Page 1 of The Games of Madmen

Chapter One

PROLOGUE

Moscow, Russia

Zahkar

Ten years old…

Sharp little pricks of pain fire through the soles of my feet. The holes in my socks snag on the pebbles as I hobble over them trying not to put all my weight down. Icy chills race all over my body making me shake uncontrollably.

I hate this place.

It’s cold. Too cold. Even breathing the air makes my insides freeze.

Everyone speaks differently from me. Even though my mom was born here, I wasn’t, and she never thought to teach me the language, which makes living here now a nightmare.

I hate it here.

The kids at school are mean and they stole my shoes. After tying the laces together, they tossed them in a tree, mockingme with words in a language I don’t understand. My coat was dragged from me as they shoved me to the ground and laughed while I tried to keep a hold of it.

A crowd gathered, watching them throw my coat onto the lake, before daring me to walk its icy surface to retrieve it.

I’m small and alone, but I’m not dumb enough to risk walking on a frozen lake. I need my coat, but racing home without it is safer.

Our house is a twenty-minute walk. I know because I count the seconds and then the minutes every morning on the trek from there to school. But, if I run, it will keep me warm, and I will be able to get there in half the time which is why I’m booking it.

Ten minutes and I’ll be locked safely away from the terrible kids in this foreign place until tomorrow at least.

“One Mississippi, two Mississippi…”

It hurts my lungs to run in this weather. My skin is frozen, the chill whipping at the flesh like shards of glass, my muscles burn, but not a warm burn. It’s painful.

I have to slow down. My exposed feet hurt so much.

Why take someone’s shoes? It’s just stupid to be that mean.

Dad always says people can’t help their nature. It’s wired into their brains that way, and we have to accept that we’re not all the same. I think he says that because my brother is always getting into trouble.

There are no bad people, just bad things people do.

I don’t understand what the difference is.

All I know is, bad is bad, and those jerks who stole my shoes and coat are really bad.

I get to eleven minutes and thirty two seconds before I finally make it home. There are two cars in the driveway that I don’t recognize. We don’t know anyone here as Mom always says weneed to keep to ourselves. My stomach twists into a nervous knot when I hear raised voices coming from inside.

My numb fingers push open the front door, and before I go in, I know something is wrong. Something bad awaits me inside. I can’t explain it. Just a feeling. There are these tiny bumps sprinkling all over my skin. I should turn away, run, come back later…but where would I go? I’m already so cold.

Carefully, I step inside and tip-toe toward the crying sounds I know to be my mother. It makes tears spring in my own eyes when I hear the wails from a boy pleading, joining her cries. It’s like the sound a child makes when begging not to be punished by the belt.

The sounds I make.

Fear creeps over me when I round the door frame and see the child crying is not a child at all. It’s my father, his voice distorted with terror.

The thumping of my heart roars in my ears and my mouth goes so dry I find it hard to swallow down my dread.

“No, no,” he pleads through sobs. His eyes lock onto mine, making the man standing next to him look over at me, and give away my presence.