The Seventh Mountain Page 12

  Chapter 12

   

  Tents

   

  No matter where you go they are always there.

   

   

  Getting used to the class schedule wasn’t hard. Almost three weeks had passed since the beginning of classes and Mark no longer had to consult his paper to figure out where to go next. Being at the right place at the right time had become automatic.

  There wasn’t much spare time either. It seemed that if they weren’t eating or sleeping or doing homework that there was some scheduled event going on. Combat exercises were the most time consuming with all moves and combinations having to be performed accurately in the next class. What little free time there was, was precious.

  The first practical skill that had been assigned to be learned was Aaron’s Grasp. Mark continued to practice, wondering if he would ever get the hang of it. He remembered Mr. Diefenderfer introducing it in class.

  “Aaron’s Grasp is… a most useful ability. Practice… this exercise… to learn… the proper relationship between… mind… body… and spirit. Take any object… that you normally carry… in your hand. Give it… to someone… to hold for you. At the same time… you… are the person… that is going to hold it. Don’t think about… handing it off. Don’t think about… taking it. Imagine… if you will… a time… when your attention… was focused on… something… so intently… that you unconsciously… handed what you had… in your hand… at the time… to someone else. Now imagine… that you… are standing… with the person… your attention… captured by that same thing. You unconsciously take… what you are handed. That is… the focus… that is needed… for this skill.”

  Mark was practicing the exercise, using the staff, while he walked through the hall with Nick, Chenoa and Jamal. It was easy to tell who the other freshmen were in the hall; they were all doing the same thing. They would move their hand to the side or out in front of themselves and then pull it back slowly, looking to see if what they had in their hand was gone. It was like a little dance that all the freshmen were performing.

  Chenoa said, “I wonder what the Festival of Tents is like.”

  Nick replied, “My brother, Ivan, said it’s way cool.”

  Jamal added, “My brother, Idaltu, says that there are all kinds of contests, archery, swords, horses and things like that.”

  “I think I’ve got it.”

  They turned to look at Mark. He was holding his hand out like he was holding the staff, but the staff wasn’t there.

  “I can’t get it back.”

  Jamal slapped him on the shoulder. “You’re thinking about it. Try focusing on something else.”

  Mark pulled his hand back after Jamal slapped him and the staff was there. The slap had been just enough to divert his attention for a split second.

   * * * 

  The Festival of Tents started one day shy of three weeks after classes had begun. That Friday, individual tents had been set up on the grounds surrounding the school. Everyone was expected to live in their tent for the entire feast, rain or shine. It was a curious fact to Mark, but history had recorded no rain during the Festival of Tents at The Seventh Mountain, ever.

  The group selected four tents that were close to each other. The only thing that the small tents appeared good for was providing a little shade and shelter from the rain, should it ever rain. The floors were bare ground. There were no sleeping bags or anything else to sleep on. There were just tents and nothing more.

  Mark looked around. Older students were bringing out bedrolls, pillows and blankets.

  He looked at Chenoa. “I think we need to go and get something to sleep on.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  Mark turned to Nick and Jamal. “You guys stay here and hold the tents for us. We’ll bring back some stuff to sleep on.”

  Mark and Chenoa walked off toward The Island. That was the closest entrance to the school. They wound their way through the randomly placed tents.

  Mark asked, “How are you doing on Aaron’s Grasp?”

  “I can do it sometimes, but I can’t really control it. Is there a trick to it?”

  “No. There’s no trick to it really. You just have to not think about it and just do it. It’s like walking or breathing or tying your shoe or something like that. Just do it without thinking about it. That’s what works for me.”

  “I understand what you are saying but…”

  Mark felt something hit him in the back, hard. He found himself lurching forward and falling face first to the ground. Ralph Lawrence had tackled him.

  Chenoa was startled by the suddenness of the assault. She turned to see who else might be involved. Slone Voif was standing there grinning. There were more than a dozen students with him.

  Slone said to no one in particular, “It might be funny to roll him up in a blanket and toss him in the moat.”

  “You’re not going to do any such thing!” Chenoa started toward Mark. A group of students that she didn’t recognize headed for Mark as well. She felt hands grab her by both arms. She tried to break free but couldn’t. She heard another voice in the crowd. She turned to see who it was. It was the girl with the spiked hair.

  LeOmi was standing face to face with Slone. “You can’t do that! He’ll drown.”

  Slone grinned at her. “Your point is?” He made a motion with his hand that told the others to proceed.

  LeOmi delivered an expert reverse roundhouse kick to Slone’s face. As soon as her foot touched back down; the heal of her right hand impacted his nose. Blood splattered across his face.

