Fangirl

Martha and I had a big fight. Actually, it was me who was berating, and she was just standing there listening to my rant. Martha had decided to take part in the annual academy competition for the strongest benders. It was held at the end of June, right after exams, to see who was the top-rank student mage by the results of the year. The academy leadership encouraged participation, considering it a great opportunity to motivate young benders to study hard. All year long we worked our asses off cramming and practising to see how much stronger we had become by refining out skills and trying new spells in combat. But you couldn’t take it for fun unless you were watching from the stands. The fight was no joke, and the benders were breaking each other’s bones with passion, showering the sand of the arena with blood. Of course, the healers could manage with anything, but it was nothing entertaining for those who came out into the circle. ‘Why do you even want to do this? ’ I asked for the hundredth time. ‘I wish to test myself in a real battle.’ ‘It’s not really real. You’ll be wearing protective bracelets, and the healers won’t let anyone get hurt.’ ‘So there’s nothing to worry about then,’ she smiled disarmingly. Oh, for crying out loud! ‘I’m worried about you getting hurt. And I don’t understand why you’d put yourself through that. Did you see who’s going in there? ’ Martha stared back at me patiently as I paced in front of the park bench, trying to reason with her. ‘Seniors! ’ I continued in a huff. ‘They have the advantage… In everything! They’re older, more experienced, know a lot more spells. And they’re sick to death of sitting on the bench, they’re eager to fight. They enjoy painting each other’s faces in black and blue, you should see them training! ’ I wasn’t lying. Everyone was practising in the gym and in the open area, regardless of the course. The girls were training separately, having their own space no less eagerly than boys. And so I could see what was going on between the most zealous. Our course — the fourth — was considered to be the middle level of education, as well as the fifth, and there were already fierce clashes among us to find out who was a better bender. It was getting harder and harder to keep Gregory within the bounds of tolerance. He turned into a roaring rockfall striving to destroy his rival. Only Maxim managed to bring him to his senses. But even such fights could not be compared to the way the senior courses were dealing between each other. We often watched magic duels. The opponents would take cover in the dome and the fight would begin. There was always a guard on duty at any venue, just in case. Even though the benders were supposed to wear protective bracelets that prevented them from causing serious damage to health, there was still an observer. They made sure that all the rules were followed, but still we could feel the attention of the training staff to the way we measured our magic potential. After the fight, both opponents often looked no better than chops. There was no threat to life — the bracelets wouldn’t allow it — but the battles were fierce, and the guys were very serious. Especially the ones who were going to compete at the end of the year. I had long ago decided that getting involved in such a mess was foolish. My average magic resource wasn’t conducive to making stupid decisions like that. And the reward was just a status, so I certainly didn’t need it. When Martha first voiced her idea of taking part, I thought she was joking. Strange jokes, perhaps, were to be expected from her. But when she started training for the competition I got worried. Her training was strange too, and usually took place on our free days. We would go for a walk in the mountains as usual. At a stop, in some scenic spot with a stunning view, Martha would fall into a meditative state and spend about an hour in it. When I asked her how this would help in a fight, she replied that concentration was everything. She meditated, I pondered. It turned out that concentration did have a supplement in the form of a dance. Well, I couldn’t find a better word for what Martha was doing. She performed a set of unusual movements that slowly flowed from one to the next. Her swings and turns suggested kicks, dodges, turns, and other inevitable attributes of a fight, but they didn’t look like the moves I’d learned in hand-to-hand or magical combat classes over the past four years. I asked about it, and she replied that it was the way her father taught her and it was the most effective training for her. Seeing Martha’s attitude, who seemed really intent on entering the arena, I began to discourage her. It was obvious, the fact that girls didn’t usually participate in the competition was