by Jo Sparkes
Snark was waiting for her in the shop, and Marra trembled at the notion of disobeying him. But nearby spectators cleared the way before her, allowing her both the post spot and an unimpeded view. It was a true honor. A sort of respect she'd never experienced before.
There'd be hell to pay, of course. But that would come later.
And this was comet, after all.
Drail studied the field.
The center cone here was only high to a man's thigh, with the top cut off to make the hole wide enough to allow the ball to pass through the top with a finger's width to spare. This was the comet tail.
Comet was competition. Four teams of four men met in the arena, each with a chosen ball. The balls were covered with clinging soot-dirt, hiding the painted-on spots. To score, a ball must be thrown into the Tail.
A team could not score twice, but it could keep others from scoring, even up to sinking a second ball. That ball wouldn't count, and upon doing so the team had to retire from the field.
Beneath the soot-dirt the four comet balls were marked with 5, 3, 1, and no spots. The first team to sink a ball was awarded 3 points plus the point value of the ball; the second sunk ball was worth 2, then 1, and the last was 0 points. The longer you played, the more soot came off the ball, until the spots were revealed. But few in the Flats waited – for anything.
It was a wild game, with few rules. Players wore leather vests to protect themselves, but in truth the decorated material was more to mark the teams for the spectators than any real padding.
And for Drail, today was a landmark. It had been so long since Skullan had actually played against Trumen that it had become more legend than truth. He only knew of it because of his grandsire. Last night, when he'd seen the Skullan captain so obviously drunk, he'd baited him. Olver said he was wasting his breath; Manten had called him insane.
Today they faced not one, but two Skullan teams.
“TO THE FIELD!”
At the cry, Drail and his friends marched past the post, waving to the crowd. A comet game pulled people from a thousand spans, but even so it was hard to imagine how so many had appeared. San Cris was the smallest place he'd ever been that called itself a place.
The spectator roar was most satisfying.
“No one has ever beaten a Skullan,” Olver said over the noise. Olver wore his black hair short, unlike most males. He claimed it practical for the sand of the Flats. But then, Olver was ten years older than any of his teammates, and far more jaded.
“There is a first time for all things,” Kayle called back. Kayle was the youngest, and had yet to taste defeat. Kayle's hair was even blacker than Olver's, but worn long. When Drail had first seen him, Kayle's hair was braided. Braids were occasionally seen out on the Flats because few understood, much less observed, the conventions of a continent far away. Kayle had been accepted into the Hand of Victory once he changed the braid to a simple ponytail.
The four balls were at the comet tail, the center cone, watched over by the Judge. A Skullan Judge, Drail noted. The Skullan he'd suckered was making sure there would be no cheat.
Each team approached the comet tail. And the Skullan grew more enormous with each step.
“Stars!” Manten breathed. He was the tallest, yet the top of his head didn't reach as high as a Skullan shoulder.
At the inner circle, the line drawn in the sand around the comet tail, the teams halted. The Judge gestured, and Drail and the other Team Captains stepped over it. It was forbidden to cross the line without the Judge's approval. All scoring during the game had to be done from behind the line.
Drail glanced at the other Captains.
The Skullan radiated confidence. Contempt. They were sizing each other up – with barely a spare glance for the Trumen. The other Trumen Captain actually swallowed.
One Skullan, with a spider drawn on his cheek, picked up the ball in front of him. He'd made his choice. The second Skullan knocked the scared Trumen down to grab the ball beside him.
Drail chose the ball where the second Skullan had stood. He thrust it high over his head, spinning to face the crowd. A few murmurs rippled through the spectators as the fallen Trumen scurried over to the one remaining – barely grasping it before the Skullan whirled with balls held high. As the players trotted to the quadrant where their Captains held the ball, cheers erupted.
“They'll cheer for a Skullan win just as loud as ours,” Olver yelled out over the noise.
Drail strode to join his men. “Let's give them no opportunity,” he said, as the Hand of Victory bowed to the crowd. And then turned as one to face the center.