  “You call them off and I won’t kick your butt.” She was bouncing on the balls of her feet with her arms raised to a boxing position.

  Slone just looked at her, eyes unblinking and still grinning.

  Someone tackled her from the side. She went down hard and was momentarily stunned. She regained her senses and saw that her assailant was sitting on her stomach with her arms pinned under his knees. It was Ricky Barns.

  He said to her, “Be still and you won’t get hurt.”

  She smiled and whispered. “You only get one warning. Get off of me now.”

  Ricky chuckled.

   

  Mark had been overwhelmed by the suddenness of the attack. At least a half dozen guys had grabbed him and pinned his arms to his side. They quickly rolled him up tightly in a large blanket. He tried to struggle to no avail. It was very hard to breath rolled up in the blanket. He had heard what their intentions were. He waited, anticipating when to take a breath and hold it.

   

  LeOmi brought her legs up in a feigned attempt to pry Ricky off of her. He shifted his weight back toward her legs which released the pressure on her arms. She brought her arms up over her head and spun her body so that she was on her stomach. She pushed herself up while Ricky was still on her back, jumped backwards and landed on top of him. This knocked the air out of him. She heard a splash behind her as she got up.

   

  The water quickly saturated the blanket. Mark knew that he was sinking ever deeper into the moat. He started twisting and trying to roll in the water. He was thinking that the blanket would come unwound from around him if he could just roll. He was holding his breath but his brain was telling him that he was smelling something extremely foul. The foul smell was quickly becoming an overwhelming stench. He felt like he had to vomit. In his mind’s eye, he could see the thing that was causing the stench. It was a dark colored, wiggly thing just ahead. Mark realized that he was seeing through the eyes of some creature that lived in the moat. It dawned on him that it probably was a leviathan.

   

  Ricky was getting up. LeOmi let loose with a barrage of kicks and punches. Ricky started to fall over. She grabbed him by the collar of his tunic with one hand and grabbed his belt line at the same time with the other hand and pulled toward her. She pushed his neck away to keep him off balance while she walked him backwards toward the moat.

/>   “If you ever touch me again, I’m going to hurt you real bad! Do you understand me?” LeOmi jerked him a little to stress the point.

  The surface of the moat erupted. A very large, grayish creature shot out of the water. The fury of the splash soaked anyone within ten yards of the water blast. The creature splashed back down and was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

  A dripping bundle squirmed on the sopping wet earth. Mark extricated himself from the saturated cocoon. He stood, catching his breath while he scanned the masses. Slone Voif was thirty feet away, smiling and staring at him through the crowd.

  Blind rage swelled inside of Mark’s head. His vision narrowed so that the only thing that he saw was Slone. Deep inside of himself he knew that this was the reaction that Slone wanted. He wasn’t about to let him succeed. It took effort, but he managed to control the urge for revenge.

  LeOmi stepped up to Mark. “I know how you feel. He’s just trying to tick you off.”

  “He succeeded.”

  Slone called over to Mark. “Ralph wanted to get you back for what you did to him and his friends. In my opinion, this evens the score, unless you think different. If you want to go one on one, I’m right here.”

  Chenoa had walked up behind Mark. She whispered, “He’s baiting you. Don’t fall for it.”

  Mark turned, smiled and winked at Chenoa. He knew a bully like that would never go one on one if his followers were anywhere around. He brought to the front of his mind an image of a large dinosaur-like creature swallowing him whole in the moat. He knew that Slone was probably tuned in to his thoughts.

  Mark called back to Slone. “Are you challenging me to a duel?”

  “I guess you could say that.” Slone folded his arms across his chest.

  “Okay. I’ll fight you on top of that hill on The Island. You swim across with me. That way I know it’s just you and me.”

  Slone’s arms dropped to his side. “Are you kidding me? I saw that thing come out of the water.”

  “What, no backbone? I’ve been in there and I’m willing to go again.” Mark was smiling now. Slone wasn’t.

  “Yeah, you go ahead. There’s a difference between being stupid and being brave.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Mark turned to Chenoa. “I really hate letting him get away with that.”

  LeOmi said, “You’re outnumbered at least twelve to three right now.”

  Mark looked at her with surprise. “The odds are twelve to two or rather, six to one.”

  Chenoa cut him off before he had a chance to stick his foot all the way into his mouth.

  “Mark, take a look at Slone’s face, then look at Ricky Barns. She means what she said. She stood against them.”

  Slone was walking toward Ricky and his nose was still bleeding. Mark saw Ricky over LeOmi’s shoulder. He was walking with a limp and holding his side.

