Bookmaker of the Gods (part 6 - final part)

Jacob took the beast from his cave. He had explained his plan, as irritatingly eloquent as ever, but the beast would have gone with him even if he didn't. They had been apart for too long now for any upset feelings to remain: there was only a deep longing to never separate again.

They did not need to travel especially far, and the sea would take them most of the way. The beast was hiding in a barrel on Jacob’s little ship, and couldn't resist his usual urges. He scratched at the barrel and marveled at how soft wood was compared to stone! Delighted, he kept scratching, and it was not as painful as it used to be.

“Do you still need to do this when I am here with you?” Jacob asked after looking in the barrell. He had brought some food for the beast that was not a mollusk or crustacean or fish, and let the beast take it apart curiously and eat slowly.

“Just in case…” the beast said.

“I see. You told me the reason, and it is a very good one, so I understand. But do not hurt yourself any more for this.”

“Wood doesn't hurt as much.”

“... That's good then. But perhaps I can give you something softer.”

Jacob bore his own flesh to the beast, and let him scratch as much as he needed to before they arrived at their destination. The beast was curious about Jacob’s body, because it had the same number of limbs as his, and he did want to take it apart and get a good look, but this was an urge he could ignore. Where Jacob was concerned, his muddled mind had uncommon clarity, and a clear mind can suppress some innocent urges.

Traveling by sea, and then working their way up a freshwater stream, the pair found their way to the water supply for the very same kingdom the Gods were currently betting over.

There it was that Jacob stabbed John for the second time in their lives, but this time John did not return the gesture. Beastly blood gushed black and red into the water, and he was still bleeding when he finally closed his beastly eyes to rest.

The next day the Kingdom was overjoyed, for their sick had been healed, but they did not know who to thank. Some thanked doctors and some thanked Gods, but nobody would have thanked a beast. At least, not yet.

The Gods were similarly uproarious but for a rather different reason. Where on earth was their bookmaker? Today was the day to reveal it all! They swarmed the kingdom and searched for him, but there were no caves here, so why bother? Having lost all patience, several Gods screamed to ask the only thing they cared about anymore: “who is the winner?!”

“I am.” The voice was not loud, but it seemed to speak directly to the minds of all the Gods. This was the voice of their bookmaker. Only humans that were near enough to the person speaking could hear it as well, but one such lucky person was Michael.

Then, someone else spoke, loud and clear and in a way that made people listen. “Blood of a beast is the cure for this sickness. Having cured the kingdom, at much personal sacrifice, he has become their hero, wouldn't you agree? And he is not only the hero of this time, but the hero of last time. He was the only one able to save somebody from this sickness: I know this because he saved me. By stabbing me with a dagger covered in his own blood, he made sure I could never catch this sickness, and the blood in his own veins protected him though he had already caught it! So that is two people from the past, and all people in the present. I’m sure none of you bet on that, did you?”

The Gods were silent.

“But I did. You’ll find I bet on this exact outcome: just ask your bookmaker.”

The beast walked out, every step agony, but his back was straighter than ever. The beast looked up to the sky, to where the Gods lived. “I win,” he said again, quite satisfied. “Because Jacob wins.” And it wasn't just this bet he won. The bet about John and Jacob all that time ago did not have a time limit. Jacob placed his bet very properly, and followed all procedures. You should never try to cheat the Gods, because they do enough of that themselves. For the best play of all you need to follow the rules, beat them at their own game, and take them for everything.

“Small bets beget cheer, while large bets beget ruin,” Jacob had said when they were in the cave, musing how much he should bid.

“... So we bet small, then?” the beast asked. Jacob looked at him and smiled.

“What good is cheer? If you're going to bother at all: go for ruin.”

He was all-in.

That is how a bookmaking beast managed to beat the Gods, and become a hero.

I hope that my mentioning my own small role in this story has been overshadowed by my excellent researching skills, for I found all the details that time and Gods would overlook. I even found the beast’s old cave, and saw for myself what he was really scratching all those years.

It did have a good reason.

Reason enough to turn fingers into scratchers, and reason enough to bear the pain.

On every surface of that cave I saw art. Sculptures in the stone, calligraphy in the rock, great portraits carved through nail and flesh and bone over years. Everywhere I looked I saw Jacob. The beast called John knew his mind was breaking, but he knew there were some things too important to forget, even if you need to destroy your body to remember them. There was never any need to keep a tally: John knew there was only going to be one outcome.

To be honest, I was only a scholar, with dreams of being a poet, and I knew I would not help my people more than that. But I didn’t need to, because our hero had been there from the start.

Yes, I am Michael.