Court of Fives

Page 42

The warning bell rings.
As I face the entry gate a sliver of hope lightens the dreary misery in my heart. A whisper trembles up from the ground like the heart of the Fives court speaking to me. It reminds me that I don’t have to lose. I don’t have to cheat myself here, and if I pass muster, they will want me to win.
The start bell rings.
Energy pulses through me, driving me forward. The heavy canvas curtain gives way as I shove it aside. Some adversaries swarm right up the posts of Trees and pick a path as they go, but that is not what Anise taught us: Sailors chart shoals and currents, so must you chart your path before you set sail. Seek the most efficient route, not the shortest one.
The configuration is a basic course set for speed and strength. Because I am not usually as strong as the men I have learned to use speed and agility to create momentum that will carry me up handholds on high posts and across gaps between clusters of posts.
I am going to win because the Fives is where I belong.
The world narrows to the grain of wood beneath my fingers, the press of my foot against a post as I shove into a leap, the impact that jars through me as I catch the next post and steady myself. When I land on the resting platform, I’m more winded than I ought to be but that is likely because I was eating only bread for three days.
A murmur of voices rises from the spectators’ terrace.
Half the challenge of the Fives is the choices you have to make on the fly. Because the court has four starting gates, one for each obstacle, and only one center obstacle, each adversary has a choice when she successfully completes her first test: which direction to go next. The choice here can make the difference between winning and losing.
The gate to Trees is always sited facing the southeast, Rivers to the northeast, Pillars to the northwest, and Traps to the southwest. I must choose either Rivers or Traps next. I don’t want to chance that I might pass Kalliarkos where he started on Rivers because it would embarrass us both. So I climb down and race along a canvas tunnel that leads to Traps.
No sooner do I ring the gate bell and dart through the canvas than I see one of the fledglings fighting to maintain his balance on a slack rope. In the time it takes me to confirm that this configuration of Traps holds no maze or height complications, only a straight shot through every basic sort of balance and trap, the lad falls. He catches himself with a good two-footed release, then runs back to the beginning because if your foot touches the ground you have to start over from the gate. I’m already up the opening incline.
My heart is centered; this is my joy and my brilliance. I race across the narrow beam, rock along the taut rope weave, and relax into the slack rope. The bridges and traps are so simple that I am a little irked when I cross the resting platform and charge for Pillars.
In a training maze, hanging canvas walls can be easily moved into new configurations. When I was sitting up on the terrace in the morning I charted this Pillars course and memorized its turns. Did the trainers change it while we napped?
Given the number of footprints smearing and smudging the sprinkling of sand I decide that if they haven’t even raked it then they likely have not changed its course or added any complications. Still, I don’t want them to guess that I memorized the pattern in case they decide that’s cheating.
Counting branching corridors keeps me so occupied that I slam into the back of the other beginner where he has paused trying to decide whether to go left or right. Without a word I dodge past him. He’s a bright boy; he follows on my heels, right behind me as I climb to the resting platform.
He says, “How did you come all that way already?”
A few years younger than I am, he has the wheat-colored hair commonly seen among Soldians, sailors whose homeland lies far to the east.
I offer him the best piece of respect I can, by treating him as an equal.
“Kiss off, Adversary,” I say.
His startled smile flashes in answer as I jump down to Rivers.
This configuration is dead easy, hopping from each slowly moving tiny roundel of wood to the next. It’s just balance and timing. The fledgling actually just stands on the shore to watch me. As I climb up to the last resting platform I see him start across, mimicking my choices, my pace, and my way of jumping. Pleasure flames my cheeks at the imitation.
A foot scrapes the ladder below. Kalliarkos climbs up. He crouches with a hand touching the floor as he catches his breath. He glances at me, then ahead at Rings.
It is a fledgling’s version used for basic training. Rather than the usual upper and lower paths, its twelve large wooden rings are arranged to make a circular path around the victory tower. A hidden mechanism turns each at a different speed. All you have to do is jump onto the first and gauge the right timing and angle to leap to the next.