Chapter 10: Champion Carnival! Jeane vs. Katea
Two days later. Pieta
It was nightfall, but the woman who approached Pieta Academy shone like the morning star itself.
She possessed a most breathtaking beauty – large, feminine eyes with the lustre of the full moon, and a generous mouth, naturally pouting, yet reserved in its opulence. Her blonde hair was wavy, slightly curly, as if she had only just awoken from a tranquil slumber. She wore a simple red blouse that refused to let itself hide the curves of her body, the slim, gentle, graceful legs, the gorgeous bosom above, and the small, angelic hands. Her high-heeled shoes tapping lightly on the ground, she neared the front door of the gym and tapped lightly on the wood. The door creaked open, and a glum looking Hilda peered outside. Her expression changed into one of relief. “Flora! Good evening,” she said, hurrying to open wide the door. “Oh, I am glad you’re here. I need someone to talk to, desperately.”
“Good evening to you too, Miss Hilda,” said the elegant woman, bowing her head respectfully. She walked into the empty Academy, which was eerily quiet.
Oh, Hilda. What have you been doing in here all by yourself?
“I heard of Miss Miria’s grievous injuries in the previous bout. She has been well enough to return to Pieta, yes? I have come to visit her. I trust she is in the sick bay?”
“Oh, Flora, you are too kind. Miria has been most unhappy; her disqualification from the double knockout was something she did not expect at all. But – ” Hilda gave Flora a sideways glance. “Are you not weary, darling? From the looks of it, you have arrived here immediately from school. Did the children not tire you?”
“Please, when the thought of Miss Miria in distress forces its way into my thoughts, the boys and girls of my classroom are… well, child’s play.” Flora gave a small smile. “And if it really is so bad, when I return home, my husband will suffer my exhausted body to cuddle his. I am blessed to have so many who inspire me to nobler heights. Come, do not worry yourself with me, Miss Hilda. Take me to her.”
Despite herself, Hilda could not help smiling. “Oh, you are truly a guardian spirit of everyone you know,” she teased softly, as she took Flora’s hand and led her to a door at the back of the hall, past the quiet sandbags and the large mirror. Within the small room was a comfortable bed, where Miria was sleeping. The bandages around her head had been removed, although a painful black eye still remained. Flora glided over to her bedside and sat down on a wooden chair. Hilda stood at the door, her face sad.
Miria stirred, and her good eye opened, glancing around. It met Flora’s compassionate gaze. “… hi there,” murmured the beaten boxer.
“I heard of the double knockout,” whispered Flora, taking Miria’s hand in hers. “I am so sorry. It must be such a disappointment for you.”
Miria looked away, towards the window. The curtains had been flung open, now that the stars were out. “Flora. You know that your match is in two days, right?”
“I most certainly do.”
Miria paused, then spoke again, her voice not bothering to hide her bitterness. “Please. Defeat the Rabona boxer. I can’t stand the thought of any of them advancing up the rankings, while you and I don’t. We promised we would challenge the Champion together. But I’ve broken our oath…”
“Say no more, Miss Miria,” responded Flora, her voice stern, but her eyes flashing with unspeakable sympathy. “It was not your fault. Nor was it the fault of your opponent. Trust in me. I will do best to defeat Miss Clare. I will bear both of our burdens.”
Hilda moved beside Flora. She placed a hand on her small, rounded shoulder. “Please. In two days’ time, come back to us unharmed,” whispered the coach.
Flora’s beautiful eyes changed. They shone with a courageous determination, a pride in her power, her friends, her Academy at Pieta. “I am sure the fellow warriors at Rabona are thinking the same thing. They are no doubt powerful opponents, worthy of great respect. But I will not be defeated easily. I will bring victory back to Pieta.”
“Flora…”
The beauty raised her eyes to meet Hilda’s. “But before that, perhaps I should make a journey to Rabona Academy on the morrow.”
*
The next morning. Rabona Academy
“Stop working at the bag, Helen,” commanded Galatea, exasperated at her student’s obstinate determination to exercise while still suffering from a concussion the day before. “I told you to rest. You’ve been disqualified; there is no point for you to come here and exhaust yourself until the Carnival is over. Go home.”
“Shut up!” snarled Helen, her eyes wild, smashing her still bandaged hands against the rough, hard sandbag. She had gone to the extent of changing into her boxing garments, despite them still caked in dried blood. “Damn that judge to Hell, what was he thinking?! I took Miria’s Phantom Mirage fully in the face, and I still knocked her senseless! Doesn’t that qualify me?! Has anyone ever managed to survive a counterpunch like hers and still beat her?!”
“You didn’t beat her, that was the whole point,” said Galatea dryly. “You were knocked unconscious too.”
