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“The Maypole Tournament”

By six-thirty, the oval-shaped building in the middle of town was in the process of filling with neighborly banter and staticky colors from spectators claiming their spots. White cement bleachers and tall iron lamps ablaze with fire webbed the seating area. It was the lamps' duty to keep the action on the field visible through the late hours, though the sun was far from retired on this summer's evening.

In the center of it all was the Maypole playing field. Basically, what it looked like from above was two adjoining circular tracks among a well-manicured spread of grass. These rings were about forty yards in diameter each, their sandy tracks four yards wide. In the middle of each ring stood an eight-foot pole with a long, wooden gate structure attached to it like the door of a sheep pen. It was evident that these structures could swivel by the way they gently swayed in the breeze with a creak. Lastly, on the opposite sides of the eighty-yard field stood the goals, rather generous in width and backed with netting. Just by the playing field alone, this thing called Maypole looked like an interesting sport.

The same cross-armed, pouting expression that Dannix displayed in his room at the inn did not change in the slightest now that he sat on a locker room bench, nervously awaiting his athletic debut. How did he keep getting suckered into doing these things? Kittykat sat next to him and offered a therapeutic smile in hopes of cheering him up, but no amount of lip power could brighten his cloudy day it seemed.

The air inside the room was humid and smelled of body odor. It was a generally uncomfortable feeling for everyone, both physically and mentally, understanding that they were cats about to be thrown into a swimming pool in front of thousands of staring eyes and against an opponent still unnamed. In the meantime, they awaited further instruction by someone not yet present.

There was little more for the heroes to do besides check inside the empty lockers until Gregor opened the door to the equipment closet, causing a stash of gardening tools to crash to the floor. These were the official weapons of the sport: fan-style metal rakes, the kind with mercifully flexible teeth. Each player claimed one so that he or she could get the feel of it, but what it amounted to was a lot of impatient twirling of the handles or anxious plucking of the teeth like a musician tuning his strings. Keeb played air lute with his, whereas Stumpy blissfully practiced raking imaginary leaves on a Sunday afternoon. If the tools of the trade were this ridiculous, they could only imagine how humiliating the standard issue outfits looked.

After an agonizing short eternity of waiting, a bold, stocky woman, just slightly taller than Stumpy, entered the room to the tune of many keys jingling by her hip. She wore a lidless visor on her head and a white, low-cut tank top that revealed plenty of cleavage. Energetically she leapt onto one of the benches, plucked a whistle from her bosom, and gave it a tweet. The shrill sound cracked Kittykat's eardrum and got her off on the wrong foot with this person.

"So here we have the newest batch of Maypole fairies," the woman sassed with an intimidating smile. "I'll start by saying that if you're here to prance merrily in a circle while wrapping colorful, gay ribbons around a wooden stick, then go home now!"

"Okay," Stumpy readily agreed before facing the door, but Gregor pulled him back by the beard and offered the traditional slap to his head.

The woman continued, "My name is Cyri, and I'll be casting my spell of greatness upon you. If you're here to have fun, I'm afraid I'm gonna have to beat that wussiness out of you! I'll make sure you're all winners regardless of how many rake handles get broken over your heads!"

Dannix grimaced, almost about to cry. As for Kittykat's take on the situation, the part where fun was not allowed caused a little disturbed twitch in her lip. With just thirty seconds of knowing this audacious woman, already her mood was turning sour.

Demonstrating authority, Cyri slammed her fists onto her hips and looked over her pitiful team. "Now, according to your application, you describe yourselves as legendary heroes saving the homerealm from ruin. Hmm, interesting gimmicks. Grossly unoriginal, but interesting. So, 'legendary heroes', you have faced trolls, rogues, and even fire-breathing dragons, but are you ready to face your most dangerous enemy ever: BLOODLUST?"

Keeb swallowed a frightened gulp as beads of sweat formed on his brow.

"Yes, BloodLust!" the gung-ho trainer continued, pacing atop the bench. "Six of the most ferocious, vile rattlesnakes you'll ever come across! You'll have to use every ounce of strength, every ounce of stamina, and twice as much wit to defeat them! You call yourselves legendary heroes? Well, then prove it!" She aimed a doubtful eye toward Dannix. "Especially you, cutie. I want you to show me some chest hair!"

The lad's hopeless expression did not improve, so Kittykat placed a comforting hand on his shoulder before returning a territorial glare at the coach.

"Follow my lead, and your victory is assured," Cyri added, still pacing. "If you don't, I'll just have to kick all of your asses! Now, the first step is to raise the fiery beast within all of you. I will start by belittling each of you based on your flaws and insecurities. Who would like to share their pathetic story first?"

Kittykat meekly raised her hand. "Uh, miss? Just a question. We're going to be fitted with helmets and pads, right?"

"Helmets and pads?" Cyri repeated in mockery. "And I suppose you'll need training wheels too, huh? Listen, I don't know how you play the sport in Foofoo-land, but we have no such things here, in the birthplace of Maypole! It's come-as-you-are. What you're all wearing now are your uniforms, sad as that may be!"

Keeb snapped his fingers in regret. "Shucks! And me without my porcupine armor!"

"However—" Cyri jumped off the bench and made her way to one of the big lockers as she fiddled with her keychain. She unlocked the containment unit and pulled out something rather dazzling to the newcomers of the sport. It was a pair of sleek, golden shoes with little white wings painted on the sides. They were man-sized yet somewhat dainty, so Cyri decided that they would be a likely fit for Dannix. Throwing the shoes at him, she stated, "You will, of course, need flutter shoes."

The young man instinctively raised his arms to block the projectiles from hitting his face, and he fumbled them in his hands until securing a firm grip.

"Those look like Swivelhip dancer's shoes," Gregor sneered. "Why do we gotta wear those things for running around on the field?"

"Running?" mocked Cyri. "Dammit, when was the last time you guys played Maypole?"

