The Collar and the Cavvarach

by Annie Douglass Lima

  Press my advantage or catch my breath? Bensin chose to catch his breath. The two of them faced each other, panting, a scowl on Ander’s face. “You’ll regret that, Collar,” he snarled, the words a clear threat.

  Bensin suddenly realized that he was out of his Zone. Then the boy was charging forward again, feet flying and cavvarach flashing in the electric light, and Bensin backpedaled frantically.

  It was all over in a moment. He managed to dodge two kicks and catch a third one on his shil, but then the side of his opponent’s foot smashed against his knuckles. When the blade clanged against his, he felt his cavvarach go spinning out of his numb fingers and across the ring. Ander laughed in his face and pumped his fist in the air, cheering in triumph at his own victory.

  I hope Jayce crushes him into dust. His head down, Bensin turned to retrieve the weapon and slunk out of the ring, wishing he could crawl into some hole and hide. Losing was bad enough at the best of times. Losing with Officer Shigo and his whole family watching, not to mention Coach Steene, was a lot worse.

  “Are you okay? Let me see that hand.” Coach took the cavvarach from him. “Can you move your fingers?”

  “Kind of.” Bensin didn’t want to look at him. “I don’t think they’re broken or anything.” He pulled away.

  “Get your padding and your shil off, and we’ll go get you some ice at the first aid tent. Come on.”

  Woodenly, Bensin obeyed, swallowing the last of the smoothie when Coach handed him the thermos. He kept his eyes on the ground, reluctant to meet Officer Shigo’s or Nate’s as they assured him he had done all he could.

  “Fourth place isn’t bad,” Coach pointed out as Bensin sat on a bench with a cold gel pack wrapped around his throbbing fingers. “You fought well today. You were tired and you got out of your Zone at the end there, but you still did great overall. And you’ll get a ribbon for fourth.”

  No money, though. Bensin finally looked up at him. “But it isn’t over yet, Coach.”

  “You can’t hold a cavvarach with that hand.”

  “I’ll use my other hand.”

  Coach smiled tolerantly. “You’re right-handed. Sure, fight the last duel; I appreciate that you’re not a quitter. But unless your opponent is badly injured, let’s be realistic here.”

  Bensin couldn’t remember the word that would have explained things, so he just reached for the cavvarach, and Coach let him take it. Gripping the hilt in his left hand, Bensin rose to his feet and brandished it, twirling it and then lunging to strike at an invisible opponent, once and then again, parrying an imaginary blow, twisting the weapon in the hook-hold that could jerk a cavvarach out of a person’s hand and send it flying through the air.

  He saw Coach Steene’s expression change to surprise. “You never told me you could fight with your left hand too! Are you ambidextrous?”

  That was the word. “Yeah, Coach.”

  “I can’t believe it! Why didn’t you ever tell me? We could have created a whole nother fighting strategy out of that! Well, we will.” He grinned, and Bensin could tell he was already starting to map out a new training plan. “In the meantime, you’re going to win third place tonight. The other guy is right-handed, and he won’t be used to facing an opponent who fights with his left. You’ve got this one in the bag.”

  In the bag might have been an exaggeration, considering how sore Bensin’s fingers were and how worn out he felt. But when he faced the other semifinalist a little later — not Jayce, thankfully — he saw that the boy was limping and looked as tired as he was. They were on equal footing.

  No, actually Bensin was ahead, he realized when the match started. Coach Steene had been right: his opponent wasn’t well prepared to defend against the unaccustomed angle of a cavvarach wielded in a left hand. Bensin did win, and though third place wasn’t as good as he had dreamed of, he could tell that Coach was pleased. Even Officer Shigo shook his hand at the end of the evening, almost as though he had been a free man. “Congratulations,” he said, admiring the shiny bronze trophy Bensin had just received.

