Page 8 of Kingdom of Rot & Ruin
WHAM.
The boy caught me with a massive sucker punch to my jaw, and I fell from the top bunk asecond time.
Blindly, my hand scrabbled as I fell over, and I caught the lip of the second bed, stopping myself before I fell to the ground again.
Until the boy leaned over the edge of his hammock and brought his fist down on my hand as hard as he could.
CRACK.
Something broke in my hand and I fell the rest of the way to the floor with a WHUMPF. The pain was intense—white-hot, blinding agony that made it impossible to breathe, let alone think. Hot tears gathered at the corners of my eyes. I needed my mother. I?—
No.
I viciously shoved the tears down, shoving my hand behind my body as I shakily stood up fast to make it seem as though I were uninjured. Mother couldn’t help me here. I was on my own, more so than any other boy here. I had to be tough. I had to figure this out.
But not now.
Clearly, I’d underestimated my opponent. I’d underestimated these mud boys with their lanky, malnourished frames and too-large eyes. Instead of trying again, I climbed into the nearest bunk bed closest to me, across from the large boy and on the bottom. I rolled over so my back faced the other boys, cradling my broken hand to my chest and struggling not to cry.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought!” hollered the mud boy.
I shut my eyes tightly to keep the tears inside. Humiliation, pain, and embarrassment kept every muscle frozen.
The crowd of boys drifted away, bored and muttering. I heard a few other scuffles break out, but eventually the dorm got quiet as darkness crept in.
Loss hit me hard in my chest. I missed my mother. Despite everything, she was familiar. I had known what to expect with her.
My throat tightened until it was hard to breathe, even though I hadn’t had any of that odd fish to eat since it had happened a few years ago. I wouldn’t cry. Iwouldn’t.
But why not? My world had gone from my mother’s apartments to this strange new life in the blink of an eye. Back home, I had understood the rules and my place in them.
Here? Nothing made sense. Nothing was sure or guaranteed. Whatever the mud boys had been through had more effectively prepared them for our upcoming trials in a way that my sequestered existence hadn’t.
I would rectify that, and in time, make them regret it all.
Somehow, I fell asleep despite the throbbing pain.
Chapter
Three
“Hey. Meat face.”
Blearily, my eyes opened, pain assaulting my head and temples. Groaning, I sat up, and immediately banged my head off the top of the bunk bed above me.
Through tears, it all came rushing back.
I left Mother. I lived here now.
My face felt broken.
“Hey. You want this or not?”
It was the small boy from yesterday—M—awkwardly crouched at the side of my bed and holding out a small rag torn from the bottom of his hemp gown.
“Wipe yourself clean. It won’t help the bruise, but you don’t want to go before that bat man with blood all over your face, do you?”
I snatched the damp cloth (I wouldn’t ask how M had wet it) and wiped it roughly over my face, ignoring how it stung.
