Chapter 16: Farewell, Daughter of Teresa
It has been a long time since I greeted the world with so little rest. Many years ago, it was Teresa who would bring me sleepless nights. But this day was… different.
I raise myself, brushing back my hair, and gently rubbing the drowsiness out of my eyes. I glance at the mirror on my wall, then glide out of my humble room.
It is time to ride to Bordeaux. I have a Championship title to defend.
Yet, my reflections, my own thoughts, and my own worries are my greatest enemy now.
Clare… the future World Champion that Teresa had foretold…
To what lengths must I go to fulfill that damn woman’s dream…?
I let those thoughts subside. I will deal with them later. Today, I have determined, shall be my greatest and final battle.
The hope of Teresa’s legacy is on my shoulders.
*
She looks as young and naïve as when I first met her.
She does not glare at me, nor does she smile. She simply looks at me. We descended into the pit together, side by side, although neither of us spoke. It seemed as if we had already expressed what needed to be expressed. I ignore the crowd, although it is large – very large. So large that I’m slightly irritated. I’d rather box Clare alone, have a few words with her to myself. But this is bare-knuckle boxing, and I am used to this… demeaning of warriors.
Oh, Clare. You have no idea how deeply Teresa loves you.
She cautiously advances. She knows of my reputation. My so-called “Flash-Strike”. Very well. If you all wish to see it – I unhesitantly give it to her – a powerful, heavy jab that sends her flying across the pit. She slams into the wall, despite having guarded immediately after I launched my fist. That is already impressive enough. She scrambles up, unable to believe what I did. So I calmly jab at Clare’s face again, sending the younger woman crashing to the ground again, rolling back for several feet, before coming to a painful, lurching stop.
I suppose she’s never experienced such a punch before. But that she survived it, is astonishing. The beauty of the Flash-Strike is that one blow is sufficient to knock one unconscious.
Yet, she stands, again although she is shaken. Her coach, young Galatea, looks shocked as well, though she hides it well. You have come far since leaving Sutafu, Galatea. I will never tell you this, but I am proud of you. You have an adventurous spirit that Sutafu has lost.
I am more astonished at the fact that she withstood my punch! I can hear the crowd praising my name in awe as Clare struggles forward, only to meet another jab from me that breaks her nose. Fools. They are of a younger, less educated generation. They were after my time. They have never borne witness to Teresa.
There was no other word for her boxing. It wasn’t infighting. It wasn’t outfighting. It wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t offensive.
It was, simply put,
perfection.
Clare tries desperately to close the gap between us, her famous “Flashcutter” fists slicing at the air, narrowly missing my hair. One narrowly misses my chin. I begin to wonder – perhaps I should not hold back anymore? I send a cross her way, testing her reflexes. They are below standard. She was unable to catch or evade it, and her chin cracks. Unfortunate. I cannot ease my assault, for I must draw out her skill to their fullest extent. Another combo from me, this time aimed at her temple, then her liver. She doubles over, barely able to move. She could not even see me thrust my fist forward.
In time, Clare… you will learn to detect the small things, just as Teresa was able to. She could read an opponent’s body like a child’s book. We were all powerless against her, for she was a ventriloquist, and we were puppets. It was as if her very presence animated us to move, and when we moved, she reacted – with devastating power.
That is why Teresa was invincible, Clare. She understood not simply bare knuckle boxing, but the human body, as an integrated whole. And like so, she could dismantle it, like a carpenter dismantles his own creations.
She dismantled all of us.
Clare’s face is bleeding, and she is exhausted. But she has not lost her temper. She has not attempted any wild punch that would ensure her defeat. On the contrary, her punching is growing sharper, and if I do not raise the stakes, she may hurt me more than I can withstand.
To grow stronger in adversity… is perhaps the most enviable quality of all, Clare.
