He stretched his hand out, and his opponent grabbed it.
He could hear the drums beating behind him.
Their rhythm was gentle, building.
He didn’t know what the signal was, but he knew it couldn’t be that.
His opponent’s eyes flashed peculiarly for a moment, but he felt that he imagined it.
That wasn’t right.
His sight wasn’t infallible, but he did like to think it was damned near close to it.
He didn’t just see things.
What exactly was that?
Before he could fully interrogate the cause, though, he suddenly felt the tightening of the music as the callused palms of the entranced drummers struck the skins with a marked note.
It had begun.
Grips.
Leaps.
Feints.
A certain member of the audience let out a surprised yelp at the suddenness of the engagement.
The two wrestlers performed what felt like a dozen different moves in a few moments before disengaging again, pulling back and circling the sand-cushioned ring and locking in again.
Another spectator wanted to cheer but saw that the rest of the crowd was too invested to even give that a thought, and so instead was quietly observant also.
Elijah grabbed hold of his shoulders and tried to flip him.
But the man landed on his feet.
His opponent was shocked but didn’t dally and instead dove at his legs, planning on lifting him by them.
Another clean throw.
Still, his opponent’s back never touched the sand.
This went on for multiple iterations.
In turn, the man pushed forward but did not gain any ground on the Lycan’s brawn.
He twirled and used the numerous arts he had grown up learning, only to find that his opponent was immovable.
Alas, his opponent was also impatient.
He ground his teeth at this but dived in again.
The man escaped his grasp like a fish, slipping through his guard and tripping him with his foot as he passed by.
It was successful; the Lycan stumbled.
Elijah arrested his motion midfall but was shocked beyond belief at what was happening.
He was a Lycan.
What was happening was impossible.
As he wrestled with his unbelief, he saw something that shocked him more, though.
The man’s shadow morphed.
It twisted and turned like a flame in the wind to reveal the form of a black cat.
It was only a moment, but a moment was a million in the Lycan’s eyes.
He stared him down again with focused eyes as his mind tried to make sense of what he was seeing.
Nwamba...
The multiple strange occurrences transported the young Lycan’s mind to a popular fable about the Swallow and the Cat.
This proud bird, many moons ago, had challenged the whole world to a wrestling contest and succeeded in throwing every creature that came to meet the challenge.
It was said that he had met with a powerful witch doctor, and his juju (witchcraft) was what enabled him to be successful, even against the great apes and hoofed beasts of the land. The juju was called Nwamba oji.
It was one thing to know how he did it, though, and a completely other thing to know how to defeat him.
It was then that the mysterious cat came and challenged this proud swallow.
The beasts of the land had never seen the creature before, and, as it had come during the night, they had only seen it as a pair of bright eyes because its black fur blended into the night like one of its many shadows.
The Swallow accepted the challenge, though his heart was caught in his throat at the sight of this strange beast.
They battled.
The charm worked as it had been, giving him the peculiar and total mastery of the art.
His grip ignored weight and size.
Experience and cunning.
He was indomitable.
Still, despite this amazing ability... he soon found out something strange.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
After so many tosses and flips that he felt that he had exhausted even his measureless arsenal, he found out that this creature, no matter how many times he was thrown to the ground, would never have his back touch it.
No matter the manoeuvres and combinations the indomitable bird attempted, he found that his enemy was too much for him and would not fall down.
The proud bird, in his haste from the witch doctor, had not heard the full explanation of the juju he had received. Nwamba oji meant “black cat.”
What he was now fighting was the embodiment of the witchcraft he used. It was common for juju to be named after something believed to be the “active principle” used in making it. People believed that these things corresponded to realities in the Spirit/Astral World, which was intertwined with the land of mortals. These great spirits governed many disciplines and could be contracted through means varied and esoteric.
The fight went on for days and days.
He begged the spirit tirelessly, pleading for mercy, though he knew not what the creature was.
He even used the famed swallow song, which had not too long ago been used to taunt challengers, to try to appease it.
He did everything except let himself be thrown, for he knew in that was damnation.
And so they danced this unwilling dance.
The cat playing with its food and the swallow seeking to extend his life by even the shortest of margins.
Finally, it came to an end.
Exhausted, the swallow fell.
Its songs ceased.
Its boasts dried up.
It did not even plead.
The other creatures watched in horror as the mysterious cat... devoured him.
It was a grim warning.
It not only censured those who used their juju carelessly to take care lest it turn on them but also established the cat as the king of wrestling.
In the present, as the two people circled one another, this folktale entered Elijah’s mind.
He didn’t appear any different from a regular person, but his presence spoke of that mythical feline in a way that was… uncanny.
Uncanny.
This was the usual reaction that Elijah commanded and used to his benefit... He wasn’t used to feeling that way towards others. Even in the case of the strange mutant, he easily composed himself because he trusted in the power of his bloodline.
Now, though…
He took in a breath and then smiled wanly.
He gave his hand once more, and his opponent took it.
They circled each other repeatedly, battling for control vigorously but without end.
When they separated, Elijah did not rush to finish it but stretched out his hand again.
Another round.
Another stalemate.
Another separation.
Again.
Another round.
Again.
Another round.
His actions became automatic.
So much so that his opponent could now read him fully, managing to trip him with a clever move of his leg behind the knee.
The Lycan was unbothered and merely righted himself with one hand and crouched once more in the starting position.
He gave out his hand again.
His opponent took it.
It started again.
...
His mind had left the fight.
He did not analyse the twitch of his muscles before he went for a throw.
Did not go for the bait when feinted.
He locked and disengaged.
He...
He was trying to remember.
To remember... something that was distant from this place.
What was it?
The man in front of him was immaterial.
How did they move?
The music was an illusion.
How did what move?
The sand did not exist.
The black water... The liquid metal.
Those were the only two things that mattered.
They were all matter.
He remembered now.
He had tried not to.
Their battle had been so awe-inspiring that he had been terrified to remember.
Yet now...
There was something there.
Reach.
Something for him.
Lock.
He wanted to remember.
Push.
He wanted his body to remember.
Pull.
He felt...
Disengage.
He felt that something he needed was in that.
Reach.
He needed that... That flow.
Reach.
Black water.
Reach.
Liquid metal.
Reach.
Damn his opponent.
Reach.
He was reaching for something else.
Reach.
For something beyond.
Reach.
Something…
There was silence.
Now that he thought about it, there had been a silence.
The drummers and the crowd had stopped a while ago.
There was a fear that even their breath would obstruct what they were watching.
It was over now.
The man was on his back.
Elijah stood over him.
His mind was elsewhere.
But he had thrown the Cat.
The applause came.
Immediately, as though some inaudible runner’s pistol had fired in the air, and even his strong constitution was rocked by their roars.
The troupe members, not as bound by taboos as the rest, rushed him and lifted him above their heads.
It took a while for the Lycan to come to.
When he did, he was in disbelief.
He looked up at his benefactor, as though asking for guidance.
She smiled from her place on the parapet and merely mouthed the word “enjoy”.
Before he knew it, he was doused in a whole basin of palm wine as the people shouted that he had thrown the Cat.
“So,” Chaina said, seemingly talking to herself, “what do you think?”
“Better than I expected," a voice from the shadow answered.
It was impossible to see a figure, but two bright green eyes stared out from the darkness.
Chaina smiled with pride at this evaluation.
“You shouldn’t sound so unenthusiastic,” she said, smiling. “This is a rare find.”
“That it is, young mistress.”
It had nothing else to say, it seemed, as the sharp eyes closed and the young lady descended slowly, perhaps planning to rescue her friend or join in the revelry.