He was reluctant, but Dannix felt it best to try on the shoes rather than deal with the needling that Cyri was sure to execute. After lacing them up and standing to his feet, he had to admit that they had a nice, comfortable feel but nothing really extraordinary. That was until the most amazing thing happened. Imagine his surprise when he felt his feet go weightless as he magically floated off the floor. The wings on his shoes had come to life and fluttered like hummingbirds on a six-inch cushion of air. Slipping and sliding as if on ice, Dannix comically flailed his arms to keep balance, and his untrained feet threatened to go separate ways, but Kittykat and Gregor were by his sides to hold him steady.

This novice display was all Cyri needed to confirm her doubts, and she bit the bottom of her lip impatiently. "Yes, I repeat: when was the last time you guys played Maypole?"

"I'm sorry," Keno confessed, his words drawn out cautiously. "We've never played it before."

"Oh, saints in Hell!" the trainer cursed in a volatile manner. "Then why are you bakas wasting my time? Do you deliberately want to make fools of yourselves out there?"

"Wouldn't be our first time!" Keeb remarked before watching Dannix do a ballet split with his wayward legs.

"Just humor us for a bit," Gregor followed up. "We're interested in trying out this game; we paid our money good and proper, and without us, there wouldn't even be a tournament tonight! Cut us some slack!"

Keno added, "I'm sure to most people out there, watching Good vs. Medieval in action, no matter how well our performance is, will be as great a treat as any regular Maypole event. You could consider this an exhibition match."

"That's not the point," Cyri defended harshly. "I have a reputation to maintain, you know. I am a premium trainer. I coach only the greatest Maypole teams in the land. That field is my violin and my teams are the bows that make the most beautiful music when coursing down those tracks. I don't know whose joke it was to hand you dimwits off on me, but if I have you bumbling all over my Maypole field, playing my violin with a rusty knife, I'd be laughed out of the sport too, dammit! I would rather coach blind, thumbless swampgogs than fools so clueless that they ask for helmets and pads!"

That last part was aimed specifically at Kittykat, which finally sent the little lady to the edge. Boldly she retaliated, not so much losing her temper, but in a chillingly calm, assertive voice, she hissed at the trainer, "How about instead of using these remaining minutes before the game to spout off about how we threaten your precious ego, you actually protect it by putting your talents to work? I would expect any good coach to at least run down the basics for us, but since you're so darn 'premium', I actually dare you to make winners out of us tonight. We are not bumbling dimwits; we are your biggest challenge. You like to raise the hurdles for your teams, but what happens when you yourself are faced with one? Are you going to take the cowardly, hypocritical route and dismiss us without so much as an attempt? This may come as a shock to you, but we do want to win— that is why we're here— and I'm sure we can do that and have fun at the same time, even though you may think that's not possible. And don't worry about raising a fiery beast within me because, honey, you summoned it good, and you're going to have a heck of a time taming it if you don't heed what I'm saying!"

Dead silence followed, for none of the men could believe what they had just witnessed. Respectful as they were of Kittykat's stance, they could not root her on or clap her on the back, for they were too wide-eyed and shocked to respond.

Cyri's hardened coach façade surrendered to a more human persona, and the tough little woman lowered her head in what appeared to be shame. However, she stared aggressively in the rookie's eyes and added a firm, pointed finger to her chest. "I seriously hope you'll be the first to get mulched tonight— but you're right." Her fists returning to her hips, she burst with enthusiasm. "Dammit, I'm gonna show everybody just how much of a miracle maker I am by turning you guys into Maypole champions!"

She disappeared behind a locker partition for a few seconds. When she returned, she pulled along a wheeled blackboard. Chalk in hand, she started mapping out a diagram of the field to her best scribbling ability, the chalk clacking fiercely against the slate.

"We don't have much time," she noted, "so listen up!" Thus a crash course on the sport of Maypole began.

The layout of the field was simple: two circular tracks joined together at the rims with goals on the far left and right sides. By gaming terminology, these sides were known as the Sun and Moon Corners, and Keno's team would represent the Sun Corner in the upcoming challenge. The track alone was the playable area; anything that touched the grass was considered out-of-bounds. Whoever veered out or was responsible for losing the ball in this zone would cost their team a penalty.

The game was played with rakes and a sluggish, weighty ball, and the special flying shoes were meant for added speed and skill. The object of the game was to use the rakes to sweep the ball into the opponent's goal. This was done in a variety of ways. Running with it or passing it to a teammate were typical methods, but the ball did not necessarily have to remain on the ground. Using the rake to bounce it up and batting it worked too, as long as it did not touch the grass. Handling the ball in any way other than with the rake counted as a penalty.

Maypole was not a free-for-all sport; there was a special manner in which players had to traverse the field, combining the objective of scoring goals with the protocol of a race. Both circular tracks had set courses which players had to follow— the Sun Track demanded a clockwise flow of traffic whereas the Moon Track, a counterclockwise flow. An important rule to note was to always move forward. Slowing down and stopping were fine, though not recommended, but going against traffic— or "salmoning"— resulted in a penalty.

As far as describing the consequences of all those aforementioned penalties, Cyri felt it unnecessary for time restraint purposes— just as long as it was clear to the team that they were not good.

Any of the six members of a team could hold whichever position desired: a "defensive" position or an "invading" position. Defending entailed that players stayed within their own track, maintaining circular laps and guarding their goal, thwarting the opposition from making a score. An invasion, or "figure-eight" according to Maypole terminology, meant taking the "crossroads" onto the opposing track to try scoring a goal while dodging the competitors' defense. Crossing over could be done as often as a player wished.

Then came the fun part, which brought smiles to the heroes' faces because it was right up their alley. Maypole was a full-contact sport. Any barbarics that players wished to employ with their rakes or the ball were considered legal. Players who became beaten too badly at any part of the game were sidelined for the rest of it, if not rushed to the medic.