  Bensin tried not to wince as the officer gripped his sore fingers. “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’m so glad I got to watch,” Nate said, punching his shoulder in friendly admiration. “This was awesome! I hope we can come to another of your tournaments sometime. See you at my house on Monday.”

  When Bensin and Coach Steene got home, the trainer opened the bright red envelope that held the prize money: five crisp hundred-imp bills. “Now we won’t have to live on gruel and water after I pay next month’s rent.” He pulled out his wallet and handed Bensin four tens and two fives. “This is your share.”

  Bensin couldn’t stop grinning. “Thanks, Coach.” The same amount I would have earned from four or five hours of hard work for Officer Shigo. And this was a whole lot more fun.

  “You earned it. Now stick that trophy in the center of the empty shelf over there. It’s going to be the first of many.”

  Chapter Twelve: Working Like Magic

  “Well done,” Steene told Bensin as they practiced in his empty classroom before work. “You’ve gotten really good with the cavvarach in your left hand and the shil on your right arm.” And he had. The boy was truly ambidextrous, something Steene had heard of but never actually seen before. He was a little better with his right hand just because he practiced that way more often, but his left had equal strength and potential.

  “Today we’re going to go on to something new: switching hands mid duel. If you get hurt half way through, I want you to be able to shift the weapon to your other hand and keep right on going without missing a beat.”

  “Sounds good, Coach.” But that was easier said than done, and they both knew it. Any opponent worth his salt would take advantage of the moment of transition and press his attack.

  “Let’s work on the speed of the switch. Start with your left hand like we’ve been doing, and be ready to change to your right when I give the word.”

  They began sparring, and after a moment Steene called, “Switch!” Bensin switched, but Steene got in a kick that threw him off balance and a second one that knocked the weapon out of his right hand before he had it properly in his grasp.

  “Oops.” The boy bent to retrieve it.

  “Try again. This time, think about how to keep your hands out of my reach until you’ve got a good grip.”

  The next time he yelled, “Switch!” Bensin leaped backward and spun in a circle, and by the time he was facing his opponent again, the cavvarach was securely in his other hand.

  “Not bad! But let’s make it even better. Turn your spin into a 360-degree roundhouse kick so you come out of it on the attack.”

  They practiced the move a dozen times, and then a dozen more. Steene pressed him a little harder each time, aiming blows at his back and sides, so that the boy had to work harder to stay out of reach while he spun.

  “That’s great. You’re doing great!” Steene praised him. “Okay, we’ll go back to practicing that later, but now let’s try another tactic. Instead of spinning, use a foot to get me out of your way. Try to knock me backward with a front kick to the stomach. Then when I either stagger, step back, or dodge, use that second of distraction to switch hands. And the instant you’ve switched, I want you to attack again with twice as much force, before your opponent has a chance to process what changed. That could be the perfect moment for a disarm.”

  They practiced it both ways again and again, Bensin getting a little faster at the switch every time and a little better at leaping swiftly into a renewed offense. Of course, since Steene knew what was coming, it wasn’t a fair test of how an average opponent would respond. But he was confident that if his student worked it right in real competition, the move would throw most people off their game.

  “All right,” he said finally, wiping a trickle of sweat off his temple. “We’d better call it a day as far as that goes. Class starts in forty minutes, and there’s a shower down in the locker room that’s calling my name first
, not to mention lunch. Don’t beat up my poor beginning or intermediate students too badly, but from now on I want you to practice this way whenever you spar with the advanced classes. And not just if one hand or arm gets hurt. Switch in the middle to keep them on their toes. It’ll be good for them and you.”

  There was no question about it, he thought later as they ate: the kid was good, and getting better all the time. Bensin had been a little discouraged after the last tournament, but two and a half weeks of intense practice had gotten him back in his groove and then some. And a good thing, too. The annual Young Warriors of Jarreon Tournament was coming up on Saturday: an all-day event featuring a variety of martial arts in different locations around the city. He had already registered Bensin for the cavvara shil section, which was being held in a community gymnasium, with hundreds of other athletes signed up to fight at three different levels. This would be much bigger than the last two tournaments, and the competition would be tougher.