Helen did not reply, angrily striking at the bag one last time, before slumping, clutching at her stomach. She felt like hurling. Deneve, who had been standing across from her, hurried to prop her up. She looked at Galatea. “We’ll probably be spending some more time in the sick bay again, coach,” she confessed, shaking her head.
Galatea nodded, sighing. “Do look after Helen for me. I know you are far tougher inside than she is.”
“Come on,” said Deneve, supporting Helen as they made their way to the back door. “I think we deserve a break.”
Outside the Academy, Jeane and Clare sat on the grass, staring up at the rising sun. It had become a habit for the four of them to come to the gym early each morning, to train together, ever since the Carnival had begun. But now…
“I worry deeply, for Helen and Deneve,” said Jeane quietly. “Especially Helen. Can she hold on until… the end of all this?”
“I don’t know,” mumbled Clare. “I’m more worried about myself, as cowardly as that sounds. I might very well end up the same as them. Then I’ll have failed Galatea.”
“You musn’t worry about that. At least, I don’t intend to.” Jeane looked away. “I have to go and ride to Bordeaux. It’s almost time for my first Champion Carnival bout.”
“Are you sure you don’t need me to come?”
Jeane smiled. “You forget. I am lower ranked than you only because you defeated me. I believe I will advance up to challenge Noelle reasonably quickly. And from there, I will defeat her, to challenge Irene.”
Clare returned her grin as Jeane rose, and turned away. “You are quite confident of beating Katea and Rakel, are you not?”
“Perhaps I’m being arrogant. But yes, I am confident,” replied Jeane sheepishly. She gave a quick wave as she left Clare, walking in the direction of the stables to find her horse.
Clare gave an affectionate smile, turning back to look up at the sun, but to her surprise, it was already blocked by a female form, standing before her. The woman was admittedly very attractive, her wavy hair blowing amicably in the morning breeze, and a red dress drifting down her shoulders to her thighs. Her large eyes gazed down at the young boxer on the grass. “Good morning,” said the newcomer, saluting apologetically. “Would a certain boxer by the name of Clare be here?”
Clare blinked, unsure of what to say. “That’s me,” she said, pointing at herself. “Is… there anything you need?”
“Miss Clare, it is my honour to meet with you,” said the wavy-haired woman. “My name is Flora. I have come from Pieta Academy this morning, to Rabona.”
“You – ” Clare could not help her expression of surprise as she realized who Flora was. “You are my opponent for tomorrow’s bout!”
Flora nodded. “True to your reputation, you seem to have awoken even before the cocks crowed. Now, the morning is still early. Have you had breakfast yet?”
“Well… no.”
“And do you intend to be training today?”
“I wish I was, but there’s too much on my mind.”
In other words, you’re nervous, Clare, she thought to herself, slightly embarrassed that she could not be more honest.
“Very well then. Perhaps you could join me for a meal? And afterwards, perhaps you’d be willing to suffer me to walk with you.”
Clare nodded slowly. “Alright. But… may I ask why?”
“For what other reason?” smiled Flora. “I wish to speak with you.”
*
It was midday, and Jeane was feeling good. Her stomach growled louder by the minute, but with the way this match was going, she might even be able to grab lunch before the sun dipped to the west.
Katea was an admirable opponent, but her inexperience in higher level tournaments showed. Her control of the pit was poor, and she was not used to the longer bouts that demanded a more robust constitution and endurance. Her attacks were slowing down, and they were growing so weak that she didn’t even need to slip or weave past them; she merely blocked them with her forearms alone. And they weren’t even getting bruised.
She resolved not to twist her punches. Neither the corkscrew technique nor the Drill Strike would not be necessary here. There was no need to hurt Katea further than she already did.
Katea folded her arms, desperately defending her face as Jeane began to aim her punches at her vitals – chin, neck, liver, kidneys. Her attacks quickened, to the point that Katea’s tight, injured arms were blown away. Her eyes filled with fear as her head was exposed to Jeane’s superior fistwork.
Jeane quickly struck Katea in the abdomen, and before she could recover, sent another powerful punch into the same area, overturning her completely. Katea fell to the ground on all fours, froth foaming at her mouth at the harrowing shock her liver had suffered. She could no longer move.
This fight was thankfully over.
Jeane thrust her hand up, her fist clenching at the hot summer air harder.
She glanced down at Katea. Perhaps it would be a good time to make her beaten opponent’s acquaintance. There should be, after all, no enmity between fighters in the pit.
After what she had seen from Helen since her bout with Miria…
Perhaps she would be returning late to Rabona today.
*
Clare had spent much of the day with Flora, and frankly, she wouldn’t mind spending the rest of it with her. The woman possessed a certain charm, a particular elegance that was affirming to others, a polite humility that endeared herself to anyone who had the pleasure of knowing her – from her beloved husband to her most superficial acquaintances.
