10 #3
The weapon I’d seen is close, and it’s tall so I should be able to reach it… I extend my hand and lean against the chariot’s side, snatching a long, golden spear from the salt.
My adversary shouts a curse and at first, I think he’s upset that I’m armed, but when I twist to judge the distance separating us, he’s trying to regain control of his chariot. It swerves right, then left before he finally slows the horses to stop the wild sway.
Smiling at the good fortune of his predicament, I charge ahead.
The crystalline, mirrored flat abruptly ends and my chariot is funneled from the land of salt onto a thin ribbon of stone, a bridge that stretches high over a wide valley between two enormous peaks, their jagged tips crowned in snow.
I don’t like the way this feels. We’re trapped in a narrow channel and there’s no way off this crossing now that I’m on it. No way to turn around. Just like there’s no way out of this trial but through it.
I snap the reins, pushing the horses a little harder than I likely should, testing the loyalty of the damaged wheel and axel, but I can’t bring myself to be more cautious.
I’m desperate to get off this bridge and don’t know why.
Heights don’t bother me, but Morrigan taught me to trust my instincts and mine are screaming right now.
Not much happened in the salt flats, but the gods armed those who took the weapons. That must mean we’ll need them for something.
The mountain seems forever away. Two contestants ahead of me are about halfway across the bridge’s expanse. I can’t catch them, but if I finish third, that’s still good. It should show the divine I’m a serious contender.
I just need the wheel to hold until I reach the other side and keep my lead over the Greek without losing control on this narrow stretch.
My knuckles blanch around the reins. My fingers scream from the cold.
The warm wind and brilliant sunshine that flashed through the clouds over the salt flats is gone, blotted out by a tangle of overgrown, steely storm clouds and frigid gusts.
I don’t make it far before the sky opens.
Every drop stings the skin, even through the bodysuit. Worse still? I can barely see through the lashing sheets of rain.
Thunder rolls and lightning cracks, the bright forks so close I duck into the cab.
The horses spook, slowing from their full gallop into a frantic canter that suddenly pulls to the right. I grit my teeth and wrest them away from the bridge’s short side wall – the only thing guarding us from a plummet to the valley’s bottom. “Steady!”
Ares’s soldier roars behind me, his stallions gaining speed. As the rain lessens, a bolt strikes the stone between us, leaving a burst of smoke and shallow debris in its wake. He rushes through the smog with a crazed shout, invoking the names of the gods of thunder…
“Zeus! Indra! Mighty Thor!” he screams, his chest to the sky.
I yell at my warhorses to go faster and snap the reins.
Racing through the calm between cloudbursts, I see two chariots on the bridge ahead of me, one with a decisive lead over the other. I can’t tell who is driving them.
The respite from the deluge ends and the torrents begin anew. Rain stings my face and eyes as I focus on pushing forward and getting off this infernal bridge.
Water pours off my bodysuit, my hair, and the backs of the warhorses and spills like a waterfall from the chariot’s cab. My cheeks, hands, and bare foot are numb. My quetzal feathers are sodden. They slap my neck and jaw when a gust sends them swirling.
I swipe water from my eyes to be sure I’m not imagining things when a smaller mountain raises up from the valley, right beside the contestant leading the race.
Not a mountain. A mountain troll.
A colossus who’s been lying in wait for us to cross.
He sweeps a boulder-like hand over the bridge and snatches the horses of the lead racer.
The chariot dangles in the air. For a heart stopping moment, the male driving it holds on.
He cries out, then falls. His long scream, like his life, is abruptly halted by the unforgiving earth below.
I tug on the reins, urging my horses to slow as the troll’s teeth tear into the warhorses he collected. The poor creatures’ anguished screams echo through the valley, even over the sound of the pounding rain.
As the troll finishes eating the first set of warhorses and flings the chariot into the nearby mountain face, breaking rock and gold alike, the second driver makes a run for it.
He’s almost out of reach when the creature takes an earthquaking step and snatches the horses and chariot off the bridge, breaking part of the stone walls off with his meaty fist and fingers that tighten and crush contender and cab to get to what it really craves.
The troll tears into the whinnying stallions with gusto, ripping them apart even as they buck and writhe to get away.
Even though he’s already devoured four of them, the warhorses don’t sate him in the least. The moment he swallows, he’s already pivoting, eager for his next mouthful.
He turns towards me.