  But Bensin could do it. Steene was confident that as long as the kid remembered what he was learning and stayed in his Zone, he would place again. Maybe even win.

  There was more prize money being offered this time, too. Third place was eight hundred imperials, second place was a thousand, and first was fifteen hundred. Goodness knows I can use the money. Steene’s bank accounts were still frighteningly low — paying for a divorce, a new apartment, and a slave all within a month would do that — and he didn’t have much buffer for if the truck broke down or anything unexpected came up.

  On the other hand, the money Bensin brought in from hiring out did help with the day-to-day expenses, and it more than balanced out the cost of feeding a second member of the household. And Bensin was fun to have around. The two of them could laugh and joke together, and the boy no longer cringed when he thought he had done something wrong or closed up inside himself when Steene walked into the room. Steene had sent him to the store a few times now for groceries, always checking the receipt with a calculator afterward and counting the change carefully. But each time Bensin had brought back everything on the list and never sneaked a sliver for himself or stayed away longer than was reasonable. Steene appreciated his honesty and reliability and the fact that Bensin daily proved himself to be both responsible and proactive with tasks around the house. The two of them got along the way a trainer and trainee should: there was respect on both sides, a willingness to follow instructions and work hard on Bensin's part, and a growing camaraderie between them.

  I don’t treat him the way most owners treat their slaves. So it wasn’t really wrong that he owned Bensin, was it?

  What do you think? his conscience retorted.

  Steene scowled into the baked potato that was his lunch. It wasn’t fair that his conscience wouldn’t leave him alone about the slavery issue. Purchasing the boy had turned out to be a positive life change for Steene; that was for sure. It had grown easier not to be angry about Serra as often, not to dwell on the bitterness and loneliness and hurt, now that he had a young person in his life. Whether it was helping the kid hone his cavvara shil skills, teaching him to blend the perfect smoothie, or laughing with him at some comedian on TV, their interactions made Steene feel as though his life had a worthwhile purpose again. Not to mention that focusing on Bensin’s training had gotten him back into the healthy eating and exercise habits that were so easy to neglect.

  So your life is better now. Good for you. His conscience’s voice in his mind dripped sarcasm. How does that make it right to own another person like property?

  But it’s not just my life that’s better, Steene thought, glancing at Bensin across the table. His is a lot better now too. The boy didn’t talk much about the Creghorns, but Steene knew they had lashed him often, yelled at him, worked him to exhaustion, fed him mostly what was left over from their meals, and locked him in a windowless room every night. They didn’t care about him as a person. I do. So shut up, he told his conscience.

  And yet in spite of all the good changes Bensin had experienced, Steene realized as he took another bite, the boy hadn’t fully opened up. He had a feeling the boy was hiding something. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what gave him that impression, but maybe it was something to do with Bensin’s eagerness to spend time in his old neighborhood and reluctance to talk about what he did there. That, and his excitement about earning money that he never seemed to spend.

  Well, that was all right. He hadn’t actually told any lies that Steene knew of, and everyone was entitled to their secrets. As long as the boy did nothing unethical or that would compromise his cavvara shil, Steene didn’t see a need to pry into his business.

  When the day of the Young Warriors of Jarreon Tournament arrived, Steene knew his trainee was ready. Having arranged to take all of Saturday off, he left his classes in the dubious care of a sub. A number of his other students would be out competing in the same tournament, so the sub would have a lighter day anyway. He and Bensin ate an early breakfast, and he made the boy a smoothie that would release what he hoped would be plenty of energy in an hour and a half. Then Bensin packed them a lunch and dinner to bring along while Steene blended up two thermosfuls of additional smoothies for later. Assuming the boy won his first few matches, it would be a long day. They tossed a handful of energy bars into the ice chest as well, filled a couple of bottles with water, and Steene grabbed the duffel bag with the equipment on their way out the door.

