Death for All!
The sky is a typical Texas blue, the one photographers hate. It’s a brilliant robin’s egg blue and not a cloud to be seen. The unrelenting sun bakes us where we stand. We are lined up, two lines facing each other. We could be kids playing Red Rover. We laugh and joke between ourselves, playfully taunting the other line.
“Ready?” A rumble of agreement is the only response.
“Lay on!”
The faces change, determination and ferocity lines each face. The focus of each person is narrowed to the person across from them. The lines close on each other, shields raised and swords readied. Smacks and thuds fill the air as swords slam into blocking shields or enemy bodies.
I pull back on the arrow I have readied. That tight focus is my friend right now. Spotting somebody paying a little too much attention to his opponent, I target and fire. I pause long enough to make sure of my aim. Score!!! I got him right in the face! He shakes his head and raises his hand to his forehead, out of the battle for now.
There is a solid hit across my shoulders and I’m down. I’d been paying too much attention myself and somebody got around our line to get me from behind. Laughing I raise my own hand to my forehead to signify I’m dead. I wander the battlefield, giving wide berth to swinging swords, and retrieve my arrow.
“Is that all of them?”
“Form it up!”
We line up again. I spot my friend on the end of the opposing line. I can tell from his stance he’s going to run. The word is given and we begin again. He sees me watching so he doesn’t charge me. Two of my teammates engage him and I swing my arrow to a new target. Right in the shoulder so he’s out too. Oh crap!
My friend has managed to kill one of my teammates and slip around the other. He’s headed straight for me. I hurriedly draw back the arrow and aim. There’s no way in hell I’m going to make this shot. It’s only my second time using a bow ... and first time in battle. As I release I’m already crouching down to grab the sword and shield at my feet.
Perfect shot to the chest! He stumbles a little, possibly in amazement. We both grin. I grab another arrow and redraw. There! I take out the arm of another guy and my teammate easily kills him.
Eventually, after several more battles, we all drift toward the shade and water. The 90 degree heat is nothing to trifle with. We sit, joke between ourselves, and drink heavily of the water. Somebody provides a watermelon and we eagerly cut into it, sharing the pieces around.
There are many more battles this day, both before this one and after. Previously we’d been lined up on either side of a fort gate, attackers versus defenders. During the breaks there’s also sparring between various people as we test each other’s offense and defense.
Eventually my ride says he’s calling it and we begin packing things up. It’s all too soon and yet I’m worn thin. I walk the area and make sure all our weapons, shields, and extras are gathered together as he walks out to where the car is parked. I say my goodbyes. I can’t help but be pleased at how many people say it was nice to fight with me or compliment me on my archery, more so when they hear how new I am at it. I even get a kiss on the head from my charging friend and he tells me it was a perfect shot.
My ride and I settle in for the 2 hour drive back to Houston. Tired seeps through my body, but so does contentment.
“I gotta say, you killed it with that bow today!”
I beam. “Was only second or third time to use it, I’ll get better.” I settle my knitting in my lap and continue where I left off that morning.
“You did incredible.”
This is why I keep going out and getting hit. This is why I have bruises up and down my arms and legs. I’m getting better though, blocking more often, getting the kill in sooner. I’m accepted here and encouraged to improve. I sometimes huff and puff my way back to the line to start, particularly when the heat is high. Which, to be honest, is about 7-8 months out of the year since I’m in Texas. But I’m feeling the strain less and seeing the improvement. I’m learning new skills that, looking at me, you wouldn’t think I have interest in.
And beneath it all, these are my friends. We’re silly and dress up. We hit each other with foam weapons. We “kill” each other time and time again on the field. And then we help each other up, grab a dropped shield, or help collect arrows before heading back to the line to start over again.We go out to dinner and talk about gaming, movies, upcoming events. Speaking of dinner, I don’t have a shred of guilt over the loaded baked potato and soda I indulge in after practice. It tastes of delicious victory.
Edited to add: Here's a link to video taken one of the recent Sunday practices. You'll even spot me in a bright blue dress and black over dress.