The green-belted adversary is wavering as he crosses a high beam on Traps. I suck in a breath, pulse racing as I see him overbalance. Too late he tries to center himself! He slips and falls. A shout explodes from the spectators as he hits. I can’t see the floor of Traps from here but men race out with a stretcher. There is a moment of utter silence as people stare.
My heart is pounding and my throat feels raw with apprehension. What if Green Belt is dead?
Laughter and good-natured cheers erupt from the crowd: Green Belt must be injured but not dead, aware and awake enough to make light of his fall. I’ve gotten distracted even though only five breaths have passed since I arrived here. I should be looking for Blue Boy as I decide on a strategy.
A Rings configuration is set up as a maze, like Pillars. The spinning rings turn at different speeds, just as stones move in Rivers. You have to avoid traps; this one has smaller rings that turn separately, nested within the larger rings. Rings are stacked so you can climb, as in Trees, to a higher and more difficult but faster level, or play it safe on the ground. Rings is my specialty. I’m not the strongest nor the fastest, but I’m agile and I’m patient and I’m calm. Most of all, I know how to grasp the whole pattern and figure out the fastest path. You can beat me anywhere else on the court but no one beats me through Rings.
Since Blue Boy isn’t yet here, how am I going to lose on purpose without everyone guessing? Even though Father doesn’t know it’s me, I want him to admire the girl in the brown belt as she falls just short of winning. Worse than losing would be overhearing him remark on how that girl had run poorly.
A foot slaps the ladder behind me. To my utter relief Blue Boy hauls himself up onto the platform and drops into a crouch beside me. It’s a good tactic, confronting me directly as we enter the last challenge. He’s about my height, lean and muscled. A gold silk half-mask covers his eyes and forehead but I see his smile and his even, white teeth. He looks like he’s having a good time and is perfectly happy to share that good time with me.
“Salutations, Adversary. Do you let me pass, or do you contest my right to enter first?”
I can tell by his high-class accent that he’s way above my place in the world. He’s as pure Patron as they come but there’s no glint of condescension in his voice.
“Salutations, Adversary,” I answer, pitching my voice low to disguise it.
He drops the pompous formalities with another flash of the friendly grin. “I have to say, I’m impressed. I don’t remember running against you before. By the way you took that twisting leap over the rope bridge in Traps, I’d have remembered you.”