He’d never felt so pleased or tense in his life. “So is the mirror ready?” he blurted out, not knowing what else to say.
“Of course,” Elora replied, smiling broadly at his uneasiness.
From the back of the makeshift shop she produced a rectangular tin-backed mirror. It wasn’t the fanciest type of mirror her father made, but it was a step up from the bronze style. His reflection was clear enough to make him self-conscious.
How can she look at me without thinking that I failed her? Tjaden took the mirror in order to turn it away from himself. After handing her a silver and two coppers he hesitated a moment to appreciate the scene of a dozen Eloras. With the exception of the fiery image of her looming over the bandersnatch, it was the most beautiful sight of his life.
As he turned and walked away she called, “Good luck tomorrow. Those boys don’t stand a chance.” Tjaden didn’t bother telling her that he wasn’t in the boys division; he just walked away with the new glass and a smile that didn’t leave his face for the rest of the day.
The first item up for auction was Zelena’s turtle pie, which led to a heated bidding war between two brothers, Burt and Talex. Talex paid a staggering nine coppers for the pie and most people figured the brothers wouldn’t speak to each other again at least until the next Swap and Spar.
The auctioneer took a bad step and tumbled off the stage, uninjured. Appropriately he was offering a cask of aged whiskey at the time. The crowd roared with laughter as Caleb shouted, “That must be some good swill!” The bid doubled in seconds.
Toward the end of the auction a Yew longbow made in Palassiren was offered for sale. Tjaden was surprised to see his father bid on it since his bow was still in decent shape. Besides, this one looked too small for his large frame. It was a fine bow, maybe the finest in Shey’s Orchard, but Tjaden couldn’t figure out why his father would want it. Mikel won the auction, but it cost him ten silvers.
Ollie leaned over to Tjaden and said, “Looks like you’re getting a new bow.”
“Are you kidding?” Tjaden shook his head. “That bow cost more than my horse. If I’m lucky I’ll get his old one.”
“What would you want with that old nag?” Ollie asked with a wink.
“The bow, not the horse,” Tjaden said.
Ollie shook his head and said, “Mark my words – you’ll be holding that bow come your birthday.”
The boys spent the rest of the evening at the bonfire. Ollie glutted himself on double helpings at the traditional bird buffet—quail, dove, borogove, duck, turkey, ostrich and even Jubjub. Tjaden ate a hearty yet moderate portion, wanting to be fresh in the morning for his first match.
The sounds from the festival trailed away as Tjaden walked home. He was only half a day away from the beginning of the first major turning point in his life. Excitement and anticipation coursed through his veins, and there was no way he could sleep. Alone in the moonlight behind his house, Tjaden went through all the forms he knew. He and his staff incapacitated hundreds of imaginary opponents.
After half an hour of sparring, he was exhausted. Sitting in the cool night air, he visualized his victory the next day. Eventually he stopped sweating and his body cooled. Feeling both peaceful and eager, he went to bed.
The next morning, Tjaden stood with the other twenty-eight entrants waiting to find out who each would face in his first match. The auction scaffolding had been removed from the wabe. In its place the battle circle and rows of elevated seating for spectators had been erected. The names for the first round were drawn at random, with the first two winners facing each other in the second round and so on.
The men ranged in age from Larse, who had seen more than four decades, to Tjaden. As they stood lined up in the morning sun, most stretched and attempted to shake their jitters down their arms and legs and out their fingers and toes.
But the worry was lost on Tjaden. He never expected to experience anything as daunting as the recent encounter with the bandersnatch with Elora’s life as the prize. Even when he became an Elite, the only stakes would be his life and the life of his fellow soldiers. As long as Elora was safe, he didn’t think he’d ever worry about a battle.
Despite his calm, the importance of the day weighed heavily on Tjaden. If he didn’t win, it would be two years until he had another chance. It might as well be twenty. But Tjaden was confident in his fighting abilities, and his self-assurance only grew as he stood unmoving in a line of fidgeting men.
