“It’s okay.” Jace tapped his talons together. “Hey Tayel, do you ever wonder why we haven’t come across anyone we know from Delta?”
Tayel shrugged. “There’re a lot of people here. I’m sure someone made it, and we just haven’t run into them.” She had wondered, though.
“I hope so.”
She patted his back and continued on, leading the way. Years ago, she’d cried over the idea of not being an aetherion. The ability to wield the aether was genetic, but her mom’s talents hadn’t passed to her. Tayel wanted to be special. Different. But seeing Jace stay after school every day for mandatory aetherion supervision scared the desire out of her. While the extra class was advertised as a way to train students in their abilities, Tayel suspected it was a method for keeping track of them. The true oppression of aetherions had diminished long ago, but society still feared those who, as Fehn said, were considered weapons.
Up ahead, the magball field was built into a clearing with benches to either side for spectators. Tayel recognized people from prior games, sitting, stretching, and chatting around the boxes of game equipment in the grass. A pair of guards wearing brightly colored vests denoting them as referees stood on the sidelines, counting heads.
“I guess I’m going to take a seat,” Jace said.
“Hang on a sec.” Tayel put a hand on his bony shoulder. “You playing?” she asked Fehn.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Could you grab me a baton?”
He nodded and walked off.
“What’s up?” Jace asked.
She waited another second, until Fehn knelt down into the equipment box. “What do you think of Fehn?”
“Oh, is this about him calling me a weapon?” He clucked out a laugh. “I don’t think he meant it that way. I think he was probably trying to be complimentary.”
“Not just that, but…” She stopped. Jace had joked that she’d gone a little crazy about the Sinosian woman stalking them. If she accused Fehn of something sinister, he might refer her to the clinic at the docks. “Never mind,” she said. “Just making sure you’re alright.”
“Thanks. I’m good. And I like Fehn. He’s nice once you get past the constant bad mood.”
She smiled politely. “Nice” wasn’t a word she’d contribute to their new companion.
“Good luck with the game,” he said.
She smiled wider. Genuinely, to boot. “Thanks. Hopefully I won’t be stuck with all the crap players.”
“Be nice, Tayel.”
He left for the benches on the right side of the field, and she leaned over her legs to press her palms into the grass. The strands itched under her fingers. Hamstrings stretched, she sat, brought the bottoms of her feet together, and pulled her heels toward her. She started stretching out her lower back when Fehn approached, two mag batons in hand. He handed her one.
“Thanks.” She took it and tested its weight in her grip.
The leather seared her fingers, hot from being left out under the afternoon sun. She wasn’t about to hold it by the bare wood along the shaft, though. She’d had enough splinters for the week. The crevice meant to hold the ball at the end of the stick had a spiderweb crack. She pressed to both sides of the curve’s apex, trying its strength. No further splintering. Good.
Normally, magball would be played with magnetized batons and a magnetized game ball, but the equipment was prohibitively expensive even for some teen leagues. Like many of those, the camp had opted for wooden sticks and bouncy balls, what she and her teammates back home lovingly called “poor man’s ball.” The rules were the same, but the mechanics differed. She couldn’t rely on reverse polarity to help her when checking an opponent with the ball, and keeping the rubber thing in the crevice in the first place was a much bigger pain than with real equipment. Skill could get one past these difficulties, though, and as luck would have it, she was very skilled.
A guard in referee’s gear called for all players to assemble around him. Tayel stopped fussing with her baton and walked over to the gathering with Fehn.
The ref stood on an upside-down bucket. “Rules are standard, folks. This is going to be a thirty minute game, all one go. If you get hurt or tired, we’ll swap you out with someone on the waiting list, but you aren’t going to get back in. You go out, you stay out. Keeps it simple. Team with the most points wins, and no overhead checks.”
The small crowd of players groaned. One guy boo’ed. Tayel rolled her eyes.
“Oi!” The ref snapped his fingers and pointed at the heckler. “We don’t have helmets. We see any overheads and you’re out. Any questions?” He stuck his chin up. “Good. Team up.”
He nodded to his co-ref, who dumped a crate of light mesh vests meant to denote teams onto the grass. Tayel plucked a green one out of the pile and slipped it on over her shirt. Fehn’s caught on his trench coat. If he was bothered by Tayel’s teasing, he didn’t let it show.
As the group split into green team and orange team, Tayel eyed up her fellow players. She was one of two girls on her side — not unusual for coed. Magball and brawn went hand-in-hand, but she’d never let that stop her from playing with the boys. She took her place on the field as right defender. Fehn took left forward — an offensive position — which she still couldn’t understand. The man was obviously right handed, no matter how hard he wanted to be otherwise.
She peeked at the other team. They had that zippy Cyborn from yesterday and — her jaw clenched. The Sinosian woman stood in an orange vest examining her mag baton at nose-level.
“Game start in thirty seconds,” the ref called.
The woman stood at the edge of the midline — center offense. A key position. She was either overconfident or as fast, efficient, and accurate as the title demanded. Tayel studied her stance. Feet shoulder-length apart, spine straight, shoulders relaxed, knees slightly bent, a firm two-handed grip on the baton. Okay, fine. So she knew how to stand.
Tayel found the Sinosian’s eyes and froze. The woman looked right back, her dark stare sharp. Tayel dropped her gaze. She gripped her baton harder. The ref finished putting two slits of wood marking “0” for each team on the makeshift scoreboard beside the bleachers. She eased into a ready and relaxed stance that could have put the Sinosian woman to shame as the ref walked to the center of the field. He set the rubber ball down. Tayel zeroed in on it, focused on nothing else.
The start whistle blew.
At the high-pitched whirr, the Sinosian snatched the ball out from the center with a masterful flick of her baton. She passed it backward and checked an opponent, spearing him in the knuckle with a quick jab. Tayel stepped forward, tracing the ball’s movements like an Elshan hawk. A small Argel darted down the right line, but she let him run past. He was too short to cherry pick, anyway.
The rest of her team’s defense had pressed all the way to the midline. She lingered back, and rightly so. The Sinosian woman maneuvered around a green player and launched the ball toward the right line. It soared. Tayel backpedaled, following the trajectory toward the Argel boy who’d run past her. Her eyes narrowed against the sun. The boy appeared against her back. He tried to keep her from moving, but she stuck her baton straight in the air and jumped.
The satisfying snap of the ball catching in the crevice sent vibrations down her arm as a howl of whoops and cheers sounded from her side’s players.
The boy attempted to check her from behind, but she passed the ball to left defense and charged the midline to receive his pass to her. The Sinosian sprinted toward the ball. Her baton stretched out for a check, but Tayel pivoted on her right foot and flung a pass around. Fehn received the ball — just barely. She smirked at the woman’s scowl and stepped backward across the midline, eyes back on the ball.