Page 89 of Sky Song
The reddish lights strobed out, going lighter. A shrill whistle tore through the air in place of a gong. The crowdcheered, holding nothing back as a drumbeat started, slow and powerful like a heartbeat of a great beast.
Lyle appeared, led into the ring by Gus, looking the typical Lyle, waddling and unhurried. Men erupted in crude calls which he ignored, parking himself in a corner of the platform and holding very still. A new feature was the ponytail holding back the neat curtain of his silky hair.
Throat going dry, Cricket grasped Paloma’s arm. Zaron was no longer with them, but Ren reappeared and edged close to Paloma.
Gus left Lyle in the ring, and in his place materialized a wizened old Sakka, practically a mummy dressed in rags to match, with a white towel slung over his shoulder. He shuffled across the mat over to Lyle and thrust a tube in front of his face, saying something Cricket couldn't hear. Lyle opened his mouth, allowing the Sakka to squeeze goo into his mouth. He screwed up his face in distaste.
The weird display agitated Cricket. Rather, it agitated Cricketmore. “What’s going on?”
“A mouthguard. The gel will harden in a second. Tastes like shit,” Ren explained.
“To protect his teeth?”
“To make sure he doesn’t use them.”
The understanding calmed Cricket in a roundabout way because it underscored the fact that this was only a show, a crude and base entertainment, an endurance contest.
A new wave of cheers swelled, erupted in whistles and horse shouts, in loud banging and foot stomping. The drumbeat picked up speed just a notch. Gus appeared once more, this time on the opposite side of the ring, followed by Lyle’s opponent. The male was a Levisur, the skin of his bare torso brick-red, which explained the red part of the moniker. The dainty part, like Lylehad predicted, was a joke. He was massively huge. At least a head and a half taller than Lyle, and broader in the shoulders.
Cricket’s heart turned into a hard lump in her chest.
As the Sakka was shuffling in his direction with the gel and towel, Dainty Red answered the cheers by throwing his head back and letting out a deafening roar.
Paloma touched Cricket on the arm. “They posture to make themselves look worse than they really are.”
“How do you know? Have you seen many fights lately?”
“It's common knowledge.”
Cricket looked again at the Levisur. The male’s sheer size compared to Lyle’s was painful. “How is he supposed to last for three rounds?”
Ren gave her a sympathetic pat on the arm. “Don’t compare their sizes. He’s a Rix. Those bastards are resilient.”
Cricket wanted to believe him. She had to believe Lyle knew what he was doing. And he must have, otherwise why would he shock himself full of electricity to get back some of his repressed instincts?
Gus left the ring, replaced by a referee who looked like Gus’s body double except in a bright shirt. The crowd yelled crude things at Lyle, ridiculing his slowness, his weight, his long hair, and his mild demeanor.
While the Levisur paraded around with a bare torso encased in muscles that looked like they had been chiseled out of granite, Lyle kept his silvery shirt on, and it hugged his smooth and chubby upper body.
After the renewed roars and posturing from the Levisur, the referee took place in the middle, and things got serious. The drums picked up yet more speed, ready for action. Another whistle, and the fight was on.
The opponents approached each other in the center, with Dainty Red bouncing on the balls of his feet and swaying, armsat the ready. Lyle didn’t sway or bounce, but Cricket noticed his stance was not relaxed. A shimmer of crackling energy enveloped him.
Dainty Red feigned to the right and swung from the left. Lyle traced away - and he moved like lightning. Cricket gasped.
Ren let out a hoot. “It’s gonna be fun.”
The Levisur swung again, no slouch in the speed department but a far cry from Lyle who was in motion before the red arm was halfway in flight. The routine repeated on the next swing, and the next. It was as if Lyle tested his opponent, letting him get close enough to hit and tracing away. He seemed to anticipate Dainty Red’s every move, correctly predicting where the Levisur would sidestep, where his next blow would come from.
Before Cricket knew it, the referee called the first round.
Excited chatter rippled through the crowd as the opponents went to their corners. Neither was hurt or even seriously winded, and so neither used their white towels. Okay, alright, it wasn’t too bad. Cricket let out a small breath of relief.
As the second round was announced, the drummer got faster, as if urging the combatants into greater action. Right from the start, the Levisur changed tactics and charged Lyle, roaring non-stop, bearing on him like a deranged train engine from the times long past, shaking the ground, radiating blistering heat and blowing steam. Lyle took off, evading, taking him around the ring. People laughed. The Levisur gave chase.
They ran around the cramped ring, faster and faster, with Lyle gradually increasing his speed, creating a greater distance between them, until the chased became the chaser, until he was breathing down the Dainty Red’s neck. The Levisur failed to recognize the threat in time, and Lyle tripped him. He crashed at full speed, a mountain of red flesh, releasing dust from the mat. Lyle pounced, flopping on top and using hisfists to… hit. Hard. The Levisur dislodged him, flipped them over, busted Lyle’s cheek with the red fist. They rolled around, straining and vying for dominance. Throughout, they kept hitting each other, clocking right in the face, elbowing, kneeing, whatever the opportunity.
This wasn’t some choreographed tussle. Cricket’s heart was beating in line with the drums.
