The Collar and the Cavvarach

by Annie Douglass Lima

  “You’re going to win this one,” Steene informed Bensin as they drove over to the competition after work on Saturday. “You’re going to take first place.”

  Bensin grinned. “Yeah, Coach, I’m sure planning to. I don’t have a gold trophy yet for my shelf, and that hundred and forty imps will be awfully handy.” Exactly what Steene had been thinking about the 1,260 imps that would be his share if the kid won. What did Bensin plan to do with his money, though?

  Sure enough, Bensin stayed in his Zone that evening, remembered all the moves they had practiced, switched hands in each duel, and won first place.

  “You’re getting better and better,” Steene said with pride as the two of them climbed back into the pickup for the ride home. “And it’s a good thing, too, because you know what’s next?”

  The boy grinned, flicking on the dome light to admire the gold trophy he held. “I sure do, Coach. The Grand Imperial!”

  “You got it. Qualifiers start in a couple weeks. It won’t be easy, but considering how well you did tonight, you’re going to make it in.”

  But he had no doubt Jayce was going to make it in, too.

  They trained hard every day for the qualifiers, fine-tuning Bensin’s various hand-switching techniques and discussing how to turn them into wins. “You’ve got a perfect opportunity when someone strikes out at you with a high blow, like this,” Steene told him one morning as they practiced in his empty classroom before work. He demonstrated with his cavvarach. “Instead of dodging or parrying, I want you to duck, and use the motion as starting momentum for a spin. Then you can switch hands mid-spin like we’ve practiced and come out of it on the offense.” Steene showed him each movement in slow motion, turning the end of the spin into a leap forward. “Don’t give your opponent a chance to figure out what changed. Slide right into a simultaneous slash and kick to disarm him and throw him off balance.”

  Bensin watched and then copied Steene’s movements, swinging his right leg out and around, simulating striking an opponent behind the knees to yank him off balance. At the same time, he brought his cavvarach — gripped in his left hand now — slashing up and to the left toward where a right-handed person’s weapon would be as he started to fall backward.

  “Perfect. So if the other guy doesn’t lose his cavvarach with that blow, you’ll still be on your way to pinning him down when he hits the ground.”

  The qualifiers for the Grand Imperial Cavvara Shil Tourney lasted two whole weeks. Athletes from all over the continent of Imperia — and even some from the provinces beyond — showed up for the event. It was like an audition; thousands tried out but only the best made it in.

  Several of Steene’s students had gotten in before. And he would always remember the three times he himself had made it when he had been fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen years old, so he knew how the process worked. You registered online, they assigned you a day and time, and you showed up to a city gymnasium rented for the purpose. Parents and coaches had to stay in the waiting area, and two participants at a time were called in to one of the rooms where the judges sat. They would duel each other while the judges took notes, and then they would either be dismissed or asked to wait around and come back in a little later to fight someone else. Losing your duel didn’t necessarily mean you wouldn’t qualify for the tournament, and winning didn’t mean you would. No one was told right away whether or not they had made it; the list would be posted on the tournament website the following week.

  After Steene signed Bensin up, the email response said they were to come in on Thursday at 10:15 a.m. He called and cancelled the boy’s yardwork for the day, and the two of them made it to the gym with a few minutes to spare.

  The adult athletes had tried out the previous week, so the waiting area was full of teenagers stretching and warming up, parents and coaches watching nervously or pacing. Steene got Bensin started with the jump rope, while one by one, doors opened and names were called. He was secretly thankful that Jayce was nowhere in sight. The last thing they needed was for Bensin to see his rival and get a last-minute attack of nerves.

  “Is this your first time trying out for the Grand Imperial?” a boy stretching by the wall asked Bensin.

  “No, I did it last year.”

  “Yeah, me too,” said the other boy. “I got in, but I only made it to the third rung. I’m going to do better this time, though. I have to. The martial arts academy I’m applying to won’t take anyone who hasn’t at least made it to the fourth rung.”

  “But even then, don’t get your hopes up unless you come in first or second,” his dad put in from the bench nearby. “You know we can’t afford the tuition otherwise.”

  Bensin was pulling on his padding when a door at the far end of the room opened and his name was called. Steene handed his student the cavvarach as he and some other kid rose to their feet. “Get in your Zone,” Steene reminded his pupil, helping him buckle on the shil. “And don’t forget to use that sequence we’ve been working on.”

  Bensin closed his eyes, and Steene watched him heft the weapon, swinging it a little, feeling its weight in his palm. That familiar smile spread across his face. Opening his eyes, he strode confidently toward the doorway.

  Steene told himself that he wasn’t worried. He knew Bensin could do this. He’s better now at fourteen than I was any of the years I made it. There’s no reason he won’t impress the judges.

  Unless something went wrong, of course, as it had gone wrong every time Bensin had fought Jayce. The other boy who had gone in with him was free. If he made fun of Bensin, called him “collar”, it might throw him out of his Zone. Of course, most kids wouldn’t talk like that in front of a panel of judges, but you never knew.

