“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.