“Whit versus Bren,” announced Mayor Tellef as the first names were drawn.
“Stefen versus Pratt.”
Stefen was the defending champion. In fact, the last six champions came from Stefen’s family. They were a rough crew with ten boys that lived in the hills and raised cows. Wrestling cattle their whole lives gave them the brawn they needed to be dominant in any physical competition. In addition, they were a cruel bunch and the older brothers ensured that each succeeding boy was tougher than the previous. Their constant mistreatment had turned the younger ones into an excellent bunch of brawlers. Stefen was the youngest in the family.
“Thom Cooper versus Willam.” Tellef’s booming voice filled the air. “Talex versus Rox.”
“Kill ‘im, Rox!” was heard from the crowd. No one was surprised to see it was Talex’s brother, Burt, doing the yelling.
“Thom Thomson versus Hannon. Larse versus Elis. Damen versus Jace. Tjaden versus Brune.”
Brune visibly paled and shrank upon hearing the match-up. Tjaden on the other hand, couldn’t have been happier. Not only was Brune an easy opponent to warm up on, but he could get even for the older boy’s actions of the previous week and previous years. Tjaden concealed his delight, determined to take vengeance in the battle circle.
Tjaden was also pleased that he wouldn’t meet Stefen until the final round, assuming they both made it that far. There was a possibility of facing two of Stefen’s brothers before that, but he felt Stefen was the biggest threat. Focused on Brune and Stefen, Tjaden didn’t hear the announcement of the last six match-ups.
The contest took place in a circle ten paces across. Each combatant’s staff was wrapped with wool to soften the blows. The goal of the contest was to land five blows or force the opponent out of the bounds of the circle. Strikes to the head resulted in the loss of one point, or disqualification if the struck fighter was unable to continue. One loss and the tournament ended for that fighter.
The entire town was present, as well as the king’s representative. He was one of ten Legates who traveled across Maravilla as a spotter for the King’s Elite. Many towns and few Legates meant representatives of the Elites only attended every second year.
Only the finest fighters were invited to attend the training Academy, and it was cause for celebration if a town produced such a fighter. Not every man in the kingdom wanted to be an Elite, but those skilled enough to win a chance at the Academy had gained that skill after years of practice. In the history of the Academy only a handful had rejected an invitation.
The Legate watched both the boys’ and the men’s competitions to determine if the winners would be offered an invitation to the Academy. Runners up and other contestants were not eligible without the personal approval of Captain Darieus, commander of the Elites. Since the Captain was not in attendance, there would be no exceptions this year.
The boys’ tournament took place first. The level of skill had dropped considerably when Tjaden decided to compete in the men’s contest. Fourteen boys between the ages of eleven and fifteen fought for the title.
Ollie had never mastered staff fighting, but had practiced some trick moves that kept the crowd entertained. He started his first match by advancing and parrying a few times. Then he stepped back out of range and dropped one end of his staff, holding it like a walking stick. In the exact instance his confused opponent dropped his guard, Ollie used his foot to kick the planted end of his staff up. It struck the gullible lad’s staff and knocked it out of his grasp. Ollie easily finished off his unarmed
opponent.
His second match was against Thom Thomson’s son, Zee. He came close to winning by planting his staff and launching himself forward, leading with both legs. He caught Zee by surprise and sent him sprawling backwards toward the edge of the ring. Ollie turned and started doing a victory dance, thinking his opponent had fallen out of bounds. “I am the best! I…”
An unexpected leg sweep brought him down flat on his back, and he blacked out.
“…am the best ever,” he mumbled when he came around, picking up where he had been singing.
Zee won his next two matches to become the Youth Champion. He received the trophy, but the Elite Legate was not impressed enough to extend an invitation to the Academy.
The open competition followed. Tjaden waited anxiously for the first seven matches to end. Stefen easily beat Pratt without getting touched. Much to Burt’s dismay, his brother Talex advanced past Rox in a sloppy fight. The other five matches ended without incident.