  A number of CSF students had tried out already or would be trying out in the next couple of days, including four more of Steene’s. Chances were only a few would make it. Only a few trainers could proudly announce that one of theirs would be competing in the Grand Imperial this year. Markus would certainly be one of them, and it would be insufferable to hear him brag about Jayce’s progress — and perhaps some of his other students’, as well — in the coming weeks.

  But if I have a student in it, too — Yes, that would be a different story. Steene wouldn’t be surprised if one or two of his other pupils qualified, but he knew they wouldn’t get far. Not that they weren’t good, but competition at the Grand Imperial was stiffer than stiff. The very best cavvara shil athletes in the empire came together for this.

  But Bensin had a great chance, not only of getting in, but of placing. No slave had placed in the Grand Imperial in over a decade. It was rare for them to perform as well as free athletes, a fact that gave others one more excuse to lord it over them. But the reason had nothing to do with ability. Few slave owners were willing to invest the time and money into the kind of training it took to get an athlete really good when there was no guarantee it would pay off financially.

  But Bensin is really good. Maybe — just maybe — good enough to win.

  In the eight years Steene had been working at the CSF, no one from there had won first place in the Grand Imperial. If one of my students does, Drogum will have to consider me for Employee of the Year. That would show everyone that Steene was back in the game. His picture with Bensin holding the trophy would join the collection of trainer/athlete portraits on the winners’ wall in the lobby. Not to mention the twelve thousand imperials that would be awarded to the first place winners of each age category. Why, that was almost as much as he had paid for Bensin in the first place.

  Come on, Bensin. You can do it.

  Finally the door opened and Bensin and his opponent reappeared. “Well?”

  “They said to wait around and they’ll call me back to fight someone else in a few minutes.” Bensin undid the clasp and pulled the padding over his head. “I think it went okay. I beat him with the moves we practiced. But the judges didn’t even smile.”

  “I don’t remember them ever smiling when I tried out, either,”
Steene recalled. “Don’t worry. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  They waited, Bensin alternating between sitting and stretching as more kids were called in for their turns. The boy who had been talking to him before reappeared. “You’re still here. Did they tell you you’re going to do it again?” he wondered. Pulling off his own padding, he plopped down on the bench nearby.

  “Yeah, they did.”

  “Same here. I don’t know if that means they thought I stunk the first time or did great.”

  “I’m sure it means you did great,” the boy’s dad reassured him. He looked as anxious as Steene felt.

  They all sat there fidgeting. Finally another door opened and an official stuck his head out. “Ivan Makay. Bensin.”

  The two boys both reached for their padding again and rose to their feet. “Oh, we’re fighting each other?” Ivan grinned. “Well, nothing personal, but just so you know, I’m planning to kick your butt in there.”

  Bensin grinned back, fastening on his own padding once more. “Well, I’m planning to kick yours.”

  “Zone,” Steene called as a reminder as the boys walked toward the room, and Bensin twirled the cavvarach in response.

  The wait was longer this time. Ivan’s dad muttered to himself, shifting on the bench and glancing at his watch every thirty seconds. At last the door opened again and the two boys reappeared, both looking tired and sweaty.

  “So who kicked whose butt?” Steene inquired, rising from his seat.

  Ivan grinned once more, but Bensin, his eyes on the floor, brushed past Steene without answering and headed for the exit.

  Steene grabbed the duffel bag and ran to catch up. “What happened?” he demanded as soon as they were out in the parking lot.

  “I don’t know, Coach!” Bensin looked close to tears. “I stayed in my Zone and everything. But he was just really good, and fast, and I never even had a chance to switch hands.”

  “Did he pin you or disarm you?”

  Bensin hung his head. “He pinned me. He’s strong, too.”

  “Well, we’ll work on that in your workouts. There’s still some time. In any case, don’t stress about it.” He led the way to the truck. “Even when people lose in the qualifiers, sometimes they still make it in to the tournament if they fought well enough overall. And you did win the first time.”

  “But my Zone didn’t work,” Bensin protested as Steene pulled out his keys. “I thought I was supposed to win as long as I stayed in my Zone.”

  But four days later when Steene got online to check the Grand Imperial’s list, Bensin’s name was there.

  Chapter Fifteen: Off Balance Early On

  That week, Mr. Drogum came around to the various classes and congratulated the seven CSF athletes who had qualified for the Grand Imperial, along with their coaches. He handed out free West Jarreon Center for Sports and Fitness T-shirts for the students to wear in the opening ceremonies and reminded them that they would receive discounts on next semester’s tuition depending on how far they progressed in the tournament. Not that that applied to Bensin. “Make us all proud,” he urged. “We’re counting on you.”

  The opening ceremonies and first rung matches were scheduled for that Saturday. It was to be an all-day event, with each athlete competing twice. Those who won at least once would progress to the second rung on Sunday. The tournament would take a break during the week for athletes to rest up or return to school or their day jobs, resuming on Saturdays and Sundays for a total of four weekends.

  Steene arranged for a sub for his classes and arrived with Bensin, the only one of his students who had qualified, plenty early on Saturday morning. One of the great things about students getting into the Grand Imperial was that Mr. Drogum let their trainers take extra days off to be there and support them, since it was such good publicity for the CSF. As long as Bensin stayed in, Steene could take weekends off with pay without it counting against his five tournament days.

