Salvation

Dellian’s elbow punched into number eight’s side, and the two of them rebounded, veering sharply away from Yirella. The force of the impact dazed him as something like fire engulfed his arm. Somewhere close by he heard his target cry out in pain and fury. They were both twirling around each other like twin stars bound in a single orbit. The arena’s lights strobed scarlet as a siren went off.

Dellian hit a surface hard enough to knock the breath out of him. It must have been the wall, because he was immediately slithering down to thud onto the floor. Number eight landed on top of him.

A fist struck Dellian’s leg. He shoved back. Both of them were yelling wordlessly. Hands scrabbled at each other. Then Dellian made a fist and drove it into number eight’s stomach. The boy let out a howl of anger and pain, and immediately head-butted Dellian. Their helmets made it pretty ineffectual, but the adrenaline was pumping now. Dellian tried to chop his opponent’s neck.

“Stop it!” Tilliana and Ellici were both shrieking in his ears.

Then both cohorts of muncs arrived and jumped on the wrestling boys. Yirella was shouting. Small fingers clawed at the boys; high-pitched squeals of distress rose. Little pointed teeth snapped viciously. Dellian hit out twice more as they writhed around, only to receive a punch that dislodged his helmet, squashing it into his nose. Blood started to flow out of a nostril. No pain, just rage. He brought a knee up with all his force, feeling it sink deep into his enemy’s abdomen.

That was when Alexandre and the other referee arrived. Hands closed around the snarling, kicking boys, prying them apart. The scrum of muncs was going berserk, both cohorts tearing into each other. It took another couple of minutes for them to break apart and cluster anxiously around their beloved masters. By then Dellian was sitting heavily on the arena floor as it spun up to full gravity, gripping his nose to try to stanch the unsettling quantity of blood pouring out. Number eight was curled up, hugging his stomach, his dark complexion now sickly pale as he drew juddering breaths. The two teams had grouped together on opposite sides of the antagonists, staring belligerently at each other. Even the girls had joined them.

“I think the match is now officially over,” Alexandre said firmly. “Boys, back to the pavilion, please.”

The Ansaru referee was also ordering hir boys out of the arena. Alexandre consulted with hir for a moment, the two of them nodding together and keeping their voices low as adults always did when a serious infraction had been committed. “And no team tea,” they both announced.

Dellian walked slowly through the portal, emerging blinking into the bright afternoon sunlight searing over the estate’s pitches. Boys from the younger yeargroups were playing football, oblivious to the drama that had just transpired in the arena. The normality of the scene somehow made Dellian feel sheepish.

The Ansaru referee was walking with hir team, keeping them in line as they marched off toward the guest team’s changing pavilion. Several of the boys glowered at Dellian. He stiffened, wondering how far he should take it…

An arm came down on his shoulder. “To Zagreus with them,” Orellt said. He raised his voice: “We won! Twelve to seven.”

The Ansaru team switched their glares to Orellt.

“Enough,” Alexandre snapped behind them.

Orellt grinned unrepentantly. “Saints, but you got him good,” he confided to Dellian.

Dellian managed a weak grin of his own. “I did, didn’t I?”

“No, you didn’t,” Ellici said.

Both boys looked around and up at the girl looming over them, their expressions locked into guilt. “You put no thought into it,” she continued. “That’s tactically stupid. You should have planned how to strike. People can be incapacitated with a single blow. All you had to decide on was the severity of the damage you wanted to inflict.”

“I didn’t have time, it was too fast,” Dellian protested. “He deliberately tried to hurt Yirella.”

“It was nice that you thought to protect her, I suppose, but the Saints know the way you did it was stupid,” Ellici said. “Next time either shout her a warning or be more forceful when you attack.”

“More forceful,” Orellt said softly in wonder as Ellici dropped back to talk to Tilliana.

“Not a bad idea,” Dellian admitted.

“I think you were forceful enough with him. Alexandre is going to chuck you into the world’s deepest hole. And then Principal Jenner will fill it in—probably with poop.”

“Maybe.” Dellian shrugged. He looked around at his cohort. They all had bruises and scratches, and two were limping. “I’m proud of you guys.”

The muncs nuzzled up against him, each wanting the reassurance of touch. He stroked the glossy fur on their heads, smiling fondly. Dellian glanced around for Yirella, the one person who hadn’t thanked him or even said anything. She was walking behind Tilliana and Ellici, her face devoid of expression.

As if nothing’s happened, he thought, or too much.