A Simple Beating

Chestin’s sparring matches looked like too much fun to just stand aside and watch. He was a tall but wiry man to begin with but he’d shown up dressed in a heavily padded jacket that hung all the way to his knees. It had the effect of making him look bigger and bulkier than he really was. Yet in spite of his bulky clothing he moved with a speed and efficiency that bordered on the magical.

As near as Trick could tell the rules of the spar were simple. Take a wooden stick and optional ceramic disk and fight with them until you got a solid hit on the torso or head of your opponent. In addition to padded jackets all participants were given a padded cloth helmet as well. Even so, everyone that Chestin hit left the field clearly in pain. The protective gear only went so far.

“What rules are there for getting a bout?” Trick asked, watching as Chestin effortlessly flicked off a reckless, flailing charge from a kid who couldn’t be more than twelve. “Do I just stand in line?”

“Yes. If you want to get hit in the head again you just stand in line.”

He gave Sari a lopsided grin. “What makes you think I’ll get hit in the head?”

“You’re right. Chestin owes you one so he’ll probably just hit your belly and make you puke out anything you’ve eaten this watch.”

“Good thing I skipped breakfast this morning.”

The line to spar with Chestin moved very quickly and, Trick noticed, consisted almost entirely of men fifteen years old or younger. That was a bit curious. All the other games he’d played with Sari had plenty of adults waiting to participate. Although they looked simplistic to the jaded eye of a 21st century American they were obviously very appealing to Casparians of all ages. Getting a caning from Chestin was apparently less so.

Then again, given how incredibly dominant he was in the matches he fought, that wasn’t very surprising. Chestin would allow every challenger to make the first offensive move. He’d block that attack and counter it exactly once, then wait until he was attacked again before he would make another strike at his opponent. It was a very controlled, almost condescending way to fight.

Trick wasn’t an expert on any kind of swordsmanship but after watching for the five to ten minutes it took for the line to clear out he felt he had a pretty good understanding of Chestin’s technique. Hold the small shield forward and block an attack, follow up with an attack with the stick. It was pretty simple. The real issue was that he was so fast.

One moment Chestin was still as a tomb, then there was a blur of motion and a light thump. All in the space of a single breath. Then the latest challenger would walk off the field, rubbing at his bruises and the next person would step up to the champion. Eventually it was Trick’s turn.

Challengers had tried mimicking Chestin’s stance or trying a double handed stance that resembled a baseball batter. One guy used a low, leaning stance and jabbed, which almost worked. Trick decided to do his best Zorro impression and approached in an even stance with his stick arm forward, off hand resting on his back hip. He’d forgone a shield. As he got in reach of Chestin he snapped the stick down, trying to rap his shield hand.

That didn’t work like he’d hoped. As his blow got close to the other man’s arm the shield shot forward, smacking the stick aside. As he deflected Chestin leapt forward, switching which side was forward, bringing his weapon arm forward and wheeling a strike towards Trick’s chest. Trick scrambled back, snapping his stick upright and trying to get it between himself and his opponent. That worked but the impact jarred his weapon hand badly.

As Trick struggled to get his grip on the stick again he tried to keep backing away but Chestin was having none of it. The other man pressed the attack, matching Trick step for step, and drew his stick back just far enough to snake around Trick’s. Then Chestin jabbed sharply at Trick’s stomach and connected smartly. It wasn’t enough to knock him to the ground but it did knock a lot of the wind out of him.

After taking a couple of deep breaths Trick straightened up and walked off the field, taking off his pads and offering his stick back to the lensman who was refereeing the matches. However the ref shook his head and said, “Keep it. Chestin said you need to drill with it some. He’ll give you pointers, if you ask.”

Trick spun to look back at the other man, who was already squaring off against the next challenger. “He said that?” He swiveled back to the ref. “When?”

The ref just rolled his eyes and waved Trick away. Although he spread his hands and looked around, silently asking the rest of the crowd if they’d heard anything, it was clear no answers were forthcoming. Sari came up, took his hand and gently pulled him away from the sparring field. “What’s going on here, Sari?”

“Not sure. Maybe Chestin’s impressed with you?” She shrugged. “I’ve never seen anyone approach stick fighting that way. Most people try to keep their stick hand out of the way, rather than begging the other man to hit it.”

“I’ll have you know the greatest swordsman in the history of California used that exact stance.”

“Is California a famous group of soldiers in the tenth sphere?”

“They’re certainly vicious enough.” Trick looped Sari’s arm through his, pulling her closer to his side in a way he hoped was casual enough, and started leading them towards the armillary. “I think I’ve had enough games for the moment. I’m getting a bit hungry but I’m not smelling any food yet.”

If their sudden closeness bothered Sari she didn’t mention it. “They’re probably still setting up, although I think we could find a snack or two.”

“Why don’t we stop by the armillary and grab our lots for that constellation procession you mentioned? I’d like to…”

He trailed off as Sari pulled away from him, her posture suddenly tense. She moved away, her thumb worrying at the bracelet of her channeling glove, a sure sign that something was on her mind. “The procession? Why? You don’t even know our stars. I doubt you have a constellation Weyland in the tenth sphere.”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing about him,” he said, watching her keenly, searching for any clue to why she’d suddenly gone tense. He guessed she didn’t want to go to the armillary. “Maybe Brossius could give me a rundown on them before the time comes?”

“I… that is one of his roles, yes,” she admitted.

Trick frowned as she clammed up, wondering if he should press for more. Eventually he decided he shouldn’t, which proved to be a mistake. Instead he led them over to the armillary and started looking around for the line, since every activity at the zenith festival so far involved waiting in line. Drawing lots was no exception.

There were some four or five families standing in line in front of a box, approaching it individually and pulling out small black or white tiles from it. Once they knew their color they put the tile back. It seemed like a simple enough system but before they could get in line the chief armillamancer appeared and he didn’t look friendly.

He closed the distance between them almost as fast as Chestin in a spar but his attention wasn’t on Trick. Brossius blew right past him and grabbed Sari by one arm. “What are you doing here?” He hissed at a volume so low Trick almost couldn’t hear him. “This is not a place for the brightest.”

From the way her fingers twitched Trick got the impression Brossios’ touch made her extremely uncomfortable. However her voice was rock steady as she said, “You’re right. I’ll leave my guest to you, then.”

“Naturally.” The chief let go of her arm and Sari immediately spun around and walked away from the armillary. Brossius turned to Trick, forcing his voice to a more conversational tone. “Now, what brings you to the dome?”

Although the chief’s expression was perfectly neutral Trick felt a slimy, clammy feeling when he looked at the other man. He no longer felt like investigating the town’s rituals. “Nothing important, Chief,” he said. “It can wait until you’re not so busy.”

He left without waiting for a reply, already looking around for where Sari might have gone.