Ashlords

by Scott Reintgen

  How heavy would that crown have been?

  There’s a storm curling to life over the distant plains. You nestle in safely beside Quinn at the mouth of a shallow cave. The other riders are situated along the course’s western valley, along the route you intended to take with Bravos. As rain starts to fall, you imagine the other competitors hunkered over their ashes and trying to survive the night.

  This isn’t over. Four hundred paces. Not impossible. In a way, you like that your name isn’t on the leaderboard. It allows you to strike more fear in their hearts when it finally does appear. Deep down, you know that only two riders have ever come back from this distance, but you were born to break records. If a miracle is to happen, let it be one of your making.

  “We’re going to win.”

  Quinn nods. “I believe that now more than ever.”

  The two of you sit in silence and watch as the storm approaches. You don’t have the ability to read Quinn’s thoughts as she can yours, but you can feel the one emotion that’s coursing through her like a river. She’s been so fearless since the very beginning. She’s saved you too many times to count. But now the girl who kept your chances alive is nervous.

  “I mean it, Quinn. I plan on winning.”

  Her voice is quiet. “I know.”

  “And I intend to honor my pact with you either way.”

  “Of course.”

  You can’t help scowling. “Then why are you so unsettled? What is it?”

  “I want to ask you a favor.”

  The girl sits up. You can see the sharp outline of her spine through the back of her shirt. You’ve spent so much time thinking of her as a ghost that you haven’t really seen her as an actual person. Someone who exists in another world. And that world has worn her to the bone.

  “Anything within my power is yours.”

  She shakes her head in frustration. “This is not a small request.”

  “Enlighten me, then,” you reply. “Quinn. I owe you a debt. You—”

  You’ve opened my eyes. I am no longer just an Ashlord. I am more than what my parents would have me become. I am more than what this world craves. I am something new.

  “Just tell me what it is.”

  Quinn turns, eyes wide and ghostly. “I want some of your blood.” The words knock you square in the chest. It’s the last thing you expected her to ask for. She sees your reaction, too, and it has her pushing to her feet. “See what I mean? It is not a promise to make lightly.”

  It takes you a second to regain your composure. The girl wants your blood. A memory of that dark, secret room in your parents’ house flickers to life. You can see the sharp blade and your own spilled blood. You can hear the howling of the Madness. A chill runs down your spine, but you can see Quinn is not joking. It’s taken a great deal of strength for her to request this.

  “What will you do with it?”

  Even as the words leave your lips, you know there’s something cold and transactional about them. Quinn has taught you to be more than that, but beneath the newness there are still layers of Ashlord. You know some of those characteristics are good. There are worthy ideals that your people value above all else. One of them is understanding the cost. Since the beginning of time, your people have understood the trade they make with the gods: Give blood, get power.

  It’s a fair question.

  “I would use it,” Quinn says bluntly. “The gods wield your blood in our world. If you win, I will revive. I will be their newest target. A few drops of your blood will go a long way. It will help me survive their initial hunt. I cannot lead a revolution in chains.”

  You watch the girl carefully. There’s an honesty to her that’s rare in your own world. You’ve almost forgotten who she is, where she comes from. Quinn is from the underworld. The brutal realm of gods and demons and who knows what else. She’s spent her entire life as a slave, and yet she was the one who insisted on saving Etzli. She’s the one who believes in creating a better world, a better version of you. The silence stretches. Quinn takes it as rejection.

  “Never mind,” she starts to say. “I will still—”

  You lean back and reach into the saddlebags. There’s a skinning blade there. Every rider keeps one on hand for survival purposes out on the plains. You grit your teeth and transform it into a ceremonial dagger. The blade drags across the back of your finger. The blood gathers there. So little to you. So much to her. You hold your hand out to Quinn.

  “Take what you need.”

  She untucks a little rag from one pocket. Like her, the material feels insubstantial, there and not, as she presses it to your wound. It drinks in the steady drops. Quinn tucks it back into her belt and lunges toward you. Defensive instincts almost kick in before you realize it’s a hug. She wraps you in an embrace that somehow feels more real than anything Bravos ever gave you. The feeling of warmth and love almost takes your breath away. Your people do not hug.

  “It’s moving,” Quinn says unexpectedly. “The numbers.”

  You pull away long enough to eye your Race-standard bracelet. She’s right. Bravos’s lead is decreasing. You watch the number tick slowly back toward the distance that’s posted next to Revel’s name. At the same time, Adrian Ford approaches from the opposite direction. You’ve raced long enough to know they’re not actually riding their phoenixes, not at this hour of the night. The thought has you smiling. Adrian and Bravos have left their ashes unguarded.

  “What does it mean?” Quinn asks.

  You can’t help grinning.

  “Boys and blood.”

  The rain sweeps in through gaps in the branches overhead.

  I’m taking a risk, but at this point in the Races, the winners always take risks. My ashes are vulnerable. Well hidden, but I’ve watched enough footage of the Races to know there’re no guarantees once you’re in the arena. It’s a risk I have to take. A glance down at my bracelet shows the distance to Revel ticking down. He’s not on the move, which means he’s entrenched somewhere. A second glance shows Bravos is moving. Backtracking toward us.

