Outside in the theater, the crowds cheered at the announcement of the champion's coming entrance. The announcer's voice echoed off the walls of the empty hallway and into his room; Riser could faintly hear "...Robin "Hot-Shot" Brown, weighing in at just over two-and-a-half ounces, our current reigning champion..." and that was enough to make the feathers on his back stand on end. Hot-Shot was undefeated, and seemingly undefeatable this year. He had downed the favorite, "Peach Tree" Winger, a monstrous two-pound Moluccan cockatoo, in a "David and Goliath" spectacular. He'd survived Rapido the woodpecker and his famous single hit knockout punch he had personally coined "Crown the King" in a five round bout. And he'd even won the exhibition match against the Five Lightning Sparrows, coming away with little more than ruffled tail feathers. So how was Riser, a two-ounce mockingbird with little more than sibling rivalry under his belt, to compete with such a champion? He put his face in his wings in despair.
"I can't do this, Jay," he said to his friend, not-so coincidentally a blue jay. Jay's parents apparently weren't that creative, and in fact it was rumored that Jay's father had named him because "Why not? It's what he is.." Riser continued, "This isn't wrestling at the birdbath, or chasing squirrels from the hummingbird feeders anymore. This is real." He looked up from his folded wings and stared blankly into the lockers opposite him, "He might kill me..."
The fried cricket Jay had made a crispy crunch as he took a big bite and nonchalantly replied with a full mouth, "Ourgh, currmon Rhurshur," he gulped down the cricket. "They outlawed death-matches years ago, you know, when the vultures quit to protest the violence of the "Pecking Order"." Of course that made Riser feel tons better. As Jay sat down next to Riser, he held out the second half of his fried morsel. "Cricket?"
Jay had the worst taste in food, and his half-eaten portion didn't make it any more appealing. Riser cut his eyes at the morsel, "Really, Jay? I'm in the throes of anguish, terrified out of my skin, and you're eating fried insects and making jokes about pacifist vultures?!"
Jay shrugged, threw the remaining piece in his mouth and began chewing. "Yhou curld arways foref... ack!"
"Forefeit? You kidding?" Riser exclaimed as he stood up and began pacing as Jay coughed and finally choked up the antenna that had been lodged in his throat. "I was chosen to represent my family here... if I quit, what'll my dad say?"
Having regained his composure, "I'm glad you're alive, son?" he said with a half-laugh and a cough, Riser unamused.
"Riser Bluecrest? You're match is up next." a large raven ordered from the doorway. "Get your glove on and I'll escort you to the cage."
There didn't seem to be a breath deep enough, long enough to calm his nerves at that announcement. There didn't seem to be enough breaths to take. His wings shook. His tail pivoted. If he had nostrils they would have flared. This wasn't chasing hawks from his home, where plenty of sky could mask small errors, and where there was always his wingman younger brother to back him up and attack while he rested. This wasn't sparring and spurring in the grass with uncles. This wasn't training anymore.
"Here's your glove, Riser," took him out of the trance. He looked up and Jay was there, holding out the head harness with the beak sheath and glove on the end. Riser smiled nervously and took the contraption which was called a "glove" for short and put it on. It was specially fit for him, adapted from the one his dad had worn. They were never a family of champions, but they always fought proudly - and nervously - when the "Pecking Order" was held every generation.
The glove's head harness wore like a mask with fitted eyeholes. Belts in the back buckled the harness tightly, leaving enough room for his plume to protrude. Because the sheath restricted his lower beak, he learned to breathe through his nose, for which was provided holes in the top of the sheath. The soft button on the end of the beak, guarding the spike and providing a punching mechanism was the glove of the glove - it is what Riser would use to try and joust his opponent to a knockout.
"I feel like a madman" Riser's voice muffled behind the mask.
Jay patted his friend on the back "You look like one, pal.."
A scoff and a wing-bump, and Riser was out the door. The raven who was awaiting him was menacingly tall. And burly. And terrifying to look at, so he kept his eyes at his feet, counting down the tiles till he'd meet his maker.
"You think you got a shot, smalls?" a voice darker than his feathers boomed from the raven. "You saw how he bird-handled that cockatoo didn't you?"
Riser's eyes lifted sheepishly. The raven was so intimidatingly enormous, his voice couldn't help but crackle, "Nno, ssir. I heard, bbut I dddidn't see."
A roar erupted and echoed unabated through the hallways from the stands as the faint call of the announcer proclaiming "Behold our Champion!" drove the crowd into a frenzy; it seemed to even rattle the mammoth raven. There had not been a bird of any breed like Hot-Shot in the 11 generations of the "Pecking Order" event and the entire body of fowl were excited to be apart of the spectacle, save for one. And as Riser's gaze rose to the end of the hallway and beheld the ring, he could see the silhouette of the champion walk confidently, nonchalantly onto the mat, his wing being held high by the announcer, a tall egret. And with a proud voice, the egret wailed "Hot-Shot Robin!" and again the crowd raved and cawed and sang in celebration. It unnerved the small mockingbird whose opponent seemed more like an Eagle or a Falcon than a two-and-a-half ounce robin - he seemed more like a man.
The hallway was nearly ended, and before he could walk through the doorway and into the chaos of the ring, a large, black wing blocked Riser's way. "Remember," the giant's voice bellowed, "he's just a bird. Nothing more. Just like you." He looked briefly up at his escort who made no eye contact with him, and then to the ring, properly called "The Cage". And the raven's wing fell before him. It was time.
