Najma held tight to Zilan’s skirts as he pushed his way through the crowd to find a space to watch the games from. There were more people in the city center than Najma had known existed, and it filled her with both awe and terror, her knuckles turned white where they folded around the fabric at her brother’s waist.

Finally, he found a spot and reached around and pulled Najma before him. There was a wooden bar separating viewers from the track. Two fools danced in the distance, the chime of their bells lost to the noise of the crowd, but the gleam off the metal still blinded the eye. Najma wrapped her arms around the bar and looked around.

People were everywhere, laughing, cheering, and celebrating. Banners hung from the tall stalls that housed people of higher ranks, their velvet and jewels shining even in the shade offered by brightly colored canopies. City guards, in the vibrant yellow and blue uniforms, stood between the common folk and the elite. More guards slunk among the crowd, keeping an eye out for thieves and troublemakers.

Zilan wrapped his arms around her and pointed toward one end. “Do you see those men, all lined up?”

Peering over the bar, following his pointing finger, Najma nodded as the sight of five young men, dressed down to their pants, hair tied up, covered in chalk. “Who are they?”

“They are runners. The one with the blue ribbon is the most famous of them all. He’s won several races before this one, and everybody is sure he will win this one as well.”

She looked up at her brother, finding him staring at the runners. “This is a race?”

He smiled down at her. “Do you remember our cousin? He was a runner, too. He ran to warn the farmers of the flood.” Before he finished, his smile had slipped away, that eternal sadness returned once more. Sadness also settled in her chest as she longed for her mother, father, even their cousin that she hadn’t known well, but could recall that he had red hair, big teeth, and an infectious laugh.

They hadn’t seen him since that night. She guessed that he couldn’t outrun the rising waters that had drowned their small village.

There was a swell of noise that drew her attention back to the field. One of the fools had come closer, but what drew the eye was the five youths that had begun their race, moving like the wind, kicking up the dust of the track. The cheers grew and dimmed as the racers passed them by, and Najma climbed up on the dividing bar to better watch them reach the end of the track.

They were too far away from her to see who had won, but the cheers down at that end of the track were ecstatic. She turned back to Zilan.

“Who won?”

Zilan shrugged. “Who knows? Does it matter? Look, the fool is juggling.”

They watched the fool juggle four balls for a moment longer before the crowd dispersed enough for them to make their way to the stalls that lined the market street. Usually, the stalls sold practical items, fabrics, foods, tools, and what have you, but today they had been replaced by fair ware, sweets that filled the air with their fragrant scent, street food better seen on working streets, and cheap wares that were not meant to last longer than the night, lanterns, dolls, trinkets, favors. Things that Zilan could not afford to purchase for his little sister least they starve at a later date.

Instead, he drew her to another arena where another sport was to take place.

Inside this wooden stand, a square had been cut into the dirt, the spectators pushed away by guards that carefully kept people away from the men milling about dressed in padded armor and helms. Wicked swords, blunted for this entertainment, hung at their hips as they drank freely, spilling red wine down their tunics so much like blood. Najma crowded close to Zilan as the sight, and he held her close.

“It’s all for show,” he said as they found a place to watch. “Nobody will get hurt at this event. See how their swords are dull and they wear armor to protect themselves?”

She was to turn eight next season, which meant that Zilan was to turn fifteen even before that. Had they been home, he would have been joining these young men in their play fighting, but now he had to earn money to support their new lives in the city. He didn’t have much time to train with a sword, even a dull one. She rested her head on his shoulder when he crouched next to her.

She didn’t watch the fight straight on, but kept her eyes on Zilan’s face as he watched the sport, casting glances at the dueling men when his expression changed following the clashing of blades.

It was good he found things he liked, even if they distressed her.

After a victor was declared, he led her back to Market Street and toward the towering stone arena at the heart of this block of the city.

The old woman that lived next to the stables who often watched over her while Zilan worked had told her that this block of the city had been built to support the arena. First Market Street had been built to supply the arena-goers with food and trinkets. Then Labor street quickly followed as the city planners realized that they needed a way to bring supplies for the workers inside the arena, including the animals and settings for mock battles. After that, the rest of the block filled in with the workers and merchants that made their trade off the popularity of the arena. Temple Street had been raised to the ground, and nobody said anything more than that and that the street was now overrun with vagrants and criminals.