  Mark looked at LeOmi. “You mean to tell me that you beat up Slone and Ricky while they were throwing me in the moat.”

  “I wouldn’t say that I beat up Slone. I just slap kicked him and punched him in the nose. He just stood there until Ricky tackled me.” She folded her arms behind her back and gave Mark a sly grin.

  “I know I want you as a friend, not an enemy.”

  LeOmi cocked her head and bit her lower lip. After a moment, she turned and started walking off. Mark heard her say, “We’ll see.”

   * * * 

  Tim was waiting with Jamal and Nick for Mark and Chenoa to return. Mark tossed Nick and Jamal their blankets and pillows.

  Tim asked Mark, “Are you all right?”

  Mark looked at Tim and nodded yes.

  “Mrs. Shadowitz saw what happened. She was watching from the balcony. She sent a runner to tell me and to have me check on you.”

  “I’m all right, Tim. I’m just a little mad.”

  “You might get madder. Mrs. Shadowitz has to decide if that counts as a practical joke. If it fits the rules, well… she will have to award points.”

  Mark went about putting his stuff in his tent. “I understand.”

  “The good thing is if she considers it a valid practical joke, she will probably change the rules to prevent something like this from happening again. Practical jokes have to be clever and funny. I do not think that his attack was clever or funny, but that is not for me to decide.”

  Chenoa put her hand on Tim’s arm. “I don’t think you’re helping him, Tim. Tell me about that girl, LeOmi.”

  “It is not proper for me to talk about students to other students. I can tell you this. She has uncommon courage and a great deal of confidence in her abilities.”

  “I know. I saw her fight. That was impressive.”

  “I bet it was. I would like to have seen it myself; especially what she did to Slone Voif.”

  “You can’t tell us anything about Slone either, can you?”

  “No, not really. Just this, keep your eye on him.”

  “I already know that, too. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could spit.”

  “Yeah, well… Oh yeah, I have your Festival Brochures. Here you go.” He handed Chenoa four brochures from his stack.

  “Thanks.”

  Tim nodded and walked off.

  The group went to The Oasis. They found out that The Oasis was closed during the festivities, unless it rained, as were all shops. They walked around looking for a vending tent. No vending tents had been set up yet, either. There was no place to get anything to eat or drink. They decided to go back to their tents and wait for a vending tent to open.

  They got back and saw that Tim was there. He was sitting cross-legged in front of a campfire that had been built on the ground. There was a cartload of split wood that hadn’t been there before.

  Tim looked up and saw them coming back. “Ah, glad to see you are back. I have some jerky here. Do you want some?” He held out a little white paper bag and let them get some. He was already chewing on a piece.

  “I guess that you found out that The Oasis is closed for the week. The vending tents will not be open until after sunset. I hate not being able to eat when I want to. That is why I stock up on munchies. I have a bunch of stuff. If you get too hungry, just let me know. I will take care of you. Oh yeah, the rest of my group of students should be joining us soon. You will get to meet those that you have not met already.”

  Mark sat down across from Tim. “Why the camp fire? I mean, it’s pretty hot out here all ready.”

  “Well, it is tradition. The counselors are supposed to keep one going, for their group, for the entire festival. They cannot let it go out.”

  “It seems to me like counselors have a lot to do. What, exactly, are counselors anyway?”

  “Yeah, we have a lot to do, but it is not hard. Counselors are like big brothers and sisters. They have already been through everything that you are going to have to go through. They help guide you through the tough parts. Oop, wait a minute… I thought so. Cap’n Ben has been trying to tag me all day.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look over my shoulder at the second level balcony. That is Cap’n Ben up there. Oop… got to go…”

  Tim disappeared just before something hit the tent behind Mark. The pop noise on the tent startled him. The others had been startled, too. They got up and went to see what had hit the tent. A marble-sized splat of red wax was stuck to the canvas. Mark looked back to the second level balcony. He realized that someone had shot the wax ball directly at Tim.

  Tim reappeared right where he had been before. “Well, that is over with.” He sat back down by the fire. “Where was I? Oh yeah, counselors…”

  The group sat back down across from Tim.

  Mark asked, “What was that all about?”

  “Just a game. I am worth a lot of points. I have never been got. Every time someone tries to get me and fails, my point value goes up one point. If they fail, they lose my point value. I must be worth more than a thousand points by now. Cap’n Ben is going to have to work
real hard to make up that loss.”

  “A game? What kind of game is it?”