Tjaden stepped confidently into the circle for his first fight, stealing a quick glance at Elora. She was smiling and even from a distance he saw a glimmer in her eyes.
Ten feet tall.
He was a little surprised when Brune entered the circle, instead of finding an excuse to forfeit. Brune’s stance was defensive before the fight began—a bulldog waiting for a beating—and Tjaden’s opening assault sent him backing step by step out of the ring, landing in the grass. The crowd cheered as Brune rose quickly from the ground and stormed from the wabe.
As the sun crossed the sky the competition became more intense. Tjaden’s second match lasted longer than the first, but not much. He struck five blows without taking any damage. The hours and years he’d spent training with the staff paid off.
Upon reaching the third round he was one of eight fighters remaining in the competition. His aggressive fighting style was countered by Langon’s excellent defense and it turned into one of the longest battles of the day. Tjaden’s tirelessness won the match for him. The final score was five to one, but Tjaden had expended much more energy than he wanted to.
Ten days had passed since the encounter with the bandersnatch. The wounds on his forearms were holding up well, with only two spots bleeding through the stitches.
Four fighters remained. Stefen facing Thom Cooper and Tjaden battling Algus, Stefen’s brother. The anticipation of the crowd reached a new height as Stefen and Thom Cooper stepped into the ring. The majority of the crowd rooted for Stefen, hoping a victory two years in a row would be sufficient to impress the Legate and earn him an invitation to the Academy—the first in Shey’s Orchard in nearly twenty years.
As expected, Stefen handled Thom Cooper. Not overwhelmingly, but proficiently enough to earn a win. Immediately after the fight, he approached his brother Algus. With the anxious crowd calling for the next fight, the brothers stood looking into each other’s eyes conversing in tones too low for anyone else to hear. While Tjaden couldn’t tell for sure what was being said, he knew it went beyond brotherly well-wishes and congratulations.
Tellef called the next two names and Tjaden and Algus stepped into the circle. Tjaden concentrated on his task; the roar of the crowd was merely background noise. Only the two brothers separated him from victory and from a chance at being invited to the Academy. He felt as focused as when he faced the bandersnatch in the nearly impossible task of protecting Elora.
The only mode of fighting Tjaden knew or had ever considered was all out attack. In staves the goal was to strike your opponent, and he did it with a passion that was unmatched in Shey’s Orchard. He knew he was fighting at his best when he felt like a mighty waterfall, relentlessly buffeting his opponents.
Today was such a day.
The instant the fight began Tjaden advanced on Algus like a cat on a mouse. Surprisingly, Algus didn’t attempt to defend himself or take the offensive, but turned his body full into Tjaden’s first attack, allowing a solid blow to land on his upper arm. He gave up the point, but as Tjaden’s blow bruised him, he swung a vicious, tight strike directly at Tjaden’s exposed forearm.
A collective gasp from the crowd sucked the air from the arena as excruciating pain brought Tjaden to the brink of unconsciousness. Instinct took over and he kept up his ferocious attack. The scheme was a purposeful attack on Tjaden’s injured arms, and not even worth a point. In the clarity of battle Tjaden realized what Stefen and Algus had been discussing before the match.
The sparring portion of Swap and Spar had always been attended by sportsmanship and respect. Purposefully injuring an opponent without attempting to gain a point was unheard of. But the chance for a family member to attend the Academy had tainted the fair play of the tournament.
Blood poured from Tjaden’s left forearm and he could barely grasp the staff with his left hand, but that didn’t stop him from seeking total victory over his unscrupulous opponent. An aggressive attack was the only thing that could keep him in the tournament. Algus was so busy avoiding being pummeled that he could attempt no strikes of his own. One by one, Tjaden earned the remaining four points required for victory. As soon as the fight was over he fell to his knees, clutching the injured arm.
Methos rushed in and inspected Tjaden’s battered arm. As the doctor led him away, Tjaden caught a glimpse of Elora’s concerned face, and some of the pain faded from his body.