  I tighten my grip on the baton.

  A storm is coming.

  Thunder shakes out overhead. Lightning briefly illuminates the gaps in the canopy. The desert forest is thick enough to act as a shield. Desert storms roll in quick and hard. Usually they’re dangerous because they strike before the victim can find proper refuge. Rain slicks the branches and puddles along the paths. It’ll make tomorrow’s first leg trickier, but I shove all thought of tomorrow aside. I need to be sharp in the here and now. Tonight is all that matters.

  These forests are not empty. Desert birds roost above. The rain brings out groans and protests from the smaller creatures that have survived long enough to call this place home. Every shaking leaf catches my attention. Where did Revel go? The number on my bracelet flatlines. We’re standing the exact same distance from the finish line now.

  I glance right, then left.

  The answer comes from a dangling, half-snapped branch. It’s not easy to lead a phoenix off the path without notice. Revel went that way. I slide back into motion and follow the other clues. There’s still movement on my bracelet. Bravos is closing in on the location, too. I eye the forest on my right. It says he’s just seventy paces that way, but the shadows are too thick.

  I need to find Revel first.

  Pressing through a gap in the tree line, I stumble into a clearing. The rain comes down thicker, but there’s more light, too. The unveiled stars to the west offer me my first view of Revel. A single fist of stone has punched up through the ground at the far end of the clearing. The Ashlord has wisely put his back to it. His eyes tighten as I stride into the clearing, but he doesn’t look afraid. His kind never learn fear.

  It is hard to learn fear when you’re always looking down.

  “Longhand,” Revel calls. “You look well.”r />
  He makes his voice louder than necessary. Even with the steady rain and occasional crackle of thunder, it is a voice that will be heard. His goal is clear. He wants Bravos to come.

  I almost laugh. “Do you really believe Bravos will help you? We both know how you ride. If anyone is a threat to burn their way through the final leg and steal the crown, it’s you.”

  “We are Ashlords,” Revel calls back. “And you are not. It is that simple.”

  His words hang above us, bright as lightning. I pause in the middle of the clearing. The two of us stare at one another until snapped branches announce the arrival of the current leader. Bravos edges into the clearing. He takes our measure in less than a breath. It has him grinning.

  “So it comes down to the three of us,” he says.

  “And if it should come down to that,” Revel replies, “an Ashlord should win, Bravos. The two of us have ridden well. Let’s ride again tomorrow. One final ride for glory.” His eyes fix on me. “We can put down the Longhand together. He grows too bold.”

  Bravos considers the offer. His eyes roam back to me. It will not be Ashlord unity that sways him, though. Bravos is—first and foremost—a gladiator. He’s weighing his chances in a fight. Can he defeat me without Revel? His assessment is quick and honest. He shifts his stance until he’s facing me fully, then backpedals toward Revel.

  “One final ride,” Bravos agrees. “The crown goes to an Ashlord.”

  Revel is nodding, but he’s a bigger fool than I thought if he believes those words. Bravos will use his help to put me down. And then he’ll turn on Revel. His two biggest threats left weak and wounded, their ashes poisoned. Bravos smiles and I know he’s made the same calculations I have. The Races are in his grasp now.

  The two of them lower their voices. An exchange of whispers. As one, they shift their stances and start forward. I hold my ground, mind racing. Do I escape into the forest? There’s still a chance they won’t find my ashes, but Bravos is a lot stronger than anyone I’ve fought so far. The Dread’s protection is gone. If I lose this fight, they’ll leave me so broken that gaining ground on the last day will be impossible. I’m trying to calculate the best way to get distance between myself and them when Revel transforms his shield into a baton.

  He’s walking a step behind Bravos.

  Which is why Bravos doesn’t see the blow coming. Revel brings his switch around in a flawless arc. The wooden baton cracks into the side of the bigger Ashlord’s temple. Lightning punctuates the unexpected blow. Bravos’s body hits the ground and the pursuing thunder rings out as if his fall caused the noise. Revel and I lock eyes through the rain.

  “You have two options, Longhand. First, stay and fight. I’m not as strong as you, but I promise I can make this a long night. Or you can go find his ashes and poison them. There’s no way Bravos will recover from that. It’ll be you and me going into the final ride.”

  I can’t help smiling. “Option three. I fight you, poison your ashes, then poison his.”

  He looks unsurprised by this turn. As I start forward, he backpedals gracefully toward his ashes. His voice is tight as he throws out a command. “Stop him.”

  I frown at the words and keep walking. Revel repeats his command and I’m about to point out that no one else is here to stop me when a flash of blue light cuts through the dark.

  Not lightning. Not anything I’ve ever seen before. I shield my eyes as something hits me in the chest. I stumble back a few steps, baton raised, a little blinded by the flash. Darkness returns and Revel’s standing there with a grim look on his face.

  “I told you,” he says. “I can make this a very long night for you.”

