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* * * The day dawned bright and clear over Mata Nui. Clouds scuttled merrily across the sky, and the plants seemed almost ready to sing as they embraced the sun's warm rays. Pohatu smiled and took a deep breath, closing his eyes to better savour the fresh air. The Bohrok were gone. Life was good. The Toa of Stone stood outside his hut, wearing a headband and a towel slung over his shoulder. He carried a brown gym bag in one hand. A passing Ta-Matoran waved hello; the friendly Toa waved back, and hurried to join his friend on the street. “Hello, Nuri! How's your morning?” “Good!” the Matoran replied. “And yours? Are you ready for your big match today?” Pohatu nodded. “You bet I am. It's gonna be a game to remember.” The two walked down the road, greeting everyone they passed. Everyone chattering about the big game that would take place in only an hour: a tennis match between Pohatu and Tahu himself, patron of Ta-Koro. The Toa of Stone seemed calm enough. Everyone who greeted him noticed his easy smile and lack of any nervous tics (some Matoran, upon seeing this, rushed to change their bets). But, then again, Pohatu was a natural athlete, and the patron Toa of Kolhii to boot. If anyone knew how to hide his nerve,s it was him. Tahu, however, did not. The Ta-Toa's hut was filled with unprintable words and the debris of several pieces of furniture. Turaga Vakama opened the door just in time to see his patron Toa destroy the last of a four-chair dining set by taking the chair and smashing it against the wall until it shattered into splinters. “Tahu!” the Turaga exclaimed. “What in Mata Nui-” “It's today! It's today!” Tahu growled, before suddenly going limp and flopping onto his bed. “It's today,” he moaned. “Well, yes, that's the nature of today,” Vakama replied carefully. “As opposed to yesterday or tomorrow, which by their very defini-” “Oh, shut up,” the Toa mumbled, hands clasped over his face in despair. “You know what I mean. The tennis match. It's today.” “Ah, yes, the tennis match. A wonderful display of inter-Koro relations and-” “To karz with inter-Koro relations! That rotten stonehead is going to beat me in my own village.” The Turaga took a seat on the edge of Tahu's bed, joints creaking, and laid a wizened hand on Tahu's knee. “Tahu, you know the point isn't who wins. It's to foster a sense of-” “Of course it matters!” Tahu roared, springing up from his bed and throwing his pillow against the wall. “This is my village! I'm the best! I can't lose to Pohatu in my own stadium.” Frantic, he paced back and forth. “I can see it now. I'll make it to 15, maybe 30. Then that brickbrain is gonna swoop past me and win without even trying. Forget even winning a set; I'm only gonna make love because that's how we start.” “Tahu.” Vakama's voice was stern. “Calm down. You'll go out and give it your best, and that's all that matters.” “But-” “No buts,” the Turaga replied, getting off his own and onto his feet. “The point is that you go out and smile and make an effort. And when Pohatu wins, you will shake his hand and congratulate him on a game well played. Now go get your equipment.” Tahu sulked his way around the hut, throwing his gear into a red gym bag with all the angst he could muster. Vakama looked on, unimpressed. “I'm ready to go,” the Toa said finally. His headband itched. “Good,” Vakama said shortly. “Then let's get going.” He threw open the door, and the two walked, squinting, into the bright sunlight. A cheer went up from the group of Matoran gathered at the front gate, brandishing foam fingers and hand-made Hau masks made to mirror Tahu's own. The Ta-Toa waved weakly, hoping he wouldn't throw up. The entourage moved slowly down the street, with the Matoran chanting Tahu's name and the Toa himself focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. Vakama walked a step behind, keeping a sharp eye on the hero in case he tried to make a quick getaway. The two Toa met at the entrance of the stadium. Pohatu thrust out a giant hand, a winning smile plastered on his mask. “Good morning brother! Fine day for a game-” “Yeah, yeah, good to see you too,” Tahu muttered, waving his brother's hand away. “Let's get inside.” They entered to a roar of raucous applause that nearly knocked them off their feet. The stadium was packed full with Matoran from every corner of the island, waving flags, hoisting banners, and screaming their throats raw in support of their particular champion. Widgets changed hands faster than the eye could follow as bookies moved throughout the crowd, offering odds. The air was thick with anticipation. Tahu gulped, then moved towards his side of the court, where