The Collar and the Cavvarach

by Annie Douglass Lima

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Jarreon’s forty-seventh annual Grand Imperial Cavvara Shil Tourney!” A round of applause went up, followed by a speech in which he welcomed dignitaries and sports figures from around the empire and named and thanked the tournament’s sponsors.

  The mayor of Jarreon got up and made another speech, and then it was time for the Warrior Procession. Stirring music blared from the speakers, and the audience cheered and waved, as the competitors marched out of the Cave in little clusters according to the school or training facility they were from. One representative in each group carried a banner with the school’s name and logo.

  Steene watched as the CSF group emerged in their blue and tan T-shirts: five teenagers and two adults, cavvarachs in hand. At their head strode an eighth person: Markus Brinks. The employee of the year always got to represent the CSF at the Grand Imperial.

  Next year that could be me out there carrying the banner.

  The emcee introduced each group as they started around the oval, and the athletes brandished their cavvarachs and waved back at their fans. The cheers and applause didn’t die down until long after the last group had disappeared back into the Cave.

  Tournament officials appeared with stakes and rope — there was no netting, since a tall chainlink fence separated the spectators from the combat area — and measured out two twin circles in the sand. On the first day of the Grand Imperial, two duels were always fought simultaneously; that was the only way to finish the proceedings in one day. Starting tomorrow, things would be simpler when they switched to one at a time.

  Bensin and most of the others reappeared at their seats as the first four names were called. Two boys and two girls in the under fourteen age group jogged out onto the sand.

  Listening to the commentary was chaotic; there was a separate commentator for each match, both with microphones, both projecting through the loudspeakers. Those willing to put out a few extra imps could rent headphones that would allow them to select a separate channel depending whose match they wanted to follow, but Steene hadn’t bothered. When it was Bensin’s turn to fight, he would be down there watching from the mouth of the Cave where he could see the action up close.

  “Stay hydrated,” he reminded his student, handing him a water bottle from the backpack. “You hungry? I’ve got energy bars in here.”

  “No thanks, Coach. I’ll have one later.”

  Steene pulled out the big thermos, shook it to mix the smoothie, and poured a little into the lid cup. “Hungry or not, drink this now. It’s an hour till you’re on; that will be just enough time for it to work its way through your system and give you that energy boost you’ll need.”

  Bensin obeyed. Steene could tell he was trying to concentrate on watching the younger kids’ matches, but the boy was shifting anxiously in the stiff red seat, obviously nervous. Steene didn’t blame him. He remembered well the times he himself had sat in these seats, cavvarach in hand, waiting for his turn to prove himself to the world. Once he had been eliminated on the first day after two losses. Once he had made it to the fourth rung. And once — oh, the joy and the pride and the glory of it! — he had won third place!

  And Bensin might just do better than that.

  He glanced at his watch. “Okay, let’s go down and get you warmed up. Not too much longer now.”

  A score of other athletes and guests were hanging out in the Cave: warming up, watching the matches in progress, examining the schedule. Steene wondered which one was Bensin’s first opponent. He led his student to an empty corner and pulled out the jump rope as Bensin pulled off his shoes.

  While he jumped, Steene dispensed advice. “Don’t forget about switching like we’ve practiced, and don’t wait till your opponent has the upper hand. Throw him off balance early on. Let’s see you end your first match quick and clean; no need to draw it out. No need to be nervous, either. You work this the way we practiced, you’ll do great.”

  “Got it, Coach.”

  “And you’re going to show everyone out there that it doesn’t matter that you’re a slave. Did you see the names on the list? Ninety-five percent of the athletes are free, and most of them probably think that automatically makes them better than you. But you’re going to show the world that you’re every bit as talented, every bit as capable, and that nobody has any right to look down on a person just because they wear a collar.”

  See? he told his conscience. I’m striking a blow for fair treatment of slaves. Or … something like that.

  His conscience rolled its eyes and refused to dignify that with a response.

