Angelfall (Penryn & the End of Days #1)(33)

It dawns on me what they’re doing. They’re taking bets!

Worse, the few who are cheering for me aren’t cheering for me to win; they’re screaming for me to last just one more minute. Apparently, no one’s even betting that I’ll win, only on how long I’ll last.

So much for chivalry.





CHAPTER 19



While I’m taking in the scene, I block two more hits with Boden sitting on top of me. My forearms are taking a beating and my bruises are getting bruises.

With no rescue in sight, it’s time to get serious about the fight. I lift my butt and legs off the ground like a gymnast and wrap my legs around Boden’s thick neck, hooking my ankles at his throat. I rock my body forward, jerking my legs down.

Boden’s eyes widen as he’s yanked backward.

Entwined, we swing like a rocking chair. He lands on his back, legs spread around my waist. I’m suddenly sitting upright with my ankles wrapped around his throat.

The instant we land, I slam my fists into his groin.

Now it’s his turn to curl.

The cheering crowd instantly mutes. The only noise I hear is Boden’s groaning. Sounds like he’s having trouble breathing.

Just to make sure he stays that way, I jump up and kick him in the face. I kick him so hard his body spins halfway on the dirt.

I wind up for another kick, this time to the stomach. When you’re small enough to have to look up at everyone around you, there’s no such thing as a dirty fight. That’s a new motto for me. I think I’ll keep it.

Before I can complete my kick, someone grabs me around my ribs, pinning my arms. My heart thunders from the adrenaline, and I’m practically panting in my need for blood. I kick and scream at whoever holds me.

“Easy, easy,” says Obi. “That’s enough.” His voice is like velvet brushing against my ears, his arms like steel bands across my ribs. “Shhh…relax, it’s over…you won.”

He guides me out of the circle and through the crowd as he soothes me, his arms never relaxing their hold. I glare my most condemning glare at Raffe as I catch his eye. I could have been beaten to a pulp, and all he would have done was lost a bet. He still looks grim, his muscles taut, his face pale as though all the blood had drained from him.

“Where are my winnings?” asks Raffe. I realize he’s not talking to me even though he’s still looking at me. It’s as if he wants to make sure I hear it along with everyone else.

“You didn’t win,” says a guy near him. He sounds gleeful. He’s the one who collected all the bets.

“What do you mean? My bet was the closest to what happened,” growls Raffe. His hands are fisted as he turns to the guy, and he looks ready for a fight himself.

“Hey buddy, you didn’t bet she’d win. Close doesn’t count…”

Their voices drift into the wind as Obi practically drags me to the mess hall. I don’t know which is worse—that Raffe didn’t jump in to defend me, or that he bet that I would lose.

The mess hall is a big open cabin with rows of fold-up tables and chairs. I’m guessing it would take less than a half an hour to fold up all the tables and chairs to pack for moving. From everything I’ve seen, the whole camp is designed to be packed up and moved in less than an hour.

The place is deserted even though there are half-eaten food trays on the tables. I guess a fight is a not-to-be-missed event around here. Obi’s grip on me relaxes once I stop struggling. He guides me to a table closest to the kitchen in the back.

“Sit. I’ll be right back.”

I sit on a metal folding chair, trembling with the adrenaline crash. He heads back into the kitchen area. I take deep breaths, calming down and getting a hold of myself until he comes back with a first aid kit and a bag of frozen peas.

He hands me the frozen peas. “Put this on your jaw. It’ll help with the swelling.”

I take the bag, staring at the familiar photo of green peas before gingerly pressing it to my tender jaw. The fact that they have the power to keep food frozen impresses me more than the rest of the camp combined. There’s something awe-inspiring about the ability to maintain some aspects of civilization when the rest of the world is sinking into a dark age.

Obi cleans the blood and dirt off my scrapes. They’re mostly that, scrapes.

“Your camp sucks,” I say. The peas are numbing my jaw and my words come out slurred.

“Sorry about that.” He rubs antibiotic ointment onto the scrapes on my hands. “There’s so much tension and jittery energy that we’ve had to accommodate for our people to blow off steam. The trick is to let them do it under controlled conditions.”

“You call what happened out there a controlled condition?”

A half-smile brightens his face. “I’m sure Boden didn’t think so.” He rubs antibiotic ointment on my scraped knuckles. “One of the concessions we made is that if a fight breaks out, no one interferes until there’s a clear winner or it becomes life-threatening. We just let people take bets on the outcome. It blows off steam for both the fighters and the spectators.”

So much for the power to maintain a piece of civilization.

“Also,” he says. “It helps keep the number of fights down when the entire camp is taking bets on the outcome. People take fights seriously when there’s no one to rescue you and the whole camp is watching your every move.”