The Ladder: Part 1

by David Hodges

  “The young women around here are very... vigorous,” Daniel commented. “I wouldn’t put your money it.”

  “I certainly would if I had any,” replied Fergus.

  Hazel laughed at them, then looked down upon a swords match that had just begun.

  She recognized Ulric’s compatriot, Tod. “There’s Ulric’s friend getting started now, they’re sparring partners, Faron says they have similar fighting styles.”

  Tod was on the offensive against his opponent, a man older and larger than him. The man was struggling to keep pace with the strikes being dealt to him. He backed away after each block, only to find himself assaulted once again. After one of Tod’s strikes, the man altered his strategy and grabbed Tod by his sword arm, holding him in place. He swung at Tod with his sword.

  Tod leaned back out of the way, then brought his free elbow down on the man’s arm.

  Hazel heard a crack. There were gasps from the crowd.

  The man released Tod and collapsed to his knees, nursing his limp arm. The scorekeeper ran to his side and waved a red flag. A pair of men came to the injured man’s aid and helped him out of the ring. The scorekeeper flipped his flag upside down and pointed it at Tod.

  Tod protested. A few words were exchanged, then he shook his head and stomped off. There was booing in the stands as he left the ring.

  Hazel was not sure if the criticism was directed at Tod or the scorekeeper.

  “I guess breaking bones isn’t allowed,” said Daniel.

  A short while later, Hazel saw Coinín running up the stands.

  Beside her, Fergus was saying, “No way you’d catch me in those rings, changer or not.”

  “I thought it looked quite fun up until now,” said Daniel.

  Coinín reached Hazel in the stands. “Hazel, Tod has been disqualified, and his opponent is injured. His next match is coming up soon. We need a replacement. You’re the only Laochra who hasn’t entered.”

  Hazel was not aware she held the designation. “You want me to enter the tourney?”

  “It would make things a lot less complicated,” replied Coinín.

  “Who would I be fighting?”

  “Depends who wins.” He pointed down to one of the rings.

  Lupa entered the ring. Behind her, Ulric.

  “No way, Hazel,” said Fergus.

  “He’s right, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” said Daniel.

  Hazel was agitated by their lack of confidence in her, though she had the same feeling herself. Without any further consideration, she turned to Coinín. “Alright, count me in.”

  “You don’t have to do this Hazel,” said Daniel.

  “I know. I want to.”

  Hazel followed Coinín down to the bottom of the stands and over to the practice rings where a handful of Laochra were warming up. Hazel’s heart began to beat faster at the sight of the power and deftness in their movements. It was even more spectacular up close. She had seen Laochra practicing by the armory nearly every day, but she was witnessing a different level of intensity.

  As she arrived, she was greeted by Uschi and Faron. “Here, Hazel, you can borrow my equipment. Should fit you well enough,” said Uschi.

  “Are you sure? You don’t need it?”

  “Not yet, don’t fret about it,” she replied as she set to fastening a thick jerkin over Hazel’s shoulders. She picked up a helmet and helped Hazel put it on, adjusting the chin strap for her.

  Hazel felt too incompetent to put on her own armor. The thought of entering the ring in front of hundreds of people seemed absurd.

  “Hazel, take a deep breath, now’s the time to relax,” said Faron as he handed her a rebated sword.

  Hazel was relieved to find that it was roughly the same shape and size as the Gladius she had been practicing with.

  “Remember, strong here,” he held her wrist, “and here.” He patted her hip.

  There was an applause and cheering in the stands. Hazel looked over to see Ulric with his hand and sword being held up by the scorekeeper. “Maybe this is a bad idea,” said Hazel, the bit of confidence she had fleeing her.

  “Focus, let’s practice some of your strokes,” said Faron. He picked up a sword and engaged Hazel methodically at first, then more sporadically. He sped up his attacks gradually, until Hazel was struggling to keep up. He stopped. “Good. Very good.”

  “You look great, Hazel,” said Uschi.

  “Counterattacks next,” said Faron.

