Riders (34 page)

Lucent and my horse, the giant slowpokes, were last to follow. Lucent became light, like sun rippling on water. Then Big Red turned into a flurry of flames, and he was gone, too. There were no horses anymore. Just slashes, shooting across the water.

It all happened in seconds.

We ran to the edge of the bank to watch them. Streaks of light and dark, fire and ash, twisting and threading through trees. Climbing suddenly into the air, and then plunging to fly over the glassy water again. My heart didn’t beat for a solid minute as I stood there. Of the four horses, mine drew my attention most. I’d never seen anything so incredible. Never.

Sebastian was hooting and yelling his head off. Daryn and Marcus were laughing and jogging along the river, following the horse race. Only Jode and I stood there, incapable of even moving.

Jode shook his head. “Caused a bloody riot, your horse.”

That was him, I thought.

Riot.

*   *   *

Later that afternoon, with the rest of the guys up at hutquarters working on a fire and a delicious dinner of rice, beans, and canned peas, I recruited my favorite horse trainer and great buddy to give me a private lesson.

Daryn gave me instructions as we hiked down to the water: Keep talking while I worked with Riot. Be firm, but also understand that horses had different personalities, like people.

“Some are confident,” she explained as we reached the training field, “but others are timid and—”

“Timid isn’t his problem.”

“But what if it was?”

“It’s not.”

She gave me a smile with a little eyebrow waggle. “I think
you’re
timid.”

“You do?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Really?” I took a step toward her.

She saw what I was up to and took off running. She was fast—I had to step on the gas—but I chased her down. Then I lifted her onto my shoulders and windmilled her until I had to bring us in for a soft crash landing.

“You’re pretty easy to do unremarkable things with,” I said as I waited for the sky to stop rotating.

“I was thinking the same thing. It’s going to be so easy to forget all about you.”

Painful. Every moment with her was awesome and painful.

The clouds were gray and thick above us, an unbroken expanse of steel wool, stretching from mountain to mountain. We’d been there just over a week. How much longer until I saw Alevar’s black wings soaring across that sky?

Daryn rolled onto her elbow. Her hair spilled over her shoulder, covering the key. “You’re thinking about the Kindred, aren’t you?”

She already knew I was, so I just looked at her.

Daryn sighed, her eyebrows drawing together. “I know it’s not in my hands, but I feel responsible. Why can’t I just know what to do next?”

“You will.”

“But
when
?”

“When you’re supposed to.” I couldn’t stay there any longer with her lying right next to me. I hopped to my feet and reached down, pulling her up. “Let’s get to work.”

I summoned Riot for the second time that day. He appeared in licks of flame, fire one second, horseflesh the next—
charging
horseflesh.

I lunged in front of Daryn, calling up my sword and armor in an instant, knowing that even with those I stood almost no chance against the two thousand pounds of fiery animal bearing down on us.

“Gideon, it’s okay,” Daryn said. “Just stand firm.”

It didn’t feel okay. I waved the sword in front of me. “Riot, back!”

His front hooves dug into the dirt when he was almost on us. His eyes bulged; then he jumped to the side like a cricket. Then he was off, galloping away before he doubled back and charged me again. On Daryn’s instruction, I stood my ground.

Riot freaked out again, sped off, circled back, and that was how it went for about thirty solid minutes, time after time, until foam sizzled and dripped from his mouth and he finally settled to a quivering, steaming, burning stop a dozen paces away.

I glanced at Daryn. “Well, this feels like a good place to wrap for—”

“We’re just getting started.”

I shook my head, eyeing my horse. Riot looked spent, but still scary as hell.

Daryn had prepped me on how to approach him slowly. Talking. I had to do that now, before I lost my nerve. I got rid of my sword and armor, and then took a step forward.

“How’s it going today, Riot?” I said. “I’m Gideon.”

Nice. Two sentences and I’d already managed to embarrass myself. In front of Daryn
and
a horse. I hadn’t even realized the last part was possible. I continued speaking as I stepped closer. “I’m sure we have a lot in common. You’re clearly a stallion in top physical condition. Extremely dangerous. Badass. Impressive looking.”

