Dusk by Ashanti Luke Page B

the side as the punch nicked his shirttail.
    “Wasn’t expecting…” His sentence was cut
short as he dodged back to his right, under another kick. Cyrus
rotated his body right and fired another kick over Tanner’s ducking
head. As Tanner stepped forward to counter, Cyrus launched himself
into the air, using his momentum to spin and bring his left foot
completely around. Already moving forward, Tanner had to let his
front leg collapse under his own weight to get under the kick.
Cyrus’s foot grazed Tanner’s lip as his head went down, off
balance. Cyrus landed and let the momentum carry his limp arm
around and the wrist of his dislocated arm smacked into Tanner’s
temple. The collision snapped Tanner’s head to the side, and his
body, already off balance, crumpled to the ground. Cold, sharp
nettles of pain shot from Cyrus’s rotator cuff in an arc, slicing
through his elbow, meeting at the tip of his middle finger, and
leaving a glacial numbness in its wake. And then, the glacier
shattered and pain washed over his entire body like a deluge. As
Cyrus’s body collapsed, he imagined he could feel his
consciousness, along with the pain, spilling out onto the body of
his fallen adversary.
    • • • • •
    “I hate it when you move your queen out in
the opening.”
    “The only reason I move my queen out in the
opening is because I know you hate it.”
    Tanner rubbed his jaw lightly as he studied
the chessboard. “My jaw still hurts,” he said, stretching his mouth
as he advanced his king-side knight.
    “My shoulder’s not doing too well either.”
Cyrus lightly massaged his right shoulder as he considered his next
move.
    “Are you always this mean, or do I just bring
the best out of you?” Tanner said while adjusting his jaw and
grimacing.
    “You force me to raise the bar because you
know what you’re doing. Honestly, I have to step outside of myself
to even think about beating you, kung fu, chess, or academics. At
least when sparring, I can pretty much forget about winning unless
you slack off.”
    “But it’s not all about winning or
losing.”
    “It isn’t, but I try to avoid making a habit
of losing.” Cyrus advanced his king-side bishop.
    “Sounds like pride to me.” Although
unorthodox, Tanner had seen this opening before, and had lost to
it, yet he still felt unprepared.
    “Maybe, but it’s the only thing that gets me
through some days.”
    “You know, they say pride comes before a
fall.” Tanner advanced his queen’s pawn one space ahead. He took a
different approach than the last time in hopes it would open room
for his own attack.
    “That’s funny, because I don’t really plan on
falling without mine.” Cyrus rubbed his shoulder again and moved
his queen-side knight’s pawn a space ahead, defending his
bishop.
    Tanner shook his head. “Always something new
with you. You have to be the most unorthodox chess player I have
ever lost to.”
    “I never claimed to be a chess player.”
    “That doesn’t make any sense.” Tanner was in
a chokehold. All the moves he would have wanted to make had been
taken away from him. He moved his queen-side bishop ahead one
space. It was safe, but it felt like a waste. Again his opening
gamut was shot from the second move.
    Cyrus could see the lines stretching across
Tanner’s forehead. Frustration manifested itself on his brow the
same way it did on Darius’s face.
    “I’m glad you brought a corporeal chessboard.
The holographic chessboards are so… alienating.” Cyrus looked
deliberately at the board as if the key to his next move lay
somehow beneath it.
    “What do you mean?”
    “Holographic pieces are so fleeting. They get
captured, they disappear. You speak a command and they come back.”
Cyrus lifted his queen off the board and held it between them by
the head. “Here, you lose a piece, you feel it. When it’s over, the
king hits the board, the sound resonates through the air and makes
you painfully aware of what you just lost.”