Against the backdrop of the spectators, the sheer mass of the Skullan startled him. Tall they were, but more ominous was their breadth. The width of their shoulders seemed double that of any Trumen. Any bulging Skullan muscle looked the weight of three of his own.
Drail knew they were giants. He'd seen they were giants last night. But now his body felt the truth of the fact that his mind had continually glossed over.
“What do we do?” Kayle blurted out.
“Leave it to the Desert Crane,” Manten grinned.
The Judge marched across the field to the raised platform at the edge. In the time it took him to climb the ladder, Drail could hear the breathing of his team. The whole arena had gone silent.
“United,” he said.
“COMET!”
The Skullans charged the other Trumen team. Drail's team ran toward the Tail, Drail taking two steps and tossing the ball to Olver. There were no rules against one man running the ball in and scoring – but it was considered bad form.
Olver ran a short distance, then tossed it to Kayle. “They're ignoring us.”
But they were not. Spider-Cheek and a teammate veered, sprinting towards them. “They don't want us to be first,” Manten warned.
The Skullan were fast. In seconds they were there, thundering toward Kayle. He hurled the ball to Olver just before Spider-Cheek nailed him.
Drail heard the smack, saw the dust cloud. An instant later Olver was struck – and Spider-Cheek ran off with their ball, laughing with his companion.
“Great Crane!” Drail shook his head, to clear it as much as anything else, and then saw Kayle helping Olver – who was holding his shoulder.
Manten streaked out towards the Skullan. Drail sprinted after him. The Skullan took a shot at the Tail, but missed by a wide space. Briefly Drail wondered if accuracy was their flaw.
Manten dove into Spider-Cheek, driving him into the dust. Spider-Cheek roared in fury, and despite Manten's palm pin – a firm push on the small of the back that normally kept a man from rising - Spider-Cheek sprang up, shaking Manten off like a dog shook off sandfleas. Drail froze in awe.
WHAM - Drail dropped like a rock. The dust cleared from his vision, and he saw the ball that had nailed him. And the laughing Skullan who had thrown it.
The Skullan started towards the ball.
Drail rolled over onto his stomach, eyed the tail, and punched the ball with all his might. It flew towards the cone, over twenty paces away. It rolled up the side, up above the hole.
The whole arena held its breath as the ball seemed to hover mid-air.
And dropped into the cone.
The crowd erupted in pandemonium. It was a shot in a million.
On the far side of the cone, a Skullan from another team made his kick, trying for second score. The ball missed, hurling towards Drail's face.
Drail suddenly wondered if he had been the target of that kick.
He caught the ball, then scrambled upright. And raced towards the cone. Spider-Cheek sprinted to cut him off – but Drail drop kicked it on the fly. It would be considered a difficult shot, but a mere toss after that incredible punch score.
The ball went in.
“CEASE!” yelled the Judge. And the crowd went wild.
Spider-Cheek forced himself to stop. And from the look on his face, Drail was very glad he did. Another second and bones would have been broken.
With the other players halted, Drail and his team retired from the field. “Well done!” the Captain of the other Trumen team called. Spider-Cheek glared.
A place was cleared for them, and the Hand of Victory gathered around their post. The game continued.
Marra stared up at them as the team surrounded her, but she doubted they were even aware of her presence. Drail and his men now watched the field, as if their sinking of two balls before a single Skullan comet was an everyday thing.
“COMET.”
The game resumed. The crowd seemed to swell as those in the back tried to shove their way forward. Marra felt the heat on her face, the push of the people behind, and the sheer excitement in the air. She'd never forget this moment, never.
No Trumen ever beat a Skullan. No Trumen, ever, at anything. Had Drail and his friends actually done it?
She watched him, watching the game. His long ponytail hung down his back, almost blonde with its layer of San Cris dust. His muscles heaved as if he hadn't yet caught his breath. If she hadn't seen Skullan up close today, she'd wonder again if he wasn't one, hair or no hair.
