February Thaw
Page 15
And pandemonium broke loose as people discovered they couldn't leave their seats.
"I find it absolutely appalling how no one seems to get a classical education anymore."
Sam, not at all surprised that her headphones were dead, turned to see a curly haired young man dressed all in brown – shorts, t-shirt, running shoes – perched on the light standard beside her.
He grinned and leapt down. "Robin Goodfellow. And you must be Sam, no one calls you Samantha, Gilburne. How've you been enjoying the games?"
"They've been... interesting."
"Haven't they just."
"My gentle Puck! Come hither!"
Sighing, he turned to go. "Our Faerie captain calls and when fell Oberon doth summon, I must move my butt." He tossed a grin back over his shoulder. "I'll be back."
Oberon wore a gold circlet around silver hair and a golden "C" on the shoulder of his leaf green jersey. His voice carried. "This fool pretends to understand me not." A long, pale finger poked a trembling games official in the chest. "Explain, good Puck, the terms on which we play."
Sam couldn't hear the explanation, but it involved a great deal of arm waving, consulting of clipboards, and ended with the young man in brown turning the official to face a glowering Oberon.
The crack of thunder shut everyone up again. Hysterics screeched to a halt all over the stadium. As the official was carried off the court, Puck turned to face the US bench. "My lord challenges those proven best in the world to play for the gold. What say you?"
Arms folded and eyes narrowed to disapproving slits, the coach shook his head. "I say that you can all just go back where you came from. My boys don't have to prove anything."
Puck favoured him with an extraordinarily rude gesture. "Who asked you?" All at once, the stadium lights seemed to shine brighter over and around the twelve members of the US team. "I was talking to them."
The team milled about for a moment as a single unit then spit out a spokesman.
"He's challenging us?"
Oberon answered for himself. "I am."
"Then we say, let's play ball!"
"They might as well play," Puck said a moment later, back by Sam's side. "He wasn't going to let anyone leave until he got his game. Me, I blame television."
"For what?" The two men – well, two males, Sam amended – stood eye to eye at centre court.
"The shorter attention span of children, the sudden popularity of orange bathing suits, the inexplicable interest in Snack Masters..."
Oberon won the jump off.
"You watch our television?"
"Sure. Everything but Fox scries in beautifully."
"What about the CBC?"
Puck shrugged. "It comes in, but no one watches it. All this started when His Majesty discovered the symbolic warfare channel."
One of the elves took a three point shot. It hit the rim, rolled, and dropped through.
3 - 0, Faerie.
"Discovered the what?"
"Oh, sorry. Sports. This, specifically..." He waved a hand at the action on the court. "...I blame myself for. His Majesty asked if I thought he should take up the game. I said, why not. You're tall. You're arrogant. The rest, as they say, is mythology."
3 - 4, USA.
Oberon went down with an elbow in the throat and made both foul shots.
5 - 4, Faerie.
Thirty-one seconds later, it happened again.
7 - 6, Faerie.
"That's a man who likes to live dangerously," Puck observed with glee. "Oberon is not going to take kindly to a third foul."
Twelve seconds later, a terrified rooster raced under the USA bench.
After that, the game settled down. Sam, who'd never much cared for basketball and had not been thrilled at the prospect of having to watch a second competition, found herself enjoying the show. The elves made no sound as they ran, their feet only barely touched the floor, and more than one US player lost the ball when he turned suddenly and came face to face with an unexpected feral grin.
Sam had a strong suspicion that no one on the court was named Mustard Seed.
38 - 35, Faerie at half time.
Early in the second half, an elf took a rebound and immediately stepped to the other end of the court. During the time-out, the officials huddled by the scorekeeper and after a moment declared seven league boots to be illegal. The US made both their shots.
38 - 37, Faerie.
Finally realizing that the opposition wasn't going to give them this game either, the US team started to play basketball the way only they could, matching Faerie's ruthless calm with a near telepathic sense of precision teamwork.
65 - 68, USA with three minutes to go.
"Up and down! Up and down!" Puck screamed balancing on the back of two chairs. "You've got to chase them up and down! This is no time to play defensively!"
He wasn't the only one rooting for the elves, Sam noticed. The Yugoslavian team and their fans seemed solidly on Oberon's side – considering how close they'd come only to lose to a stacked deck, she couldn't blame them.
Impossibly graceful, eyes glittering with an emerald light, Oberon swept past the US defence and took a shot from just outside the line.
Tie game.
Twelve seconds to play.
"What happens if he loses?" Sam wondered.
Puck shrugged. "Ass-heads all around, I'm afraid. He doesn't like losing."
The US got the ball on the turnover. At the elven net, a guard with raven hair and ice blue eyes blocked the shot.
Five seconds. Four.
A green-haired elf took the pass at centre court, ducked under the long, sweaty arm of a US player, and on a single bounce got the ball back to Oberon.
Three. Two.
He leapt. Higher. Higher. His arm rose over his head, the ball held balanced on fingertips, and, at the apex of his flight...
...slam dunk.
The buzzer sounded.
70 - 68, Faerie.
Astonished to find herself on her feet, stamping and cheering, Sam fell silent as Oberon walked slowly toward the exhausted US team. By the time the elven lord stood an arm's length away, his court behind him, an eerie quiet had settled over the entire stadium.
For a heartbeat, great branching antlers rose above a golden crown and robes, in colours almost painful to mortal eyes, swept the floor.
"Good game," he said.
And they were gone.
"Someone want to tell me why I'm under this bench?"
Frowning, Sam watched and listened and realized...
"They remember nothing; not the challenge nor how the challenge ended," Puck told her.
"I do."
"Someone must. What point our being here if no one makes a story of it?"
"Why me?"
"Why not you? You had the eyes to see." He held out his hand. "I must be off. Night's swift dragons cut the clouds full fast and my lord will want his Puck to share the revels."
Half expecting a joy-buzzer, Sam was relieved to note that his firm grip contained nothing more than callouses.
Stepping back, Puck spread his arms and grinned. "Time to party!"
"Camera one? You sleeping up there, Sam? I told you to get me the reactions to that shoe!"
She swung the camera around and panned the strangely subdued crowds. "What shoe?" The shoe had been tossed back for the Faerie game and now covered the foot it belonged on. While the control room argued over just where the alleged shoe should be, Sam turned back to Puck, saying, as she turned, "Still, it's a pity you won't get your medals."
"What was that, one?"
Robin Goodfellow had disappeared.
"Nothing."
Later that evening, as they played the anthem they'd had cued up and ready before the final game began, Sam peered through her camera at the athletes on the podium.
And she smiled.
*
On the morrow, many voices were in rage and wonder raised
As the twelve who met the challenge<
br />
Of proud Oberon and his court
Did find a leaf against their breasts
Instead of that which they believed they'd won.
Silently, were medals struck again
And those who witnessed never told
How sunlight acts on Faerie gold.