Ashlords

by Scott Reintgen

  My horse doesn’t love the extra weight, or the scent of the Ashlord, but I get him settled and trotting. We make it out of the first canyon and we’re looping through a second when I finally hear the Ashlord muttering into my back. He says it just loud enough that I can hear him, but not loud enough for the audience to catch the words.

  “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you for saving me.”

  I give a grunt and push our pace a little faster. He stays quiet after that. Maybe he’s thinking what I’m thinking. If the rules were any different, I’d have left him in a heartbeat.

  You watch light sift through the staggered stone shelves and rusty pillars. It raises your horse out of the bright dust. Quinn makes an appreciative noise at your side.

  “You set the ashes here on purpose,” she says. “So we could start as early as possible.”

  “When you’ve been riding as long as I have, it’s the first thing you learn.”

  Even in dark of night, you knew how to find the location the sunlight would strike first. You’ve always had an instinct for the little pieces of knowledge that separate great riders from good ones. And you let your love for Bravos blind you to all of that. It is not a mistake you will make again. The newly born horse has a coal-black coat, dappled by thousands of ivory specks. Quinn might not notice the changes, but you see how much shorter and thinner this version is than the previous two. It’s just as healthy, with just as much fire, but you groomed the ashes so it’d be easier to navigate any narrow tunnels in the cave.

  “Live or die,” Quinn says, “I will never forget the sight.”

  You look over and know that you need to thank her. It’s embarrassing to remember your own weakness, but today is a new day. You will never make the same mistake again.

  “I needed you yesterday. I’m so thankful. What you did was nothing short of a miracle. But today, I’m the rider. If we want to win, it has to be me the rest of the way.”

  “He’s all yours,” Quinn says.

  Determination burns across the link between the two of you, from flicker to flame. You came into this race with a confident swagger, but Bravos’s betrayal stole that. You’re stunned to feel recovery so soon. It’s not hard to figure out that the spirit’s presence is helping you do the impossible. It also helps that you’ve realized something about men like Bravos—men like your father. Their need to be first place is a weakness. Their desire for you—or your mother—to be less so that they look like more is a weakness. You realize they’re afraid of you.

  They fear anyone who can rise higher than they can.

  So that’s what you plan to do.

  You and the horse get reacquainted. It’s like two old friends learning a new dance. Once you’re mounted, Quinn appears behind you in a flash of blue light.

  “What will you name him?” she asks.

  “Trust.” The horse’s coat flashes brightly and you know the name’s taken. “I’ve never repeated names, but that name means something different today, doesn’t it? Yesterday, he needed to trust us. Today, we have to trust him. Ready?”

  Quinn tightens her grip on your waist. You tighten your grip on the reins. With a little click, Trust starts picking his way through staggered stones, winding down a narrowing section of the valley. It falls away, cutting to the left and fanning out into three separate roads.

  The middle section dives down into the dark heart of the cave. You’re not afraid of the darkness, but that doesn’t mean where you’re going is safe. You feel the same fear from Quinn.

  “Remind me,” she asks. “Why didn’t any of the other riders choose this path?”

  “Because caves are dark and scary?”

  “That’s all? Really?”

  “And you’ve seen the rebirthings. We need the sun to make it work.”

  “So what happens if we don’t make it out the other side?”

  Your voice is firm when you finally answer. “We’ll make it. I won’t fail again.”

  Before you enter the cave, you glance down at your bracelet:

  Etzli: 1,402 paces

  Revel: 1,100 paces

  Bravos: 1,023 paces

  If Trust fears the dark, he doesn’t show it. You hold the gaiting rhythm and he snorts loudly before diving into the abyss. Your pupils expand and every darting look gives no return. Still, you do not slow the pace. You keep Trust trotting forward as Quinn clutches anxiously to your waist. The path winds to the right, descending gradually. As expected, the footing feels smooth. Your eyes are getting used to the dark. You see shadows and shapes now, sharp outcroppings and distant turns. The deeper you ride, the brighter the surroundings appear. You sense Quinn’s question before she asks it. Her curiosity has you smiling.