Flora had treated her to a most delicious breakfast at an inn, and they had shared a walk along the route where Clare and Jean ran during training days. As the sun gradually reached an apex, Flora used the remainder of her expenses on lunch for the two of them, at another lodge in the city.
“Pieta Academy has fallen on harsh times,” said Flora, offering a piece of warm bread to Clare. “We have few resources, and fewer boxers who are capable of earning renown and winnings across the land. Hilda has been struggling to make ends meet; she does not want to close our gym down. To do so would take away such a wonderful part of our lives.”
“For Miria… and you, too?” asked Clare, her potato stew lying forgotten on the table.
Flora gave an embarrassed, quiet laugh, her diffident voice most melodic. “I’m afraid so. My husband disapproves of my… alter-ego as the Windcutter of the pits, as opposed to my more agreeable profession as a teacher at the children's school in Pieta. But he tolerates it, only because he understands my loyalty to Miria and Hilda, and my desire to earn more for our family.”
Clare could almost see her own soul hiding within Flora’s eyes. Was she any different from her? After all, it was only her devotion, perhaps her irrational loyalty to Teresa, that drove her to injure others and suffer injury herself. She had never enjoyed bare-knuckle boxing, and although nothing could replace the company of the five women she had come to know at Rabona Academy, if there was any other way she could have befriended them, she would much rather take that path. “If Pieta Academy is forced to close… what’ll happen?”
“Several things, I’m sad to say,” answered Flora, sipping at a mug of hot milk. “Hilda has only known boxing for her whole life. She has never lived outside of the world of fighters. I would offer her a teaching post at our school, but I have not the authority to do so.” She took a small bite of bread. “Miria… has her own reasons for fighting. But she is… distressed, to say the least. Boxing is her passion, it is her religion. And through no fault of Hilda’s, the three of us may soon be forced to go separate ways.
“Even the most spiritual of people admit that it is a sad thing, to see things end. It is more difficult to establish an Academy than to let it fall apart. It’s always harder to create, than to destroy. To… bring a martial art like bare-knuckle boxing to life, only to abandon it.” She continued to nibble at the loaf. “I… am the last hope for Pieta Academy. With Miria unable to earn any more renown due to her disqualification, I am the only boxer qualified to challenge Irene and win the money we so desperately need. That is… if I defeat you,” she laughed. “Please do not think I’m asking you to lose to me. I would not dream of proposing something so chicken-hearted.”
“Goodness, I have kept you for far too long,” Flora admonished herself, glancing at the grandfather clock across from the lodge hall. It was already afternoon! “Do let me accompany you back to your Academy, before I return to Pieta.”
“Sure,” said Clare shyly.
The world had truly gone crazy when she had to fight a woman like Flora.
*
The two women stood outside the door of the Academy, unwilling to part. Flora had thanked Clare profusely for hosting her this day, while Clare uncomfortably pointed out that Flora had paid for her breakfast and lunch, too. The sun was setting, and the horse was whinnying for Flora to leave with him. Clare looked back at the gym. Looking into the window, it seemed Jeane had returned, and was talking animatedly with Galatea. “Then… I will see you tomorrow, at Bordeaux,” she offered. “I… look forward to fighting you.”
Flora looked at Clare sadly, and she slowly reached out, taking her hands in her own. Her touch was strong, self-assured, affectionate. “Make no mistake; I will not be defeated easily tomorrow,” she murmured. “I will resist you with all my strength. But I want you to know that I will be resisting with a sorrowful and reluctant heart.” She forced out a laugh. “Perhaps you might find it useful to exploit that, Miss Clare.”
“No,” said Clare at once. “I wouldn’t dare. And please, call me Clare.” She returned Flora’s touch, gripping her slim, almost fragile fingers lightly. Flora looked at her in surprise, then nodded, bashfully.
“I wish you the best, Flora. I will also fight my hardest, in honour of how far we’ve both come.”
Flora smiled. “Then… until tomorrow, Clare.” And with that, she turned away, not looking back.
Clare unhappily walked back into the Academy, even as the trotting of Flora’s horse began to recede.
She did not forget her very first bout – her fight against Jeane. It had been more than she could bear, to hurt such a noble woman while the mob around them jeered and spat at her broken body.
And now Flora…
Was everything destined to repeat itself? The humiliation of the past, the shame of this whole bare-knuckle enterprise?
I cannot let Galatea down. I must do my part for Rabona, now that Helen and Deneve are out.
But is Flora… really Pieta Academy’s last hope?
And if she loses… will Pieta Academy really close down?
The crushing thought almost made Clare
want to lose to her rival.
Almost.
Tomorrow. they would see how strong each other’s resolve was. To win, and to challenge Irene.
To save their Academies.
Oh, Flora… if possible… I do not wish to injure you more than I must.