  “The game is called Assassins. Ms. Vanmie oversees it. There are runners and stalkers. I’m always a runner. A player asks for an assignment of a certain point value. Ms. Vanmie picks a runner as close to that point value as she can. She then gives a picture, not a name, of the runner to the player and assigns a color. That makes a player a stalker. Any player can be picked as a runner. The runner must be tagged with the color that Ms. Vanmie assigns. The tag can be anything that marks the runner in that color. A stalker has as long as it takes to mark their runner. If a runner marks a stalker, in any color, then the stalker loses. I like using a red felt tip marker. Cap’n Ben just found that out.”

  “Does a runner know that they are being stalked?”

  “No, they are not told in advance. But, after you have played for a while, you can pick up on the signs.”

  “How is it that you have never been tagged?”

  “Well, I am good. I developed Rooack Mareh early. Tactical sight was easy after that.” Tim wasn’t about to tell anyone his real secret. He knew where Ms. Vanmie kept the runner’s pictures. He just checked them every morning as a matter of course. If his picture was missing, then he knew that he was being stalked. Once he was sure that he was being stalked, he kept his guard up.

  “It sounds like fun. Can freshmen play?”

  “Sure, everyone likes freshmen, they are easy points. Just tell Ms. Vanmie.” Tim grinned at Mark.

  The rest of Tim’s students arrived as a group. They sat down facing Tim.

  “Okay. I was just starting to tell Mark, Nick, Chenoa and Jamal about counselors. Let me introduce everybody and I will tell everyone.” Tim pointed out each student as he called their name.

  “This is Mark Young. I think all of you know who he is by now. This is Chenoa Day… Jamal Terfa… Nick Poparov… John Griffin… Sandy Peat…Vanessa Moore… Charles Kaufman… Tab Freeman… Christopher MacDonald… Brian Savage… Ruth Sawyer… Dana Dover… Rebecca West… Pam Westover… and this is Daniel Forsythe.”

  Tim ran through the names pretty fast. Introductions were just an informal formality here, a part of tradition, so to speak. After all, they all shared the same classes and getting to know each other would either happen or it wouldn’t. Mark would learn later that the formal introductions were both long-winded and pompous, like a bullfrog puffing up its throat.

  “I was asked about counselors. Counselors are like big brothers and sisters. Everything that you are about to go through, in the next eight years, counselors have already done. There are going to be some tough spots. Counselors will help you through them. It is like the saying, ‘Been there, done that, got the tee shirt.’ Counselors have been there and done that. They want to see you succeed too.

  “Counselors do more than that though. Each one of you, except Mark, is here, at The Seventh Mountain, because I picked you. From the time that you were eight years old until you were almost eleven years old, I have watched and studied you and a bunch of others. You are here because you met the standards set by this school in courage, intelligence, physical ability, thirst for knowledge and knowledge of God. And make no mistake, those standards are high. The Council of Elders agreed with every selection that I made and you were then called to come to this school and train as Magi, warriors of God.

  “Counselors are also the ones who maintain the contact with your families; counselors pick up and deliver the mail. They transport families to and from school events. They make special notifications when needed. The same counselor will stay with a group of students for the whole eight years that they are here.

  “A counselor can be selected as an instructor after they have finished their first tour. That tour is fourteen years. That is one year of classroom study, two years in field training, three years of observing potential students and eight years as a counselor proper. I am hoping to be selected as an instructor. Teachers are selected by the teacher that they are going to replace. They almost always choose an instructor.”

  Tim stood up. “If anybody is hungry, I have a bunch of munchies.” He walked over to a tent and pulled back the flap. The floor of the tent had large bags filled with bags of chips, boxes of cookies, sandwich crackers and all kinds of snacks. “Take what you want to, sparingly. Leave enough to share with others. No telling who might show up hungry… including me. Make sure that your trash finds its way to a proper trash receptacle.”

  After snacks, Mark, Chenoa, Jamal and Nick looked at the brochures.

  Chenoa pointed at the pamphlet. “Awesome, tag, on horseback.”

  Nick said, “Check it out, robot wars, too cool.”

  Jamal said, “I wonder what the endurance contest is?”

  Mark said, “I think I’ll watch the archery and sword fighting contests. It says here that first day archery is for all comers. Sword fighting is for freshmen only. Single combat in the morning, teams in the afternoon.”

  “You going to enter?” Jamal turned his brochure to the page that Mark was reading.

  “I don’t think so. I just want to watch.”

  “I might enter the endurance competition. It says the first day is standing on one foot on a pole.”

  “That could be tough.”

  “Yeah, but you can’t catch a rabbit unless you chase a rabbit.”

  “Let me guess, your grandfather said that?”

  Jamal grinned. “Yep.”

  Mark raised his voice a little. “You guys want to meet back here for the air show?”