  “Sunscape. It gathers the sunlight and releases it from within the phoenix.”

  Trust’s coat glows now. The thousands of white specks suffuse the tunnel with a brilliant sheen, casting thin beams of light in every direction. It makes Trust look like a puppet, strung to cave walls by thousands of bright threads.

  “I still don’t understand how we’re moving so fast,” Quinn says. “It’s like you’ve been down here before. Almost as if you know the way.”

  You smile at that. “It helps that I memorized the route.”

  “The whole thing?”

  “Every single turn. I am my mother’s daughter.”

  “Brilliant,” Quinn says. “That’s brilliant.”

  “It was easier than you’d think. This is a mating tunnel.”

  Trust nickers before rounding another curve. The path leads slightly uphill before cornering and diving deeper again. Quinn asks, “What do you mean, a mating tunnel?”

  “See how smooth the walls are? Not exactly a natural passage.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Sun wraiths,” you answer. “They’re an interesting breed. Big, obviously. And their mating patterns are really cute. When a female finds a male, they run away. The male just sits there, shut off from the world. Sort of like a game of hide-and-peek. He doesn’t move until the female calls for him. Then he goes to her. No matter what’s in the way.”

  Quinn glances over your shoulder. “A creature made this….”

  “Actually, a creature ate this. It burns and devours its way through mountains or hills…even buildings, occasionally. The Meridian Towers collapsed because of a mating tunnel in 731. Most of the legislation about sun wraith breeding grounds came from that little accident.

  “But here’s where it gets cute. The female goes to him, too. She matches his movements by reading the heat signatures. So there’s this perfect, mirrored path that cuts through the ground. They meet in the middle of whatever they’re going through and burrow.”

  “So…,” Quinn says, thinking, “we’re going to ride through their breeding grounds.”

  “Ideally, no. We’ll ride to their breeding grounds and tiptoe our way around the burrow. Trust me, it’s safe. Sun wraiths bury themselves pretty deep, and they’re usually a little distracted. Unless there’s a jilted lover down here, we’re fine.”

  You get the feeling that this news isn’t comforting. You remember what she said about being trapped and imprisoned by the gods. It’s not hard to imagine what horrors that kind of life could hold. Eager to keep her distracted, you keep talking.

  “Any rider worth their weight should have seen it. No cave trail is perfectly symmetrical by accident. And it obviously makes for good, steady riding. Sun wraiths melt the rocks and…well, you know. Leave them behind. It’s kind of like compost. Good idea to clean your shoes afterward, but otherwise it’s relatively easy riding.”

  Quinn nods. “So why wasn’t this your original plan? If it’s the fastest way?”

  “Honestly,” Pippa answers, “I didn’t think the horse Bravos rides could handle caves. And…I didn’t know that
I’d have you with me.”

  Eventually the quick, chopping turns cease. The path grows straighter and you can tell you’re close to the breeding burrow. The cave itself narrows slightly, as if the creature grew frantic by the proximity of its lover. So eager that it squeezed through the final boundaries of rock, ignoring the pain. A primordial scent clings to the air. Heat washes up from the unseen dark. Bellowing rumbles shake the cave walls, a vibration that feels like it’s coming from the center of the earth.

  “It doesn’t sound as romantic now,” you note.

  Quinn laughs. “No, it doesn’t.”

  “All right. We’re halfway through the cave. Here’s where we tread carefully.”

  You dismount and she follows. It takes a minute, but you rig a lead rope and use it to steer Trust along the ledge. You don’t mind wasting a minute because you know this path might save you half a day’s delay. Quinn follows a few paces behind. Trust’s coat casts dull light into the wide, molten chamber. The walls are scorched black by the collision of the two sun wraiths.

