F - The Familiar

“Ye’r the familiar, aren’t ye’?” The bartender said, staring down at Jamen Greeme. “For th’ Variats. Ye’r the familiar?” Jamen was used to facing off against large men on the pokka field, but none as large as the one they called Jayk.

Jamen held his wounded arm close to his side, the pain throbbing from fingertips to shoulder. He would need to wrap it, and find someone to set and splint it. “Yes,” he said, surprised at how faint his voice sounded. “I’m the right familiar.”

“Right. Familiar with a broken arm?!” The man next to him at the end of the bar said before breaking into a laugh. “Ha!” He slapped Jamen on the shoulder with the back of his hand, shooting pain through Jamen’s entire body. What hurt more was that the man was right: the arm was broken, and his season was over, thanks to a fierce hit from his opposite number on the Bruntside Black. She was a devil witch on the field they just called the Whisper. Not only did she flatten him as time ran out, their middie used his back as a stepping stone to make the winning score.

“Back ‘way, Macky,” Jayk said. “And give the boy some space.”

The one called Macky harrumphed at the tavern owner, but sat down hard in his chair as he was told, turning his attention to the mug in front of him.

“Don’t you fret about Macky, he’s okay.” Jayk said. “If numb through the head sometimes.” He set a fat mug on the stone bartop. “This ye’r first? Broken bone, I mean. First one in a game?”

Jamen nodded, feeling foolish. “It is. I’ve been lucky so far, I guess.

Jayk uncorked an unlabeled bottle and filled the mug near to the top. pushing the mug over to Jamen. “We got a tradition here at my place. Win or lose, first bone is first drink free.”

Jamen glanced at the mug. “Reallish?”

“Yes, it’s on the house,” Jayk said.

“Might help if you drink it quick-step,” Macky leaned over, winked, and muttered. “It’s not too lizard-y that way.”

“If you’ve got the coin, I have a healer who might see ya.”

“Thank you, Mister Jayk,” Jamen said, “but the doses are a little spare at the moment.” He took the mug and sniffed it, finding the oily black liquid to be foul-smelling, a fine coating of sea dust floating on the top. “I do appreciate it.” He took a deep pull from the mug and swallowed quickly. It wasn’t the first time he had been offered lizard pulk, but it was the first time he’d accepted it. And Macky was right. It was definitely best to swallow before you tasted it.

Jayk towered over Jamen and watched, his thick, gray-blonde mustache twitching. “I used to play,” he said, while Jamen gasped for air. “Long before you were born, I’d figure. But I weren’t no fancy familiar.”

“I’m guessing you were defense,” Jamen said. “Just based on the size of you. Stalker?”

Jayk nodded. “That I was.” His attention wavered as the front door opened, letting in a shaft of light and a hazy cloud of dust. At least a dozen figures filed into the already crowded bar. “Best be back to ye’r fellas,” Jayk said, nodding toward the corner where Jamen’s teammates nursed their loss over stacks of rapidly emptying glasses. Walking into the bar were the Bruntside Black, the team that beat Jamen and his Downpod Variats an hour earlier. Standing in front of them all was Reyna Laire. She was known on the field as the Whisper. And she was the one who broke his arm.

His heart thumped in his chest, and he felt an urge for…something. To run. To fight Either, or both. It didn’t matter, as long as he did something. The Black hadn’t moved since they entered the bar, the team standing behind Reyna as if she were the head of the phalanx, the tip of the spear. And she stared at Jamen with a dark, feral intensity. Part of him wanted to cower, to nurse his injury. But his team watched him too, dozens of eyes watching. The room buzzed in the sudden silent tension. He drank the last of his pulk in two large gulps and slammed the mug onto the nearest table, the crack causing several people to jump.

He turned and stalked up to Reyna. “You broke my dusting arm,” he said, lifting it for emphasis.

“I did,” she said with the hint of a smile. “And beat your lame ass at the same time.”

Jamen seethed, feeling the rest of the Variats sidle up around him, facing the Black in a scrum near the entry to the bar. A movement to his right caught his attention, as Macky rose from his stool, a thick cudgel appearing in his hand. Jayk placed a hand on Macky’s shoulder, and shook his head no. Macky’s tension lessened, but he remained standing, the cudgel held in a tight fist. He turned back to Reyna.

“It wasn’t necessary,” he said. “You humiliated me.” With his good hand, he pushed her shoulder, which was more sturdy than it appeared.

Reyna barely moved, but the grin on her face grew. “You were fooled, and you got in the way. So, I took you out.”

“It hurts,” he said. He felt the weakness in his words as soon as he said them, and inwardly cringed.

“Pain makes you beautiful.” Reyna said.

“What?”

She smiled. “I said, pain makes you beautiful.”

Jamen seethed. “Are you beautiful, then?”

Reyna laughed, and turned her head to smile at her teammates. “No. I’m not.”

Was it an invitation, an overture to fight, or something else? Did she mock him? Or was it something else? Middies, before the skeit dropped to start the match, locked in the middle of the field. His good hand shot out, and grasped the back of Reyna’s head with a slap on her ear-length hair. It wasn’t his favored arm, so the move was slower than it should have been. Reyna pulled back, resisting, as a murmur rose in the crowd, her intense eyes meeting his own. From this close, he could see flakes of dried blood at the edge of her nostril. So, I did bash her, he thought. His body rumbled with excitement, ready for whatever was coming, but no one moved. Both teams stood stone-still, facing each other, staring off across the divide between them.

Reyna swung her hand up and slapped him on the back of his head, then slowly pulled him toward her, leaning forward until their foreheads met. She kept her eyes focused on him, her hand holding his head tight to hers. Pressing him with intense force. Their sweat mingled, a drop trailing down his nose and dripping from his lip to the dusty floor.

Jamen pulled at her neck, forcing their heads together so hard it felt like they might break the skin. They stood that way for a long moment, eyes locked as the rest of the world fell away.

“How about we drink?” Reyna whispered, breaking the spell and chasing the words with a grin. “One familiar to another?”

“I think that’s a great idea, “Jamen said with a rough crackle in his voice. “One familiar to another.”

They released each other, and pulled away. Reyna led him to the bar with a soft nudge on his good shoulder. “You’re a good player,” she said.

“Thank you,” Jamen said, feeling relieved, and honored to have such a compliment from the Whisper.

“For a Variat, I mean.”

“You blasted voncer,” he said with a laugh.

The others made space for them to get to the bar. “Let’s open a barrel,” Reyna called to the bartender, dropping a purse full of doses on the bar.

A pair of counter-chants for each team broke out in a yelling match among the other patrons in support for the two team. Both teams crowded around Jamen and Reyna as they pressed their way through the crowd to find seats. The chanting died down as the room filled with voices and laughter as the teams mingled, shaking hands and clapping one another on the back.

Reyna lifted a glass. “First, we drink. And then, let’s get this man a healer.”

* * *

#AtoZChallenge