“Wow,” Daryn said behind me.

That made me smile, which I needed. I was nervous as all get-out. The muscles in Riot’s legs were twitching. His breath lifted in puffs of steam. He had gold eyes—and they hadn’t unlocked from mine. He looked like he wanted to eat my head.

“Keep going,” Daryn said. “And maybe try to be positive and nice? I think he can sense what you’re saying.”

Positive, check. Nice, check. Wait—
nice
?

Shit. Okay.

“You seem like you’ll make a pretty good warhorse,” I said as I continued approaching him carefully. “Once you stop trying to kill me, I think we’ll do a lot better. Not that I don’t appreciate your level of aggression. If we can just refocus it, I think we should be good. There’s the other issue, too. Of you being on fire. But I see lots of potential once we figure that stuff out.” I had almost reached him. Three more steps and I’d be able to touch him.

Riot’s lips pulled back, and I was suddenly looking at
a lot
of big teeth.

“It’s okay,” Daryn said next to me. “That’s how horses smell. He’s just checking out your scent. Hold out your hand and let him smell you.”

“You’re sure he won’t bite me?”

“No,” she said, with a chuckle. “I’m not.”

She was going to pay for that one.

I could feel Riot’s warmth radiating around him. And I could smell him—a smell somewhere between hot pavement, hot metal, and horse sweat. I extended my hand slowly, saying good-bye to my fingers.

Riot stretched his neck, reaching forward, his mouth hovering over my palm. His breath drifted over my skin in hot puffs. I’d thought his eyes were gold, but the color was deeper. More like amber.

I noticed he had pulled back on the flames over his body. At the moment, they curled only along his tail. His jaw was solid and huge, and the strands of his mane were copper and gold and red, every thread a different shade.

“You’re one of a kind, aren’t you?” I said.

He was looked at me so directly. I felt like he wasn’t just
listening
to me; he was
understanding
. That gave me a boost of confidence.

“Okay, Big Red. I’m going to touch you now. If you’re going to burn me I’d appreciate it if … you didn’t burn me.”

I reached out and rested my hand on his neck. I felt solid muscle covered by fine soft hair that radiated heat. Warm. But I’d expected much more. He just felt like he’d been sitting in the sun.

What got to me though, after a couple of seconds, was feeling him breathe. Feeling his pulse. Feeling all the power in him. All his fire, inside and out.

If I could find a way to connect with him, it’d be mine.

He
would be mine.

Maybe this was going to work out.

*   *   *

After that, I was on a mission to bond with him. I spent the next few days calling him up and letting him run himself out, then approaching him and resting my hand on his neck. We gradually worked up to the point where he’d let me drag my hand over his body as I walked around him. He liked this, I could tell, because he’d dial back the fire, keeping it away from me. I had yet to actually make contact with any flames on him. His red coat just felt warm, and with the weather in Jotunheimen continuing to cool, the warmth felt good.

I kept talking as I worked with him because Daryn had said I should. I told him about my mom and Anna. I told him about the San Francisco Giants and the game of baseball in general, which took forever. Riot got an education on the national pastime. I told him about RASP, which he liked the best. I’d been skipping stones into the water, in perpetual motion as usual, and he’d come right up next to me, his big hooves clopping into the shallows like he wanted to hear me better.

Even when his eyes were staring off across the fjord, I felt his attention. He listened to me even when I wasn’t speaking.

After a few days, I started pacing along the banks as I talked and he plodded along beside me, his hooves like small meteors crashing by my feet, his tail blowing along, various parts of him on fire. Riot had a lot going for him, but subtlety wasn’t his gift.

I quickly became addicted to the feeling of being with him. I grew impatient at the end of my training sessions with Marcus, eager to get back to Riot. I was first to rise and last to sleep, as always, but now it was because I wanted to spend as much time as I could with my horse.

Little things got me. How Riot would look over if I stopped talking like,
Why’d you stop, Gideon?
How he’d nudge my arm to let me know he wanted my hand on his shoulder. How, when we’d see the other guys with their horses, he’d become a little crazy and overprotective. And my favorite—how whenever I mentioned Daryn he’d strike a pose and torch up. Major show-off.