Obstacles. Learning of them, the team got a hint of where the game got its name. In the middle of both circular tracks stood poles that spun in the direction of their respective corners. Flagging out from each pole's side was a single barricade, or "comb," that swept across the track. The comb ensured that traffic kept moving along because if it hit a player, that would result in an "out" with no further participation for that player in the game.

A Maypole game consisted of three rounds, each lasting fifteen minutes with a five-minute break in between. Scoring was simple: goals were worth ten points in the first round, twenty points in the second, and thirty in the third. By that same token, the rounds became more challenging, for the combs increased in speed. The team with the most points at the end, regardless of eliminated members, was deemed the winner.

###

Around the field, trumpeters in royal blue tabards raised their elongated horns and blared out the opening theme, prompting the crowd to burst with festive cheer and toss handfuls of confetti. Flurries of colorful streamers rained down from the sky too, from small, low-flying blimps showing off banner advertisements for cobblers, pottery makers, and whatnot. Vendors began their rounds in the stands selling snacks and refreshments, their pace slow and cumbersome, wading across the aisles packed with smiling men, women, and children eager to watch the impending spectacle.

Facing the two rings of the playing field, beyond the sideline benches, stood the commentator's booth. Two men, one refined-looking and dressed in a nice vest, the other with a small goatee and a shirt smeared with finger-painted graffiti, occupied the station. For a few minutes they conversed with each other privately while examining their notes, making sure everything was in order. Then they tapped their fingers on the tips of their respective table-mounted horns that magically amplified the thumps so that the whole stadium could hear. With the sound test satisfactory, next came the moment that everyone waited for.

"It's time for Maypole madness!" the clean-cut announcer hailed the crowd. "Welcome, everybody! I'm Drew Winecooler sitting alongside Malcor the Maniacal, and we're gearing up for a tremendous battle tonight!"

His color colleague virtually exploded with vocal energy. "Forty thousand people on their feet in the great city of Wendool for what promises to be a real siege raiser, Drew! I can't wait to see this one transPIRE!"

They allowed the audience to get in their emphasized, deafening cheers, confetti still flurrying around the place.

Drew raised his voice to explain. "Tonight's tournament will pit the wily veterans, BloodLust, against a team making their Maypole debut: legendary heroes, Good vs. Medieval— and Friends. If you fancy brutality, this match is sure to please!"

"Oh, you know it!" complemented Malcor. "And speaking of fancy, let me take this moment to welcome a special guest in attendance tonight. He's seated in our way overpriced luxury box: Crass the Curator graces us with his presence! Everyone, give a hoot and a holler for Crass!"

He swung his arm behind his shoulder, presenting the tented, boxed-in seats behind him. There, between two lovely ladies in scant, feathery dancer outfits, sat a humanoid animal with features crossed between those of a goat and a donkey. The shaded seating area also accommodated two other men— lowly, ragtag souls who looked like minions of the guest of honor.

With the crowd showing their love, the ivory-colored mule-man jolted with a zany expression and twitched his head in all directions. What an odd-looking soul he was, with big square teeth grinning inside rubbery lips, and eyes that would have fallen out had they gotten any wider. Wispy white hair scribbled from the back of his neck and growing out of his chin like a frayed paintbrush added to his uniquely mad look. Realizing that he was the subject of attention, Crass stood up in all his six-and-a-half-foot, scarlet-velvet-bedroom-robe glory and graciously bowed to his fans. His shapely bookends joined him, waving to the crowd with sparkling smiles.

"That's right, Crass," Malcor cheered him on. "Take a bow." To the crowd he added, "Of course, Crass will be holding his big, Saturday night post-game hoedown at his mansion later where anything goes— or everything gets taken off, rather!"

The trumpeters on the field carried their tune into a heroic fanfare, which was Good vs. Medieval's cue to emerge from the entrance tunnel. All six walked into view in their golden shoes, wings inactive. Apparently the team had learned how to control the feisty footwear. No matter where they turned their heads, they saw rows of cheering people caving in on them like an avalanche, and that was when the realization of being in the spotlight struck. Dannix grew sick to his stomach, his heart pounded in fear, and his limbs weakened; he was ready to curl up in a ball and die. He personified the very bottom of the mood ladder, while at the top was Keno, performing double bicep flexes and waggling his arms in victory. What a showboat he was!

"Good vs. Medieval and Friends are making their way onto the field," Drew announced. "As you know, they hail from the kingdom of Briton, except for that young lady there: Kittykat is her name. She comes from the land of Wormaria."

"Where the hell is Wormaria?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Malcor. Dannix Nectarrin— the one who looks like he's eaten some bad gruel— is the sixth member of the team out there. Looks like Good vs. Medieval are expanding their enterprise."

With the Sun Team settled on the grass, standing in a safe cluster and unsure of what to expect next, they were befuddled by the sound of their theme music drowning abruptly into a dirge of sickly horns. It was a loud and apocalyptic melody that just invited the sky to go black and rain fire, an entrance music designed to put a tremor in anyone's spine— and it worked!

"And now for the challengers," Drew hailed.

To an outpouring of boos from the crowd, the heroes fixed their stares on the opposite gate, anxious to see the arrival of this team known as BloodLust. What amazing odds would they be up against? Ogres? Pirates? Some other freaks of nature?

No! Three-and-a-half-foot sextuplet girls with orange hair and pigtails, all dressed in elbow and knee pads and blue jerseys numbered one through six!

Skating along the grass smoothly and fluidly on a sheet of air from their fluttering shoes, they competitively brandished rakes that were longer than their own bodies. All had identical snarls of concentration on their faces; it was surrealism at its finest.

Try as they might to hold it back, the four heroes could not resist but let loose with hysterical laughter. "That's BloodLust?!" they cackled. Dannix gasped a sigh of relief and chuckled lightheartedly, whereas Kittykat portrayed more of a confused look.