  You notice long marks clawed in quick succession. A perfect circle pits the stone floor, stretching almost the entire length of the room. You lead Trust and Quinn around the ledge that’s no wider than Trust’s rump. A glance into the abyss surprises you. In class, your teachers made it sound like an endless fall. But a foul broth sluices up from below. The slop boils with heat, squelching against the sides of the newly made burrow, smearing the air and everything in it. You hold your breath, but that doesn’t keep your skin from feeling soiled.

  “Hello?”

  The word chokes into the air. Your head swings back to Quinn, but you know the noise came from the dark morass below. Quinn’s eyes are the widest you’ve ever seen them.

  “Do wraiths talk?”

  You shake your head, terrified.

  “Who’s there?” the voice asks. “Revel? Is that you?”

  Definitely from below. Quinn kneels. Trust’s coat suffuses half of the room, but the surface of the pit hangs in vague shadow. It takes the two of you a minute to locate the source of the voice. Just a mouth and a nose and a pair of eyes.

  “Please,” it says. “Please help me.”

  For the first time, you recognize the person the voice belongs to. “Etzli?”

  She tries to answer, but all you hear is a nasty gurgle. You watch the mouth spit and gasp, barely holding above the surface. “Please. Please help me.”

  “What happened?” you ask.

  “Didn’t see this. My phoenix is dead. The ashes are gone. Gregor too. My…my spirit…he saved me by sacrificing himself. Please, don’t leave me.”

  You feel a flicker of heartbreak. You confuse it for your own emotion until Quinn’s voice trembles out, full of pain. “Gregor?” she asks. “Gregor was with you?”

  “Yes.” Etzli spits out bubbling mud. “Gregor. I’m so sorry. He’s dead. I thought no one would ever come. I thought—”

  For a long time, the spirit just stares. You watch her, but a range of deep emotions flicker past in quick succession. It’s staggering to feel someone else’s heart break. You realize that’s what Quinn must have been feeling from you after Bravos’s betrayal.

  She turns to you. “Do you have rope? In your bag?”

  “Of course I have rope.” But you don’t move. “We don’t have time, Quinn.”

  The two of you stare at one another in the half dark. All the connection, the back-and-forth emotion, vanishes. You have no idea what the girl’s thinking, or what she expects. You don’t want Etzli to die, but this is not your fault and it’s not your problem, either. You have a competition to win. “If we don’t get out of the cave by the next sunrise, we lose.”

  “If we don’t help her, she dies. This is more important than a race.”

  “Quinn. I get it. You want to help, but we have to go. I’ve made my choice.”

  “And I’ve made mine,” Quinn says. “Leave me the rope. Go on. Win your race.”

  “We had a deal.”

  Quinn’s shoulders are set, though. You hiss in frustration. She’s clearly not going to change her mind. Annoyed, you dig through a saddlebag and toss her the rope.

  “Have it your way.”

  Without another word, you turn. Trust snorts uncomfortably before easing back into motion. You slide along the wall, a soft glow marking your progress. Quinn follows, but only so she can get in position above Etzli’s floating head. You hear the shallow and desperate breaths, but you ignore them because you have to ignore them. This is the Races. It’s not a charity event.

  “Hello?” Etzli calls up. “It’s getting warmer. Please help me!”

  You hear Quinn answer quietly, but you don’t wait to hear how it plays out. Your heart is hammering in your chest. Beneath the bright anger is another emotion you don’t recognize. You push it off to the side, gritting your teeth and leading Trust deeper into the caves.

  With each step, you try to ignore the fact that somehow he looks a little less bright than he did just a few minutes before.

  They’re close enough now that I can hear the rhythm of their hooves, the firing get-get of their voices. This was not the plan. The sun should be gone. The mountains should be closer. I didn’t expect the officials to be this fast. I’m leaning over Hammer and digging in both heels and pressing her to go faster than horses were born to go. At least four of them trail me. Sideways glances show an Ashlord wide to the left, and another swings out on the right. The other two must be riding on a line directly behind me. They’re still a hundred paces back, but they’re out far enough that I can see dust rising up and the steady, knowing expressions on their faces.