Lewa waited with a stack of water bottles and granola bars. The Toa of Air beamed as his brother approached. “Hey, fire-spitter, long time no sight-see! How're you feeling today?” “Fine,” Tahu growled, throwing his gym bag to the ground. “What're my odds?” Lewa shrugged. “Last I heard was 30 to 1 on the stone-slinger taking you down in ten minutes. But that was a Ta-Koro bookie, and you hotheads don't know game-sports like us high-flying Le-Koronans.” Tahu glared at him. “Fine. So what odds would you give me, Mister Sports Guy?” The Toa of Air shuffled his feet. “Um. If I had to quick-make a bet... probably 50 to 1.” That might have been his last breath had the referee not called for the competitors to approach the net Tahu settled for shooting his brother a dirty look, then walked towards the net. Pohatu approached from the opposite side, backed by Kopaka, who looked much more put-together than Lewa. Onua, the referee, met them in the middle. “I want a nice, fair game,” he said in his rockslide baritone. “No tricks. No cheating. No masks or elemental powers. Let's make this one to remember, alright?” The others nodded. Pohatu reached across the net to shake Tahu's hand. The Toa of Fire hesitated, then, seeing Vakama out of the corner of his eye, he rolled his eyes and accepted the handshake. The crowd cheered. “Players,” Onua rumbled. “To your lines. Tahu has first serve.” Racquet struck yellow ball with a thwack, and the stadium went silent as the projectile hurled through the air. Over the net, one bounce, and then Pohatu nimbly struck it out of the air, sending it back into Tahu's court. The Toa of Fire, his headband already soaked with sweat, hit it back to the opposite side of the court, leaving Pohatu stumbling over his feet trying to change direction. He swung wildly and missed. The ball bounced twice, and the crowd erupted. Tahu managed to smile through his panting breaths, then readied himself for the next serve. Across the court, Kopaka patted the Toa of Stone on the shoulder and whispered a few words of encouragement in his ear. Pohatu shrugged and smiled. It was a fluke. He was fine. “Fifteen serving love,” Onua said. The Toa of Fire hoisted the ball into the air, then smacked it across the court. Pohatu, mouth set and eyes focused, returned the serve. They hit it back and forth a few times before Tahu managed, somehow, to make it up the court and catch his opponent off-guard with a powerful smash that the Toa of Stone couldn't return. He awkwardly swung at the ball, and hit it off court and into the crowd. “Thirty, love.” Tahu couldn't believe it. He looked back at Lewa, who flashed him two thumbs up. On the other side of the court, Pohatu angrily stomped the ground, sending a small tremor through the arena. Kopaka handed him a water bottle, but the Toa of Stone threw it aside with a frown. How could he be losing? Tahu's third serve was a thing of beauty, but his opponent was ready. Pohatu's return nearly caught the Toa of Fire right between the eyes; it was only a hasty backpedal and a graceless -yet effective- swing that saved him from humiliation. And now Pohatu held the advantage; his racquet turned the ball each time into a missile that Tahu could barely return. Back and forth, back and forth. Pohatu crept up the court, getting ready for a final smash that would finally put him on the board. His eyes stinging with sweat, Tahu desperately twisted his wrist and put an unexpected spin on the ball. Pohatu's grin of triumph morphed into a wide-eyed grimace as the yellow streak flew past him; turning, he dove heroically for the ball, but it was too late. He plowed face-first into the ground, and the ball bounced off the court. “Forty, love.” The stadium shook with the thunder of a thousand voices as every Matoran yelled, either in exultation or dismay. The bookies doubled their efforts; the widgets flew fast and thick. Nobody had been expecting this – least of all the players themselves. Tahu, gasping for air, grateful sucked on the water bottle Lewa handed him, draining it dry in seconds. Across the court, Kopaka helped Pohatu to his feet. The Toa of Stone was barely vertical before he stumbled towards the net, his face angry and road-rashed. “This is ridiculous!” he shouted. “How on earth are you beating me?” The Toa of Fire had no breath to answer, so he didn't say anything. Onua tried to calm his brother down. “Pohatu, stop-” The angry Toa pushed Onua away. “I'm the best sportsman on Mata Nui? How is it forty to love?” “You promised me a fair match. Obey the rules-” “Shut up! He's cheating! It can't be forty to love-” “Pohatu, enough!” Onua boomed. “You're a stranger to love, but you know the rules, and so do I!” ~fin
