Authors: Geanna Culbertson
Eye roll.
I don’t think that’ll ever stop ticking me off.
But I digress as that’s so not the point right now. I have bigger, more immediate fish to fry.
Anyways, rule two: Every Twenty-Three Skidd player was to be mounted on his (or
her
) own Pegasus and wield a lacrosse sword. That was a five-foot long staff with a grip function that could extend the staff an extra two feet on either side when activated. This weapon had a small netted basket on one end for handling the ball, and the sharp point of a jousting spear at the other end for, well, handling your opponents.
Basically, the net basket was used for catching the ball and hurtling it to your teammates or through the goal. The other side of the staff, meanwhile, was used for offense, defense, scare tactics, bad sportsmanship, and—sometimes it seemed—as a general anger release.
At the start of the match the game’s glowing green ball would be launched into the air by a cannon and all players would take off on their Pegasi. The first team to score twenty-three points by putting the ball into the opponent’s goal post twenty-three times was the winner. It was that simple. Theoretically anyways.
All right. I have totally got this.
The referee proceeded to separate our group into two teams—odd and even numbers. His associates, in turn, stuck corresponding, glowing red or purple numbers onto our backs so as to identify which team we were on once the tournament began. Blue and I were lucky enough to make it onto the same team (evens/purple). And I was extra pleased to learn that Daniel, Jason, and Chance were on the opposing team.
Yay, general anger release time!
As the ref continued to distribute team assignments, I took another look around the stadium, particularly at the fans. It wasn’t just all the girls from our school, the boys who weren’t competing, and the staff of Lady Agnue’s and Lord Channing’s. The stands were also filled with hundreds of Adelaide and Whoozalee citizens.
Huh, I guess everybody loves a good battle-royale.
The cheers were loud and ricocheted across the arena’s curved walls. It was magnificent and terrifying—an exhilarating combination of feelings—and I absolutely relished it.
At that point the ref finally indicated that it was time for us to saddle up. The players moved toward the Pegasi that were strategically positioned in inverted-pyramid formation on both sides of the field. Attendants handed us lacrosse swords as we made our way over to them.
Hmm, so this is what it feels like to hold a lacrosse sword
, I mused as I twirled the thing easily in my hand.
Not bad—light, versatile. I like it.
Intriguing new weapon in hand, I chose a pure white steed in the third row while Blue selected a grayish speckled one from the second. She gave me a thumbs-up when she had mounted the beautiful creature, which I returned.
When grounded, Pegasi did not look that different from regular horses. Aside from slightly elongated torsos and silver hooves, they were virtually identical. Their main point of inter-species distinction (their wings) vanished whenever their hooves hit the ground so that they could better camouflage themselves. When they took flight, however, that specialness revealed itself in a form that was as brilliantly functional as it was breathtakingly unexpected.
Pegasi wings were not solid or made of feathers like the illustrations in a plethora of fairytales might’ve led other worlds to believe. Rather, they were of a more holographic nature—made up of an inherent magical energy that Pegasi produced, which bent the light and wind around them to allow for flight. These wings shifted in color like contained auroras and were not tangible to the touch. Solid objects could pass right through them without interrupting their magical purpose.
The Pegasus I had selected was completely white in mane and coat, but as I sat on her saddle I wondered what specific color her wings would manifest in when they eventually sprouted.
I looked closer then and discovered that there was a bronze nameplate at the top of my Pegasus’ saddle with the name “SADIE” engraved into it. I began petting her mane a moment later and then scratched her behind the ears while we waited for the other players to ready themselves and for the game to commence.
Sadie seemed surprised by the gentility at first—shaking her head with a startle—but soon after she started to whinny with delight. I supposed she wasn’t used to getting this kind of attention from the boys.
Our bonding was cut short when the ref blew his whistle.
The game had begun.
The other players instantly reacted to the sound, giving their steeds a swift kick with the heels of their boots. The Pegasi whinnied. Puffs of blue and orange smoke came out of their nostrils, which seemed to symbolize the magical incendiary that had just gone off inside them, activating their powers. In the next instant each Pegasus’s eyes glowed either bright cobalt or shining silver and their wings exploded from their sides in the form of glittering light.
One after another the boys and their winged battle partners shot into the air with great enthusiasm and aggression. I took a quick deep breath and followed their lead—giving Sadie a light kick as I let out my own, “Hee yah!”
Sadie whinnied excitedly in response and a pair of giant, swan-shaped wings sprouted from her torso.
Magic sparkled as the purple and green wings started to flap mightily. I ran the fingers of my left riding glove through their tightly condensed energy, unable to fully comprehend the splendor. My hand passed right through the magic wings like they weren’t there at all.
For a moment, I couldn’t believe that such things were capable of producing sturdy flight. But, a second later when Sadie and I jolted into the sky, I was reminded never to judge a book by its cover.
Sadie carried us both into the clouds with such power and ferocity I had to grip the reins with all my might to keep from being jerked off. Then, as the competition-based crazy started to unfold everywhere around us, I had to hold on even harder.
Okay, confession time.
Other than a few times on Pegasus ponies when I was little, I had never actually technically ridden one of these before. Blue had, and she’d convinced me that the experience was no different than riding a regular horse. So, given that I was a pro at that, I figured I would be just fine. Alas, during those first few minutes that Sadie and I sailed through the crowded clouds I realized one very clear thing in regards to Blue’s assertion—she lied.
I clutched the reins in one hand for dear life while I tried to balance the weight of my lacrosse sword in the other and, you know, not fall off the flying horse in the process. I hadn’t even seen where the ball had gone and was just trying not to scream as I searched for Blue.
Sadie was ascending really fast and consistently bobbing and weaving in order to avoid ramming into the other players and the announcers who were also flying around in order to commentate on the game’s proceedings.