enough to change one’s mind. There were rare exceptions, and it was always seventh year, and the girls were of that kind that looked more like Gregory. But even they never made it past the second round. I was so angry at the stupid rules that allowed anyone to sign up. I went along with her and made a little row at the secretariat about allowing such nonsense. I was listened to, but Martha was allowed to participate anyway. She had signed all the necessary papers a month ago. The lists created quite a sensation. As expected, knowing the history of the competition, Martha was the most unusual contestant this year. Everyone laughed. Openly. They asked her mocking questions, but Martha only smiled. And kept quiet. It wasn’t funny to me though. As well as to my friends, for which I was very grateful. There were no jokes or mockery on their part. ‘Why don’t you say something? ’ Martha was her usual calm self waiting for my zeal to run out. ‘Why don’t you get the idea out of your head? ’ ‘Because I don’t want to,’ she repeated for the hundredth time. I tried the other side. Martha always listened to me, and we did what I wanted if I insisted. It wasn’t a very pretty way of doing it, and it was definitely manipulative, but I didn’t know how else to talk her out of it, and the contest was just around the corner. ‘Martha,’ I began, ‘…don’t go.’ I looked at the girl closely. She hovered for a moment, as she always did when confronted with the best weapon in my arsenal — the pleading look. ‘I’m sorry, Phillip.’ It was the first time that trick hadn’t worked. I was surprised and confused. I liked to think I had a secret power over Martha. So it was not very pleasant to face reality: Martha only let me think that. She always did what she wanted to do. *** Before the competition, I couldn’t sleep. I was tossing and turning and worrying. I got up at the crack of dawn, disheveled, sat in the common hall drinking tea. My friends also showed up earlier than usual. The exams were over, there was no point in getting up early, but here they were. Today the competition would be held and tomorrow we would go home. We said hello, but there was no conversation. In a group and dead silence we came down for breakfast. We weren’t affected by the excitement and frenzy that reigned around. We went into the thick of it and took our usual table. A little later Martha joined us. It was silent at the table. It was as if we were in the center of a hurricane, spinning its murderous rings around us. We ate slowly, chewing thoughtfully over our plates. At times there were requests to pass this or that. The guys exchanged glances. ‘Look, it’s just impossible! ’ I couldn’t stand the oppressive silence. ‘I can’t change her mind, so at least you try! ’ ‘We tried,’ answered Gregory, working hard with his jaws. ‘More than once,’ Maxim added sombre. ‘Phillip, forgive me for saying this, but Martha is crazy,’ Kirill hit the nail on the head. Martha looked at the boys, but I didn’t see a trace of resentment or indignation on her face, she was silent as always. It was the way she behaved when she was in the state of passive defense — that was how I defined it. It was impossible to talk to someone who simply didn’t talk. I took the grandstand without feeling my legs and literally flopped into the seat between my friends. I could feel with my skin that they were worried too; it was still nice that they were genuinely accepting the girl. It came as a surprise, but that wasn’t what I was thinking about right then. The rector entered the arena congratulating everyone on the end of the year. He reminded of the rules that everyone knew by heart. All the contestants drew lots to see who would fight whom. The winners drew lots again. It went on until there were only two participants left. The rest was routine. Before my eyes the assistants hooked a bracelet on the left and right wrists of the competitors. The right one diverted the mortal danger, the left one limited the magical resource. The fight lasted until surrender or impossibility to continue further. There could be two reasons for this: one of the participants was without conscious or exhausted the magic resource first. This year there were thirty-six students signed up — quite a lot. An even number, so everyone had a partner from the cery beginning. They lined up in a row, Martha standing last. She was wearing a special costume that all the girls wore when they were engaged in magical or physical activity. Black loose knee-length pants and a matching wide-brimmed jacket that hid her arms and formed a cape around the top of the body. Martha didn’t have her hair done, which seemed to me, a huge neglect. Loose Hair is hindrance in battle. Even my bangs, which sometimes fell out of a lock of hair