He waved again. They waved again.

This was it. The end of the world. Not a flood. But… what? Waving?

The god began to speak, and everyone leaned forward to listen. The acoustics of the court were designed to amplify the dramatic thump of the rubber ball hitting the stone, so everyone heard everything he said but no one could understand a word. They shuffled a little, embarrassed that this was their god, come to talk to them, but they couldn’t understand what he was saying.

Then slowly they began to enjoy the music of his talking and the fact that he seemed pleased to see them, and it dawned on them slowly that anyone who spoke with his relaxed, sing-song voice was very possibly not going to destroy the world after all. And as he waved again and they waved back again, they began to recognize certain words, because he said them a lot. Kuri, for instance, was his name. And Wollongong was where he was from. And aeroplane seemed to be the thing that took him into the air. He kept slapping it proudly.

While Kuri was talking, Mungo worked it out. This was not their god. This was not Tekutizcatetal, the destroyer of worlds. This was obviously his God. Obviously. He was even riding on a cross. Knowing that God was good, Mungo grabbed Monkey8 by the hand and dragged her over to the plane.