Najma had never seen a stone arena before coming to the city, having lived all her seven years in the small village near the mill. Her family hadn’t been as poor as they were now, but they hadn’t owned box seats with velvet cushions either.

Zilan held a firm hand on her shoulder as they moved into the stone arena, dragging her along when she would have otherwise paused to look up at the high arching stone ceilings. They passed under the arch that cast a dark shadow over them, making her shiver as the air noticeably chilled despite the heat of the day and the press of bodies. Once they emerged from out under the shadow, the sun once more pounded down on them.

Zilan led them to a bench where Najma could see the dirt arena. More fools were entertaining the crowd, waving ribbons and juggling balls and dancing in swirls of colors. She stood on the bench with Zilan’s arm around her thighs to watch the dancer, bouncing in rhythm with the man’s bells.

She clapped when the man ended his dance with a twirl on one foot. She waved when he bowed to the crowd. Then the fools fled the arena, and Najma turned to Zilan. She recounted the dance to him while they waited for the next show that began with a blast of trumpets. Zilan drew her attention back to the area where two men and a woman jumped into the field, flipping, tossing each other into the air, and leading a cheer through the spectators.

Once more people were on their feet than sitting, the gate near the balcony where the governor sat with his entourage opened and an absolutely massive bull raced into the arena. The bull was longer than the ones back home, with wide, thick black and white horns. His back was white, dappled with brown spots, and one whole back leg was white.

Najma wrapped her arm around Zilan’s shoulders. “Why is he in there with them? Momma says to stay out of the bulls’ fields.”

“Look, they are trained for this.”

The woman was flipping in place, her body a smooth arch as she did back flip after back flip. The bull eyed her while the two men both cartwheeled down either side of the arena, diverting the bull’s attention.

Finally, the woman stopped and twirled and had a bright red banner in her hands, the length of the fabric fluttering in the breeze. The bull lowered his head and charged.

Najma gasped in fear, shoving her body into Zilan’s.

He chuckled softly and held her steady as she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the scene before her. The crowd had silenced itself as the bull approached the woman, then cheered as the woman jumped. She leaped into the air, her body twisting about as she placed her hands on the bull’s shoulders and flipped. Najma gasped with delight as the woman landed as light as a feather in the dirt, her arms over her head, spinning in place.

The bull returned and one of the men ran up to it, leaping over the bull’s back from the side. It was enough for the bull to break off his charge and he turned to follow that man.

The woman ran and flipped into the arms of the second man, who tossed her over the bull’s head. She caught the bull’s horns and let him pass under her. She landed easily once more and urged the crowd to cheer for her.

Najma cheered.

She was amazing! She was beautiful and elegant. She was tall and lithe and perfect in Najma’s eyes. Najma watched her dance around the arena, missing how the second man jumped over the bull before they led the bull back to its pen.

Once the show was over, Najma pouted at Zilan. “I want to see her dance again.”

Zilan ran his hand over her hair. “Next year, they’ll dance for us again.”

She gaped at him. “Next year?” That was so far away! Too far away! “Can’t we see her again?”

Zilan screwed his face up in thought. “Hmm, perhaps we can find her and thank her for the show.”

Najma nodded. “I wanna be like her, bira!”

He rubbed his chin in the same manner their father did. “You’ll have to work hard and practice every day.”

“Like you do with your new master?”

He stared at her for a long moment. People moved around them, ignored by the two of them as they stared at each other. Finally, he sighed.

“You are about that age to begin an apprenticeship.”

Excited, she clutched his tunic. He laughed and shook his head. “Very well. We’ll go find the troupe and see if they will accept you as an apprentice.”

Najma remembered that first viewing of bull jumping she had seen, seven years later as she stood under the rich folk’s private viewing balcony.

She knew Zilan was out in the crowd, somewhere, watching with pride as she flipped out from under the shade and into the sunlight. She wasn’t going to leap over any bulls today, but this was her first event where she would be with the bull and in front of a crowd. Her debut, so to speak.

The crowd cheered as she waved, and she spotted a small girl child watching her with the same wonder she had felt when she had first watched the show from those same benches.