  This year the event was to be held in Red Arena, one of four huge stadiums located around Jarreon. There, highly trained professional gladiators competed in a variety of martial arts, but the arenas also rented out their facilities for other events. No gladiators were in sight today, though their pictures filled the huge signboards and banners out front: scarlet uniforms cut to show off bulging biceps; hate-filled snarls on scarred faces; weapons of every imaginable variety, some dripping blood, gripped in powerful hands. Yes, gladiators fought with sharpened blades and used no padding, and serious injuries and even death were not uncommon in the arena games. Like every other martial arts enthusiast in this city of sports fans, Steene had splurged on tickets to watch occasional games in person and followed the inter-arena rivalries on TV in between.

  But today’s event was simply another cavvara shil tournament like the others Bensin had fought in, where competitors wore padding to protect themselves against their opponents’ unsharpened blades, and worse injuries than bruises or the occasional twisted ankle were unlikely. However, it was the most prestigious cavvara shil tournament of the year, watched by the greatest number of spectators, in which the winners would receive more prize money than in any other sports competition in Imperia. It was here that athletes, both youth and adults, could truly make a name for themselves, along with their coaches. The whole event would be televised live on all of Imperia’s sports channels, and the highlights would make it onto the evening news in every province of the Krillonian empire. Pictures and summaries of the matches would be featured in the sports section, and sometimes on the front page, of every major newspaper in the empire.

  An hour before the opening ceremonies began, the arena was already packed nearly to capacity, tickets having sold out months ahead of time. The last few vacant seats in the stands were rapidly filling with excited spectators eager to watch the start of the year’s most highly anticipated cavvara shil tournament.

  A special section was reserved for the athletes and one family member or guest apiece, but Steene led the way first toward what was known as the Competitors’ Cave. It wasn’t actually a cave, just a large, dimly lit lobby-like room at ground level underneath the first few tiers of seats. With walls on three sides, the front was open for access out into the center of the arena. This was where the athletes would come to warm up on the padded floor and prepare for their matches. A couple of wide, locked doors probably led to housing or training areas for the gladiators who lived in the facility.

  On the back wall, a series of posters displayed the day’s schedule in more detail than the programs they had been handed at the entrance. Steene and Bensin made their way there to see exactly when he would be competing.

  “The opening ceremonies start at eight, and then there’s the warrior procession at eight twenty. After that, they begin the duels with the youngest athletes first. Let’s see … of course these times will vary depending on how long the individual duels take, but it looks like you’ll be on at about nine forty-five. After they go all the way through the adult competitors, everyone has their second turn. You’re going again around three ten.” He knew Bensin could read the schedule for himself, but talking his way through the day’s program made Steene feel a little more in control.

  “It’s gonna be awfully hot by three ten,” Bensin observed, glancing back out at the sand-covered oval of the competition area surrounded by dozens of tiers of seats. It was open to the air, with massive pillars rising from the top of the stands to hold up a roof for shade; but there were no walls. The open sides would allow any breeze through, and huge fans on the ceiling promised to keep the air circulating even if no breeze showed up. But there was no getting around the fact that it would indeed be awfully hot by mid-afternoon. Already, it was hotter than usual for March.

  “I’ll have a cold smoothie waiting for you the moment you’re done,” Steene promised. “Both times.”

  They exited through a door at the back and made their way along the hallway under the stands, from which a stairway took them up to the reserved seati
ng section. Nervous athletes, parents, and coaches filled it with a babble of excited conversation.

  Advertisements from the tournament sponsors flashed across the giant screens that hung from the ceiling, urging everyone to buy name-brand sports equipment, eat at classy restaurants, and order season tickets to Red Arena’s games. Later, the matches would be projected there so that even spectators up in the nosebleed sections wouldn’t have to miss a single detail.

  “Do you think the emperor’s going to be here?” Bensin wondered as they found two seats together near the back. “I heard he comes to watch the Grand Imperial sometimes.”

  “Every now and then. I know he showed up a few years ago, when they had that big celebration for the empire’s hundred and fiftieth anniversary. He’s not coming today, though, or there’d be a lot more security around.”

  They watched the stands fill up, and at last an announcement came over the PA system: “Will all athletes please report to the Competitors’ Cave to prepare for the Warrior Procession. Thank you.”

  Steene unzipped the duffel bag at their feet and handed Bensin the cavvarach. “Try to stay away from Jayce,” he advised. “They’ll group everyone from the CSF together, but don’t talk to him. Don’t even make eye contact, and don’t listen to anything he says to you. He’s probably going to try to put you down, to intimidate you. Just don’t give him the chance.”

  “I’ll try not to, Coach. At least I’m not fighting him today.”

  Seats emptied on every side as excited athletes pounded down the stairs. A few minutes later, the emcee strode out into the center of the floor. A hush fell over the crowd as a hovering drone projected his face onto the giant screens that hung from the ceiling and camera operators from various TV stations stepped close.