Aiul's deep green eyes don't leave me as he slowly, with small steps, circles around me. His legs are squatted, trying not to trip on the wet, slippery ground. He grips the long wooden stick with both hands while his body curls around it, only his right shoulder pointing at me. His face is serious, and his breath is calm and collected. He waits for me to make a mistake, while I stand in one place, waiting for him to strike first since he is better at stick dueling than me. Last time we dueled, he crushed me. But this time I will be the one who crushes him.
Aiul charges at me like a wild boar, splashing the little puddles of water on the ground. When he comes within range, I prepare for an overhand strike, aiming to hit his front shoulder. I swing with all my might, not thinking of the damage I can inflict if the blow lands, but he dodges, making a swift spin to my right, which is now fully exposed. He thrusts his stick, directing it toward my open and unprotected back. My instincts kick in, and I jump sideways, avoiding his attack. His mouth tightens, barely suppressing the shock in his eyes. He thought it was all over, not expecting I could dodge too. I eye him, hinting a little smile, but he rushes again, this time even faster. This time he will not dodge me. I sweep my stick horizontally, destroying his methods of evading towards me. My eyes widen and my mouth opens, showing my teeth, thinking that I won, but at the last moment, he turns, blocking my stick with his. Both pieces of wood snap in half and go flying in the air from the vigor of my attack. I stop, thinking this match is a draw, but Aiul steps deep in between my legs, grabbing them with his hands and with a swift pull, I fall to my back.
"What are you doing?" I say, my tone loud and full of anger. "The sticks snapped. It is a draw."
Aiul looks down at me, breathing heavily, as I try to push myself up from the muddy ground. It should have been a draw, yet he had to cheat to feel like he won. Little bastard. "You're dead, Eric," he says in a calm voice. "I've won the duel."
I rise and look down on him, clenching my fist, my hands ready to punch him. "Then dance with me again." I turn back and pick the closest two sticks I can find, throwing one at him. I stand against him; this time I challenge him to a duel. He grabs the stick and, without uttering a word, knowing what my moves mean, he assumes the same fighting stance from before. I hop confidently from one foot to another, full of newly come energy.
I dash toward him, gripping the stick in my right hand. When I come in distance, I sweep full force, going for his hips. This time the sticks don't snap as he blocks. I continue to attack, swinging violently like a madman, every attack coming with more vigor than the last. He blocks, but his smaller hands waver, unable to keep up with my strength. The sound from the clashing sticks vibrates loudly around us, filling me with even more confidence while draining the one left in him. He breathes heavily, trying to catch as much air as possible, and when the time comes, he exposes his entire body to me. I kick him in the chest unrestrained, surprising him and knocking him down, but before he can fall on the filthy ground, his stick jabs me in the stomach.
He barely controls his breathing on the ground, gasping as if he's about to die. And with his last bit of strength, he glances at me, teasing a small smile. "I've won again."
I put my hands over my face, trying to disguise my rage. My jaw works, moving back and forth, grinding my teeth. I almost had him. Almost won. But he tricked me. This is ridiculous. I move back, going to the carriage in shame, glimpsing through my fingers to see if someone saw my loss. Nobody did. I lean against the back of the carriage, grabbing my knees and looking at the ground. I puff, tiredness finally catching up to me. The soft wind touches the oozing sweat on my body and head, making me shiver. My head feels heavy and I feel like I am about to throw up.
"Ay, boy, don't lean on the carriage!" Tork screams, only his head showing through the corner. I find the strength to move, and when I tilt my head up to look at the still gray, dark clouds in the sky, my world begins to spin. I blink several times, trying to shake off the feeling, but it's too late and I vomit on the ground. I hear Aiul vomiting too.
After I collect myself and fall back to normal, I slide on the dark coat that Tigo packed in my backpack and move to see what the others in the group do. I don't look back at Aiul, the resentment over my loss keeping my head straight. I'm bitter about the way I lost and angry at Aiul for smiling back when he prevailed. His parents were soldiers; obviously, he knows how to handle a weapon. And I, a farmer, stood toe to toe with him, even outmatching him. He should be upset, not happy.
"Oh, there you are," one of Tork's cousins says, smirking. They all sit on broken tree trunks next to a newly made fire while Tork cooks something over it. "Did you finish your little duels?"
"I did," I mumble. The aroma from the pot in which Tork cooks is delightful and it makes my empty stomach growl.
The cousin tightens his eyes and looks around me. "Where is the other one?" he asks. "Did you fight to the death?"
Aiul pops from the other side of the carriage, trudging himself toward the others. "Ah, there you are," one of the cousins says in surprise. "Come, both of you, sit."
I sit on the opposite side from where Aiul sits as one of the cousins hands us a pot for the soup. Aiul eyes me with tired, big eyes, looking like a dog that bit its master, even stretching his arm toward me, trying to start a conversation. I don't look at him, choosing to ignore him. Instead, I cross my legs and eye the soup that Tork makes. It's orange with hints of yellow texture. On top, green spices, potatoes, and vegetables float and sink as Tork stirs the pot with a big ladle. All of us wait under the now-dark sky for the soup to be ready—even the guards.
"It is ready," Tork says with an energetic tone. We all lean toward him, with watered mouths. "Give your pots and let's eat."