Page 20 of In Between Darkness
Brilliant, of course I am one of the first. There are four of us standing, and I can feel my blood pressure rising. Alex is grinding his knuckles. Mr Martyr points at Abel and Alex and beckons them to the platform. They will be the first fighters. Abel is tall, an even match for Alex. He has dirty blonde hairshaved around the edges and appears to be in good shape. They both step onto the platform, their toes digging around in the sand.
“Give it your best, boys.” Mr Martyr gives them a reassuring tap on each shoulder before blowing his whistle and retreating to the sidelines.
Alex and Abel dance around each other in fighting stances, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
Mr Martyr shouts from the sidelines. “You hesitate. You die. You think too hard. You die. You think too little. You die… The art of combat is all about mastering the dance with death; it’s about finding that sweet spot between morality and mortality.”
Something about this sentence strikes Alex like a bolt of lightning as he charges with speed at Abel, tucking his body in low and delivering two hard jabs to Abel’s side. Abel is thrown back by the force and winces a little before shaking it off. He pushes back and throws two punches aimed at Alex’s head, but he fails to make contact. Alex dodges each one and lands a couple more hits to Abel’s sides. Abel looks angry now. He changes his strategy, retreating a little and taunting Alex by shooting a middle finger in his direction. Alex charges like a bull towards him, but before he can get close enough to land another punch, Abel swiftly changes direction and launches a hard hit to Alex’s chin. Alex tumbles down into the sand below, blood drooling from his mouth. I can’t help but feel a little happy at this, and I fight the urge to smile. Abel basks in this glory, but it is short-lived. Alex jumps up and returns to Abel with a vengeance, tackling him to the ground before he even has the chance to process the attack. Alex is now positioned on top of Abel. He tries to squirm out of his trap, but Alex is kneeling on his arms and rendering them useless. Alex lands punch afterpunch on Abel’s face, beating him black and blue. Blood oozes out of him and sinks into the sand below.
This is hard to watch. My eyes well up as I watch Abel submit to the punches. There is nothing he can do. Alex is relentless, getting more excited at the sight of blood.
“That’s enough, Alex.” Mr Martyr steps in and pulls him off his victim. Abel coughs and turns his head to the side, spitting out the blood that had pooled in his mouth. He winces as he stands up, clutching at his ribs.
“Abel, take yourself off to the healing quarters.”
Ciara is quick to volunteer to walk him there. What did I say? Shark.
Alex is fighting the next guy now. If Abel couldn’t win, this guy has no chance. He is a lot thinner than Alex, the type of guy to have a skin-pack rather than a six-pack. I am afraid Alex will snap him like a twig. He tries to duck and dodge Alex’s punches, but he is far too slow. A fast thump to the side of the head knocks him out swiftly. Alex is on a winning streak. And I’m next.
Chapter Eight
“Asha… you’re up,” Mr Martyr calls out, and my heart thumps loudly in my chest.
I hear the surrounding students fall silent and direct their attention towards me. I stand up from the sidelines and try to control my breathing. My legs walk me slowly towards the platform, but my mind is telling me to turn and run.
Alex is breathing heavily, like a dog that can’t wait to eat its dinner. He smirks at me and mouths, ‘You’re dead, freak!’
I go cold. I try not to appear scared, not to look as weak as I feel. I think about what my father would say before our sparring sessions: ‘Everybody has a pattern to the way they fight, a signature trademark; do they favour the right jab over the left? Which foot do they choose to lead with? How do they choose to come at their opponents?’
I just need to figure out his pattern. I am still scared, but a ray of confidence peeks through the shadows.
I step onto the platform, making sure to maintain a sufficient distance between myself and Alex. I have seen the way he fights. ‘How does he choose to come at his opponents?’He likes to make the first move, I say to myself, to charge. What he lacks in skill, he makes up for in strength. I look at his feet, his left foot slightly behind his right. So, if he leads with his right leg, I’ll make sure to watch that one the most.
The sound of Mr Martyr’s whistle shrieks through me. Alex glares at me hard, like a beast narrowing in on its prey, and sureenough, he charges. I let out a slight chuckle at his predictability and gear up to dodge out of the way. I am a foot shorter than him, so he has to change his stance and aim lower. I consider this as I duck and dodge the two punches he throws at my head. From my low position, I aim a sharp jab at his first pressure point, his solar plexus. I make sure to hit him hard and fast, causing him to stumble back and clutch his chest a little winded. This didn’t do much, just riled up the anger in him.
He takes a step back. I know he is going to charge again. I don’t have a lot of time to react, so I retreat a few steps to create space and charge towards him. Definitely not what he is expecting. He charges towards me too and doesn’t slow down at the sight of me. Instead, he starts running faster. I use the slick of the sand to my advantage and slide into his charge, taking him out by his ankles. I hear a loud thump as he lands on his front and the sound of him coughing and spluttering out the sand he has just inhaled. Now he’s really angry.
He rises fast like smoke and shakes his head, trying to shake off the attack. He’s staring into my soul. He comes at me again, this time favouring his left jab instead of his right, throwing me off. He catches my left eye, and I plummet into the sand below, wincing as the side of my face sears hot with pain. I have to think quickly. I have seen what he does to his opponents when they are on the floor. ‘Every part of the battlefield can be used to your advantage. Your opponent will be thinking with their fists; you need to be thinking with your head.’
I clench my hands in the sand below and squeeze it tight between my fingers. He’s standing over me. I spin myself over and dart a handful of sand into his eyes, causing him to shout and stumble back, lifting his hands quickly to rub at his eyes. I use this time to jump up and swiftly jab him twice underneath his left armpit and send a kick directly into his kneecap. I hearit crack. He falls to the ground, and a blood-curdling scream erupts from his lips as he bends down to console his fractured knee.
I retreat. I think he has learnt his lesson.
“Nice approach, Asha,” Mr Martyr beams. “Mr Rotherman, please make your way to the healing quarters.”
Alex grits his teeth and shoots me a glare as if to say, ‘This isn’t over yet,’ but gets to his feet and limps away, flinching with every step.
I can’t believe I beat him. A smile of triumph presents itself on my lips. I just got lucky. The adrenaline wears off, and the searing pain returns. I prod my fingers gingerly at the swelling around my eye. Yep, that’s gonna leave a mark.
“Well done, A’s. Now if B’s could take a stand, we can proceed with the next round of combat,” Mr Martyr calls out, clapping his hands.
In my group, there were a few standout fighters. Alex obviously, but he stands out for all the wrong reasons, then Trina, Elijah and Carter. They all had the most skill. Let’s just say you can tell who will and won’t be choosing Combat this year. Mr Martyr approaches me at the end of the last battle.
“That’s some serious skill you’ve got there, Asha. You must have had a great teacher.”
I nod my head in agreement. I did.
“You should seriously consider taking combat. I think we all could learn a lot from you.” A genuine smile plasters on his face.