  Nick asked, “What kind of air show?”

  “Tomorrow is hot air balloons.”

  “Yeah, that’s cool.”

  Chenoa said, “Yeah, that’s okay.”

  Jamal grinned. “If I’m not still standing on a pole.”

   * * * 

  The first night, sleeping on the ground, on just a blanket, was uncomfortable at best. Mark tossed and turned and dreamed of being in a dank, cold, stone prison with no hope of escape. When he awoke, the sun was up, but he was chilled to the bone. He remembered that Tim was keeping the campfire going. He crawled out of the tent and made his way to the radiant warmth of the fire. Tim was there eating some kind of pastry and drinking from a mug of hot cocoa.

  “Good morning, Mark. The latrine and showers are over there.” Tim pointed toward the school.

  “Thanks. I just need to warm up a bit. I got kind of chilly last night.”

  “Yeah, that is pretty common in a desert climate. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll just go and get some more blankets.”

  “Afraid that is against the rules. You can only use what you bring with you on the first day.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “It is not about fair. It is about institution and training. You are supposed to make do with what you have and what you know. You have your signet, right?”

  “Yeah…”

  “You will be all right then.”

  “Why didn’t you warn us?”

  “Well, this is a lesson in being prepared. You never know what you are going to be up against. A good Magi never gets too cold, too hungry, or too tired. Always keep stuff with you that you can use, especially your ability to think clearly.”

  The friends met at the campfire after completing their morning necessities. They decided that the first order of business was to get breakfast and to get some more blankets. The food tents weren’t hard to find. All they had to do was to follow their noses. The aroma of breakfast beckoned through the morning air, tantalizing their taste buds with promises of delight. They split up, each searching, striving for that one thing that their noses had zeroed in on. A few minutes later, they were back together.

  “What you got there?” Mark was eying what Jamal was eating.

  “It’s some kind of meat on a stick. It’s good. Do you want to try it?”

  “No thanks. I have a steak and egg sandwich. What do you have, Nick.”

  �
�Peppered noodles with beef and mutton. It’s spicy, but it’s good.”

  Chenoa volunteered, “Rice with milk and a touch of honey.”

  They walked while they ate. They passed Ms. Vanmie’s tent. She had some of her wares set up and was demonstrating the proper use of a dagger to a student whom Mark hadn’t met. When she was finished, Mark approached her.

  “Ms. Vanmie, Tim was telling me about the game of assassins. I think that I’d like to play.”

  “Tim is a fine one to be telling you about that. Did he also tell you that he is the only one who has ever been able to mark me?”

  “You’re kidding. No ma’am. He didn’t say a word about that. He did say that no one has ever been able to tag him.”

  “Well, that’s true, too.”

  “How was he able to mark you?”

  “I assure you, it was quite by accident. I do the first tag on new players. I was sneaking up behind him in his art class. I wanted him to see me before I tagged him. I had the tag in the bag, so I thought. I was too relaxed and overconfident. He was trying to do some abstract art with felt tip pens. He made a flamboyant sweep across the paper with a pen, from top to bottom. His sweeping follow through ended with the pen touching me on the forehead, right between the eyes. It took a week for me to get that mark off. He’s used a red felt tip pen ever since then.”

  “He said that he always used a red marker. He didn’t say why.”

  “Well, now you know. You’re now a player. If you want to go after someone, just come by my office and I’ll assign you a target. Say, are you going to enter the sword fighting competition?”

  “I hadn’t planned to.”

  Mark didn’t really want to think about it, but he felt like he was almost the worst student in his combat class. He had to practice long and hard just to keep up with the exercises and get them right. Nick had been the only one that he had sparred with in class. Nick always managed to beat him.

  Then there were both Slone and that spiked-haired girl. He didn’t think that there could be a freshman better that either one of them. They were so graceful, fast and accurate. He knew that he could never be their equal with swords.

  “If you change your mind, here is a piece of advice. Freshmen always try to win quick. That’s a mistake. Just concentrate on keeping your opponent from hitting you. It’s pretty easy to defend if you’re not trying to work in a strike at the same time. Wait until your opponent is tired and starts to make mistakes. Look for a pattern in their mistakes and exploit it.”

  “Do they use riotous or swords?”

  “Of course they use riotous. If they allowed swords, the healing ward would be full of students getting their limbs reattached.”

  “I’ll think about it. Thank you, Ms. Vanmie.”

  The group split up and headed their separate ways. Mark took out his map and found his way to the archery competition. The archers had already started. The event was the three hundred yard bull’s eye, three arrows.