She saw his nod before the crowd roared. The third and fourth ball had sunk - it was over. Comet games were never long – usually a quarter of an hour. But the intensity made you feel as if you'd run a marathon just watching a game.
Now the Judge marked a spot in the sand, beckoning. Drail and his men strode out to stand there as the crowd thundered its approval. The roaring continued as the Judge marked a second spot, and then a third, and a fourth.
The Skullan teams strode to the third and fourth spots. The other Trumen team quietly left the field. Failing to sink a ball was a disgrace.
The Judge marched to the Tail, plucked out the last ball to go in, and set that before the fourth team. Trudging back and forth, he plucked each ball free, and placed it in its mark.
The second ball on the second marker had no team. Marra realized this was the second comet Drail had sunk. Insuring no other team would be awarded points for that place, or that ball.
Everyone around her held their very breath as the Judge took a white cloth and cleared the soot from Drail's first place ball. Just as she made out the three circles painted on it, the roar broke out. The Judge drew a '6' in the dust at Drail’s feet. The Hand of Victory had scored six points.
The second ball was wiped clean – it bore only one circle. Around her the crowd quieted. The 5 ball was still unaccounted for. If the third team had sunk the 5 ball, they would have six points as well.
The Judge placed the ball on the mark, and moved to the third team. The Skullan with the spider-cheek stood proud, as if he knew the ball was the five. A tie meant the two teams went back to fight it out.
The biggest injuries came from ties.
The Judge applied the no-longer-white cloth to the ball. There were no circles – it had no points. That gave a total of one point for the third ball. The last Skullan team had the five – but with no points for fourth place, it did them no good.
The very ground trembled with the shouts of the people. Drail merely smiled as if he’d won a simple game. He actually winked at her.
Stars, Trumen had actually beaten Skullan. And the tiny town of San Cris had the privilege of witnessing it.
Marra suddenly realized it would be very wise to get back to the shop. Comet games often led to wild times in the street, drinking and shouting and fights. An epic game could only mean epic celebrations.
She watched, horrified, as the Skullan with the spider-cheek strode over to Drail. He eyed him a long moment, before balling his fist and punching the Trumen's shoulder. Drail grinned and punched him back.
Marra was not the only Trumen to gasp in relief.
2.
WITH A FEW DEFT turns she avoided most of the crowd.
It was only in stepping into the shop that Marra realized the worst might not be behind her at all.
Snark came through the back room door, and shut it behind him. In all her time there, she'd never seen the door closed. Stars, she hadn't even realized the door worked.
With a glance behind him, Snark shouted, “where have you been?”
“They would not let me leave until they saw that the potion had worked.” She cringed at another lie, wondering what her mother would have said. Her fear of Snark was such that she found herself saying anything to avoid him.
“Did you bring back the vial?”
Of course – she should have retrieved the glass vial, which was expensive. But he'd paid her so much money, it didn't seem right. And – truthfully – she'd never thought of it.
She plucked the four coppers from her pocket, and set them on the counter. Snark's eyes widened.
“They won,” she told him. “Drail won. They beat the Skullan.”
“Now I know you're lying.” Snark eyed the coins, but grabbed her shoulders. “You're no good with lies, girl. Trumen could not defeat Skullan, not in a thousand lifetimes.” He studied her lips, much the way the Skullan on the street had done, and she wished beyond anything to kick Snark in the same manner.
“SNARK. This must be done quickly,” a voice called from behind the closed door. Snark scowled, then shook her slightly.
“You go to my house, clean the floors. I'll be there after I – after I'm finish.”
Twice before Snark had tried to get her to clean his place. Mistress Britta forbade it. In fact, she'd warned Marra never to set foot in Snark's house. Marra had always thought the Mistress had simply disliked her brother, but now she realized there was a whole different reason.
Her head was shaking 'no' even as she realized how he’d react.