He was funny. Just really great company.

A couple of days into working with him, I laced up my cross-trainers and took off. He stayed right with me again, so we added running to our time together. Occasionally, we’d pass the other guys and there’d be comments. I had horseback riding all wrong, they’d say. Or they’d place bets as to when I’d jog by with a saddle on my back, Riot sitting in it. I didn’t care. I loved running on my own, but with a horse keeping pace for you?

Not many things were better than that.

But there
was
something better. The more time I spent with Riot, the calmer I felt and the less I saw of Ra’om’s images. I started sleeping better. My nightmares came less frequently. I could go long stretches without thinking about Samrael hitting Daryn, or seeing my father falling from a roof. At night when I looked into the darkness, I didn’t see Ra’om’s red eyes anymore—I saw Riot’s. Every day, my horse put my head just a little more to the right. He managed the impossible: He mellowed me out.

The one thing that wasn’t happening, though, was
riding
.

About a week in, as we approached the two-week mark in Jotunheimen, I knew the time had come to give it a try. I woke up and left for the river before anyone else had stirred. I wanted to be alone for my first attempt.

We’d had two solid days of freezing rain in a row, and our practice field was mostly mud now. Any day, I expected to see snow. Any day, I expected to see the Kindred.

I summoned Riot and he came right over to me, bobbing his head. He was excited to see me, too.

“What’s up, Big Red?” I said, smoothing my hand over his coat. He nudged me with his head, telling me to get moving. He thought we were going for a run. “We’re going to do something a little different today. Something new.”

His amber eyes held steady on me. He was ready, too.

“We’re gearing up now, Riot,” I said. I knew from the other guys that our horses’ tack came up when we mounted. I wanted to make sure Riot knew that, too. “Your saddle and bridle are coming up. Then I’m going to get on your back. I’m going to sit on you, so prepare for that, okay? Here we go.”

I reached for his withers with my right hand, and grabbed a thick bunch of red mane with my left, holding tight. I saw the flash of a stirrup, jammed my foot into it, and swung up.

Everything clicked into place—both my feet were in the stirrups, I was sitting in the saddle, the reins were even in my hands—but my first thought wasn’t about the gear. I’d underestimated Riot’s size. I was
way
the heck up there.

The second thing I noticed was that not only had Riot’s tack come up, but so had my armor—
and
—that I was on fire.

Flames rolled along my arms. They curled up from my ankles, drifting over my legs. I reached down and smoothed my hand on Riot’s neck, and the flames there flowed around me. I needed a second to wrap my head around that little development, but Riot tensed beneath me and surged forward with so much force that I almost pitched off the saddle.

Gripping with my legs, I drove my heels down like Daryn had told me to do, and held on for my life. I hadn’t expected him to be fast—he was built for power, not speed—but he was
fast
. The gravel riverbank became a gray blur beneath me, and the wind pressed against my face.

Since I had no riding technique to speak of, the saddle came up under me like a jackhammer. Cherished parts of my anatomy would never be the same, I was sure. Thankfully, I quickly realized that by shifting my weight onto my legs and slightly forward, it put me in synch with his gait. I took up the reins, tucked in like a jockey, and experienced true and profound exhilaration as we tore across the clearing.

Why had I waited so long to do this? I never wanted to stop.

I wanted to ride a circle around the world.

Then I spotted Daryn and the guys coming down the trail, and the moment was over. I scrambled to recall the riding instruction I’d been given—be gentle with Riot’s mouth, use my legs to control him—and made a total mess of things, giving him mixed-up cues and cranking the reins like a brute. I got it all wrong, but somehow Riot understood what I wanted. He slowed down, trotted right over to everybody, and came to a full stop.

Sitting up in the saddle, with Daryn and the guys watching me, I was feeling pretty big-time, but my first instinct was to play everything down. Just a regular morning, tearing around a fjord on my gigantic fiery steed.

It didn’t work. I felt a grin coming on and I couldn’t hold it back for anything. I knew I looked amazing up there, with my armor and horse. All burning. I mean, how often did you see
that
?