I watched, transfixed, as Yalta called out to his grandson. It was obvious he was encouraging him, but I wasn’t sure how. Would I understand what he was saying to me when it was my turn? I hadn’t thought of that. I was quite familiar with the language, but if it wasn’t for Chudruk translating for his father, I would still be doing push-ups in the stream.

The old men sitting on a blanket up front never blinked, as far as I could see. These were the judges, and whatever they said would be final. Their eyes squinted against the summer sun, missing nothing. I suspected they would do better than the controversial computer at the Olympic games.

On the grass, Zerleg and his opponent continued to strain. Sweat drizzled down the side of my face. It was about sixty-five degrees here, and yet I was perspiring in nothing more than briefs and an openchested blouse. Hmmm…maybe I should wear this when I work back home. Hello, ladies!

Zerleg made an aggressive move: He slipped his right shoulder down to his opponent’s hip and made a play to sweep him off his feet. I could feel my shoulders turning rock hard with tension. For a second, Zerleg seemed to have the advantage, as both of the other man’s feet swung up off the ground. But with an amazing recovery, he managed to land flat-footed. Zerleg was so startled, he missed the fact that he was being shoved backward by the other guy’s hands. He was on the ground, stunned, as the call was made that he had lost and would not be competing any further.

The opponent threw his arms up in the air and grandstanded for a moment. Zerleg reached up for assistance and the victor scoffed and walked away. I’d seen that look on the face of many a bully over my lifetime (and, fortunately, I’d been able to kill a few of them). Yalta helped his grandson up and patted him on the back as they walked off the playing field. The boy looked miserable, but as his grandfather and coach kept whispering in his ear, he finally broke into a sad smile. This was his first match. He did very well.

I joined in congratulating him, and his spirits seemed to rise. Although I don’t think that was as much because of me and his family as because of the cluster of giggling teenage girls waving at him from across the field. Within moments he had put on his deel and was walking over to them. I had to smile. He might have lost the game, but his poetry would likely score him some points today.

The other matches were equally as tense and no less dramatic. By the time the fourth contest ended, I realized I needed to take my eyes off the field and focus on my own upcoming competition. I sat down on a blanket with Sansar-Huu’s wife, Odgerel, and closed my eyes. My thoughts were devoted exclusively to all that I had seen today and what Yalta had taught me. The sounds around me were tuned out until it was just me picturing how it would or could go down.

“Coney!” Chudruk shook me. “It is your turn.” He led me to the field to where my zazul, Yalta, stood quietly. I turned only to see who my competitor was. It was the bully who’d defeated Zerleg. As I began my eagle dance, I pictured what I had seen him do before. He was my size and weight. We would be more evenly matched than he was with the boy. But this man had experience I didn’t.

My dance ended, I crossed the field to my opponent and slapped my thighs. He grinned and did the same. Our contest had begun.

I had decided that I wouldn’t walk around him but would immediately make the first move, which I did, grabbing him by the shoulders. He gripped mine with hands that felt like steel, matching my strength. Jesus. What did they feed these guys? Was it the soup?

We strained against each other, our heads looking down at our legs for an opening…a sign of weakness. Sweat made it difficult to hold on, but I didn’t give in. My fingers and arms burned, but I knew that if I eased up the slightest bit, it would all be over. And that was when I knew that this was going to be much harder than I ever imagined.

And I had thought this was a good idea…why?

Chapter Nine

I gritted my teeth, which hurt, by the way. It felt like I was going up against a steel beam, which also seemed silly. Now I understood why my training involved wrestling with boulders. This was damn near the same thing.

My opponent kicked at my feet, hoping to knock me down. I looped my right leg around his right leg and tried to trip him. He didn’t budge. It was like trying to topple a redwood tree. I got my feet planted before he could take advantage of my being off balance. We continued to strain.

At some point, it became clear that we could very well be like this all day. He had the best of me and knew it, but I refused to budge…a typical Bombay trait. Soon, however, I would have to break. My muscles weren’t trained for this kind of torture and were rudely beginning to complain.

I’ve been told that because of my pale blue eyes, I have an unnerving gaze. Maybe that would work against an opponent who only ever saw brown eyes grimacing back at him. It was crazy and a little stupid, because my concentration would shift. But it seemed like a good idea at the time.

I looked up and stared at the top of his head. What was I thinking? He wouldn’t look up. Why would he? I continued to stare at his sweat-soaked dark hair as I held him off at the shoulders. The longer I did, the more I realized that only he could see the position of our legs and feet, giving him the advantage. But I didn’t look down. Look at me, damn you! I thought over and over.

By some small miracle, he actually looked up! I was about to wonder if I was telepathic but abandoned that idea, directing every ounce of energy that wasn’t shoving against this brick wall into my glare. Our eyes locked just like our bodies. Great. So much for that idea.

Until I felt him give a little bit. Not more than a slight shift in his elbow, perhaps. I stared as hard as I could, even though it felt a little ridiculous. The stress was unimaginable. I’ve never, in any fight, had an opponent who didn’t budge in any way. Even his flesh was hard. I decided it was time to use something that had worked for me on other objects of prey. I winked at him.

His eyes widened slightly, and I felt a fleeting slip of victory. Without looking down, I moved my left leg around his and shoved with every ounce of strength I had left. I felt his stance shift. His shoulders gave slightly. I had him! In just a second, he’d be down on the ground and Zerleg would sort of be avenged.

I knew the second I did it that taking my eyes off him was a mistake. But something glinted in the distance, just behind his ear. There was no stopping my wandering eyes as I found the source of my distraction. Blonde hair. There was a woman with blonde hair standing there, her eyes wide and her mouth shaped like an O. I couldn’t stop myself. It was too late, and as my opponent took advantage of my breaking concentration and I fell backward to the ground, the very surprised face of Veronica Gale watched.

I never took my eyes off of her as I rose to my feet and walked over to my coach.

“You did really well.” Chudruk clapped me on the back. Yalta nodded.

“Thanks.” I knew I had done well. It didn’t make me feel better. I wanted to beat that smarmy son of a bitch, but my guard had been lowered and he kicked my ass.

“No, really!” Sansar-Huu laughed. “You lasted longer than anyone else has. Not bad for your first match.”

I turned toward my friends. They were complimenting me. I needed to cool down. No one expected me to win. This was my first naadam. In their minds, the fact I’d lasted so long was cause for celebration.