"BloodLust have their game faces on," Malcor called excitedly. "It looks like they've come for a fight!"

"Sheila, Sherry, Sharon, Shirley, Shanice and Sugarplum," Drew detailed. "They don't come any more rascally and obnoxious than those knee-biters, that's for sure. The official is about to place the ball on the field now."

A man dressed in a plain white tunic stepped into view carrying a dusty, sack-like ball the size of a small pumpkin and placed it in the middle of the barren crossroads.

The BloodLust girls had already assumed their positions at the Moon Corner's starting line, making two rows of three abreast in front of their goal. Perched with knees bent and that perpetual grin duplicated six times over, they were primed and ready to race for the ball.

Contrarily, Good vs. Medieval and Friends remained standing on the grass with no idea of what to do. It was up to the official to usher them onto the track and align them in their imaginary gates, even referring them to the way the BloodLust players had properly positioned themselves. It was then that the Sun Corner chose an order with volunteer star players Keno, Gregor, and Kittykat occupying the frontline.

Next came the dreaded moment when everyone activated their shoes and lost all stability. The three players in front, blessed with equilibrium, caught on rather quickly with only slight quivers of inexperience, but Dannix's lower extremities wobbled so badly, he had to prop himself up with his rake.

Mocking their opponents, Keno and Gregor put their own game faces on and snarled with intensity, even though they predicted a pathetically bumbling start on their behalf.

The official ran off the field like a neglectful babysitter, leaving only a grueling, agonizing wait for the fan favorites to endure. Finally the starting whistle blew, and two floodgates of mad action opened right on cue.

"And tonight's Maypole match is underway!" Drew bellowed to the screaming masses.

Both teams charged forth with a kick of dust— the Moon Team like a stampede of baby buffalo and the Sun Team with all the grace of a warped wagon wheel!

To anyone witnessing Dannix's performance, it was clear that his shoes had their own game plan as they slipped and shuffled him along the track at rapid speed, flailing arms and all. The strain on his ankles was brutal, for they were doing all the work keeping him upright against gravitational force. His mind kicked and screamed. What in the world have I gotten myself into this time?!

Nevertheless, two speeding masses symmetrically rounded the bends of their respective tracks, about to converge on the crossroads for command of the ball.

Keno, with a slight lead on the pigtailed girls, raced up to it first and swatted it onto the Moon Corner track. Proud of the simple move, he stopped to give the disgruntled rug-rats an arrogant, "Let us grown-ups handle this" smirk.

FWAP!

Girl number one walloped him over the head with a leaping strike of her rake, sending the barbarian crashing to the ground like a collapsed house.

Malcor went wild with a dramatized announcer's holler. "MY GOD! THE CARNAGE! HIS CAREER IS OVER!"

"Keno leveled by Sheila in the opening seconds," complemented Drew. "Don't underestimate those ruthless rascals!"

Disregarding the wreck for the sake of the game, both teams dispersed on the crossroads, splitting their invaders and defenders evenly.

The BloodLust girls had no choice but to shuffle the ball along their own track and lap it back to the all-important intersection. Gregor and Kittykat were in hot pursuit of the commanding clones, while Keeb and another one of the girls duked it out with their rakes behind them.

As for Keno, he creaked to his knees with a vengeful scowl as if preparing to dish out a wrath to end all. But alas, he took too long to recover, and the whirling comb snuck up from behind and shoved his sorry carcass off the track.

"NO! NOT LIKE THIS!" an overexcited Malcor jumped at the horn. "It's a sad, sad day for mankind! Starry-eyed children just lost a role model! All hope is GONE!"

"In just ten seconds into the game, Keno is eliminated," Drew added. "This really turns the tide in BloodLust's favor, folks!"

Whether it was for Keno's poor ability or the fact that the good guys were now outnumbered, the crowd responded with a series of boos.

BloodLust called the ball their own, even with Gregor directly in the wake of the two lead girls. Skillfully the carrot-topped crusaders swapped the ball back and forth so he could not get a bead on it. The relentless wizard was then subdued by a third girl's rake handle placed between his hustling shins, tripping him up. Gregor twirled and stumbled on air like a bird with a broken wing to maintain his balance, but he lost ground, which was good enough for the opposition.

"Sheila and Sherry going for the figure-eight," Drew observed.

BloodLust guided the ball over the crossroads and into the Sun Ring where Stumpy merged with them. Being the novice that he was, he never expected girl number three to jab him in the gut with her rake handle. Rounding the bend, the two girls soared to the unprotected goal and easily launched the ball into the net for the first score of the evening. Another round of boos poured from the crowd, for BloodLust was nobody's favorite.

"And BloodLust scores one early on for ten," Drew announced.

"I'm beginning to suspect that Good vs. Medieval and Friends lack some experience in this sport, Drew," replied Malcor.

High above the north side of the stadium stood the scoreboard. Written on the top panels were BloodLust and the abbreviation GvM&F, and two sets of three panels with zeros painted on them posted underneath. A teenage boy with a long hook instrument hoisted a number-one tile up to the board and placed it under BloodLust's name, indicating their score.

"The clock is stopped at this point," Drew explained, "and it will resume once the players are gathered at the starting lines and the whistle is blown."

The official returned to the field, claimed the ball from the Sun Corner's goal, and placed it back in the crossroads. Again the players assumed their starting formations, but this time the Sun Corner had a team of five with Gregor, Kittykat, and Keeb in the front row.

Keno hunched on the sideline bench with a towel draped over his head, sneering like a warlock about to place a curse on someone. Sitting far across from him in a cold, pouting manner was Cyri, who looked over her shoulder and guilted him with, "Don't I feel well-loved."

The whistle blew, and the teams were off again. This time, girl number six of BloodLust grabbed the ball first but surprisingly swished it in the direction of her own track.

"Sugarplum is keeping the ball at home," commented Drew. "What is on that devious little mind of hers?"

