Streams of sweat dripped from Conrad, leaving a splattered trail around the courtyard. The shine of perspiration outlined his tall, athletic frame and highlighted his tightly corded muscles. His eyes focused forward as he struck out, attacking an invisible and untouchable enemy. His left hand burst forward into a jab then followed it with a powerful whip kick. Using the momentum to turn around, he delivered a spinning elbow before thrusting forwards with a flying knee. Each move was punctuated by an exhaled breath, the staccato rhythm almost hypnotic.
“You going to give it a rest yet? The girls left long ago.” A voice behind him quipped.
Conrad turned his head, keeping his body in a fighting stance.
“Wha...what? I'm not...doing it for...girls.” Conrad replied in between big gulps of air.
“Not for girls? Why, whatever else could be more important than impressing members of the opposite sex?” The figure behind the voice stepped into view. A tattered robe hung loosely on a wiry looking boy, a bemused smile on his lips. A pair of silver rimmed glasses framed his long face.
“I'm practicing for the tournament you numbskull.”
"Practicing for the tournament hmmm?” the boy ended his statement with a long heavy sigh and an exaggerated shrug of the shoulders.
“What's the matter? Spit it out.” Conrad barked.
“Oh my, I'm so ever afraid of your scary voice.”
“Connor, don't play games with me today or I'll pull out your guts out with my hands.”
“Hmm, I don't see how you can fit your hands into my...”
“Connor!”
“Fine, fine! You're so testy when you're nervous. The tourney's starting in 10 minutes.”
The matter of fact tone of Connor's statement seemed to stun Conrad as he stood still and blinked his eyes a few times.
“10 MINUTES?!” he finally roared.
“You were supposed to let me know an hour before it started. I've yet to register, I need to get the entry fee from Da, I've left my papers inside...” Conrad's voiced trailed to a halt as he realized the magnitude of the situation.
“Relax Raddie, I've already registered for you, got the money from Da and paid the fee. Here are your papers and some fresh clothes. You looked real nervous today so I thought you needed some extra time to work out the jitters.”
Connor handed over the newly laundered martial robes. They smelled fresh, and the lime leaf his mother pressed between the folds left a lingering scent of citrus. Conrad took the clothes but hesitated as if unsure what to do with them.
“What are you waiting for, the tournament is starting in one minute!” Connor said.
“I thought you said it was 10 minutes?” Conrad asked.
“I lied.”
Connor watched as his older brother sped off to change out of his sweaty clothes, chuckling at Conrad's fumbling hands trying to put on the clean robe. He didn't know why Conrad was so nervous, he was the best fighter in town and everyone knew it. He was expected to win the tournament, almost a formality, and Connor was happy to be a part of that. As proud as he was of his brother, Connor felt a twang of jealousy of the fame and glory that would soon be his. He looked at his own sinewy limbs...they were strong enough, but nothing compared to Conrad and the other boys that would be competing today. At least one of us will make Da proud, he thought.
“Come on, come on! Time's a wasting!” Connor hollered.
“I'm done. Let's go!”
The two boys sped out of the courtyard, kicking up a storm of dust in their wake. Racing past homes with open doors, their neighbors shouted out calls of encouragement. It was a great honor to live near a tournament winner and often houses would increase in value just by being near the winner's home. Zig-zagging through small alleyways they neared the town's martial green where the townsfolk practiced Sastera, the town's own martial art. Normally empty this time of day it was packed with people, eager to watch the tournament.
“Excuse me! Watch out! Whoops!” the boys whooped as they wove through the crowd. Expertly dodging through the clusters of people, they surged forward to the registration table. The din of the crowd could drown out the loudest trumpet. Gamblers yelled and placed their bets, friends shouted excitely and everyone was giving their opinion on who would win the tournament. The voice of the registrar calling out the contestant names could barely be heard above the clamor. Names that were called needed to be answered and to be late was to be disqualified.
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“Jarrod ak Valeen”, the monotone voice of the registrar droned.
“Here!” The boy who must have been Jarrod answered.
“Liston ak Cray”
“Here, I'm here!” Liston sounded just a little nervous.
“Conrad ak Markus” the tone of the registrar betrayed a hint of excitement.
The crowd around the registration table murmured in excitement. Conrad, son of Markus would be joining the tournament. How would the son of the town's greatest warrior fare? Gamblers furiously placed fresh bets with the new revelation.
“Conrad ak Markus!” The registrar spoke louder after clearing his throat. Yet no one answered his call. The murmuring swelled in volume. Would Conrad be disqualified? No one had been disqualified in 10 years, let alone the son of Markus.
“Last call, Conrad Na...” The registrar began again.
