Warrior's Dance

• Ying Lee, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2009

Leap. Step. Twirl.
They danced together and yet apart, metal flashing in the harsh light of the dance floor, a mockery of some peaceful ballet. It was silent, save for the breathing of the competitors and their brief clashes.
Most had torn into each other, each striving to be the one on top; for they had trained, trained hard, to fight.
To fight, and-they hoped-to win.
Most had gone away defeated, in more ways than one-crippled for life, the shards of broken dreams trailing behind them. The winners felt guilty and ecstatic at the same time.
Jump! Spin! Pointe, pirouette, split...
She twirled gracefully and struck-lightning fast-at her opponent, blade sliding out from a sleeve to cut into bare skin. He bent low, comical, to avoid the weapon's wide arc, and snapped his fingers.
A hidden blade sprang out and she felt a sudden jolt of pain, spurring her on. He leaned forward, blade sweeping downward, countered by hers. From a distance, it looked like they were a young couple at a ball.
Eyes flashed menacingly behind monochrome mask, and he snapped back to avoid her weapon taking his head.
She changed the direction of her blade, cutting into him again, and he caught it, showing no pain. A gasp from the onlookers.
"You'll have to try harder than that, my dear," he murmured quietly, with that infuriating little smile on his face. Blood dripped from a ripped sleeve, imperceptibly staining his black clothing.
"I will," she promised, hatred and love in her eyes for her worst enemy and her best and only friend.
Reach to the skies!
She struck out again and he caught her wrist, spinning her around and catching her in a hold exactly like a dancer's, the captured limb held high and his captive pressed against him.
They stood there for a moment, caught in an invisible spotlight-a silent tableau of grace-before he spun her back and let her go, bowing low.
She couldn't help but laugh at his foolishness. He chuckled in return and removed his mask.
He grinned at her. She smiled in a rare display of emotion.
Lift! Lift, and fly!
"I concede defeat. You have outperformed me."
He bowed low, the bow of a king's Fool, sweeping his hat off his head and almost scraping the ground.
"Well done, m'lady. You are the perfect dancer, stealing the spotlight."
The smile didn't leave her face.
"I am flattered," she replied.
"For if I am the perfect dancer, as you say, then you are the perfect partner."
Blades slid back into hidden sheaths, and they bowed once more to each other before they turned and exited their impromptu dance floor.