  Hazel practiced the combinations. She went through the motions just like she had every day over the past weeks. It was an effort that would have left her exhausted before her training. She was just beginning to feel loose and comfortable.

  Faron flipped up Hazel’s face mask and said, “Don’t let him wear you down. If you’re going to score a point, you’ll need to do it early in the round.”

  Hazel was more intent on surviving than scoring any points.

  Faron handed her a canteen. She took a swig.

  “Here, keep dry,” said Uschi as she handed Hazel a rag.

  “Thanks,” said Hazel as she dried her sweaty palms and wiped her brow.

  Faron said, “Keep warming up on the pells, but don’t get too tired. I’ll come get you when you’re up.”

  Uschi said, “You’ll do great, Hazel. I mean it,” and left with Faron.

  “Thanks.”

  She began striking the pells, focusing on maintaining her form. She made sure to take short breaks, though she could not stand still and had to pace around the pell.

  After a few minutes, she heard Faron’s voice. “Hazel, you’re up.”

  Hazel walked with him toward one of the rings. sShe saw Ulric waiting in the center of it, casually twirling his blade. Her heart started racing.

  Faron held her by the shoulders and with the utmost sincerity, he said, “You’re ready, Hazel.”

  She nodded, then walked into the ring.

  “And Hazel, have fun. It’s just a game after all,” Faron called out.

  “Right.” She nodded and turned toward her opponent.

  Ulric said, “I wasn’t expecting to set any records today.” He looked to the scorekeeper. “Make sure to time it.”

  Hazel could not see his face well, but she was sure he was smirking under his mask. She gripped her sword hard. Her apprehension began to shift to resentment. She let the sound of the crowd fade from her attention and focused on Ulric.

  The scorekeeper beckoned them to the center of the ring, where they gave each other a shallow bow.

  Hazel took a few steps back and assumed a fighting stance.

  The scorekeeper waved his flag.

  Before a second could pass, Ulric was upon her.

  She jerked her sword up to meet his blade.

  He struck again and again. She was forced to block his blows faster than she had ever practiced. Her arm began to grow heavy. She darted side to side, trying to give herself some distance and unburden her tired shoulder.

  Ulric was relentless.

  Her last block was too slow. Though she made contact, the edge of his blade hit her arm.

  The scorekeeper raised a flag. One point Ulric.

  Hazel was too busy focusing on Ulric to realize that the crowd was cheering loud. He was breathing hard, his shoulders rising and falling.

  She was breathing harder. There was no way she would last as long the next round, blocking blow after blow. She remembered Faron’s advice. Strike fast.

  The next round began.

  Hazel pounced. Ulric met her halfway. She blocked several of his attacks. Without thinking, she ducked low under his blade and lunged with a thrust to his chest. She found herself stretched out, the tip of her blade pressed into his jerkin.

  The crowd erupted into a frenzy, cheering louder than she had heard all day.

  Ulric was staring down at the blade as if to make sure he had actually been struck.

  The scorekeeper raised his flag. Two points, Hazel.

  Ulric pushed the bla
de aside and turned back, clenching his sword and pacing in frustration.

  Hazel readied herself for the next round.

  When it began, she waited for him to attack. He stayed in place. She approached him cautiously. When she was within striking distance, she let him take for the first strike, planning to counter it right away.

  When she moved to counter, he grabbed her arm out of the air and twisted her around, throwing her toward the edge of the ring.

  In an instant, Hazel realized that her feet were off the ground. She was going to land outside the boundary. She grabbed onto Ulric’s jerkin and pulled with all her might, sending her up in a twirl over him, then somehow managed to land on her feet in the center of the ring.

  Ulric had been brought down to one knee.

  The audience was wild.

  He stood up quickly and unleashed a savage overhead attack. Hazel blocked, then countered to his right. At the same time, Ulric began another attack to her left. A moment later, each of them had their blade pressed to the other’s side.

  “Draw!” shouted the scorekeeper. “No points!” he signaled to the crowd. There were mixed reactions among the audience.