  The cavvara shil part of the tournament was being held in a three-story gym on a hill overlooking Jarreon’s harbor. “Wow, so that’s what the ocean looks like.” Bensin stuck his head out the passenger window as their road curved along the edge of the huge bay. “I’ve never seen it before.”

  “Really?” It was hard to imagine someone spending their whole life in a coastal city and never seeing the ocean. “We’ll have to go spend a day at the beach sometime.” See, that’s not something an average owner would ever say to his slave.

  Traffic was slow leading up the hill toward the gym, but they had left plenty early, so it didn’t matter. Showing the registration slip to the guard out front got them into the close parking lot right behind the building. Each floor had been allocated to fighters of a certain skill level, with the advanced ones at the top. They took the stairs instead of the elevator to help Bensin loosen up after the 45-minute drive.

  Like most of the bigger tournaments, this one had posted the schedule for the first rung on its website beforehand. Steene had checked and already knew that Bensin was fighting first in his division, paired against another slave named Jordon.

  They were still early, so they staked out a quiet corner in which to leave the duffel bag and ice chest, and Bensin warmed up with the ever-handy jump rope. The crowd grew, and finally an emcee stepped up onto the little stage at the front of the gym. Bensin stretched while the man welcomed everyone to the Young Warriors of Jarreon Advanced-Level Cavvara Shil Competition. As he outlined the schedule for the day, Bensin pulled off his shoes and donned his padding. Steene watched as the boy closed his eyes and swung the cavvarach, the familiar grin growing on Bensin’s face as he slipped into his Zone.

  At last the emcee called the names of the first sets of competitors for the various age groups. Steene and Bensin made their way toward Bensin’s ring, where a different announcer introduced both boys to the spectators and made them shake hands with each other. Then the two of them took their positions at opposite ends of the ring and the starting whistle blew.

  And Steene watched as Bensin proceeded to beat the crud out of his opponent.

  But he didn’t fight in an I’m gonna beat the crud out of you kind of way like Jayce did. It was more of an I love what I’m doing and this is an art form even more than a sport to me kind of way. When he was in his Zone, Bensin fought like no one Steene had ever seen.

  And Markus didn’t recognize it. Markus didn’t see his potential. Markus never even noticed his Zone or realized he’s ambidextrous—or if he did, he didn’t do anything about it.


  Bensin would be Steene’s masterpiece.

  He didn’t switch hands this round. Steene had told him to save the move until he really needed it. It would be more effective if everyone didn’t know he could do it, if he had the advantage of surprise at a moment when some opponent thought he was going to beat him for sure. It wasn’t necessary now, and two minutes into the match, Bensin successfully snagged the hook of Jordon’s cavvarach and yanked it out of his hand.

  The whistle blew and scattered applause greeted Bensin as he made his way out of the ring, beaming. Steene slapped his student on the back through his padding so hard he nearly knocked the boy over. “Awesome job! You wiped the floor with that guy! Come grab a drink of water and some smoothie, and then we’ll watch the rest of the first-rung matches. It said on the list that you’ll be paired with whoever wins the next one, so let’s see how they both fight.”

  Steene’s cell phone rang a few minutes later. He left Bensin watching the duel and stepped away to a quieter corner of the room to answer it.

  It was Kalgan Shigo, the Watch officer who had taken an almost fatherly interest in Bensin. “How’s he doing? Did he make it past the first round?”

  “Yeah, he fought great. You want to talk to him?”

  The Skeyvian laughed that deep laugh of his. “I’d better not. I don’t want to unnerve him. I just wanted to see if he’s got any more matches today, and if so, I figure I’ll come watch.”

  “Yeah, in this type of tournament, everybody gets two for sure, and if they win at least one, they advance to the next rung.” Youth tournaments sometimes did that just to give the young athletes one more chance, one extra opportunity to display their skill even if they got off to a poor start. “So Bensin’s got two more minimum.”