Free Endgame: The Calling by James Frey, Nils Johnson-Shelton Page B

Like my kind, it has long remained hidden from human eyes .
    The Players stop looking at one another, their eyes drawn to the pyramid. Its surface shimmers, and three cloaked figures drift out of a black doorway that appears for less than a second. Two of the figures remain near the pyramid, like guards. The 3rd joins the Players in an instant, as if the space between the pyramid and the forest is nonexistent. It stands behind Sarah Alopay. She cranes her neck in order to take it in.
    The being’s cloak is dark and punctuated with illuminated points like it is made of space, as if it is covered in stars. Around its neck it wears a round, flat disk covered with glyphs.
    The figure is tall—at least 7.5 feet—and thin, with broad shoulders and long arms. It is wearing shimmering shoes that look to be made of the same substance as the Great White Pyramid. Its feet are very long and very flat.
    It has a long, narrow head. Like its voice, the thing’s face is neither male nor female. Its skin is like mother-of-pearl. Its long hair is platinum. Its thin eyes are completely black.
    It is obviously not of this world. And though they feel like they should be scared, the Players are at ease with the creature. Although they’ve never seen anything quite like it, there is an odd familiarity about it. Some of them even find the being bewitching, beautiful.
    I am kepler 22b. You have come to learn about Endgame. I will teach you. First, it is the custom that you introduce yourselves.
    kepler 22b looks down on Sarah. She senses that, for the moment, she can speak, but she’s unsure of what to say.
    Your name. Your number. Your tribe.
    Sarah takes a breath and slows her heart to 34 bpm. An insanely low number. She doesn’t want to give anything away, knowing that the others might pick up clues in even the simplest statements. “I am Sarah Alopay of the 233rd. I am Cahokian.”
    The ability to speak moves to her right, like an invisible token.
    “Jago Tlaloc. 21st. Olmec.” Jago is calm, and pleased to be seated next to Sarah.
    “Aisling Kopp, the 3rd, La Tène Celt.” Aisling is the tall, thin-lipped redhead Marcus saw piled in the pagoda. She is curt and clear.
    “I am Hilal ibn Isa al-Salt of the 144th. I am your Aksumite brother.” Hilal is refined, soft-spoken, very dark-skinned, regal. His eyes are bright blue, his straight teeth a blinding white. His hands are joined easily in his lap. He looks tall and strong, looks the way a Player is supposed to look, somehow both menacing and peaceful.
    “Maccabee Adlai. I represent the 8th line. I am Nabataean.” Maccabee is big, but not huge, and impeccably dressed in a casual linen suit and white cotton shirt, no tie. Some of the Players interpret his pretty clothes as a sign of weakness.
    “Baitsakhan,” barks a boy with round tanned cheeks and smoldering brown eyes. That is all he says.
    Say the rest.
    Baitsakhan shakes his head adamantly.
    You must.
    kepler 22b insists without sounding upset, and Baitsakhan shakes his head again.
    Stubborn boy , Sarah thinks. Trouble, probably.
    kepler 22b raises a spindly, seven-fingered hand, and the boy’s body begins to shiver. Very much against his will he vomits the words “13th line. Donghu.” When he’s done, he looks at kepler 22b with equal measures of fury and awe.
    The next Player is thin, his chest concave, his shoulders slight and curved around him like wings. Dark circles hang under his eyes. A red tear is tattooed in the corner of his left eye. He has shaved an inch-thick line through his hair in a reverse Mohawk. As the Players take him in, they realize that he has been turning his head repeatedly in tiny, jerking movements.
    He blinks a dozen times before blurting, “A-A-An Liu. Three-three-three-three-three hundred seventy-seventy-seventy-seventy-seven. Shang.”
    It is a terrible first impression. A stammering weakling here amongst trained killers.
    “Shari Chopra,” a beautiful, ocher-skinned girl says in a