Mother says, “I would ask the blessing you gave me be extended to my daughter.”
The three wolfish eyes leer in her direction. You fight back a shiver as the Madness inclines his head, taking in the request. A rasping voice echoes, “A drop of your blood.”
She starts forward, bloody palm held out.
The Madness growls at the sight. “A new wound is required.”
She hesitates, then takes up the obsidian blade again. She calmly slits the opposite palm and shows it to the god. He gives an approving nod as she holds it out over the altar. In the light of your candle, blood drips over the stones. The Madness licks his lips, tongue slavering.
You know he is the god of death. He is the way between the worlds. Some call him the Bridgekeeper. Nothing passes up from the underworld without his approval. You cannot fathom why he is here tonight or what Mother could possibly be thinking. This is not a path you ever imagined walking. It is the fool’s way forward.
“The girl now,” the Madness says. “Her blood must surround the altar entire.”
You watch in horror. She cleans the knife and turns. She offers it to you.
“Take it,” she orders. “Pippa. Do as I say.”
There’s no room in her voice for argument. You exchange candle for blade. The Madness has started chanting and moving. He speaks in an inhuman tongue. The words start out as words, before echoing like the rattle of bones, bounding between worlds with dangerous reverberation. And then the Madness dances around the altar, lost in the chaos of his spell. You take the distracted moment to ask the question that burns brightest in your mind.
“What is happening?”
“Trust me,” she whispers. “I’m offering you a gift.”
She shoves you forward. The Madness continues to dance. You step up to the altar, carefully clear of his circling path. Your hands shake as you take the blade and press the black tip to your palm. The sharp pain makes you gasp, but a bloody streak appears.
The Madness stops. “Let it encircle the altar. The spirit must attune to you.”
You eye him before walking in a circle. You let blood drip down in a staggered loop. Twice around before the god lets out a bone-chilling howl. You drop the knife and dart back to the safety of your mother’s arms. His howl does not stop. It grows, pulsing in your chest, and shaking the stones, and calling your spilled blood into the air.
And then the noise cuts off sharply.
Mother gasps as a violent slash of blue light tears through the dark. You watch the bright ball glow, trembling formlessly above the raised altar. It shapes itself into a spirit. You see the face, the torso, the legs. The spirit leaps to the right, but an invisible barrier knocks it back. The Madness watches in fascination as the creature beats blue fists against the walls. He howls again.
The spirit panics. Lashing out again, failing again. But the walls are closing in around it. As the Madness continues to wail his horrible noise, you realize that it’s your blood that is pinning the spirit to the altar. There’s a horrible writhing and everything goes black.
The world dances away from you.
* * *
—
Until it stops dancing. You’re back in your room, safely under the covers. You have no idea how you got here, or what’s happening, until Mother sits down on the edge of your bed. The secret room and the Madness and the summoned spirit burn back into your mind.
You wait for her to speak.
“The gods move between our world and the one below,” she says. “You have always known this, dear. You were not born into war, but you were created for it all the same. The gods derive their power from a trade between worlds. In the underworld, our blood gives them power. They take our sacrifices and use them to rule those forsaken lands. In return, they offer us the powers of their world. Invisible armies. Fire that rains from the sky. The Madness, as you know, controls the passage of spirits into our realm. That has always been his trade. He has the ability to bring souls from that world into ours.”
You nod mechanically. Your head feels ready to spin from your shoulders.
“One of those spirits will be gifted to you. For the race.”
Hearing her words, a truth settles into your mind, a realization about her brilliant performance in the Races all those years ago. Your mother was not simply the most talented rider. No, the truth is far less pretty than that. She cheated to win.
“You had a spirit for your year, didn’t you?”
She catches the accusation in your tone. “As did many of my competitors. I was the only one who understood the power I wielded. By the time the others realized what could be done, I’d already run circles around them. It is not cheating to use the tools you’ve been given.”
“Then…the years of the Madness…”
“Are the years in which the god of death and passage involves himself. He offers gifts in exchange for blood. The gift will come at the start of the race. Command it well.”
Your heart is pounding. The Madness is something you’ve always dismissed. It’s only happened four times in the history of the Races. The odds were against it until Mother invited the fickle god into your year. Now everything feels like it’s slipping from your grasp. The Madness will bring events you cannot predict or control. Those under its effect have won the Races easily, but others imbibing on his power have lost the Races just as tragically. Your jaw clenches as you realize the risks Mother’s created with her meddling.
It could ruin everything.
“Others will benefit from this?”
She nods. “The Madness will seek more deals tonight. He favors no one.”
“Then you are a fool.”
Your mother flinches. Even you are surprised by the venom in your voice. She has invited chaos where you had created order, but what is worse is that she treated you like a child.
“Think,” she replies desperately. “Who is the one rider the Madness will never help?”
Realization washes over you. The burning rage fades ever so slightly. You know that she’s right. There is one rider that no Ashlord deity would ever consider helping. The only rider who belongs to a group of people who refuse to worship any of the pantheon.
“Adrian Ford.”
Mother nods. “We’re not in front of the cameras now. Be honest with yourself: He’s the greatest threat you will ever face. Before he joined, I would have never dreamed of inviting the Madness. It’s possible you could have won. Consider the spirit another tool in your arsenal.”
The final realization hurts most of all. She didn’t trust you to win on your own. The daughter of champions, destined to follow in their footsteps. It doesn’t matter that you’ve won every single amateur race or that you train harder than she ever did. At the end of the day, your mother thinks that Adrian Ford could beat you.