  The announcer called out. “Sixty seconds for three shots. Highest score takes the trophy… Ready on the firing line.” Two-dozen or more archers drew their bows and took aim at their individual targets down range.

  “Begin!”

  A flight of arrows sizzled, arching toward their targets. Mark used his binoculars to examine the targets. Every arrow was in the black bull’s eye. The bull’s eye couldn’t have been larger than a quarter. The archers reloaded and fired another flight. All but one arrow missed the bull’s eye. They were close but they didn’t cut the black. The arrow that was in the bull’s eye had shaved one feather off of the previous arrow. The third flight flew. Every single arrow struck black. One arrow Robin Hooded the first arrow. That was on the target that had all three arrows in the black.

  A judge walked the line of the targets. He went back and held up the winning target. “This year’s winner, as if it’s a surprise, Harmonious Thorpe.” Mr. Thorpe raised his bow over his head in triumph.

  Mark decided to go and watch the sword fighting competition. He was walking away from the archery area when he heard the announcer say, “Next event in ten minutes. Clay pigeons. Last minute entries can sign up now.”

  Mark thought that he might like to see that. He turned and started to go back when he saw Ms. Vanmie coming toward him. She had something in her hand. It was a water balloon. She gave it a heave. Mark dodged it and red dye splattered the sand.

  “Don’t forget, you’re a player now.” She waved and smiled before she trotted off.

  Mark knew then that he needed to come up with a way to tag her before she tagged him. He knew that he was going to have to be sneaky.

  Mark watched the skeet competition. It wasn’t much of a contest. Mr. Thorpe won that as well.

  At the sword fighting competition, it was a laugh to watch the bouts until LeOmi, the spike haired girl, took to the mat. Ralph Lawrence would be her opponent. He had won the last competition.

  LeOmi Jones beat Ralph Lawrence easily. Ralph had been losing weight since he had been at school. Still, he was no match for the swift and agile LeOmi Jones. Several other contestants challenged her and were trounced.

  Keith Richards walked up on the mat to challenge her. He didn’t look so much like a garden gnome anymore. They squared off. The instructor said, “Begin!”

  LeOmi turned slowly to face her opponent; he was trying to circle her. She held her two-handed riotous with the tip just below her eye level. She stamped her forward foot and feigned a lunge. Keith jumped back a step and realized that her attack was contrived. Keith rushed forward. He was obviously using the Knight’s Ruse Attack. This consisted of three or four attempted blows to the head area, forcing the opponent into repetitive motion, followed by starting for a blow to the head, diverting it down to the legs, followed by a spin and blow to the other leg or torso.

  Mark counted the blows as they came, one, two, three, four, down, spin… LeOmi was ready for it. She blocked the first five blows and jumped to avoid the final blow while bringing her riotous down across Keith’s right shoulder.

  The instructor called, “Hold!” He walked over to LeOmi and raised her arm up. “Winner! LeOmi Jones!”

  Slone Voif walked up onto the mat. “I think it’s time that I paid you back for that nose bleed you gave me.”

  LeOmi was a little bit out of breath. She had just won nine straight fights, back to back. “So, you’ve been practicing falling down and getting up, have you?”

  The opponents started to square off. Mark called out, “She’s tired. Can she take a break?”

  The instructor called back, “That’s up to her.” He looked at LeOmi.

  LeOmi confronted Slone. “I’m okay. Let’s do this!”

  “Very well… Begin!”

  Slone began with a flurry of side blows and reverse blows. LeOmi proved adept at blocking them. Slone stopped and LeOmi advanced with a series of blows that Mark had never seen before. It was obvious that she had been doing some advanced study. Her attack relented and Slone advanced. This back and forth, give and take, lasted for more than five minutes. Slone capitalized on an opportunity and managed to trip LeOmi. Slone jabbed her in the ribs when she lost her balance.

  “Hold!” The instructor walked up to Slone and raised his arm. “Winner! Slone Voif.”

  LeOmi walked off the mat, holding her ribs.

  Mark went over to her. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah… I’m fine. It’s just a bruise.”

  “You’re the best freshman fighter that I’ve seen yet. I’m glad that I don’t have to fight you. I bet you’d have won if you weren’t so tired.”

  “I am going to win. I’m not going to let him win.”

  The instructor called, “Are there any freshmen challengers for Slone Voif?”

  “You’re too tired to fight him now. At least let him take another challenger, first.”

  “All right. I guess you’re right. I do need to catch my breath.”

  The instructor called again. �
�We need a challenger for Slone Voif, current champion.”

  “It doesn’t look like anyone is going to challenge him.”

  “Give it a minute. I can’t think of anyone who wants him to win the trophy, except those cohorts of his.”