“I'M HERE!” Conrad bellowed, bursting into the air above the crowd 30 paces from the registration table. Using an unsuspecting spectator's shoulder, he stepped and leapt forward then tucked into a perfect flip, finally landing right in front of the table. The crowd around him burst into laughter and applauded appreciatively. This was how the son of Markus should make an entrance. Connor slipped out of the throng while the crowd was still applauding and sidled in besides Conrad. He noticed that while the crowd were smiling, the line of boys who would be Conrad's opponents were not. In fact, they wore expressions of disdain and challenge. Oh great, Connor thought, we're just giving them a reason to fight even harder.
“Who are you?” The registrar questioned, looking at Connor.
“Ah, sorry Sir. I'm Conrad's cornerman, Connor ak Markus” Connor replied.
“Hmmm...you?” He peered at Connor, eyebrows arched and inspecting him in detail. “What about your father?”
“Oh, um, he's busy.” Connor was lying of course. This very moment his Da, the great Markus ak Veron would be pacing around the house, worrying himself silly. Not wanting to influence any decision with his presence, he had decided to stay away from the tournament. The suspense was probably killing him.
“Hmph, alright then. The tournament chart can be found over there. Locate your fighter's name and it will show his opponent and arena number. Proceed to your allocated arena immediately, the fights will begin soon.”
“Ok, thank you sir,” Connor bowed to his waist and the registrar acknowledged with a slight nod.
“Come on Raddie, let's go. Keep your body warm, you're fighting in a bit.”
Connor led his brother to the tournament chart, Conrad shadow boxing behind. He located Conrad's name and his assigned arena, number twenty one. He'd be fighting...Savien ak Karan, a fighter he'd never seen before. Drat, he'd been hoping to get a familiar name to ease Conrad into the tournament. His brother was a confidence fighter, a quick and easy win would boost his self-esteem and make sure he performed to the best of his ability. A tough and drawn out first battle would do the opposite, make him question and second guess himself.
“Hah! Easy meat. Let's go, arena twenty one” Connor tried to sound more confident than he felt.
“Oh yeah? You know the fellow?” Conrad asked, in between punching and weaving.
“Just get going or you'll be disqualified.”
The arenas were circular roped off sections of the field, each fifteen paces wide. A marshall manned each one, judging the contest and to prevent contestants from inflicting too much damage on each other. Pockets of people surrounded different arenas, some supporting family members or friends and others encouraging their bets.
Arena twenty one was surrounded by the largest crowd of all, everyone interested in how Conrad would do, especially after his entrance. Connor spotted Savien stretching in the arena, he was one of the boys who had an especially large scowl when Conrad jumped to the table. Savien was bigger than Conrad, with bulkier but less defined muscles. He looked to be only 17 but his hairline was already receding. His father had always told him that in all his battles, the most fearsome of his opponents were always bald. Connor wasn't so sure the two traits were related but still he was wary.
“So, what hook do you think he's got?” Conrad asked as he climbed over the ropes to enter the ring.
“I don't know...I'll need to check.” Connor replied cautiously, eyes still focused at Savien.
“Well, find out soon 'cos I don't want a nasty surprise. That's what you're here for.”
“I will if you stop yammering and let me concentrate.” Connor retorted.
Connor crouched down staring at Savien, then like his father taught him shut off all of his other senses. His sense of smell, touch, taste and hearing receded into the background. The loud hustle and bustle of the martial field faded into silence. His sense of touch drained away and he lost the feeling of first his limbs, then the rest of his body. He felt disconnected and buoyant, like he was floating in the air. His sense of taste and smell disappeared till he could not even remember the taste of salt. He redirected all of his aura into his vision, greatly enhancing his sense of sight. The slam of new stimuli almost took his breath away. His pupils widened as he saw things with almost incomprehensible detail. His eyes darted widly, unable to handle the flood of images. Focus, focus, focus he repeated to stabilize himself. His eyes locked onto a leaf five miles away and he could see each and every vein in high detail, noticing even the throbbing flow of sap. He looked around him and saw the electrical pulses flowing through the muscles of the people as they moved in slow motion. He looked at Savien and concentrated, trying to make out his aura.
Savien's aura flowed out of his body, swirling around and above him like liquid smoke. The blue tinged tendrils concentrated on his fists and wrapped around his forearms. As Savien started warming up the aura flowed with him, flicking out like a whip each time he punched.
Connor released the gates holding back his senses and they flooded back to him with a crash, causing him to gasp and stumble back. Conrad had stopped warming up and was leaning on the ropes, looking down expectantly. Connor looked up and mouthed one word.
“Telekinesis.”