Tjaden was disappointed to find that not only had dozens of stitches been torn free, but his forearm was disfigured, now forming a lazy S shape. His father and Methos tried to convince him to give up and not risk further injury, but they had a better chance of convincing water to run uphill.
Tjaden bit leather as the doctor set the bone, then added dozens of stitches twice as wide as the original ones. A splint, bandages, and a swathe were placed to prevent Tjaden from reflexively using the arm as a shield. He chose a shorter staff that could be hefted with one hand, more like a sword.
As Tjaden stepped back into the circle for his final battle, the surprised crowd exploded with applause, but as far as Tjaden was concerned only three people were present – himself, his opponent, and a dark-haired girl with a light in her eyes that he could see half a wabe away.
Tellef wasted more breath trying to talk Tjaden out of fighting. When Tjaden refused to be convinced, Tellef backed out of the circle. Tjaden swung his stubby weapon on each side of his body and stared at Stefen.
As soon as Tellef announced the start of the fight the combatants rushed each other, both trying to gain the offensive. They each earned a point with their initial blows, but as Stefen regrouped for the next attack Tjaden was already making another thrust. Tjaden’s one-armed awkwardness gave Stefen a chance to block, but Stefen had lost the offensive, and Tjaden’s aggressiveness made it nearly impossible to recover.
He continued the assault. Thrust. Strike. Reverse swing. Tjaden managed to gain two more points, but the battle was at a stalemate with Tjaden working much harder in his off-balanced attack than Stefen was defending it. Stefen watched for an opening on Tjaden’s left side, since all the attacks came from the right. With expert timing he earned a couple points of his own.
Three points each. He knew no one would believe that he could last this long using only one arm with a staff. But he was going to the Academy and Stefen was the only thing in his way. The only avenue to training was victory.
Stefen had figured out how to penetrate the single handed attack so Tjaden decided to change his strategy. He forced himself to take a defensive stance, catching Stefen by surprise with the reprieve. They circled once or twice and as Stefen stepped in to make his first blow Tjaden instinctively struck instead of defending. They both connected and were awarded one point.
Four points each.
In the split second it took for them to regain their stance Tjaden thought, One point. One point separated him from victory. Surely his youth, his injury, and competing against men would give him the prestige in the Legate’s eyes to earn the invitation. All I have to do is score one point.
Tjaden didn’t have the stamina for much more all out attack, and he couldn’t thrust or parry efficiently enough with only one arm. His best chance was to lure Stefen out of the ring.
Staying on the defensive, he allowed Stefen to drive him back little by little. When Tjaden was less than a foot away from the line, he thrust, purposely missing Stefen and inviting a counter-thrust. The counter came, and Tjaden was ready for it. Discarding his own staff, he grasped Stefen’s and pulled him toward the circle’s edge.
The battle was taking place in slow motion. Stefen’s eyes grew wide as he realized the ruse. His momentum carried him forward, unable to stop. He spun, wrenching his staff from Tjaden’s hand and thrust it forward. Tjaden pulled away as he watched the tip of the staff approach his chest.
He could see the grain in the wood, smell the dust in the air, and taste sweat at the corners of his mouth. His dreams hung in the air as he watched the staff make contact with his shirt and lightly tap his chest, releasing time. Stefen sprawled out of the ring and Tellef signaled one point for Stefen.
The tip of the staff had touched Tjaden a fraction of a second before Stefen crossed the line. The match was lost. His dream was dead for two more years.
PART II
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
Day. Despair. As the sun rose in the sky his rage mounted. It had grown for months. Gnawing. Swelling. Not much longer. He had been alone too long and the fury would soon be uncontrollable. He closed his eyes and drew a cavernous breath that emptied the dense forest of air. As he exhaled, trees in the vicinity swayed and lost leaves.
A borogove griped nearby. Before its pitiful cry was through, he lashed out his tail and flattened the creature. How dare it disturb his despondent trance.
Jabberwocky Page 3