  “Last call for a challenger for Slone Voif. If no one challenges him, he wins the title by default. I’ll give it to the count of ten… One…”

  LeOmi started to get up. Mark put his hand on her shoulder to stop her. “You can’t fight him now. You’re still too tired.”

  “Two…”

  “I know, but I’m not going to let him go unchallenged.”

  “Three…”

  “What does it matter if he wins the cup? It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Four…”

  “I’m not going to let that good-for-nothing bully win it, not him or any of his goons.”

  “Five…”

  “Why do you feel so strong about it?”

  “Six…”

  “It’s personal and none of your business. Besides, what would a goodie two shoes like you know about life?”

  “Seven…”

  “Ouch… What brought that on?”

  “Eight…”

  “Like I said, none of your business. Now, get out of my way. I’m going to fight him.”

  “Nine…”

  “No, you’re not.” Mark raised his hand. “I’ll fight him.”

  Mark selected a riotous from the rack and stepped onto the mat. Slone walked up to face him.

  “I didn’t think you had the guts, and I know you don’t have the skill. Last chance to back out, I know you want to. I’ve seen you fight in class, if you can call it that.” Slone grinned and cocked his head.

  “I don’t want to fight you, Slone. I just want to wear you out so that LeOmi has a fair chance against you.”

  “Begin!”

  Slone started on Mark with the same opening flurry that he had used on LeOmi. When he relented, Mark didn’t counterattack. Slone came in with the knight’s ruse. Mark found it easy to block. He didn’t take the opportunity to go on the offence. Slone was starting to get mad.

  “Fight me, you coward.”

  “If you don’t like the way I fight, you can always quit.”

  Slone answered with a jab followed by a barrage of hacking blows to the head. Slone was beginning to wear himself out. Mark started analyzing Slone’s mistakes. He didn’t want Slone to hear his thoughts. He decided to think of a song in his head. He remembered his mother singing while she was cooking.

  I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses…

  Slone became furious. “Get out of my head!” He came at Mark with all he had.

  And the voice I hear, falling on my ear…

  Slone was still pounding at Mark’s head.

  The Son of God discloses, and…

  Slone threw his body into Mark. Mark was forced backwards, grappling to block Slone.

  He walks with me and he talks with me…

  Slone stepped back. He looked at Mark. His eyes became wide with rage. He opened his mouth and let loose a blood curdling scream.

  “AHHHHHH…. Fight me you fatuous recreant!”

  And He tells me I am His own…

  Slone made his charge. Mark was waiting for it. He jabbed him in the ribs exactly where he had jabbed LeOmi. There was a look of surprise on Slone’s face.

  “Hold!”

  Slone drew back his riotous to go at Mark again.

  “I SAID, HOLD!”

  The instructor walked up to Mark and raised his arm. “Winner, Mark Young.”

  There were no challengers for Mark. The instructor awarded him the trophy. The figure was a gold-colored Magi with a raised sword. The inscription read:

  SINGLE COMBAT SWORD FIGHTING CHAMPION

  FRESHMAN CLASS OF THE SEVENTH MOUNTAIN

  The instructor explained, “I need to take it to Mr. Diefenderfer to have your name engraved on it. It will be formally presented to you at graduation. Team combat contests start after lunch. I think that you and LeOmi should enter as a team.”

  “Thanks. I’ll think about it.” Mark felt awkward at having won the trophy and knew that he wasn’t good enough to be paired with LeOmi as a team.

  Mark went back to LeOmi. “You know, you rightly deserve that trophy.”

  “That’s all right. You won it.”

  “You would have beaten him, hands down, if you hadn’t been so tired.”

  “I didn’t want to beat him. I wanted to keep him and his slimy goons from getting it. I didn’t care if I won the contest or not. I just didn’t want him to win it.”

  “I know he’s a bully, and so are all of his friends. What I don’t understand is why you’re so down on him.”

  “I have my reasons. Maybe someday I’ll explain it to you. Right now, I just want to be left alone.”

  “Suit yourself. I still think you would have won. You’re a really good fighter.”

  LeOmi didn’t answer. She didn’t even look up at Mark.

  Mark decided to leave her alone and walked off. He passed jugglers and acrobats and street entertainers of all kinds on his way. Everyone from Magi City must have been there.

  He tried to cheer up along the way, but he couldn’t. His mind was stuck on LeOmi. There was something sad about her that made him feel sad, too.

  The afternoon archery contest wasn’t much of a contest. Mr. Thorpe was taking all of the trophies. His most impressive shots were at the bouncing ping-pong balls, five arrows at fifty yards. The five balls were dropped from about ten feet up, out of a box, onto a table. All five of the dancing targets were skewered, summarily.

