Page 101 of Wilde's End
“Good call.” He hands my post back to me as the two people we’re watching draw to a close.
The man has the woman cornered on the top platform. It’s one of the smallest, barely enough room for one person to stand on, and any experienced fighter avoids being cornered there. The man sends a slashing hit her way. She blocks the blow and charges forward, but right as she jumps, he redirects and takes a swing at her legs. His hit collides with them both, sending her off course, and her post drops as she grabs the platform instead. The metal slips through her fingers, and with afoof,she hits the padded floor, and the buzzer sounds, ending the match. The crowd is an equal mix of cheering and booing at the result.
“Huh,” Hudson says, looking around. “It’s like American Ninja Warriors.”
“I have no idea what that is, but I’m sure I’d hate it.”
“The match was cool, though.”
And because I can’t stop myself, I add, “Wait until you see mine.”
“Even though you’re injured?”
“Even then.” I’m in for a world of pain, and my chances are slim, but that’s not going to stop me from trying. I test straighteningout my leg, and the stretch sends frustrating fissures of pain through my thigh. “I’m going tokillLynx.”
“Still hurt?”
I refuse to admit it out loud, but I guess that’s what happens when a machete takes a chunk out of you.
The next fighter stands and challenges an opponent. There are a few minutes before each match for side bets to be placed, and Hudson leans closer to me.
“Can you challenge whoever you want?”
“Yep.”
“Interesting …”
We don’t talk much after that. The stands fill with so many people in close quarters, the voices and cheering echoing in my ears. One match bleeds into the next, and Hudson is hooked on it all. As the night goes on, the more experienced fighters come out, and it’s a whole other level. The more familiar we are with the place, the more the arena is used like an extension of our abilities. There’s no regulation when it comes to our posts, other than being made of wood. Some are long and thin, used like whips. Others are short and heavy. Some people use one, and others use two. It makes every match so different.
It gets late fast, and the match we’re watching wraps up.
Foley shifts, like he’s getting ready to stand, and it catches my attention.
“Here we go,” I mutter to Hudson, nodding Foley’s way.
But almost as soon as the words are out of my mouth, Hudson pushes to his feet.
“I challenge Wilde.”
At first, I don’t think I’ve heard him properly. Then the pitch of the crowd rises over the way my name keeps repeating through my mind.
“Me?”
He looks way too cocky. “Your name is Wilde, isn’t it?”
“You don’t even have a post.”
He shrugs. “Lend me one.”
“You don’t know the rules.”
“Now you’re tricking me. There are no rules.”
I stare at Hudson like I’m trying to figure out how to turn him down, but people are already placing bets. Bets on me.
The bastard tweaks my beard. “Scared, are you?”
“Only of hurting you.”