Part of me desperately hopes that you will be the woman who can topple Priscilla and restore Teresa’s name. In that sense, I want you to trample me to the ground. I want you to strike me, strike me until I cannot fight back, and until I collapse on my knees in agonized surrender, just as I did to Teresa when I first challenged her. Of course, I cannot simply let you win, for I have been entrusted to push you to your highest limit, to your breaking point. Only then, can I know if you are worthy to carry on your mother’s legacy.
I chastise myself as Clare’s jab manages to hit my face. I wince. I must stop this train of thoughts. Guilt will lead me nowhere. I try to regain my rhythm, calmly weaving through her powerful hook, countering with a cross –
She hits me first, her counter in the form of a swifter jab. I feel my hands involuntarily raise themselves as she begins to cut into me, pushing me gradually into the corner of the pit. Her control of the field is impressive. It should have taken her years to learn how to control the spatial dimensions of the pit, yet she can pressure even me.
I can’t praise her any longer, because my mind has gone blank. Only for a moment. Then I see blood.
Clare has smashed into my face. With what punch, I do not know.
I cannot help my surprise. This… Flashcutter… what is this technique? I feel my head throbbing uncontrollably. I retaliate calmly, and she falls down yet again to my Flash-Strike. But to my astonishment, she rises, as if I had merely flicked her with my finger. She swings again, and I feel her knuckles striking my cheekbone. I recoil, staggering, and she advances, presuming to finish me.
Your temerity is infuriating.
Almost as infuriating as Teresa’s.
She hurls her body against me, trying to plow past my own punches. A good strategy against others, but pointless before me. Another Flash-Strike bashes her away, but already she has become accustomed to the force of my killing blow, and rather than sprawling along the ground, she merely staggers back several feet.
Not bad.
Teresa… what would you have me do? If you were watching now… would you hate me for hurting your daughter so? Would you hate me for fulfilling your dream by using her power?
I feel a sharp pain in my liver. Clare has punched below my guard and into my stomach. I have underestimated her speed. It truly is fast – capable of exceeding mine. But not yet. I counterattack calmly, this time aiming for her face.
I cannot let this continue. I will stop her now, for this fight has gone on long enough.
I shoot out my cross, thrusting forward my entire body as a flash of light. Unstoppable, uncatchable, unpredictable. I will end it all with this.
My eyes widen in utter shock, and I feel her fist hurling my head to the side. I spit out blood. Flashcutter – again?! Is her fist truly that well-timed enough to throw my Flash-Strike off? I’ve clouted her around the face, once, twice – yet she presses on, smashing into me with another liver blow. I feel three of my ribs neatly snap. Why.. why can she resist me… like an equal…?
I cannot understand. Not only can she stand up after eating my Flash-Strike; how could she have slipped past, let alone countered it? Did she predict it…?
Is… she is beginning to…
Perceive my movements?
…
Teresa…
As I feel my knuckles in her face again, I find myself grinning wildly despite myself. All semblance of calm has been thrown aside as I enter into a trance, the trance of my bout with a Teresa of ten years ago. I can no longer look at this one like any ordinary foe. I am tired of simply defending my Championship. I am tired of this summit. Let me struggle! Let me grapple with someone worthy of Teresa’s power! Forgoing the use of my Flash-Strike, I resort to using my own honed skills, throwing punch after punch, forcing Clare on the defensive. But she no longer blocks – she slips, weaves, bobs, parries – even tentatively counterattacking. Such courage, such sharp instincts, such honed reflexes! She defies me, just as Teresa defied me. We glare at each other, and we strike one another again and again and again, the impacts of our fists thundering through the pit, louder to us than the stomping and roaring of our rabble audience.
Good… we will both defy each other then; we will raise ourselves up to the summit by our own ambition, and our own hubris.
Perhaps I am being unrealistic. I am badly hurt, this I know. She’s pushed me to the edge of the pit. Not just her speed. Her physical endurance is… preternatural. But she is also tiring, her eyes are growing dimmer, despite her predicting my movement. We both know, as one as we are with each other in our struggle, an end must always come. I can barely stand, my ribs are creaking with every breath. And Clare’s face… I can barely recognize the poor girl.