  Hazel was not sure what she was supposed to do, but judging by Ulric’s frustration as he readied himself, the match was not over.

  Hazel took a deep breath and prepared herself for another round. She watched Ulric. He paused for a moment, focused, then looked unnaturally calm. His labored breathing disappeared.

  The round began.

  Ulric walked toward her with an apparent disregard for his own vulnerability as he hung his sword low. When he was near enough, he took a vicious swing at her. Hazel heard a snarl as his sword came toward her. When their blades met, her wrist buckled from the force. She could not hold onto it. Her sword was sent hurling through the air, narrowly missing the scorekeeper’s head as he ducked out of the way.

  Ulric had grabbed onto her jerkin with one hand, his other held his sword so that the tip of his blade was pointed down at her. His nails were black. His scowl and the eyes behind it were visible through the grating in his facemask. They were changed.

  “Match!” shouted the scorekeeper.

  Ulric released her, his hands and eyes regaining their normal appearance as the scorekeeper approached, just in time to keep from being seen. The scorekeeper raised Ulric’s hand high to the dismay of many in the audience. There were others who cheered.

  Hazel made no protest and left the ring, relieved to be walking out unharmed, save for an aching wrist.

  Faron met her near the rings. “I don’t recall practicing those moves with you,” he said with a grin.

  Uschi, Bjarke, and Coinín followed behind him.

  “That was incredible, Hazel!” said Uschi, giving her a hug.

  “You nearly won! I can’t wait to rub it in,” said Coinín.

  “They should’ve put you in the center ring, nobody could take their eyes off that fight!” said Bjarke.

  When the excitement faded, Hazel returned to the stands where Daniel and Fergus applauded her, nearly in disbelief.

  As the rounds continued, the number of contestants had dropped quickly to the point where there were only a handful left. From then on, the remaining matches took place one by one in the center ring.

  Coinín had joined Hazel in the stands after being eliminated in his second match for both grappling and swords. He whistled down at a large pig that had a tray of roasted turkey legs on its back. The pig made its way up the stands less than gracefully, bumping people aside. It stopped beside Coinín and snorted at him. “Anyone care for some turkey?”

  “I’ll have a leg,” said Fergus.

  “Me as well,” said Daniel.

  “I’ll try one too,” said Hazel. She had not realized how hungry the bout had made her until she saw the golden brown turkey legs glistening up at her.

  Coinín put a few coins into a pouch attached to the tray and distributed the food.

  Uschi was among the final eight contestants for grappling and won her round against a stout, but powerfully built, man. She had managed to submit him for two points with a painful looking hold on his leg, and she pushed him out of the ring for another point.

  In swords, Hazel was happy to see Ulric dispatched in two quick rounds by a woman no less, keeping him out of the semifinals.

  The matches continued to alternate between grappling and swords, giving the contestants as much of a respite as they could be afforded.

  Bjarke struggled through his round in grappling, trading points with a man of a similar stature to him, but managed to win the last point with a forced out.

  Faron entered the ring, not for swords, but for grappling. He practically danced around his opponent and somehow managed to squeeze his way out of any holds that the man managed, submitting him with holds that looked as uncomfortable for Faron as they were for his victim.

  “Looks like Faron’s going for the combined win this year,” said Coinín.

  “The combined?”

  “There’s a competition for all three duels combined, grappling, swords, and archery.”

  “Wait, a duel for archery?” asked Fergus

  “That’s right, you think this is exciting, wait until you see that.” Coinín pointed to the ring. “My dad’s up.”

  Aatu approached the ring where the woman who had bested Ulric was waiting. Behind him, three of his wolves followed. They surrounded the ring and sat, their gazes focused directly at Aatu.

  Hazel said, “What are they doing down there?”

  “He uses them to fight, his Trínasúile is unique. He doesn’t have to touch his wolves to communicate with them, he can even see through their eyes at any given moment if he’s close enough. He’s been that way since he was young, Zofia thinks it’s some time of compensation for his blindness.”