  Steene pulled out the padding and shil after his student had stretched. “It isn’t quite time, but go ahead and get this on now. I want you to take a moment to find your Zone.” He turned Bensin around so he was facing the wall. “Forget about those other guys. Forget about the audience out there. Forget about where you are. You’re about to do what you love most.” He placed the hilt of the cavvarach in the boy’s palm. “This cavvarach brought me to third place thirteen years ago, and it’s going to bring you at least that far this year. Savor the feel of it. It’s your partner, your best friend, remember? The two of you are about to become poetry in motion.”

  Bensin closed his eyes, and Steene stepped out of the way as he brandished the weapon, swung it, smiled over it.

  A burst of applause announced the end of one of the matches. Bensin’s eyes snapped open and he spun around.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Steene seized his shoulders and turned him back toward the wall. “Don’t even think of leaving your Zone. Relax. Breathe. You’ve still got a moment.”

  A commentator announced the winner’s name, and a moment later two tired-looking teenagers, one dejected and the other triumphant, jogged back into the Competitors’ Cave. “Next up for the under sixteen boys, we have Jorj Malvie and Bensin!”

  A kid who looked at least seventeen strode out from the shadows of the Cave and into the sunlight. Steene turned to Bensin. “You ready? All right. You can do this! Out you go!”

  Out he went. Steene hurried to the entrance, watching from just under the roof’s overhang. The two boys positioned themselves at opposite ends of the ring, cavvarachs held ready. The whistle blew, they sprang forward, and their blades met with a crash.

  Steene held his breath as they struck and kicked, parried and dodged and lunged for each other’s hooks. Bensin was quicker, but the other boy was bigger and stronger. Steene saw Bensin take a kick to the gut that would have ended the fight right there if not for the padding, and his student staggered backward, off balance. Steene let out his breath in frustration as Jorj pounced, but Bensin dodged just in time, switched hands, and nearly managed to hook his cavvarach away. But the taller boy freed it with a last-minute twist, recovered well, and landed another kick.

  He’s fought left-handed opponents before. After the first instant when he was caught off guard and nearly lost his weapon, the change didn’t seem to faze Jorj in the slightest. Kid’s probably got a left-handed coach or training partner. This wasn’t good.

  The trouble with Bensin’s switching the cavvarach from his right hand to his left mid-duel was that the shil was still strapped to his left arm. Like a narrow shield, the shil was designed to protect its wearer from kicks and blows, and it did very little good on the arm holding the weapon. Steene had warned Bensin to be careful, but it was instinctive to use the non-weapon arm for defense, shil or no. He saw Jorj’s foot strike his opponent’s unprotected right forearm as Bensin swung it over to deflect a roundhouse kick. Steene grimaced. That’ll leave a bruise. Not good when the boy still had another duel to fight today.

  Jorj followed up with another kick, which Bensin managed to dodge this time, and then with a series of blows that drove him backward, parrying frantically.

  “Switch back!” Steene yelled from the mouth of the Cave. But he knew Bensin would never hear him over the roar of the crowd and the emcee describing the combatants’ every move.

  Bensin
didn’t switch back, and Steene winced as he took another blow to his unprotected arm. “Keep your arm out of his reach, for the emperor’s sake! What are you thinking?” With a clash, Jorj’s blade swung down half the length of Bensin’s, the hooks connected, and the cavvarach was jerked out of Bensin’s hand.

  “No! No!” Steene bellowed, even as the stands erupted in cheers. “No!” This wasn’t how the Grand Imperial was supposed to start!

  Jorj raised both arms to the crowd, vaulted over the rope barrier, and trotted back into the Cave, laughing in glee. Bensin bent to pick up his weapon, stepped much more slowly over the rope, and plodded back in with his head down, sweaty face contorted.

  “What happened?” Steene exclaimed as soon as he was inside. “You could have beaten that guy! You’re faster than him. What were you thinking, using your right arm for defense after you switched hands?”

  “I don’t know, Coach,” Bensin nearly whimpered. “I — I messed up.”

  “Yeah you did. Come on, get your padding and shil off. Stick everything in the duffel bag and put your shoes back on. We’re going to get you some ice for that arm.”