I feel the end approaching for us and despite my body’s condition, I remain smiling. Whatever becomes of this last exchange, I am happy. I set myself ready to launch what felt to be my last attack and I see her doing the same, her body becoming taunt and ready, all focus pouring into the decisive moment awaiting us.
Fight on Clare, for you ... are the future that Teresa, and I, have dreamed of.
I must have imagined it, that acknowledgment in her eyes. That burning affirmation that stirs my soul.
My journey as ‘Champion’ may have come to an end, but my duty to Teresa still remains and the journey to train you as best I can has only just begun. For there is a thing that you must learn that lie beyond technique and training…
... And that “thing” is...the ‘soul of a warrior’.
The path that can only go forward.
Wordlessly, I shoot out my final Flash-Strike, holding nothing back, as my weary body and soul screams in its release. I do not know if this attack will kill her.
I pray it does not.
She responds with her own Flashcutter. Our fists meet… then brush past one another. Will hers meet my face first? I cannot tell.
We have both staked our fates on this. That is all. Even so…thank you, Clare. I truly thank you for this fated day, for this glorious match - for this very moment.
*
Clare felt as if her entire body had exploded in exquisite pain. Her world blurred as she felt herself crashing to the ground, sprawling once again. She had fallen many times now, and she even though she was able to rise before, she was not sure if she could rise from this one. Irene’s last Flash-Strike was truly superhuman. It had felt as if she had been struck by a goddess, angry at her daring to usurp her from her throne on high. Yet… I… cannot fall here… not now.
She was so close. Her ears pounded loudly, dimly registering Galatea’s screams as she crawled about on the blood-streaked mat. She heard the countdown somehow above the roaring din of the raging crowd. She pushed herself up to one knee, struggling just to keep her balance as she attempted to stand. She looked up, one eye locked onto Irene, who had lowered her hands, a looming giant of a woman, and she spat up blood.
You haven’t won yet!
Even if it kills me…
With a mighty effort coupled with the screaming approval of the crowds, Clare somehow managed to find her footing and stood on trembling legs.
I will fight you until I… until I - !
Galatea nodded, her eyes wild with emotion. “Finish this!” she cried to her pupil. “Don’t let her deck you again! You won’t be able to get up after a fourth time,” she cried, as Clare shuffled painfully, dragging her feet and then stopped before Irene. “What are you doing?! Defeat her, and the Championship is yours!! It’s YOURS!!”
She fell silent, as she glimpsed the tears shimmering in Clare’s eyes. She looked more closely at the still standing Irene and her mouth dropped in utter shock and awe.
Irene had not lowered her fists in triumph over Clare as she stood. She had lowered her fists because she was no longer conscious. On her battered and bruised face was a shockingly serene smile despite her puffy eyelids, swollen bruises, and a trickle blood flowing slowly down her forehead.
Even in defeat, she had remained standing… still so strong and yet so beautiful.
Clare’s worn arms were now limp at her sides as even the roaring crowd fell silent when they had finally realized what had happened. Even Rubel, snide man he was, failed to degrade this unearthly moment.
As the now-former Champion finally fell, her body completely relaxed - completely free, Clare rushed to embrace her before she hit the blood-splattered floor. Trembling she held onto the limp body, quietly weeping in admiration and awe.
Irene…
What has pushed you so far…?
*
Afternoon
Her head wrapped in bandages, Clare sat by Irene’s side in the sick bay, waiting for her to awaken. As the sun began to dip below the horizon outside, the former Continental Champion groaned, raising her hand to her sore head. “Where… am I?”
“Irene…” Clare gave a small smile. “You’re… in the locker room.”
“Ah… yes. You defeated me, didn’t you.” Irene looked up, staring at the roof. It was not so much a question as it was an admission. “I must congratulate you, Clare. I would never have thought Teresa’s daughter would have made it this far. And for that reason, I admit I do not feel very upset at all.” Irene raised herself up slowly, her face impassive to the pain she was feeling. “Where is Galatea?”
