I appeared to Ril and said, “The gods of the Jaffri Ring have agreed to stand at the niches when Alan appears there. How will you get him on the sand? Humans are forbidden.”
The old Mieuran held up a bony finger and said, “Forgive me, Ahnli, but they are not forbidden. Forbidding someone on the basis of race the great law of the many worlds does not allow. Humans killed in the rings, however, might raise viewer protests and risk the loss of vast fortunes; fortunes that are safe for as long as the dying is done only by the Mieura.”
“If they cannot be barred, why do no humans throw the blades? They have no shortage of actors, fools, or murderers.”
“Ahnli, the current rules, as put down by the Diteureh League trustees, state that the armor worn by a competitor must be of a certain size and design and that no other kind or size of armor is allowed. This effectively bars humans since their heads and shoulders are larger than the Mieuran. It does not specifically forbid, however, a competitor who chooses to throw the blades without armor.” He issued a wicked grin. “The humans made up the rules and enforce them through the fortunes they command. We only abide by them.”
A universe of possibilities opened before me. “When will you enter him?”
“I will enter him in the lists tonight. He will throw the blades in the Jaffri Ring tomorrow afternoon.” He held out his open palms and bowed toward me. “My eternal gratitude for your assistance, Ahnli.” He faced the north and bowed again. “My eternal thanks for your assistance, Redgait.”
The boy human withdrew the blades from the sand, crossed them over his chest and bowed to each of us, respectfully thanking us for his life and the manner in which we honored him as demonstrated by his continued existence.
When the ring was again empty, Redgait withdrew into his niche and entered into deep meditation. I looked within myself and called up all of my brothers and sisters, not only of the many rings, but those of the land, skies, winds, and waters, gods of stars, gods of life and love. I had hidden them long enough. Tomorrow would see us all reborn or, perhaps, dead.
Gongs and chimes, somewhat reminiscent of the ancient sounds, began the opening ceremonies at the Jaffri Ring. Even though the music incorporated human instruments and cadences, few paid the sounds any attention. The gods arranged themselves among the spectators around the ring while Lok and Diru took their places in the north and south niches, uncomfortably sharing their spaces with humans, Mieurans, cameras, and Gezis. I joined Diru in the south niche, and there the redheaded human from the day before was observing on a monitor while a human and a Mieuran talked before the camera.
The human was introduced as sportscaster Del Nolan. He was a used up sports entertainment commentator. His employers had dumped him in Mieuran blade throwing until his contract expired. There was no intention of renewing the contract. The Mieuran was introduced as Ti Edge, his humanized name a concession to viewing audiences around the many worlds. He was a retired blade thrower and he and the human seemed to talk knowingly about the day’s competitors. Their forced interest and manufactured enthusiasm as they speculated upon the day’s prearranged outcomes made me wonder at the kinds of beings who had so little of life that they felt they could improve it by watching this decayed shadow of Mieuran blade tossing.
The red headed human was wearing a headset and with his hand he signaled the two conversationalists as he spoke into his headset. Suddenly a new face appeared on the monitor. It was a human female with black hair and skin the color of pale sand. She had been considered beautiful once, but her increasing number of wrinkles and a voice growing shrill had numbered her days before the camera. She too had reached the bottom rung of her profession. Standing next to her was Ril. In the background was Alan. He was wearing the traditional robe of pale blue, symbolizing the balance between north and south, balance between white and midnight blue. Giya’s blades were slung on his back.
“To get around the rules excluding humans, Ril, you plan to send your boy in without any armor at all? Is that correct?”
“No,” answered Giya’s grandson. “That is not correct. Alan is entering the ring without armor because he needs no armor.”
“Alan is pretty nimble, is he?”
Ril looked at the sportscaster and said, “When the gods are balanced, one needs neither armor nor agility.”
“Gods?” For a moment the human female smirked and mugged at the camera as though only she and billions of viewers were in on an immense joke that the old Mieuran didn’t understand. “Of course. Can you tell us anything about Alan — is that his full name?”
“Alan is his name. He is a novice blade thrower. This is his first competition.”
A shred of genuine concern entered the woman’s voice. “You are aware that the life expectancy of an armored beginner is perhaps a second or two after the first throw? Alan will be going in bare, and those aren’t rubber blades.”
This time it was Ril’s turn to smirk. “I am aware that the gods direct the blades today.”
She laughed in exasperation. “But what if they don’t?”
“They do.”
“How do you know that? Are you willing to throw away a human life because of some ancient superstition? What if you’re wrong? I ask you again, how do you know these gods will protect your boy?”
“I’ve seen Alan do the consecration in the Diram Ring. I have seen the gods in balance.”
She frowned at the unknown name and then a signal came to her headset from the red headed man. “Well, good luck to you and to Alan. I’m certain everyone back home is rooting for him.” The female human faced her camera and said, “There you have it. Ril, the trainer for Alan the mystery man, the first human ever to enter the lists. You have to admire this kid’s guts, if not his brains. Ti?”
Another face appeared on the monitor, and it was the retired Mieuran blade thrower, Ti Edge. “Thanks, Micki. I take it the difficulties with the Jaffri Ring trustees and the league trustees are all settled.”
Back to Micki. “Yes, Ti. The rules are pretty clear. In fact the rules had to be bent considerably a century ago to allow the competitors to wear armor. It seems as long as the mystery man appears without armor, he’s entitled to a place on the sand.”
There was talk, endless talk, about possible appeals, who Alan might be, who Ril might be, and even who the gods might be. The chatter continued until the prospect of an afterlife seemed boring, the music ceased, and the blade throwers entered the ring. To the raucous sounds of ribbed horns, they came through the western gate and continued around the circumference until there was a circle of sixty-eight throwers. All save Alan wore armor.
The different suits of armor were of many colors. Veterans wore dark and sand colors while the newcomers were clad in bright pinks, oranges, and reds. It was part of the guild regulations thereby making better targets of the newcomers. Anyone who lasted through a number of competitions was eventually entitled to a more camouflaged suit of plates.
Alan, seemingly tiny in his nakedness, was almost directly opposite the south niche when what the television people called the consecration began.
In the case of the armored lumps surrounding the ring, the consecrations were blade tossing exercises, seeing how close one could come to oneself without actually drawing blood. Most of the veterans were very good at it, but the audience considered the consecrations little more than boring warming up exercises.
I turned and saw the red haired man. He was issuing instructions to the man on the camera, and the lens swept the faces in the ring below while Ti Edge and his human swapped comments about the contenders. Gezi demons were all about, but they didn’t hang off the red haired human the way they did the others. I crept into the man’s mind and found his name: Tomas Holly. In his heart I found desperate, numbing loneliness. In his soul I found the bitter hole that remains after the death of a child’s god. He was every bit as crippled as the people of Mieura, and for the same reasons.