Cinderella: Ninja Warrior

by Maureen McGowan

  “Wait a moment there, lass!” the guard called after her.

  Cinderella’s heart froze along with her feet, and she slowly turned. He was probably going to tell her she needed money to get in, or wasn’t allowed into the stands with her wand. She should have kept it hidden.

  “Here.” He raised his hand and flipped his thumb. A coin floated toward her and she reached out to catch it. A silver coin! She’d seen them, but never touched one before.

  “Buy something to eat,” he said. “Looks like you need it.”

  Cinderella’s face broke out into a huge smile and warmth filled her chest. Her belly, especially pleased at the man’s generosity, grumbled. “Thank you. You’re very kind. Someday I’ll find a way to repay you.” She had no idea how—after tonight she’d be trapped in the cellar again—but she meant what she said.

  “No need.” He smiled and waved her on.“Now get in there and enjoy the show.”

  Cinderella walked up the long, winding tunnel into the arena, hearing and feeling the electricity and excitement before she could see anything, and when she burst out into the light, her breath whooshed out of her chest. There were so many people!

  Brightly colored banners waved, and cheers rose from the rows upon rows of seats in the round arena that reached up toward the sky like open palms. The vibrant colors were like nothing she’d ever seen, nothing she’d ever even imagined.

  And the smells—sweet and spicy and hot—from vendors who milled through the crowds, offering treats that made her mouth water. She quickly selected a sausage on a fresh roll and a mug of spiced pomegranate juice, and after eating her food way too quickly—it was so much better than any of the scraps left on her stepsisters’ plates—she stepped up to a railing and searched the stands below for an empty seat, but found none. She turned to look up. It didn’t look as though she’d have much luck higher up in the stands, either. People were crammed into the seats like pickles in a jar.

  Wandering along the circular walkway, halfway up the stands, she searched for an empty seat. She spotted one just behind where she’d bought her food, but then saw it had a purple satin cushion and was much more spacious than the hard stone seats everyone else seemed to have. It had to be reserved for a member of the royal family, perhaps even Prince Tiberius.

  She checked over her shoulder to see if she was blocking anyone’s view—there were advantages to being short—and then leaned over the railing to look down to the arena floor. Maybe she could stand here for a while, before one of the guards asked her to find a real seat.

  The opening ceremonies were nearly over, and the royal wizard was in the center of the vast arena, dressed in a flowing robe that looked as though it were made of water. It flowed and rippled around him. As he swung his arms, the fabric shimmered in the sunlight, creating the illusion of icicles. Then it changed again, turned white, and thousands of tiny birds flew forth, spiraled up into the air, and evaporated. It was spectacular, but the wizard himself was smaller and younger than Cinderella had expected.

  The royal wizard flew up to a chair high above the field. The announcer raised his hands. A hush fell over the crowd.

  “It is time for the competition to begin,” the announcer said. “The first event will be for contestants competing without wands.”

  Cinderella twirled her wand in her fingers and felt its heat and energy flow through her. What she wouldn’t give to get down on that floor.

  A hand landed on her shoulder and she jumped.

  It was Ty! She threw her arms around him, but, embarrassed, quickly let go and backed up a few steps. Her heart beat rapidly and her cheeks, she was sure, screamed with redness.

  “You came,” he said with a smile. “Aren’t you competing?”

  “I couldn’t get here in time.”

  Ty was dressed in his messenger uniform again, but this time it didn’t fit well. It was as though he was wearing an entirely different set of clothing. His pants were too short and too wide. He had cinched them at the waist with a beautiful gold cord that didn’t match the rest of his outfit. Once again, his cap covered his curls and shadowed his face.

  But even shaded, his blue eyes flashed, and her belly flipped. To calm it, she focused on the action down on the arena floor.

  He moved beside her, so close that their arms brushed, and bent toward her so that his lips were right next to her ear. “If you don’t enter, how will you win a dance with the prince?”

  “As if I could go to a ball dressed like this.”