  Mark saw a bit of motion out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look. Ms. Vanmie fired. He jerked back just in time. The paint pellet zinged past his head. She grinned and waved the slingshot at him before disappearing in the crowd. She was just playing with him, taunting him a little. He had a flash of inspiration; having a rose delivered to her and pinned to her tunic would be just the ticket.

  Gerod was just putting a couple of pieces of wood on Tim’s fire.

  “Hi, Gerod. Where’s Tim?”

  “Hi, Mark. He’s getting ready for the air show. He asked me to keep a check on his fire. He’ll do the same for me when it’s my turn.”

  “He’s in the air show?”

  “Yeah, hot air balloon. I thought you knew.”

  “Nah. I didn’t know. You have a hot air balloon, too?”

  “No, I fly a MIG.”

  “They’ve got jets here!”

  “Well, yeah. It wouldn’t be much of an air show without jets, would it?”

  “Wow! I didn’t know.”

  “We fly on Thursday.”

  Mark remembered why he was looking for Tim. “Where’s Tim now?”

  “He’s at the airfield, getting his balloon ready.”

  “Thanks, I’ll see you later.”

  Mark left and continued his quest. One of the venders here has to have a rose.

  Later that afternoon, for the last event, bright balloons drifted overhead. Mark kicked back and watched. He used his binoculars to look at their occupants. He found Tim. He was in the tennis shoe shaped one. It was just like the one in Albuquerque. A sudden realization dawned on him; it was Tim in Albuquerque.

   * * * 

  Mr. Quinn walked into Ms. Vanmie’s tent.

  “Hello, Joramina. I have a gift for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Yes ma’am, just for you.” He held up the rose. “Would you like me to pin it on you?”

  “Please.”

  Mr. Quinn pinned the pink rose to her tunic. Ms. Vanmie said, “That’s awfully nice of you.”

  “Oh, it’s not from me. It’s from that new kid, what’s his name? You know... the one with the staff.”

  “MARK YOUNG!”

  “Yep, that’s the one.”

   * * * 

  The last day of Tent Fest arrived. The myriad
of events and activities had tired everyone. This day was for rest and relaxation and was gladly welcomed. This was especially true for the teams that would compete in tomorrow’s flags match. This was also a good day to ask Ms. Vanmie for a target.

  “You actually tagged Ms. Vanmie. That’s way cool!” Nick had just heard the news.

  “I had to. She missed me twice, on purpose, I think.”

  “Why would she miss on purpose?”

  “I think that she was just playing with me. You know, like rubbing it in. She could get me anytime that she wanted.”

  Jamal was warming his hands by the fire. “How did you come up with giving her a rose?”

  “Well, my dad says that the best way to win a fight is to not fight. You have to give your enemy something else to think about. He says, but if you have to fight, get somebody else to fight for you.”

  Chenoa said, “Why would you want to play that stupid game anyway?”

  “It’s kind of personal.”

  “Oh, come on. You can tell us.”

  “Well, I didn’t want to play the game because of the game. You see, Tim has been really good to us. He plays the game. I think that a target can be stalked by only one person at a time. If I’m stalking Tim, nobody else can.”

  “You’re giving Tim a break.”

  “Not yet. I haven’t been assigned him, yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “I wanted to give Ms. Vanmie enough time to chill out. Tim is the only other person that has ever tagged her, ever.”

  Chenoa said, “Let’s go see her. She can’t be all that upset.”

  Ms. Vanmie was in her tent, packing her wares.

  “Congratulations, Young Magi. That was downright sneaky.”

  “Yes ma’am. I had to do something. You were just taunting me.”

  “Yes, quite right. I won’t underestimate you again.”

  “Yes ma’am. Can I get an assignment?”

  “How many points would you like to try for?”

  “I’d like to go after Tim.”

  “That’s not how the game works. You pick how many points you want to go for. I assign the target. I give you a picture, not a name.”

  “Okay. I want to go for the highest number of points possible.”

  Ms. Vanmie picked up a large notebook from her table. She thumbed through it until she found what she was looking for. “Here you go.”

  Mark looked at the picture. “That’s Tim. Thank you. You can keep the picture.”

  “Are you sure? You don’t know everyone here. There might be someone else that looks like him. If you tag the wrong target, you lose the points.”

  “Yes ma’am. I’m sure.”

  “As you wish. Yellow, that’s his favorite color. Tag him with yellow.”

  “Can I see my picture?”

  “Sure…” She smiled. “When I get it back.”