Merging onto the crossroads, Gregor and Keeb were confused by the move, but they gave chase. The ruse came to light as the girl suddenly swatted the ball in the other direction, sending it over the grassy center cusp and onto the Sun Track where it was received by girl number four.

"The bait-and-switch by BloodLust!" Malcor perked. "What moves!"

"The ball did not land in the out-of-bounds area," explained Drew. "Therefore, it is still in play."

While Gregor and Keeb had been lured onto the empty track, Kittykat, who chose defense, found herself catching up to the hot invader and used her speed and agility to steal the ball away just before reaching the goal.

"Kittykat says 'not today'," Drew announced. "Let's see what she can do with the ball now."

Girls two and five merged onto the crossroads together and slowed down so they could extend their rakes to each other. The move caught the lightning-fast Kittykat off guard, and her thighs rammed into the barricade, causing her to do a full forward flip onto her back. The crowd let out a pained "Ooooooh" at the spectacle.

Malcor's colorful quips kept coming as he roared, "NOOOO! STOP THE DAMN MATCH!"

BloodLust stole the ball and took it for another run down the Sun Track. Gasping for breath, Kittykat jumped back to a vertical base and managed to escape the comb sweeping up from behind.

"Kittykat showing great resiliency," remarked Drew.

There was little hope, though, for the ball was long gone and the only thing standing between it and the goal was a pokey Dannix. A powerful swat by the ball-wrangling member of BloodLust launched it toward the net, and he reacted by ducking in panic rather than going for the block. Flying clear over his back, the ball found its way into the Sun Goal again.

"Another ten points for BloodLust," Drew called. "They have come here to do business, no doubt about that!"

Malcor winced at the after-minute action on the field. "Ooh! And Dannix gets nailed in the groin for good measure! I know this ain't Skullduggery they're up against, but those legendary heroes really need to get their acts together!"

Dannix's teammates skated over to check on him. His stance was fixed in a buckled position.

"Are you okay, Dannix?" Kittykat asked with concern.

He grunted in a daze. "Ugh, there's no place like home."

"Yeah, he's all right," Gregor nodded.

The sign boy hoisted a number-two tile up on BloodLust's side of the scoreboard: twenty points for the pigtailed menaces at this early part of the game.

The teams lined up for another race, and it was more of the same this time around. While Good vs. Medieval and Friends merely tried to concentrate on following the ball, the savages of BloodLust used their rakes to inflict damage. A crack against the back of the head to Keeb, a gutting spear to Gregor, a smack of the ball into Stumpy's face: it was an all-out melee, but also very much legal. It all resulted in another score for the fearsome five-year-olds.

"And BloodLust scores again!" Drew exclaimed. "Good vs. Medieval and Friends are sure being oppressed here tonight!"

The replacing of digits on BloodLust's side of the scoreboard was becoming a common practice for the scorekeeper. He prematurely readied a number-four tile on his hook just in case.

Like gluttons for punishment, the battered and sore Sun Team gathered again at the starting line, waiting for the next pummeling to start.

"Wow, those animated children's meal toys are kicking our butts," Gregor griped.

"It's because they're not afraid to use their rakes as weapons," answered Kittykat. "If it's all good according to the rules, I vote we start employing those techniques ourselves."

"Hey, I'm all for that," Gregor nodded with a glint of badness in his eyes. "It's all-out warfare now, kiddies!"

The whistle blew, and the madness started up again. As usual, the two teams butted heads at the crossroads, but this time it was more like a battlefield with rake handles swinging wildly and striking various body parts. Kittykat emerged from the fray with the ball and guided it down the Moon Track with three members of BloodLust in hot pursuit.

Girl number three caught up on her left, but Kittykat used her rake handle to pop her in the eye. The little brat let out a teary helium shriek and lost ground. Another BloodLust member, this one number five, sneaked up from behind and tried to claim the temporarily unguarded ball for herself, but Kittykat slammed her rake down on top of hers and sent its teeth digging into the track. The little moppet vaulted into a series of mid-air flips before crashing down hard in a puff of dust.

Laughing decadently, Kittykat shuffled the ball freely to the Moon Goal and swatted it in for a score. The crowd erupted in cheers as she glided down the stretch to meet with her congratulating teammates, the look of pride on her face cool like a summer breeze.

"And Good vs. Medieval and Friends are on the board," Drew announced.

Malcor taunted, "HA! Eat dirt, Sharon! Or was that Shhh—? Help me out here, Drew— number five?"

"That was Shanice. Yes, with medical attention running onto the field, I think she'll be unable to continue in this tournament. The score is now BloodLust with thirty, Good vs. Medieval and Friends with ten; the team members are now even at five to five, and we have three seconds left on the clock, which means it isn't necessary to resume play for this round. The players will take a five-minute break before starting up again."

"The heroes are picking it up a notch," Malcor noted. "How will BloodLust react? Find out in round two of MAYPOLE MADNESS! And remember folks, genuine Maypole merchandise can be found at our gift shop as well as any fine gardening center near you!"

As action on the field relaxed, so did the aura of the crowd in the grandstands.

Seated in his private booth, the giddy Crass wiped sweat from his brow and blew a gust of steam from his mug in excitement. "Jeepers, that be a fine piece o'ass on that lass shakin'it on th'field there!" he babbled in a fast, almost illegible meshing of words. "If she likes Maypole s'much, I oughtta tell'er I got one in me pocket jus' for'er— ya know'at I'm sayin', eh, Rondo?"

He aimed the comment to the henchman on the far left who was a skinny, stick-figure of a man. Rondo was one-of-a-kind to say the least, wearing a beat-up aviator's cap and goggles over his invisible eyes. A scraggly black beard covered the lower half of his face, hiding his mouth completely when it was closed. Mentally, this guy appeared to be not all there, and that was further backed up by the undecipherable scratchy jive he spoke. "Sip-skiddley stickle wicket woo-wad?" he said, pointing toward the field at Keeb in his jolly jester's wear.