  “If you win, I’m sure the prince will arrange something suitable.” His voice was deep, but instead of calming her belly, it made it dance. He seemed to know a lot about the prince.

  She kept her eyes down on the field where the first set of ten contestants were walking across a tightrope ten feet off the ground while wizards below them threw balls of fire at their feet.

  “Oh.” Her heart rose to her throat as one of the contestants, a gangly teenage boy, fell off the rope and landed on his side on the ground. “That must have hurt.” One of the wizards rushed to his side, but it appeared the boy was out of the competition. She glanced up to the scoreboard, and one of the numbers, listed in shimmering lights, disappeared.

  “Don’t worry,” Ty said. “That wizard is a healer. The boy will be fine.”

  “I hope so. He must be so disappointed.”

  “Doesn’t look like the prince’s type.” Ty chuckled and bumped her hip softly with hers.

  “What’s with you and your prince obsession?” Cinderella asked. “I only wanted to enter to win the lessons with the royal wizard. I told you, I don’t care about a dance with the prince.”

  Ty’s head twitched. “It’s not just a dance, you know. The prince will be choosing his bride.”

  “Like marriage is such a great prize.” Cinderella gasped as two competitors were knocked off the tightrope, one after being hit in the side by a huge fireball.

  “Don’t you want to get married?” Ty ran his hand along the railing. “I mean, someday?”

  He sounded hurt, and the expression on his face matched, so she turned her attention from the competition to him. “Of course I do. Someday. I’d love to be a mother.” And she’d love her children and treat them with respect. “I suppose it’d be nice to have a partner in life, too, but I plan to have some say in choosing him. No way do I want to be plucked out of a field of other girls, like a piece of fruit at the market. Don’t you think it’s kind of insulting?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest.“Maybe it wasn’t the prince’s idea. Maybe he’s being forced into it.”

  “That would be very sad for him.”

  Ty’s face brightened, their eyes met, and she felt as though they were the only two people in the arena. The noises and sounds and smells fell away and she felt strong and confident, as if she could accomplish anything she set her mind to do.

  If only she could see Ty every day, she’d surely find a way to escape. Just looking into his eyes made her feel stronger, yet nervous, all at the same time. Confused as she was by her conflicting emotions, she liked the strange feeling and never wanted it to end.

  “Hey, you two!” called a voice from behind them. They turned to see a big, burly guard lumbering in their direction. “You can’t stand there.”

  Ty took her hand. “Come this way. I know one of the organizers. I want to watch you win those magic lessons.”

  Cinderella stood with her back to the wall in the backstage area and waited. The room was filled with dozens of young people, all holding wands at the ready and some studying spells in huge books. Her stomach stirred with excitement as Ty approached the wizard in charge, and she hoped he didn’t get kicked out of the arena for trying to help her—or worse, lose his job as a palace servant.

  The wizard frowned for a moment, and a perplexed look formed on her round face, but then she smiled and nodded. It almost looked as if the wizard was about to curtsy, but then Ty reached out his hand and she stopped.

  Odd—b
ut the ways of the world outside her home were all strange and new.

  Ty turned and motioned for Cinderella to approach. “You’re in, but you’ve got to hurry.” He handed her a piece of white cloth with the number 43 painted on it in bright red. “The tightrope event for the no-wand group is almost over.”

  “Oh.” Cinderella held up her wand. “I’ve got a wand.”

  “I see that.” Ty took her arm, bent down, and spoke softly. “How much experience do you have with that?”

  “Not much, but it belonged to my mother. My real mother. And she was a very powerful wizard.”

  “I’m sure she was.” Ty nodded. “You are full of surprises, Cinderella. I’ll get you a number for the other group, if you’re sure.”

  “I am.” There was no sense in going back on her decision now.

  Ty turned back to the wizard in charge and she handed over another number, this time with 98 painted on it. He helped her pin the number on the back of her shirt. “It’s not too late to change to the other group, you know. Are you sure you don’t want to?”

  As she turned, his fingers grazed her waist and he blushed.