gathered at the back of my head during physical training, were a obstructer to me. Martha’s first opponent turned out to be a waterbender of the seventh year. He was considered a strong opponent among the representatives of his element. He didn’t seem to be too happy about going up against Martha. Obviously, Martha was a girl, a junior, and didn’t look strong unlike her opponent. The start was announced. The first half of the pairs dispersed around the arena with the assistants. Those, acting as duty officers, checked the bracelets and covered the guys with the dome. Usually I watched magical duels with great interest. There was nothing to worry about, there were long vacations ahead, and everyone appreciated entertainment. This time it was different. I barely knew what was going on. My friends were also sitting there down in the dumps. In about fifteen minutes all the fighting was over and the other half took the vacated place. Martha was among them. I didn’t wish her luck. I prayed to all the spirits that she would lose at once and my heart would let go. I didn’t want to see her tortured. Martha’s opponent attacked with a wave. He had water in a flask strapped to his belt, a method used by all waterbenders. The stream rushed towards Martha, ready to knock her down, as it suddenly crashed into a wall of fire that erupted in front of her face. The water hissed deafeningly turning to vapor. The steam was so dense that it hid the opponents from view for several long moments. When the cloud finally cleared, Martha was standing to the side, her opponent lying on the sand. An assistant approached the prostrate body, and a moment later raised his hand signaling that Martha had won. The healers came for the guy and carried him away. Nothing serious — the student was stunned. The crowd was stunned, too, seeing everything as clearly as we did, that is, seeing nothing at all. At first the students were quiet, and then they roared indignantly and excitedly. Everyone wanted to know what exactly had happened. I was stunned no less than everyone. How had Martha won the duel, and so quickly, finishing first in her group? I scrutinized the girl, but she looked completely ordinary. The winners of the first round were given a fifteen-minute break. They were sitting on benches, drinking water, rubbing their muscles, talking. About what, one could only guess. Unlike the participants, the assembled students were buzzing and bickering noisily. Many marveled at Martha’s win; they said it was a fluke. Others discussed the really strong candidates to win. All the while, she sat on the far side of the court and watched. I don’t know how she managed to see me, but her so familiar gaze touched my skin with a light flame. I swallowed feeling the warmth of my cheeks; I knew I wasn’t imagining it. The break ended all too quickly. The eighteen remaining contestants drew lots again. This time, Martha got a seventh year earthbender. A tall, extremely strong guy rose across Martha. He looked calm. From this distance, I couldn’t see any contempt or sneer on his face. I’d seen him in battle more than once. He was composed and accurate, and he struck with astonishing accuracy, putting a lot of power into his blows. I knew from Maxim that firebenders had the hardest time with earth ones. Earth was a good defense against flames. The fight began. The guy and Martha moved in a circle, slowly converging, but neither was in a hurry to start. Finally, her opponent made up his mind. He chose a spell they’d been going through in sixth year: Buckshot. Huge square-shaped blocks of earth lifted at the will of the bender and flew one after another into the target. The bigger they were and the faster they flew, the harder they were to dodge, but Martha wasn’t going to dodge! She lunged toward the first block. It was flying low because it had been lifted first, and was therefore launched before the others. The second was flying higher, to the right, and the third, above the second, to the left — at the height of Martha’s head. Only the girl had already pushed herself off the ground and stepped onto the first support in flight. She pushed again and jumped to the right, then to the left; she was quick and agile. Such a technique against Buckshot was known, but it was not often used. Boys were too heavy and not so nimble. For the girl the maneuver was perfect. Martha was at her best, literally and figuratively. She attacked with a burst of scattered fire: Dragon flame. Blinding her opponent, forcing him to dodge. The bender rolled across the ground and raised a shield of earth rock. Except he couldn’t see through it. He looked out one side, but Martha was coming from the other! I knew how she guessed the right side: she saw the heat through the obstacle! Felt