“You’ve been asleep for several hours now,” said Clare. “The others have all returned to Rabona. I asked to remain behind.”
Irene raised her eyebrow in surprise. “And what do you want with me?”
Clare stared into Irene’s eyes. “I want some answers.”
Irene nodded, rubbing her head. “My apologies for behaving so cryptically the other day. But as you are now the Featherweight Continental Champion, I believe it is the correct time.” She looked at Clare directly. “I wish to impart to you everything I know about bare-knuckle boxing.”
Clare nodded yet was troubled. “But what of Galatea?”
“Do not worry. I will not keep you for long. It shall be my last deed as a boxer, before I retire and join Teresa in the ranks of once-powerful warriors, toppled by the new generation.” Irene gave a self-effacing smirk. “Your skills have already progressed greatly; your victory told me that much. But I would like for you to learn the Flash-Strike. It will serve you well in the future, as you advance up the World rankings to reach Priscilla.”
“So… you know of my reason for entering the pits,” mumbled Clare.
“My reason for teaching you… is the very same,” said Irene quietly.
The new Champion blinked in surprise, before lowering her head. “Say, Irene… ”
“Yes?”
“Let me take you to my home, where Teresa lives too. After a decade, I can’t believe you wouldn’t want to see her again.”
Irene stared determinedly down at her hands on the bedsheet. “I have seen her too often for one lifetime, my child.” She looked at Clare awkwardly. “You… intend to take me to her?”
“Yes. We live in a cottage we built outside the meadows of Rabona city. If you are to teach me, I demand that you come. You can stay for dinner.” Clare’s expression was utterly serious. “Teresa and I almost always eat together. It has been a while since she had a guest. Especially an old comrade like you.”
Irene averted her eyes. “I… would not know what to say to her.”
“You are to be my teacher, Irene. You said so yourself. For that reason, the three of us are interconnected. It only makes sense for you to stay with us, after so many years.”
For the first time since Clare had met her, Irene actually looked nervous.
*
Evening. Hills outside of Rabona
Garbed in a modest black dress, Irene shifted uncomfortably. “This is hardly a good idea, young lady,” she said, as she stood behind Clare at the old door to Teresa’s cottage.
“Do not worry,” said Clare, knocking. “Teresa,” she called. “I’m home, and I’ve brought someone to see you.”
The door creaked open, and her adoptive mother peered out, already garbed in her nightclothes. “Just in time, Clare. You must be hungry. Have some soup – ” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Clare, what – ”
Clare smiled bashfully. “I hope this is not too ill-timed.”
Teresa fell silent, gaping out the door.
Those silver eyes she had not seen for ten years. Irene did her best to meet them. “I… Irene…?” breathed Teresa, losing almost all interest in Clare. She stared in wonder at the pointy-eared woman for several moments, before breaking into a relaxed, almost relieved, smile. “You have brought her here, Clare?”
Clare lowered her gaze. “Yes.”
Teresa opened the door, her eyes still wide. “Well,” she said, drawing near, her hand trembling on her cane. “I didn’t expect to meet you again… after so long.” She raised an arm, reaching for Irene. “Where have you been?”
“As Clare has said, I have remained in the pits,” muttered Irene, as Teresa embraced her lightly, her weak hands shaking.
Clare smiled. Teresa may have been reduced to a hobbling lady, but it was a long time since she had been so energetic.
“This is almost too much to take in. Why don’t you settle down before you tell me everything. And I mean you too, Irene,” added Teresa, stepping back. “Come in.”
Clare nodded understandingly and stepped past Teresa to prepare the bowls for dinner, but Irene simply stood at the door, staring at the former World Champion.
“…Teresa,” she acknowledged quietly, painfully awkward.
“It looks like Clare beat you,” said Teresa, her smile broadening.
“Yes,” growled Irene.
“Tell me everything,” demanded Teresa at once. “Everything from these past ten years, to your defeat today.”