Understanding every word, Crass shook his head in flustered annoyance. "Not th'elf guy in the magenta tights, ye'moron! I mean the cutie with'e whiskers tatted on'er face!"

"Ohhh!" Realizing that Kittykat was the apple of Crass's eye, the man nodded with a grin that was like a beacon in his beard. "Sag bag boogley doogley!"

"Oh, yesyes! Look'it them shapely stilts on'er! I bet she'd be sup'rb in'a wrestlin' match! Give'em th'ol monkey flip 'n all with hoppers like that!" The high-strung donkey-man turned to the right to acknowledge his other mate. "D'you agree, Hooligan?"

The little gnome-like man named Hooligan really looked the part. Dressed in old pirates' rags and a bandanna wrapped around his head, he sat cross-armed with a senseless look on his face. Homely in appearance, his complexion was ravaged by hives, and a trickle of drool leaked from his fat bottom lip. In response to Crass's question, he slurped it up and answered in an unexpectedly intelligent and handsomely rich voice, "I think today's scouting mission proved rather efficacious, Mister Crass. She is quite a splendid specimen indeed; I so adore a belle who is— oh, what is a good word—? vivacious."

Crass's head vibrated with a positive nod. "Yeah, I know I'ave good taste! I bet she does too if ye know'at I'mean! I think'll invite 'er to me 'house of honeys' after the tourney! Mebbe she can take off'er jacket 'n stay awhile too, winkwink!"

And with that, he narrowed his eyes to a shifty gaze, his sights welded to Kittykat's every move.

###

The combatants gathered at their respective starting lines to start round two. After choosing their favorite formation, the Sun Corner set their shoes to hover with a little more confidence than before. Even Dannix seemed to be getting used to the weightlessness, for he no longer used his rake as a crutch.

Both teams glared at one another across the eighty-yard distance, and a fierce round of skill and roughhousing followed with every trick imaginable used. Two of the BloodLust girls caught up beside Keeb and actually used the teeth of their rakes to unlace his shoes. With his feet zigzagging out of control, the jester flew off the track, careened across the grass, and crashed into the front row of the audience. He was eliminated, and BloodLust scored a goal shortly after.

Girl number one, the most aggressive of the pigtailed bunch, took control of the ball and immediately used it as a weapon, pounding Stumpy in the face with it. The dazed dwarf wobbled on air as girl number four sped from behind and used her rake handle to joust him, nearly decapitating the hero. Unable to recover, Stumpy lay on the track, and the comb swept him out of the game. BloodLust added insult to injury by scoring yet another goal.

On the other hand, there was Gregor, who resorted to using some of his newly studied novelty spells against the girls. He caught up to girl number three and used his rake as a substitute staff to transform her rake into a string of sausage links. Totally baffled by the meat product drooping in her hands, she yielded to the wizard. The tricks did not stop there. Gregor chased girl number six and addressed her with a curse to her head, which magically sealed it in decorative gift-wrap and a bow. Unable to see, she veered off track and collided face-first into the Moon Corner pole with a clang.

"Ha ha!" Gregor laughed. "At least all these stupid spells are good for something!"

"NUMBER SIX IS ELIMINATED!" Malcor spewed with excitement. "Not since Slappy's Merry Men versus the Undead Vegetarians have I seen such action!"

"Gregor with a little bit of magical intervention," Drew called. "I didn't think such tactics would be allowed in this sport, but it looks like the official is being lenient."

Actually, the official was sitting in his little wooden chair along the audience wall, engrossed in a book rather than the game.

Taking control of the ball, Gregor raced it to the Moon Corner and swatted it haphazardly toward the goal. Even though clearly missing the target, it did a turn in mid air, spiraled around the back of the goal, and plunked inside for twenty points.

"Yes!" Gregor pumped his fist in victory before coolly blowing a trickle of magical sparkles off the tip of his rake.

The shocked BloodLust girls witnessed his tomfoolery with mouths agape, then transformed them into snarls of burning anger, their narrowed eyes brewing with retribution.

Another reset followed by a starting whistle, and both damaged teams made the mad dash for the ball.

Kittykat grabbed it first, with girls one and two closing in behind. The first went for a mighty swing that the swift young lady anticipated and ducked. Then Dannix, of all people, raced up behind Kittykat's pursuers like a knight in shining armor. Showing no mercy, he thrust the handle of his rake forward and cleverly ricocheted it off the ears of both girls, drumming up plenty of stars for them to see.

"He calls that move the 'copper-top alarm clock'!" Malcor wittily remarked.

"Heads up, Dannix!" Kittykat shouted.

Having missed her chance to make the figure-eight onto the Moon Track, Kittykat swept the ball between her legs, launching it past the fuddled girls into Dannix's grasp. On the crossroads, he now had control, just in time to make an invasion.

But that was something BloodLust would not allow. Ears sore and red from Dannix's stick attack, they threw all sportsmanship aside, blatantly turned around in their tracks, and offered punishing rake slaps to his torso and legs that were no gentler than a behemoth's tackle. Adding to the sting of teeth whipping his flesh, his body slammed to the ground with a sickening impact.

"BloodLust with a thorough tenderizing to Dannix's collaboral contuberance!" Malcor goofily called. "STOP THE DAMN MATCH!"

The official's whistle blew. "Penalty for the Moon Corner!" he shouted over the boos of the crowd.

"Serves them right!" Drew backed him up.

With the nasty bump that Dannix took, he did not recover immediately. All his friends gathered around to assess the damage but were relieved when they saw him struggling to his feet, aided by Kittykat's gentle support. Although he hopped with a limp and clutched his chest, he gave everyone an assuring nod that he was going to be okay.