the warmth of the human body so well that she could see where I was going with a blindfold on. We played like that sometimes until I believed in that ability of hers. She pounced from behind, crushing the man’s neck, wrapping her legs around his body. The bender tried to throw her off, hitting his own shield with his back where Martha hung; the girl held on. He fell to the ground with a thud, crushing the slender figure that clung to him like a tick. He jerked, and in a few moments got still. Martha choked him, bringing to unconsciousness. A second victory! I couldn’t believe it. ‘Well done! ’ I shouted in admiration. We spent the next fifteen minutes waiting in as much excitement as the rest of the crowd at the stands. We discussed Martha’s tactics and maneuvers with the opponents. They were impressed, and so was I. The remaining nine contestants again chose their partners. The number was unequal, nine. One, pulling the short straw, stepped aside. This time, Martha stood up against the airbender. Again a seventh year and again a very strong mage. I knew his moves — I’d often watched him. He hit with precision and ruthlessness. He loved all kinds of tornadoes and slashing spells. I wasn’t wrong: he chose Tornado against Martha. I understood his reasoning. He had already realized that Martha was dangerous, and he wasn’t going to let her get close to him; he wanted to smash her from a distance. He spun the strongest vortex and sent it in Martha’s direction. But Martha didn’t hesitate, and spun an answering vortex, but only of fire. They were almost mirror images. ‘He’s lost,’ Maxim and I exhaled at once still watching the fight to the end. Martha’s fire vortex was a fourth-year spell. And she had guessed to spin it backward, extinguishing the wind’s inertial force. The tornado burst into flames and dissipated, but Martha’s vortex went further and stung the bender in the open palm with which he held the tornado. At that moment it was open — magic was coming out through it; Martha’s magic came through the same channel. Martha burned its source, sealing it temporarily. The bender was angry and lost his guard; Martha didn’t wait. She slashed him with her fire whip, a third-year spell. The boy fell and hit the ground, so he couldn’t brace himself to attack quickly again. Martha was already standing over him, intercepting his left arm and angling it. The bone crunched. The other arm was useless. The boy had to admit defeat. The five remaining contestants stood frozen in the arena. Martha was still among them. ‘I don’t believe it,’ Maxim said, expressing our common confusion. ‘You shouldn’t have talked me out of it,’ Gregory murmured. ‘I could have done it, too,’ my friend said, clearly jealous that he wasn’t the one in the arena. Five were drawing lots. The short straw left in Nikita’s hand. He, of course, also participated and was considered the absolute favorite to win this year. Every time I looked at him, unpleasant goosebumps crawled over my body. Nikita stepped to the side of the arena; the two remaining pairs froze opposite each other. Martha found herself up against the airbender again. Sixth year, but there was no need to be deceived, since the guy had reached this stage. Besides, he was considered Nikita’s rival and many predicted their meeting in the finals. The bender immediately went into action. He raised the sand in the air blinding Martha. We could barely see the dark figures in the depths, flickering here and there. The calculation was clear. Martha wouldn’t be able to see — the sand wouldn’t just reduce visibility, it would clog her eyes. It was a good idea, but there was a catch: Martha had other vision available to her that the enemy didn’t know about. Martha used Dragon flame again. The column of sand alternately flashed fire — she must have been trying to get him. We couldn’t see exactly what was happening, but flashes kept flickering inside. Martha’s spell was considered powerful and effective, but it also required a weighty magical expenditure; at this rate, with an average magic potential, her source could soon run out. It didn’t. The living sand vibrating in the air suddenly trembled and crumbled. There was Martha standing, her opponent lying at her feet. The crowd went wild! No one could have imagined that an ordinary fourth-year student could last so long in a contest and deal with benders way stronger than herself! But there she stood, once again as if nothing happened. The two contestants, Martha and the waterbender, a seventh-year student were drawing lots for the last time. According to the rules, a bender who had rested in the previous stage could not skip a turn again, so now it was up to them to decide who would go against Nikita. My heart stopped for a moment. Let