STICKBALL!

“STICKBALL,” Jivi repeated, louder, in hopes that the ignorant Sharteshanian would understand.

“I heard ya the first time!” Sette growled, “But it don’t make no sense! A ball made outta sticks wouldn’t ROLL. What manner’ve daft sport is that?”

Jivi pinched his nose. “The ball isn’t made of sticks. You HIT a ball WITH a stick.”

“Pft.” Sette folded her arms. “What the ball do to anyone?”

"Balls," said Jivi carefully, "Are made for hitting. Kinda like Shartes."

The Sharte flashed a fang and took one aggressively exaggerated swagger towards him. "Ya put a paw in me gob, Crescian stain, and you'll have t'dig through me turds in two days t'get it back-"

"I know stickball!" shrieked Matty in a mild panic. He was digging through his clothing trunk as Uaid swayed all around them, but looked up to better project his voice. A sock dangled unseen and unregarded from the brim of his hat. “It’s- it's a good game, Sette! Some of the boys in Juste played when papa and I stayed there. It was LOUD. So many KRACKS."

"Cracks?" Sette lifted her chin. "It a sport or a bath house?"

Matty laughed and continued, hoping it would stop the pair from eating each other. "There was so much yelling and laughing and running! They asked papa to play but he asked if they were playing with the Black Tongues' old balls and then they didn't ask him again. Ahh!” From under a stack of messily folded shortpants he tore free a rusted bucket, and clumsily settled it on the floor. It was heavy and awkward, filled to the top with hard catch-balls the Black Tongue apprentices had given him for Uaid. With chromatic contours Chitz limned the topmost one for him, and Matty hefted its leathery mustiness in one pale palm. "We can use these!"

“We're not stopping,” papa warned from the cockpit above, "If you want to play you'll have to play on Uaid's arm." The construct's walls rumbled, somehow sensing his older brother had toys. It had been a while since they’d played catch and Uaid ALWAYS won at catch... Papa yelled at him to stay the course, and Uaid rumbled again, slicing through Jarla river with new pique but only half-interest.

Now, the stick part Matty couldn’t help with, but Jivi found some leftover lumber from Uaid’s old construction scaffolding, wet and mildewed in his bilgey depths. In spite of Sette alternating encouragement and deprecations, a quarter hour’s efforts saw it whittled into something like the sticks they’d had back at his cousin’s. Once they were outside and clacking down Uaid's long metal arm, Jivi whipped the new weapon back and forth so it whistled in a pleasing way, shrill and powerful.

The Jarla smelled a little like dead fish and a lot like grass and reeds baking on an early autumn afternoon. Mudhoppers regarded the passing construct with naked contempt while houndflies flew low over the waters, their own sparkles lost against the white sunlight dancing like frying oil atop the rushing river.

“Stickball?” Duane parroted after they’d explained. He pulled a borrowed parasol closer against the bite of the yellow rays. “Ludicrous. A ball made of sticks will lodge in the earth like a bur.”

“Ignorant Ald,” Sette chortled, “The ball ain't made of sticks! Anyway, we ain't playing that. We're playing KRACKBALL.”

"OOOOOH," Matty trilled with a thrill of warm and happy inclusion. Once they'd reached Uaid's palm he put himself behind Jivi and crouched, adjusting Chitz. "I named it!"

"We're playing stickball!" Jivi decreed, glaring back at him and then forward at the Sharte, "It's called STICKBALL." His whistling bat smacked the fat pad of Uaid's green palm. His shoe soles chuffed against the First Earth with all the impatience of a forehound pulling at its reins. "Pitch if you can figure it out, you scum-sucking Sharteshanian sneakthief! Yerta guide my hand and I'll knock whatever you lob way off into the grass!"

Sette dropped the bucket at her feet and plucked the likeliest ball from the stash. They STANK. Goatskin that had been sitting in a wet construct for a year. "OH-HO, I'll pitch it!" she shrieked, crashing a bare foot against Uaid’s hot metal forearm. "I'll pitch it dead in your ear, ya coinless cop-lovin' Queen-kissin' CRESCIAN."

From atop Uaid's shoulders, her attack zombie whooped approval. "Your gods are dead, Crescian! They cannot help you here!"

"Shut up, Duane!" Jivi roared, "No one asked for anything out your hood!"

"Oh-ho, wee inkpot!" he retorted, "Beware my quill."

"What's that even MEAN?!" Sette thought about throwing the ball at him. "DON'T CHEER ME AT ALL, GODLESS ALD! You insulted the gods, NOW I'M CURSED."

"You heard her, Jivi!" Quigley hollered, "Cursed! Now hit the skin off it, man! Put it up here! Right here! Right in this posturing zombie's bloody skull! Crack it like an egg!"

"Quite uncalled for," muttered Duane, pinching his hood closer to his fleshless cheeks. Sette tried to clear his evil Aldish voice from her mind, to summon up all the power of the Twins; of diabolical Tirna and strong-armed Da, the mightiest entity currently on the continent. She thought about that time she bunged a paver directly through the third floor window of the Haverly estate so Duck-Me-Blind Curley could climb in and nick a broach from the bedroom. He'd called her Dead-eye after that for a solid fortnight and oh, how she'd walked with her chest puffed out a little further than normal.

Yes! Dead-eye Frummagem! Spitting on the ball for luck, Nary A'Care's heir drew it back over her head, twisted sharp at the waist, and let the stinking projectile fly!

*KRAK*

Jivi shouted, nearly throwing himself off balance with the power of his swing! The ball popped high into the sunny blue and behind him, Matty stamped his boots in ecstasy, tiny fists thrown out to either side! He craned his head back and leered at the sky!

"KRACKBALL!" exploded his exultation, wild with bestial frenzy! "KRACKBAAAAAAALL!"

The ensuing gulp from high above was not unexpected. Uaid always won at catch.
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Big thanks to ChicSheik for the truly EXCELLENT commission!