  Her entire body tingled. “No, I’m sure.”

  She wasn’t sure. Not of even one thing, and nerves buzzed inside her like bees in a hive. But having the wand in her hand felt like having her mother’s support. Besides, she told herself, using the wand, she’d turned Max from a cat into a man, and that was huge. Even if he’d helped, and it had been a bit of an accident.

  Uncomfortable with her choice, she looked into Ty’s blue eyes and instantly felt calmer.

  She might not be sure of her potential or talent as a wizard, she might not be sure about using the wand, she might not be sure she had any chance of winning this competition and finally gaining the skills to break free of her stepmother’s spell, but she was sure about Ty. She was sure he was a boy who believed in her, who cared about her in a way no one else did—or ever had—who made her feel like she belonged. Looking into his eyes, feeling the warmth of his reassuring smile, and standing next to his tall, strong body, she felt as if she could accomplish anything she wanted.

  “Hurry,” said another wizard, robed in emerald green and not much older than her from the looks of him. He motioned to Cinderella. “You need to join the others.”

  “Good luck,” Ty said. He smiled and bent down to gently place his lips against hers.

  A spark of warmth and happiness shot straight from Cinderella’s lips to her heart.

  When he pulled back, she raised her fingers to touch her mouth, expecting it to be changed, or on fire.

  The wizard in the green robe took her arm and pulled. “Come now,” he urged her.

  “Where will I find you?” Cinderella called to Ty, but he only touched the tattered cap he wore over his curls.

  Now she was even more determined to win. The chance to see Ty more often—and maybe get another kiss—was an extra incentive for gaining her freedom.

  The pumpkins were huge and Cinderella wondered if her stepsisters had possessed inside information, since they had been practicing all day on melons.

  Another rush of relief that her stepsisters had decided to go for the beauty competition flowed through her. They, and her stepmother, were in the theater across the courtyard from the arena, no doubt primping and preening to pretty themselves for the pageant. Thank goodness they weren’t in the stands—that was one less thing to stress over. And she wasn’t short on stress, not by a long shot.

  She leaned forward to peek down the row of competitors. A mixture of males and females, most looked to be in their late teens, but their ages appeared to range from as young as ten to about twenty.

  A wizard in a shimmering black-and-purple-striped robe stood between the lines of contestants and pumpkins and raised his hands to silence everyone. “For their first event, the wand group must raise a pumpkin at least three inches off the surface of this bench. Each competitor must focus only on his or her own pumpkin. Interference will not be tolerated.”

  Cinderella rubbed the wand between her fingers. This task would be easy. She’d lifted objects without a wand. Lifting them with a wand should be a snap. Yet her belly kept doing backflips as she watched each contestant attempt to raise a pumpkin up to the level of the red bar painted on the board behind the bench.

  After thirty-one attempts, only fourteen contestants had lifted their pumpkins high enough to pass, and there were no second chances. As soon as the pumpkin touched back down to the bench, that was it, game over, and it was on to the next contestant’s turn. Each event in the competition yielded points from the judges, but if someone scored zero on any three tasks, he or she was out.

  Watching the girl next to her raise her pumpkin, anxiety overtook Cinderella, stirring her insides and making her knees tremble. To combat the trembles, she thought about Ty, about the reassurance in his eyes. She thought about Max and how he’d been watching over her all these years, even though he’d been trapped inside the body of a cat. She thought about her father and how gentle and kind he’d been. How much he’d loved her. And she thought about how she’d suffered so many indignities and injuries at her stepmother’s hand, and yet had survived.

  Most of all, she thought about the mother she’d never met. Based on her father’s stories, she’d been very talented, honest, and principled—known for never using magic for her own personal gain or to hurt others—and might one day have become the royal wizard, had she lived. Pride flooded through Cinderella, expanding her chest, as she thought about being the daughter of such a woman.

  The girl beside her cheered her own success, pulling Cinderella out of her memories.