*
Clare was understandably exhausted, and after she had divulged to Teresa of everything that had transpired this glorious day, she retired to her room. But as the evening grew darker and colder, words continued to be exchanged between the two veterans inside the cottage. For several hours, Teresa and Irene remained reclined on chairs arranged before the fireplace, the crackling warmth soothing the initial awkwardness.
As commanded, Irene had told her all that she suspected, of Clare’s power, and her potential.
For a while, there was only silence. Teresa stared unseeingly at the burning wood. “So. You believe the boxer whom I spoke of a decade ago… is Clare? And she is the warrior I entrusted you to find?”
Irene nodded, sipping at the hot milk Teresa had prepared for her. “She has defeated me and become the new Featherweight Continental Champion. It seems too… providential. Yet I do not wish to force that idea onto you. I have always been aware of your reluctance for Clare to engage in any form of bloodsport.”
“I cannot stop my daughter from her silly crusade of vengeance,” said Teresa bluntly, her fingers fiddling at her armrest. “If I cannot stop her, I certainly cannot stop you from teaching her.”
Irene glanced at her. “Clare has invited me to leave Sutafu after my retirement. She wants me to stay here.”
“Will you listen to her?”
“I will most certainly retire. I am satisfied that we have at last found the legacy we both hoped for. But… ”
“You will stay a little while longer here, ex-Champion?” smirked Teresa suddenly. “The cottage is large enough for a family of three. I have no husband, after all.”
“I am not your family,” snapped Irene, unable to stop her teeth grinding. “We are not family.”
“Alright, princess,” chided Teresa. “But know that I also had a pretty narrow view of the world, before I took Clare in. But she’s made me realize… how much deeper relationships go than simply ‘family’ or ‘enemies’.”
“I have tolerated your mastery over me for fifteen years, and I am not about to let you have me again.”
Teresa smiled sadly at her. “And what would that mastery over you be? That of a cane-bound cripple? Listen to me. I have wondered about you for many years, Irene. I have never forgotten about you.”
“You might as well have,” interrupted Irene brusquely. “I have not forgotten about you either. I
cannot forget about you. Sometimes, I wish I could. ”
Teresa did little to hide the pain in her eyes.
Irene blinked, in surprise, irritation… and mild guilt.
She… has really changed this much? What has happened to the World Champion I once…?
“Ever since Priscilla incapacitated me, I cannot leave this cottage,” said Teresa quietly. “My body can barely support itself around this house. I can only remain here in these meadows beyond Rabona, hoping Clare will return unharmed from her stupid bouts. I feel her lips on my face every morning, every day she leaves to train, and it is the most wonderful – most terrifying – thing in the world. I can only trust Galatea is doing the right thing.” She closed her eyes. “You can still walk and fight, and yet, you have chosen to retire. When Clare told me that, I entertained this wild thought, that someone up there was blessing me, guiding you back to me, so we could find each other once again.” She sighed, trying unsuccessfully to hide the genuine hurt in her voice. “But I have been wrong about many things in life already.”
Silence from Irene.
…
Amazing. I never believed that you, of all people…
She looked away. “My things are at Sutafu Academy. I must arrange for a new coach there, and ensure my students will be taken care of. If you insist like the child you are, I will move in… before the weekend is upon us.”
Teresa’s sorrow visibly lifted. She chuckled lightly - hopefully. “Then…you will live with us?”
“I believe I have answered in the affirmative. I plan to retire, after all. There is no stigma here. Besides… you have entrusted to me a task that I must carry out.”
“Well then, you cannot leave for Sutafu now. It is too late, and the nights are freezing at this time of year.” Teresa hobbled up and limped out of the den, beaming. “I will prepare your bed for you.”
Irene turned away, her slanted eyes shining with rare emotion. “Teresa… thank you for entrusting me with Clare. It must be rather difficult for you.”
“Look,” called Teresa, almost ignoring Irene’s words as she looked out of the open window, her voice hushed in pleasure. “The stars… they are glimmering outside. Aren’t they wonderful?”
Irene had to smile as she turned her eyes to the window as well. “Yes,” she murmured, “they are beautiful.”
They are beautiful, indeed.