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.”