  Her number was called and Cinderella pointed her wand toward the bright orange gourd. Lift, she thought. Lift. This shouldn’t be that different than just using her mind. The wand was meant to enhance those abilities—provided she could control its power.

  Her focus was intense, and all the sounds and smells and sights of the arena melted away until it was just her and the pumpkin, as if she were back in her garden.

  She slowly raised the wand and the pumpkin rose, quickly reaching the required height. Not taking any chances, she gently set it back down. Why be a show-off? The judges hadn’t awarded any extra points to the boy who’d lifted his six feet and made it spin.

  The crowd applauded her success and she soon learned that those who’d been successful—fewer than half—were moving on to a bonus round, also involving the pumpkins. This time, it wasn’t enough to simply lift the pumpkins. Each contestant had to lift his or her pumpkin from the bench, move it up and forward, and then set it down on the top of a six-foot pole with an impossibly small disk at its top. The pumpkins would barely fit on the disks, leaving no room for error.

  There was no way she could she pull this off without the wand. She’d never moved anything so far, or placed it onto such a small target. She watched as the other contestants worked on their pumpkins. A tall girl, number 87 and dressed in a bright blue, loose-fitting jumpsuit, got hers right on the edge of the disk before it dropped.

  Cinderella sucked in a sharp breath, her heart breaking for her competitor, but the girl thrust her wand forward, and the pumpkin stopped to hover a foot above the ground, intact.

  The crowd roared its approval. Number 87 widened her stance, lifted her wand, and the pumpkin rose higher, until it was once again above the pedestal. She let it hover a few moments, sweat rising on her brow beneath her dark, tightly tied-back hair. Then 87 slowly lowered her wand, and the pumpkin came to rest on the disk.

  The crowd went wild. Cinderella jumped up and down, clapping, and then realized she was the only other contestant doing so. Yes, she wanted to win, but she couldn’t help but feel thrilled for this contestant. If Cinderella didn’t win, she hoped that this girl did. If the prince was as tall and handsome as he was purported to be, they’d look fabulous dancing together.

  A spark hit the ground at 87’s feet and they both jumped.

&nbs
p; Cinderella spun around, fearful that her stepmother had come into the arena and had been aiming for her. Hearing a commotion down the line of competitors, she looked toward it, and within seconds a rope appeared out of thin air in front of a tall boy with silver hair. The rope ensnared him, binding his arms to his body, then it led him off the arena floor, without any evidence of someone pulling. It must have been that boy who’d shot the spark at the girl who’d done well.

  Number 87 fell back into the line of contestants as her score was updated on the huge sparkling board. Forty-eight points.

  Cinderella had trouble keeping still as she awaited her turn. If she missed the first time as 87 had, there was no way she’d have the skill and concentration to catch such a huge, heavy object in midair and guide it back up. That seemed far beyond her capabilities.

  “Number ninety-eight,” the announcer called.

  Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.

  Her attempt at meditation wasn’t helping and anxiety sent little spikes of fear up and down her arms, over her neck, and into her brain.

  She gripped the wand and reminded herself how easily she’d lifted the pumpkin in the first round. Surely lifting it a little higher and moving it forward wouldn’t be that different. Especially with help from her mother’s wand. She could do this.

  After bowing to the judges, she turned to the bright orange gourd and studied its off-kilter shape. It was a huge pumpkin, nearly three feet in diameter and likely so heavy she’d struggle to budge it with her body, let alone her mind. But the wand would give her a chance. If she hadn’t found it, she wouldn’t even be here and Max would still be a cat. She’d been meant to find it. Meant to use it, she was sure.

  Using her ninja training, she drew five deep, long breaths, trying to force what felt like bouncing beans in her belly to obey. They slowed to hopping and, given the circumstances, she figured that was probably as calm as she’d get.

  Aiming the wand, she reminded herself whose daughter she was and tried to mimic what 87 had done, but until 87 missed the disk the first time, she’d made it look easy. Several competitors had raised their pumpkins high enough to make the attempt, but only two had managed to land their gourd on the pedestal.