  I press forward again and the blue light flashes in answer. This time I see the sharp outline of a face. Not a random force then, a creature. The spirit shoves me backward before vanishing. What the hell? I circle now. Revel’s eyes never leave mine. Each time I press closer, though, the blue light flashes protectively forward to stop my progress. It finally dawns on me.

  “Your gods. They’re intervening for you.”

  Revel smiles. “Are you surprised? We are the favored ones, Longhand.”

  “And what are you without them?” I shake my head. “This protection will fade. I hope you fear that day as much as I look forward to it. I’ll see you tomorrow. One final burn.”

  Eyes still fixed on him, I begin backpedaling out of the clearing. Revel hasn’t looked afraid this entire time, but now he looks surprised. He takes a step forward and gestures to Bravos. “But what about his ashes? We have to poison them.”

  “And you thought I’d poison them for you?” I’ve reached the edge of the tree line. “While you went searching for my ashes? It is a wonder the gods choose to protect such fools. No, I think I’ll leave the task to you. Better hope he doesn’t wake up while you search.”

  Revel finally sees the mess that he’s in. He took a blind shot at one of his people’s most famous and feared gladiators. Bravos will wake up eventually, and he’ll come for Revel when he does. I offer one final wave before slipping back into the cover of the forest. Overhead, the rain has slowed to a trickle. It’s quiet enough that I can just barely hear Revel’s next command.

  “Move him. Now.”

  I glance back and catch another blue flash through the canopy. Invisible hands lift Bravos up and start dragging him through the mud. It’s an unsettling sight. I forge onward, eager to get the hell away. I would not risk the attention of their gods again tonight.

  The gods.

  I do not trust the Dread, but I do take him up on his warning toward caution. As I move back through the forest, I double cross my own trails, hoping to throw off any attempts at following me back to my ashes. It takes more time but I still reach my ashes long before sunrise. The rain has cleared. I sit down, feeling soaked and tired, but can’t help grinning like a fool.

  Bravos will struggle tomorrow. His lead will fade. Revel has me by a few hundred paces. There is Pippa, looming like a shadow, but I find myself unafraid. The Ashlords are not superior to us. They’re not faster or stronger or wise. All they have that we do not is the gods.

  And that can change.

  Morning comes and revolution is on its heels.

  You decide to leave most of your supplies. This is the final leg of the Races. You can’t imagine needing anything but your hood and your switch from here on out. You are about to leave your mark on history. It starts now. As Quinn mounts, the two of you set your eyes ahead. It’s a form of survival. If you’re going to win the Races, you have to forget everything that’s happened in the past few days. Taking the caves gave you a chance. It let you pass through the heart of a plateau that the rest of the riders had to go around. You’re not in the top three, but you know the road ahead will bring back the time you’ve lost to the others.

  You glance at your watch and eye the names: Bravos, Revel, Adrian.

  The thought of meeting all of them on the final stretch has you grinning.

  “Let’s ride, Revenge.”

  The phoenix’s coat flashes as the name takes and she kicks him into motion, stirring the dust with each thundering stride. By some trick of adrenaline, you don’t feel like there’s a second person clinging to your waist. Instead, it’s like you and Quinn are drifting into one being as Revenge presses through passes, down winding gulches, and through shallow creeks.

  Neither of you speak. Instead, your thoughts echo in some impossible space.

  We’re making good time.

  The next pass feeds into the final crossroads.

  Let’s ease off before the final leg.

  What if we see other riders?

  We stand our ground.

  If we see Bravos?

  We end him.

  The sun burns overhead, but you refuse your hood. You want Bravos to see your face and tremble when you m
eet again on the final stretch. Your gut twists a little as you eye the leaderboard. Revel has taken the lead. He’s burned his way out ahead of Bravos, who’s barely clinging to second place. Adrian’s in third, but you’re gaining on both of them.

  The two of you sit a little straighter in the saddle. The course is starting to bottleneck, drawing you west, back toward the other routes and riders. Ahead, you notice the metal barriers towering on either side of the final canyon. You know the faces of the crowds will be gathering there to watch. Hundreds of thousands of people, all craving a champion.

  Let’s give your fans a show.

  You thunder around the final bend of this section in the course. As you survey the distant plains, it feels like you’re looking through two sets of eyes.

  “There,” you say, pointing. “Our leader.”

  Four paths converge from different directions to make a final crossroads. Leading on from there is a dead-straight stretch. Revel has at least a clockturn on you, if not more. A quick glance at your bracelet shows his name gleaming in first, but it also shows the gap between you and him is slipping.

  You know the course and all the distances by heart. The final length of the race is a flat-out sprint. It will take nine clockturns at least. Just enough time for you to make up ground. You draw strength from the promise that the Races aren’t over yet. You’re in this. You’re a factor.

  The crowd erupts as they see Revenge barreling toward the crossroads.

  On the left, Quinn whispers in your head, another rider.

  Your eyes dart to the opposite side of the valley. Quinn’s right. Another mushroom of dust gathers over the approaching form. You can tell that the two of you will converge at the crossroads at the same time, and both of you will need to make up ground on the leader.