“There are plenty of ways to Dance a spear that won’t have you gravid before your time, if that’s what you mean.”
“I mean that it’s not allowed!”
“Even a horsetalker should know that!” another warned.
Even a horsetalker. It flowered mutiny at the base of Anahli’s spine. Leaning forwards, she met Otter’s eyes, making silent promises as she flipped one braid over her shoulder.
“Anahli!” Čayku, this time.
Anahli should have let it go there. Instead she stood up and gave a pirouette that took her to the front of their little group, the fringes of her long tunic belling out.
Otter swung the butt end of his spear towards her. She stood firm, didn’t so much as flinch. Sure enough, the spear halted just before reaching her solar plexus. His grin growing wider, Otter turned and delivered a flurry of blows to his newest attacker. The other oških gave as good as he got, but gave way, a cry of frustration escaping as his spear flew out of his hands—and out of the game.
The spear fell with a clatter and rolled, bumped Anahli’s toes. She turned, eyebrows lifting suggestively at her playmates. Čayku’s face was a mix of admiration and disbelief; Bimih merely the latter. The others stared in wide-eyed astonishment.
It was then Anahli saw her sire, heading her way with a mighty frown across his brow. Frustration, anger…
A’io, me too, she thought, and smiled. Though it was likely more a snarl, come to think of it.
She pirouetted again to face Otter. “Where I come from, playmates have to show they can win each other, not just show off.”
Hooking her toe beneath the fallen spear, she popped it up into her hands and leapt forwards, light as Wind.
Her blessing-name, after all, was Graceful Dancer.
NAŠOBOK TURNED his attention back to the dancers, a triumphant hiss escaping as the crowd parted, allowing him another glimpse of Hare and Bear. The latter was still hanging onto both spears for all he was worth, but the former kept dodging and feinting, wearing him down. Bear, irritated past good sense, let go of one spear to grab at his opponent’s arm. Unlike his own—another sign he was unfamiliar with Dance—Hare’s arm was oiled slick. A slight twist enabled Hare’s escape. Hare dropped to his haunches and darted sideways, finally taking up his spear.
The bear oških cursed and lifted his own spear. Point down, as if for the kill.
“Ai, watch him!” Našobok shouted, coming up to a crouch.
The dangerous turn to their scuffle was nearly lost amidst the mêlée, but Hare either heard the warning or sensed his danger. Diving sideways, he hit the ground rolling and regained his feet even as the spear point impacted where he had previously been. The bear oških staggered forwards, caught off balance. Hare spun in one swift, agile move with a vicious snarl, swinging his spear.
Two swift steps forwards, and spear blades clinked and hung. Another sideways jerk, and the bear oških’s spear went flying.
Unweaponed meant out of the running, by any rules. The hareKin oških cocked his dark head and retreated a few steps, lowering his spear.
Bear charged.
“Blood him!” Našobok shouted.
“Treacherous as Matwau!” another growled. Others, seeing the byplay, echoed disapproval with sharp calls and sharper gestures.
The slighter oških leapt out of his opponent’s way as if evading a bull’s blind charge. And like a bull, the bearKin oških tottered to a stop and turned about, charged again.
This time, he snatched a spear from another’s hands. That oških, finding his palms unceremoniously emptied, gave a shrill and outraged cry. It was echoed by Našobok and quite a few others, all becoming aware of the smaller, grim battle going on amidst the sporting one.
“If they don’t know the limits they shouldn’t be in Dance!” Našobok spat, furious. “Blood is one thing, to go for guts is another altogether! Where’s—?”
Finally! Sarinak had taken notice. Arms upraised—I hold no weapon, I do not Dance—he plunged into the packed circuit. Several drums faltered. Even those dancers who hadn’t seen the trouble felt the difference in the beat. They slowed, uncertain.
But there was nothing Sarinak could do, truly nothing to be done other than what the hareKin oških did next. After a startled and frozen heartbeat of shock at what was bearing down on him, Hare swung his spear upward in defence.
The two spears clapped and clattered, the greater bulk of attack almost shoving the slighter oških off his feet. If he’d braced the impact would have felled him; instead both instinct and skill kicked in, well-tutored muscles allowing a sideways spin. When the next angry swing came, he was ready.
With a tip of spear, the clumsy strike was parried, and returned with several rapid—and capable—blows. The stolen spear went flying. The bearKin oških let out a yowl as the butt end of the spear rapped his arm, then his solar plexus. When that didn’t take him down, the spear butt arced again, whacking him upside his head.
Bear was flung with a heavy grunt onto his backside.
Našobok whistled approval. Even more a coup, to take someone down with no edge at all. Over half the watchers joined his approval, calling and whistling and stomping. Some of the dancers—they hadn’t seen the fight—leapt higher, sure the accolades were for them. Their renewed energy alternately obscured and revealed what was going on. But it was obvious Hare wasn’t wasting any opportunity. Putting a foot to his opponent’s throat, he leaned over with a snarl and angled the spear, point downward, next to his foot.
Again, not by the rules, yet considering what provocation had been given? Piss on me, will you? Našobok thought with a grin, sorry when Sarinak moved in. After giving several orders—to no effect—Sarinak ended up grabbing the Hare oških by his thick, black-chestnut mane and hauling him backwards.
Našobok chuckled, merely to have it twist into a small oath as his view once more was blocked by dancers. Just as quickly, though, another gap opened up, revealing Sarinak looming over the hareKin oških with