  Even at a distance, I can tell which rebirths they’re using. The phoenixes have the telltale signs—inflamed nostrils and razor-thin eyes—of a Seeking rebirth. The Empire’s favorite breed of tracking horses. The only rebirth that can follow a scent through multiple lives, which means even if I make it to the mountains, they’ll still have the trail.

  I am their legitimate prey.

  I have stolen from the Empire.

  Behind me, the hunters ride wide enough that if I tried to swing west or east, they’d have the perfect angle to end this chase in minutes. So I keep straight. I know there are two other Ashlords riding directly behind me, closing the distance one mile at a time. I know the sun will set in forty minutes and I know they’ll catch me long before then. The worst part is that I can feel Hammer struggling. She’s frothing and sweating and there’s that telling scent of burning flesh in the air. It’s like her insides are already working their way toward an inferno. I keep pushing her because she was born to push, born to die in flames, and born to rise with tomorrow’s sun.

  I just want to be alive and free when she does.

  I hear the shot long before I see the smoke.

  It’s followed by others. Little, distant snaps of gunfire. Smoke curls in the vague landscape ahead and I hear one of the sets of hooves behind me stop. The rider falls. The second trailing Ashlord shouts out quick commands. Her flanking riders angle inward. They’re still a hundred yards back, but the noose is getting tighter.

  More shots ring out. They sound closer this time. But these Ashlords are military trained. They swing their horses, making moving targets for my unknown saviors. We’re close enough now to see the slight distinctions between landscape and man. There might be twelve of them, all dressed in drab gray outfits, all reloading rifles as I bring a storm to their doorstep.

  The sight of them gives me hope. This is what I asked Martial to do. I needed him to whisper my plans to the mountain rebels. Spread the word. Tell my cousin I’m coming. The Gravitas are full of Dividian, and rebellious Ashlords, and insurrectionists. They’ll have watched the broadcasts. They’ll have seen my rebellion, written bold and bright against the backdrop of the Empire’s most cherished tradition. I just have to
hope they think I’m worthy of joining them. A handful of desperados firing on my pursuers is a great start.

  We’re still a hundred yards from their front line when Hammer’s shoulders start to slump. Shots ring out again and this time the Ashlord on the far left goes down. His scream is swallowed by the spinning dirt. All the triumph of the shot vanishes, though, as Hammer staggers again. My whole body clenches as one of the trailing Ashlords closes the gap. My eyes swing back as she lets loose a war cry and stands in her saddle. She’s holding a switch, but it’s not modified for safety like the one I left behind. Her leather grip extends into steel. The blade swings in an arc as she passes. The silver streak promises death.

  I don’t react. Time doesn’t slow. The only thing that saves my life is Hammer’s collapse.

  Her blade whistles overhead and my body hits the ground with an air-sucking smack. The landing shakes me from toe to hip, a numbing blow that leaves me helpless as Hammer rolls onto my legs. The weight’s not enough to break bones, but it’s more than enough to pin me.

  Everything moves around me like a storm. I watch the desperados break forward, then scatter away from the oncoming Ashlord. Her sword bites down, past a raised spear, and sends blood splaying out from the closest throat. The man dies, but the lunge costs her.

  One of the other rebels catches her shoulder with a perfect jab of his spear. The blow spins her out of her stirrups, and she hits the ground hard. To my right, the second Ashlord sits in his saddle, but he’s surrounded and swinging wildly. The rebels turn his blows aside until one of them gets hold of his cloak. The Ashlord shrieks as he falls, as the men surround him, as their spears dart down into flesh.

  There’s something stunning about the blood. Reading about rebellions is different from living them. I watch how the desert drinks every drop. What was I thinking?