‘SIX,’ came a cry from the crowd.
The combatants stared at each other for a minute and then Araf initiated his first offensive attack. For a big guy, he moved fast. There was no twirling or pirouettes, just a direct attack – wide, quick, sweeping blows from alternating sides. Essa had no difficulty with the speed but she didn’t have the strength to block the blows without a step backwards. She gave ground with every parry and was running out of room. I expected her to start swinging around in a circle but she continued straight back, each block pushing her closer into a corner. Just when I thought it was all over for her, she bent her knees and dived, head first over Araf’s head! With the poise of an Olympic high diver, she jumped Araf’s banta stick and then planted her own stick on top of Araf’s shoulder, pole-vaulting and somersaulting behind him.
The crowd went wild. ‘TEN,’ they screamed in unison.
Six to ten – if Essa could land one more blow, she would win. I heard someone yell, ‘Who is the student and who is the master now?’
So that was it, Essa had studied under Araf. This was a student–teacher grudge match. The light-heartedness that marked the beginning of the duel was gone. Araf clumped into his stance – Essa flowed into hers. We waited to see who would initiate the next attack. The only sound was Essa’s breathing.
Araf broke the calm. With an unexpected twirl of his banta stick he came at Essa with a series of angled-down swings that blurred into a continuous figure of eight. It looked as if Essa had just stepped in front of a taxiing airplane. I could see in her eyes that the master had not taught the student everything. Initially she didn’t even try to parry. She backed away, attempting to decipher the rhythm of the attack. Before she ran out of space, she experimented with parries that succeeded in slowing down the attack – but only a bit. For a second time she tried her flipping pole-vaulting manoeuvre – she should never have attempted it twice. Araf dodged her stick, turned and made contact with her calf in mid-air. She landed on one foot, not enough to keep her balance. She hit the floor skidding. The only thing hurt was her pride. A five-point knockdown – she had lost.
Araf helped her to her feet, then stood in front of her and formally bowed – Essa hit him over the head with her stick. The crowd erupted in laughter. The fighters took off their masks and Essa planted a huge kiss on Araf’s cheek. For the second time today I wished I was an Imp.
Essa hung on Araf’s arm as they returned. Fergal added his slap to all of the others that Araf had received on his back as he travelled through the crowd.
‘Thank you for upholding the honour of the House of Ur,’ Fergal slurred. He was past tipsy and well nigh on to very drunk.
‘That was very impressive,’ I said to Essa.
‘I would have been more impressive if I had won.’
‘I was rooting for you.’
She smiled. It was very nice.
‘You should have a fight, Conor,’ Fergal said as he stumbled into me. ‘You would kick ass around here with that snap spell you are wearing.’
‘You are wearing a snap spell?’ someone said behind me.
I turned to answer when out of the corner of my eye I saw Fergal grab Essa’s banta stick.
‘It’s an amazing spell – watch this!’ he said as he swung. I remember the look of surprise on everyone’s faces as the stick hit my skull. Then everything went black.
The first thing I remember thinking as I came to was, Is this my third concussion this week or my fourth? In my whole life, I had never even been dizzy – now it seemed I couldn’t go a day without being knocked cold. I was disappointed that you don’t actually see stars and tweeting birds, like in cartoons, but I can assure you that you get great big bumps.
I felt a cold compress being applied to my forehead, and when I opened my eyes I saw that my nurse was Essa.
‘I’ve died, haven’t I?’ I said.
‘I don’t think so.’ She looked worried.
‘No, I must be dead because you’re an angel.’ OK, it was a bit corny but I was quite proud of coming up with a line that good so soon after multiple concussions.
‘I think you must be feeling better,’ she said, and took the cold compress off my forehead.
I sat up. I had a pain in my head that I hadn’t experienced since my last blow to the head – earlier that day I think. I winced.
‘You wouldn’t have any of that willow tea around, would you?’
‘Here, drink this.’ She handed me a tiny glass with no more than two thimblefuls of brown liquid.
‘Is that all I get?’
‘Believe me, that is all you need. It’s my father’s special tonic. It will make you feel better.’
I downed it in one. Had I been facing a mirror, I would have seen steam shooting out of my ears. I sat bolt upright in bed and croaked, ‘WOW!’
Essa laughed. ‘You’ll be better now,’ and stood to go.
I was instantly better but I didn’t want to let her go. I grabbed the wet cloth and put it in her hand. ‘Don’t go, I think I’m going to faint,’ I said, trying to look as ill as I could and lying back down on the bed.
‘What makes me think that you are not being sincere?’ She smiled.
‘Oh, the pain!’ I said and I pulled her hand, to make her place the cloth on my forehead. She lost her balance and pretty much fell on top of me. She laughed a little bit and didn’t immediately get up. Her face was only inches away, her lips were so close I could feel her breath. I stared straight into her eyes, those magnificent dark eyes and then … her father came in.
Essa sat bolt upright. I think she moved even faster than she did during her banta fight with Araf. ‘I think he is feeling better, Father.’
I sat up.
‘That, I can see. Leave us, daughter, will you.’
Essa gave me a glance. She looked worried, and to be honest I didn’t like Gerard’s tone either.
Before she left Gerard said, ‘May I borrow your pendant for a little while?’
This seemed to shock her. She removed a finger-sized crystal that was hanging from a plain gold chain around her neck and handed it to her father. She gave me one last apprehensive look and left.
Gerard took a step closer to the bed, drew a sword and pointed it an inch from my throat.
‘Honest, sir,’ I said, ‘I didn’t even kiss her.’
GERARD
‘Do you recognise the sword at your throat?’ Gerard asked. With extreme effort I released my attention from the point and glanced down the mirror-like blade to the pommel.
‘It’s mine.’
Gerard held Essa’s necklace in his left hand. The crystal that hung from it was embedded with flecks of gold. ‘This is an Owith glass,’ he said, ‘it will darken if you lie. If I were you, I would tell the truth. Did you steal this sword?’
Now that was a tricky question. I sort of stole it from Cialtie, but Dad said it was his. ‘My father gave it to me.’
The crystal flickered but remained