  “He’s blind?”

  Coinín nodded. “In the traditional sense.”

  “I suppose it would be hard to fight otherwise,” said Hazel.

  “Hard, yes, but impossible, certainly not. He can get by without his pack if he needs to.”

  Hazel had a hard time imagining how he could keep up with the other Laochra despite these alternatives to seeing a sword directly in front of him.

  When the round began, Aatu’s wolves kept both contestants in sight, staring vigilantly at them. It quickly became evident that Aatu was at no disadvantage. The precision and efficiency with which he engaged his opponent, who was skilled herself, was alarming. He defeated his opponent in as fast a match as Hazel had seen all day.

  In the following grappling match, Bjorn won practically uncontested by literally throwing his opponent out of the ring in the first round and pinning him quickly in the second round.

  In the last few rounds, Faron was defeated by Bjorn in grappling, though he made his friend work for the win. In swords, Faron won his match in two rounds that were as brief as Aatu’s. Faron and Aatu would be facing each other in the finals.

  Bjarke and Uschi faced off in grappling, and much to the astonishment and pleasure of the audience, Uschi defeated Bjarke in a tight match, placing her in the final against Bjorn. Bjorn had applauded her triumph over his son to a greater extent than anyone else in the audience when he ran into the ring and threw her up on his shoulder in a victory dance, orbiting around his son. Bjarke could only laugh at his father’s spectacle.

  The grappling final took place first, and Uschi put up a valiant effort against Bjorn. She managed to escape all of his holds and nearly pulled off a few of her own, darting around his legs, low to the ground as she tried to trip him up. Despite her ingenuity, he managed to force her out of the ring three times in a row.

  The final round of the day arrived and the stands were completely full.

  Faron and Aatu approached the ring.

  There was a palpable excitement in the audience as it quieted, only hushed murmurs continued as nearly all of Talamh stared down at the two Laochra.

  Faron carried himself wi
th a relaxed confidence and fluidity as he approached the center of the ring.

  Aatu had a more rigid, controlled demeanor in his gait as he entered the ring. His wolves slowly circled the ring, exuding confidence and discipline as they formed a triangle around the ring’s border. They stared intently at Faron.

  The scorekeeper signaled to Aatu and Faron and they came together to bow, then they took a few steps back from one another. They each took a stance and readied themselves for the first round. Aatu’s sword was long, straight and narrow, a knightly sword if Hazel remembered correctly. Faron’s was a shorter, thicker Gladius, much like the one Hazel had used.

  Aatu’s wolves were focused on the ring. Their heads were hanging a bit lower than they had been the previous round, their hackles subtly raised.

  The scorekeeper commenced the round.

  Faron leapt forward with a long, arcing swing of his blade and set the round off to a furious pace. Aatu fended off a slurry of attacks with calculated, efficient parries, adding in equally precise counterattacks. Faron darted around him as he unleashed attacks and dodged Aatu’s counters. He was covering twice as much ground as Aatu as he tried to find an opening in Aatu’s parries.

  After what seemed like a hundred blows, Faron had Aatu pressed against the boundary and got in close to him. Aatu swung his sword down over Faron’s shoulder. Faron stepped into Aatu’s reach and stopped his arm with his hand. He used his free blade to strike his torso.

  Aatu backed out of the ring and shook his head.

  The scorekeeper signaled two points for Faron. The crowd roared.

  “Maybe next year,” said Coinín.

  The audience hushed, and the next round commenced. The only sound that rang over the fields was the relentless clashing of steel.

  Faron looked to be pushing Aatu out toward the edge of the ring. With their blades occupying one another, Faron got a hold of Aatu, tripped him with a leg, and shoved him toward the ring’s edge.

  Just as Aatu looked to be through, he shoved his sword into the ground and used it to hold himself up as he hung over the boundary. He got up quickly and immediately engaged Faron, pushing him back toward the center of the ring. After an exchange of blows, he ended the round with his blade at Faron’s neck.