Standing in the middle of the field, the neutral man in white hailed the audience: "Penalty issued to the Moon Corner for salmoning. Untimed bonus run awarded to the Sun Corner."

A satisfied cheer flourished from the attendees in the grandstands.

With the remaining BloodLust girls sulking off the field, the Maypoles themselves underwent a transformation by lifting their combs to vertical positions, thus clearing the tracks entirely.

The other players, Gregor and Kittykat, had no idea what was going on, so they stood on the grass awaiting further notice. What really shocked them was that Dannix accompanied them. Banged up as he was, he decided not to leave the game just yet, not with Cyri threatening to do more harm to him if he sat on the bench.

However, Kittykat's face coming to life with such a bright, joyous smile was all he needed to feel a surge of energy rush into his veins, and he forgot about his bruises. Strange how her smile had that effect, he realized.

The official placed the ball on the track— not on the crossroads, but this time at the Sun Corner's starting line. He then signaled for the three players to get ready.

"Okay, they're setting Good vs. Medieval and Friends up for an untimed run," Drew explained. "That means there's no clock, no obstacles, and no opposition. It's just a clear, unobstructed run to the Moon Corner's goal. Twenty points in the bag, ladies and gentlemen."

"Even Keno could do this!" Malcor joked.

The whistle blew, but the three players stood motionless and shrugged at each other, wondering if it was really supposed to be this easy. It was up to the audience to cheer them on. "GO TEAM GO! GO TEAM GO!"

Scanning the grandstands in a complete circle, the players saw that everyone was chanting this and clapping their hands to the beat. What an incredible amount of support they showed, generating a boost of vitality fit for a champion.

Kittykat fueled up on this energy and burst from the line, sweeping the ball into play, Dannix and Gregor following her lead.

The spirited contender shuffled the ball along at a graceful clip— not too fast, though; she wanted to savor this moment. Then Dannix sped by her side, having mastered his hover shoes to where he could glide like an angel. She smiled at her little heavenly one and, as a friendly gesture, swished the ball his way. He caught it and passed it back to her, and they both shared a hearty laugh.

"Isn't that nice," Drew announced with a gentle voice. "Let's back them up a bit, folks."

Suddenly the torches around the stands diminished, draping the field in twilight. Adding to its spectacular color, a display of magical enchantment and streaks danced across the sky, compliments of the Maypole staff. The trumpeters around the field crooned a soothing melody from their horns, and a whole new romantic atmosphere consumed the stadium.

Perplexed by the alteration, Gregor stopped in his tracks to observe it all, allowing the other players to carry on without him.

Dannix and Kittykat were not fazed by it, though. Rather, the wondrous sights and sounds enhanced a certain feeling— one that lay subdued, almost questionable, yet struggled to let itself known. As the two continued to trade the ball back and forth, skimming on air with the open road all to themselves, they looked in each other's eyes—

and became lost.

With the music and lights flooding their reality, they imagined themselves in a shared dream where time stood still, their feet light as clouds and their hearts the same way. Their eyes became clear glass doors to each other's souls and, though these doors had always been present, for the first time due to this precious moment, their simultaneous smiles acted as the keys to unlock them. The ball, too, shared back and forth with ease, was powerfully symbolic, for it expressed a notion of harmony, a notion of compatibility.

A notion of unity.

As they skated down that fantastic looping road of darkness and color, a song played in their hearts to the tune of the stadium music. Lyrics of newfound riches, the willingness to explore outside of personal normalcy and the promise of a mutual happiness transmitted between them, not in the form of words but as unmistakable impulses. It was the greatest duet no one else could hear, and they took their time gliding along so that the whole song could play out.

Such beautiful, beautiful music.

With its finish fading to the ovation of the audience, Dannix put the exclamation point on the sentiment by swatting the ball into the net.

An eruption of crazed, boisterous cheer washed over the stadium as the surrounding torches blazed brightly again, bringing the place to full illumination.

Taken by the moment and overflowing with happiness, Dannix and Kittykat grabbed each other in an embrace, and an undeniable desire made itself known as her lips impulsively met with his.

"DANNIX SCORES! DANNIX SCORES! DANNIX SCORES!" Malcor slobbered at the horn.

Their bodies went numb and their minds blank, their mouths unwilling to part. A flood of emotion burst inside Dannix; he had never known an ecstasy like this. He now understood her feelings for him, for he could taste them on her lips, and those feelings became traced onto him. Never in his lifetime had he imagined this moment; the young man who once considered the idea of sharing anything with others as unthinkable bared the most sacred thing, his soul, this night, and it was very, very good. How could he even begin to describe this moment other than—

truly magical.

Once their lips parted, it was like sight returning to a blind man, but before either of them could use their casual wits to decipher what had happened, Gregor interrupted them, his mind focused on the game.

"Okay, smoochies, they're calling for another break. We gotta gear ourselves up for the final round."

"Oh?" Kittykat answered, rather breathless. "What's the score?"

"They're still ahead, seventy to fifty, and I'm sure they're not gonna be happy with what just happened. We gotta plan a strategy."

Dannix displayed a happily groggy look. He heard what the wizard was saying, but it all translated into garbled nonsense in his mind. The next thing he knew, he was being led by his teammates to their bench for a discussion, but that was all a blur too. It was hopeless; his mind had long since fluttered away.

The trumpeters began playing a pep rally, and audience members clapped and stomped their feet to the tune. Even Crass, along with his ladies and henchmen, were taken by the spirit.

"We're getting ready for the final round here in this Maypole tournament," Drew declared. "What an event it has been thus far, Malcor."

"I've never seen action so wild," his colleague roared, hair mussed from all the giddiness. "WILD, I TELL YOU! And with the added speed and challenge of ROUND THREE, ROUND THREE, ROUND THREE, it's gonna get downright INSAAAAAANE!"

"Goals are worth thirty points now, and the combs will be spinning at full speed. This will be a true test for our athletes."