  Bensin trudged after him along the dim hallway under the stands. In an emergency, the first aid people would hurry down with bandages, a stretcher, or whatever they deemed necessary, and meet an injured athlete in the Competitors’ Cave. If nothing looked urgent or no one paged them, they hung out at a long table that had been set up by the wall beyond the last row of seats, and the injured came to them.

  Steene and Bensin climbed the stairway to the top tier. “Could we get an ice pack?” Steene asked the medics who sat there.

  “Sure.” One of the women turned and pulled one out from a cooler plugged in behind them. “A bare arm doesn’t make much of a shil, does it?” she joked, handing it to Bensin.

  Bensin clamped the ice pack to his arm without replying, silently wiping sweat off his face with one shoulder.

  “Let’s go sit in the truck for a bit,” said Steene. “I’ll turn on the a/c for a few minutes and we can cool down a little before we both melt out here.”

  Wordlessly, Bensin followed him out through one of the back exits. They got their hands stamped at the door to make it easier to get in again later and crossed the baking hot parking lot to where the truck stood waiting.

  Steene unlocked the cab and they both got in. It took a moment for the air conditioning to get going, but when it did, the cool air was a welcome relief. They both turned the vents toward their faces and just sat there, letting it cool their sweat.

  “I was in my Zone, too,” Bensin said presently in a small voice.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I know you were. Well, your Zone helps a lot, but as you saw at the qualifiers, it’s not a magic spell that’ll keep you from ever losing. You’ve still got to fight smart.”

  “I’m sorry, Coach.” The boy stared down at his lap, his voice almost a whisper. He hadn’t looked at Steene since the match.

  “You should be. This is the Grand Imperial. This is what we’ve both been working toward ever since I started training you!” But seeing his misery, Steene relented. “Don’t take it too hard, though. One loss doesn’t necessarily mean anything at this point. You’ve got another chance today, and as long as you win the second one, you’re still in.” He glanced at his watch. “Tell you what, let’s go home in between.” He put the truck in gear, and it lurched a little as he pulled out of their parking spot. “There’s no point in just sitting around here getting hotter. We can watch the other matches live on TV from our living room where it’s cool. You can keep icing that arm, have a shower, relax a little, maybe even take a nap if you want; get your mind off what happened and get geared up to win the next one. We’ll come back in plenty of time for your second match. How’s that sound?”

  “Sounds good, I guess.”

  Bensin looked a lot better when they got back to the arena in the afternoon. As exciting as it was to watch every match in person, surrounded by all the energy in the stands, it was certainly a lot more comfortable to sit in an air-conditioned apartment.

  His arm was feeling a lot better, he assured Steene, though they agreed that he should keep his cavvarach in his right hand and not risk taking any more blows there. He would switch only if he really needed a way to throw his opponent off, and if that didn’t earn him an immediate victory, he would switch back as soon as he could.

  Watching him fight from the Cave once more, Steene thought Bensin’s arm did seem a little stiff. The difference was noticeable, but five minutes in, the boy still managed to knock his opponent off balance and pin him to the ground. The emcee counted to five and Bensin scrambled to his feet, grinning from ear to ear.

  Steene slumped against the wall, limp with relief, as his student raised his cavvarach in triumph. We’re still in. Straightening, he slapped Bensin on the back as soon as he was within reach. “Awesome job! We’ve made it to the second rung!”

  Chapter Sixteen: So Much Cooler

  Bensin awoke on Monday stiff and sore — especially his right arm — but pleased with himself. Except for that humiliating loss in his very first duel, he had been doing great in the Grand Imperial so far. He had won three times now. Once on Saturday afternoon, which put him into the second rung. Thank goodness for the fact that the youth fighters got two chances to make it through the first one, just like in Young Warriors of Jarreon. Then another time on Sunday morning, putting him in the third rung, and again Sunday afternoon, which put him in the fourth.