Adding to my current non-existent sense of security, I noticed that a large safety net had risen from beneath the field. It was now hanging fifty feet above the arena floor with a medical-assistance tent stationed directly below it.
Real reassuring
, I thought to myself with a gulp.
“DUCK!” I suddenly heard someone yell.
My attention shot back up.
A pair of black Pegasus hooves barely missed my head. A blur of onyx armor and blue helmet feathers whizzed past me without further courtesy.
Daniel.
Personal grudge match aside, I decided to steer Sadie high up into the sky to avoid any more hit and runs while I got the hang of this.
After a minute or so the two of us broke past an embankment of clouds and found ourselves in a calm area surrounded by blue and bathed in the sunshine that had thus far been unable to break through. Even from up here you could hear the faint sounds of shouting, cheering, and booing from the game below. But I ignored the temptation. I needed a minute to figure this out, otherwise I’d have no shot of making it through in one piece.
The first thing I had to master was the flying. I soon realized that the part of Sadie’s saddle between the horn and the gullet was equipped with a holster for locking the lacrosse sword into a sturdy angled position when it was not in use. So I secured the staff there for a few minutes as I mastered the basics of riding my new game partner.
To my grateful surprise, soon enough it did begin to feel a bit like riding a regular horse. The difference I needed to adjust for, though, was consistently shifting my weight and balance to be in sync with Sadie’s wing movements.
Having accounted for that, it wasn’t long before I had the flying aspect down. Once I did, I drew the lacrosse sword from its sturdy resting place and began messing around with it in one hand while I gripped Sadie’s reins with the other.
After several minutes of practice I learned that the keys to handling the weapon were mastering fast wrist movements to rotate the staff from basket to blade and (extra elongating function aside) being adept at my own quick extensions for effectively using either end. Having discovered these two basic mechanics, I was stunned at the swiftness with which I began to develop a rhythm for the staff.
Honestly, considering how flustered I’d been just minutes before, I was amazed at how fast I found myself getting good at this. The staff of the lacrosse sword just felt right in my hand. The weight, the grip, the extension that was so much more versatile then a normal sword—I loved it. And more importantly, unlike most things I’d ever tried, it actually seemed to come naturally.
“Hee-yah!” I shouted as I gave Sadie another kick of my heel.
I was ready to return to the match. She clearly felt the same way because she plunged back through the clouds with way more speed and excitement than I’d expected. The two of us dove into the middle of the arena and I saw that the score was already 12 to 11—odd team ahead.
All right, time to get in this game.
I surveyed the arena’s airspace. Dozens of Pegasi were darting across the skies. The players were either charging one another or charging after the ball, which I finally spotted flying through the air off to my left.
That’s also when I saw Blue. She zipped right in front of a knight in golden armor and caught the glowing, green ball in her lacrosse sword’s basket. Immediately four opposing players flew after her in ready pursuit.
I kicked Sadie into high gear.
Blue was circling far below—unable to get any closer to the goal because players from the odd team were coming at her from all angles.
I had an idea.
While the other players on my team were occupied trying to defend Blue, Sadie and I flew up again. We shot straight above the fighting mass and over my friend, Sadie’s white coat camouflaging into the clouds around her.
“Up high!” I called down to Blue.
My friend was startled at first, but soon recognized my manly voice. And when she saw me she did what her opponents were least expecting—she spun her lacrosse sword and lobbed the ball forty feet back, high into the sky.
I zoomed in without interference and caught the ball. Members of the opposing team began desperately chasing after me, but I was far enough away that none of them posed imminent threats. I was already on my descending dive toward the goal.
There were only two odd-numbered players directly in my flight path waiting on defense. One went high and one went low. The low opponent was aiming to plunge underneath Sadie, while the high opponent was rotating his lacrosse sword with the weapon side pointed at me as he charged.
Their play was obvious. High guy was going to attack so that I would be forced to rotate my staff to its weapon side to defend myself. And, as a consequence for the rotation, the ball would fall out of my net basket and the player below me would be in the perfect position to swoop in and catch it.
Come on, guys. Not very creative.
High guy was closing in. However, instead of rotating my staff downwards like he expected, I waited. Then, precisely when he was within range, I released the reins and used both hands to powerfully swing my staff while pressing the extender function on its grip.
The cross-handed haymaker smacked my opponent’s staff right out of his hand and sent him veering out of control. As a result, the lower opponent was left confused, empty handed, and, most importantly, in my dust as Sadie and I shot toward our destination.
I shrunk the staff back to five feet and with another fierce swing I heaved the ball through the goal post—evening the score 12–12. The arena filled with cheers and I grinned beneath my helmet.
Game on, boys. Game on.
The competition continued fervently from there without break or lull. If one team had the upper hand at any point, it wasn’t for long.
With every passing second I became increasingly enthralled by the heated, relentless nature of the sport. But, more than that, as the tournament went on, there was another aspect of the game that I found to be even more powerful than the intensity of the match itself—the realization that I was actually really good at it.
Oh, let’s be real. I was fantastic!
I genuinely couldn’t believe it. My whole life I’d felt deficient at everything I’d ever tried—from curtseying to woodcarving. But this . . . this I connected with. The lacrosse sword worked for me. And the feelings of success and ease that came with that skill were unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
In short, it was phenomenal. I was having so much fun that I didn’t even get annoyed when Chance Darling took off his shirt after scoring a goal and the dramatic display got more applause from the girls in the arena than the actual point had.
Nearly an hour into the match I’d scored five goals, Blue had scored two, and time was almost up with the game tied at 22–22.
The closeness of the match did not concern me though. For arguably the first time in my life I felt unstoppable. I had the ball in my possession and Sadie and I were plunging through the sky on our way to seal the even team’s triumph.