The two teams organized at their starting lines. Gregor, Kittykat, and Dannix were the final representatives of the Sun Corner, whereas four of the BloodLust girls remained on the opposite side. The ball was placed on the crossroads, and both teams leaned in, ready to be unleashed like packs of hounds at the sound of the whistle.

And there it was, that shrill starting signal prompting everyone to break for the gold.

As expected, a riot ensued at the crossroads when the two teams collided. What followed was a fast-paced stalemate for most of the round. Everyone played exceptionally well, guiding the ball, swapping, stealing, and shooting for each other's goals but with every attempt thwarted. It was not until the final few minutes when measures started getting desperate.

Two of the BloodLust girls ganged up on Gregor, sapped his progress by hooking his robe with their rakes, then scattered, leaving the wizard at a steady hover.

WHAM!

The rapid-paced comb came up from behind and batted the wizard clear off the track, sending him crashing onto the grass conveniently beside the rest of his benched teammates.

Meanwhile, Kittykat merged onto the crossroads, and the two other BloodLust members shot from the opposite ramp, literally ramming their pint-sized bodies into hers. Kittykat's legs gave way, and she took a hard sideways spill onto the ground.

Far away on the Sun Corner, Dannix saw the incident. "Kittykat!"

Rattled, she shot to her feet out of sheer instinct and then realized that one of them was planted solidly on the ground while the other resisted gravity. Her left shoe had shot clear off her foot, leaving her twirling in place like a compass. And before she could locate that all-important missing piece of footwear, she saw the comb swinging toward her like the club of an angry giant. In the fraction of the second she had left, two options flashed through her mind: either jump to safety in the out-of-bounds zone or allow the comb to hit her. One would result in a penalty, guaranteeing BloodLust a fifty-point lead, while the other meant the end for her but at least a continuation of the game, which would give Dannix a fighting chance. It was no contest. Kittykat braced herself with a built-up shoulder, allowing the barricade to slam into her. Officially eliminated, she threw herself onto the grass with a tuck-and-roll and recovered without impairment.

"OHHHH!" Malcor grunted. "THE GIRL FROM WORM-EATER-LAND IS ELIMINATED!"

The heroes rushed to her side to verify that she was unhurt, but Kittykat paid no heed to them and immediately fixed her sights on the game. "Dannix is still in it," she noted before calling out to him. "Come on, Dannix! You can win this for us!"

"He's our last hope," Keno added attentively.

"It's not possible," a pessimistic Keeb whined as he checked the scoreboard. "There's only ten seconds left on the clock!"

That notorious girl number one chased Dannix around the Sun Track while the other two BloodLust members guided the ball around their home corner. Both them and Dannix merged onto the crossroads simultaneously, and with a lucky sweep of his rake, he stole the ball away. This was it— time to make a run of faith like no other. In a burst of speed, he shuffled it back onto the Moon Track.

Frazzled, Malcor lost control. "IT'S COMING DOWN TO THE WIRE!"

"The goal's just ahead of him!" Drew exclaimed as well. "If he can make this shot for thirty points, his team will win!"

Dannix concentrated as he had never concentrated before, keeping his sights centered on the track zooming toward him. With the clock's second hand ticking away the single digits, he knew he had only one chance to pull it off. Heart beating fiercely, so much that he could feel blood pulsating into the tight clutches of his hands around the rake handle, he dared not look back but focused only on the timing and accuracy needed to sink the ball into the goal.

In a final attempt to break his home run to glory, BloodLust tripped him up with their rakes. Dannix wobbled out of control, and desperate as he was to keep the ball in his grasp, he passed by the goal.

"Damn!" Gregor shouted with a defeated kick, disappointed moans from the crowd backing him up.

"We lost," sighed Keno.

All of Dannix's hopes shattered, and he spat with anger. Unleashing his frustration, he slammed the ball to the ground, bouncing it into the air. His arm flailed in a fuss, and his rake swiped the ball haphazardly, launching it backward, over his three opponents' heads, into the path of the upcoming comb, and then incredibly, as if it were his guardian angel, the obstacle rebounded the ball straight into the goal at the one-second mark.

The audience became a freak storm as it poured out a deafening noise and went absolutely wild.

As did Malcor. "DANNIX SCORES! GOOD VS. MEDIEVAL WIN! GOOD VS. MEDIEVAL WIN! THE ORPHANAGE IS SAVED!"

"What the heck are you talking about?" Drew questioned his insane colleague.

Cyri, too, jumped for joy. "We won! Yes! I am the greatest trainer in the world!" Then Stumpy cooled her off by dumping a barrel of ice water over her head.

As Dannix's shoes solemnly breezed him along the track, the outburst made him perk in confusion. Looking back at the goal, he wondered who put the ball there, but it was a short-lived question.

His teammates ran onto the field, smothering him in praise, and Keno lifted the raggedy young man atop his shoulders. All sensation was gone, taken hostage by a high he had never felt before. The circular panorama and movement of the frenzied audience was dizzying— images too quick and intense to be memorized. Coaching himself to breathe, his smile instinctual, Dannix beheld his comrades, and they all looked so proud as if he were their hero. Gregor let out some rowdy shouts and pumped his fist while Keeb and Stumpy did a merry little ring dance. Then there was Kittykat, brimming with glossy-eyed jubilation. Oh, how she looked so precious with a never-ending grin tucked behind clasped hands, threatening to explode with happiness at any second.

As for the BloodLust girls, it was a cold, cold day as all six of them, some fixed up in funny bandages and slings, kicked the grass in frustration and cursed up a storm that no child should hear.

"What an amazing end to an amazing game!" a satisfied Drew concluded. "Good vs. Medieval and Friends win, eighty points to seventy. This one will go down in history as one of Maypole's greatest moments, you can be sure about that! Anything you would like to add before we say goodnight, Malcor?"

"I'm speechless, actually," his buddy said with a smile, contrarily mellow.