  That’s already better than I did last year. Bensin smiled into his pillow. I might even place this time. Wouldn’t that be awesome? A Grand Imperial trophy would be something to boast about for the rest of his life, but the money that would come with it would be far better. If he even got third place, his ten percent of the prize money would put him months and months ahead in his savings. And first place was twelve thousand imps, so his share would be one thousand two hundred. He had saved about seven hundred imps now, so if he came in first, and if he kept hiring out every week in the meantime, he would have more than enough to get Ellie’s collar removed by the time the tournament was done.

  Bensin rolled over and stared up at the ceiling. It’ll be so awesome if I win. And as badly as he wanted that prize money for Ellie’s freedom, Bensin wanted it for Coach Steene almost as badly. Coach had done so much for him: not just teaching him to fight better than Mr. Brinks ever had, but making his bare little apartment Bensin’s home as well as his. Treating Bensin like a friend a lot of the time, not just like a student, and never like a slave. Never once hitting him. Never once cussing at him. Never even yelling at him, except to shout instructions during practice. Letting him have that extra time off that allowed Bensin to visit Ellie on Sundays, at least when he wasn’t busy competing. Never putting him down for being born Tarnestran and not Imperian, as Mr. Creghorn used to. Race didn’t seem to matter to Coach Steene. Not to mention how Coach had nearly bankrupted himself purchasing Bensin in the first place and sold his wedding ring to buy him clothes and shoes. And he had given him another chance even after he caught him lying.

  I owe him so much. Doing well in competition was the only way Bensin knew to repay that debt, and he was determined to do it. Especially because he knew he was going to have to deceive Coach at least once more when the time came to put his plan into action. But after that, things will be different. Once I know Ellie is safe and free, I’ll never lie to him again. I’ll do everything he tells me all the time and be the best slave he can imagine.

  Thinking about Ellie reminded Bensin that he had better get started with his day if he wanted to see her. It had been over a week, and she must be missing him terribly. He would stop by and hang out with her for a bit, if the Creghorns let him, before he went to work for Officer Shigo. It was out of his way, but that was all right.

  He dressed quickly and tiptoed down the hall to the kitchen to make himself breakfast and a sandwich, keeping it quiet so Coach could sleep in. Coach had written a pass
last night and left it on the counter so he wouldn’t have to get up early and do it, and Bensin knew his owner wouldn’t be happy if he was awakened early anyway.

  When he got there, Mrs. Creghorn made him prune her rose bushes and weed the garden, but Ellie brought the baby outside and sat on the grass with him while Bensin worked.

  “You didn’t come to play with me yesterday,” his sister accused, “and you haven’t even came to see me at all in a long long time.”

  “I know it’s been awhile. Sorry. I got in trouble for getting home late that time after I ran the errand to the car place, so I’ve had to be extra careful to be on time or early every day now. That’s why I haven’t stopped by after my yardwork in the neighborhood for the last few weeks. Plus, my owner’s had me practicing extra in the mornings for the Grand Imperial, and I haven’t had much time.” Kneeling in the moist dirt, Bensin pulled up another weed and added it to his pile. “That’s where I was yesterday when it was your day off: competing.”

  “Did you win?” Interest momentarily replaced her grumpiness.

  “Not yet. It’s still going on. I’ve been mostly winning my rounds so far, though. I’ll fight again next weekend. It goes on for three more weeks.”

  Her face fell. “Then that means you won’t come see me next Sunday either. You never come much anymore. Just like you didn’t come that other time when you said you would, and you didn’t bring me a present.”

  “That was more than a month ago! I already told you I was sorry about that. I got in trouble and my owner grounded me, remember?”

  Ellie seized Baby Willem’s hand and pulled out the ladybug he had just grabbed. “I waited and waited. Just like I waited and waited yesterday. I’m always so bored and lonely when you’re not here.”

  Bensin sighed. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. She just didn’t get that his life wasn’t all about her. And as bad as he felt for his sister’s loneliness, he had to admit that it had been kind of nice not squeezing the extra time out of his schedule to stop by the Creghorns’ house. He had to get up earlier, rush through his work faster, or be late to something in order to see her during the week. If he kept it up, one of these days Coach was going to find out, and that would probably mean the end of his plans to free her.