it not be Martha. Let it not be Martha, I repeated in my head, feeling my whole being opposed Martha having to fight this bamn asshole. I’d watched his previous fights out of the corner of my eye, but in all of them he’d behaved with unwarranted brutality and a lack of pity for his opponent. The short straw remained in Martha’s fingers. She stepped aside as a participant in the final — an incredible achievement for a girl, and even a middle educational stage girl. But I couldn’t be happy about it. I was too busy praying to the spirits that Nikita’s opponent would be stronger. Alas, my hopes were not destined to come true. Nikita dealt with his rival roughly, showering him with a wall of flames so that his hair, clothes, and part of his skin were burned off. He passed out from the painful shock and received the forfeit defeat. Martha and Nikita remained in the arena. With anticipation, I could barely look. The assistant checked the bracelets, put up the dome, and the fight began. No one was in a hurry to attack. Martha looked focused and attentive; Nikita relaxed — he didn’t seem to doubt his victory. He attacked first. He threw Lightning bolts — clots of liquefied fire — at Martha. If another element bender took a hit like that, it would burn them through the skin to the bones; if a fire bender took the blow damage wasn’t as great. This was the main difficulty in battles with mages of the native element. The damage wasn’t immense, but it was more difficult to defeat each other, because the benders were fighting with the same weapons. Martha dodged. Lightning bolts were a sixth year spell, magic too complicated for her. Martha was gliding along a razor blade. From this distance, it looked like flames were licking tongues of her hair. I waited to see if they were about to burst into fire with my breath stuck in my throat. After several minutes of incredible dancing, Martha could still be called unharmed. Nikita was clearly pissed off by this. He changed the spell, attacking with thin fiery arrows — Sunbeams. They were harder to dodge than the lightning, but Martha kept moving. The arrows she couldn’t dodge, she deflected with her hands. The sleeves of her costume smoked catching fire: she was defending herself by channeling magic into her own skin. It was like the performance of a fakir, able to play with fire to the delight of the audience. It didn’t look much of a fight. Martha must not have had the strength to attack, she could only defend, but she did it so skillfully that it seemed as if she could spin forever in her mysterious dance. Nikita’s patience ran out. Continuing to shoot arrows with one open palm, he went on the offensive, rapidly reducing the distance between himself and the girl. A flaming sword flowed out of his free hand. He clutched the hilt with the palm of his hand and brought it over Martha’s head. My heart stopped for a moment. Martha noticed, and when the blade was ready to come down on her temple, she thrust her blade out in response. Fire sword was a third year spell. It replaced steel in battle and could only be destroyed by water or run out for lack of sufficient strength from the bender. A strong weapon in close combat, but no less magically costly. They crossed flames again and again. Nikita seemed stronger and more experienced. Martha’s blade was losing blows time and again, bouncing off her opponent’s weapon, failing to reach its target when she tried to strike. At one point, enraged Nikita grabbed her other arm, trying to pull her closer and swing her sword at her. Martha jerked and stumbled, losing her balance. Nikita was pulled along, they fell. He was on top. His sword was reduced to a dagger in a blink of an eye. He raised his hand to deliver the final blow. There was no way to deflect or defend against this this final attack. The Tongue of flame was a powerful magic shattering any shield the fifth year could control. Martha had lost. But I didn’t care about that. The Tongue of flame, according to Maxim, brought terrible pain. And now I had to watch Martha experience that agony. I couldn’t breathe. A moment more, the roar of the anticipating crowd faltered, and a white flame erupted where the two rivals had been a second ago. It glowed like the sun fluttering with bluish tongues. ‘What is it? ’ I turned to Maxim in horror. My friend was wide-eyed, his face pale, mouth open; he hadn’t heard me. Next to Maxim towered Gregory. He clung to the handrail in front of him and stared at me with all his eyes, too. I looked to my left. Kirill was stunned. I must have had the same expression on my face. I looked again at the arena shinning with an unprecedented glow. Here it waned and disappeared. Leaving a girl’s naked body covered in black hair on the sand. Nikita was gone.