He slapped her hard. “Do as I tell you, girl.”
“Mistress Britta told me -”
This time he used his fist. The shop spun, and she saw the stars themselves when her cheek struck the floorboards.
Footsteps. She saw boots run by, heard the crack of a third punch that did not strike her. Another body hit the floor. And then gentle hands were lifting her up.
She hung limp, trembling. And realized the face peering into hers was Drail's.
“You all right? Girl?”
She nodded – mostly to answer him, so he wouldn't bother about her. And then she saw Snark out cold on the floor. “He'll kill me.”
“We'll take you home,” Drail told her. She tried to smile, and realized tears were flowing. She scraped them off with the heel of her hand.
“This is my home.”
Drail frowned. She wanted to cringe away, but she did have some pride. “It's all right. Just don't be here when he wakes up. I'll tell him -”
“Get your things,” Drail cut her off. “We wanted more of the Birr Elixir. Looks like we'll have plenty now.”
The last sentence had been tossed over his shoulder. Marra looked – and saw one of his teammates behind him. The one with the short dark hair.
“Drail, you can't just take a girl. If she lives here, she's indentured or something. There would be hell to pay.”
Marra rapidly weighed her options. “I'm not indentured. I'm apprenticed to Mistress Britta. It was an agreement between my mother and her.”
Drail raised an eyebrow. “Where is your mistress?”
“She died. Five weeks ago.”
Snark wasn't moving – not even a groan. She started towards him, but Drail stopped her.
“Go get your things.”
She could only stare at him. His friend did the same.
“Are you mad? We can't just take a girl!”
Drail smiled in such a reassuring way. “You'll be safe. I promise. Olver, she made the Birr Elixir. It wasn't on the shelf – she made it.”
“Just what the hell is Birr Elixir? Never heard of it!”
Drail grinned. “A story my grandsire once told me. A powerful potion he used the day he played the Skullan.”
Olver's eyes widened. Then he looked Marra over, and she realized he wasn't connecting her with any miracle drink. “Ha
ve you ever traveled with a girl? They want a mattress, they want to wash every day. They travel a third of the distance we do, insist upon rests.”
Drail waved at her bare feet, and Marra's cheeks flamed. “I do not think she will hinder us much.”
“At the least little snake they scream.”
Marra wanted to protest that she did have shoes. Then her eyes settled on the unconscious man, and she knew beyond anything she wanted to wake up tomorrow miles away from Snark.
“I swear on the Desert Crane I won't hinder you.” She sprang up the ladder to fetch her things.
On the loft platform that served as her room, she snatched up her mother's cloak – and then decided Snark would never miss the threadbare blanket. She tossed her spare blouse and single dress on top of it, and then gathered the four corners together for a makeshift bag. Grabbing the ends, Marra scrambled down the ladder.
Drail smiled, moving towards the door. Part of her wanted to simply follow him, but if she were to make potions she’d need supplies. Racing behind the counter, Marra hurriedly spread the blanket, and added a handful of glass vials and pottery jars, plus the two herb sashes, to her belongings.
And, lastly, Mistress Britta's Book. It was heavy and awkward, and she felt a qualm. But the Mistress had truly given it to her, just before the end.
She tied the corners of the blanket together. And then impulsively snatched two of the four coppers.
“Ready?”
Marra ran to the back room to fetch her shoes – and cried out.
A man lay on the back table, even more lifeless than Snark. He was young and large, maybe larger than Drail, and his hair was so short it appeared to be a mere shadow on his skull. If he'd been bigger she'd have thought him Skullan.
Drail and Olver stared from the doorway as Marra checked his breathing. Which was very shallow, but his color seemed good.
“He is alive, but deep in the twilight,” she told Drail. And she wondered exactly what Snark was up to. This man was poorly dressed, but somehow seemed not so poor. His hair and nails were trimmed evenly, his complexion good. And there were no callouses on his hands. Marra had never seen a man without callouses on his hands.