Chapter 6
The horse in question turned out to be a Thatian.
He wasn’t Bastion’s first choice.
Or second. Or third.
In fact, Bastion would rather risk breaking his own leg in the dark than ride a Thatian.
Bart tied the handsome bay to a hitching post and disappeared into the tack room while Bastion regarded the beast with his heart in his mouth and a nauseous fluttering in his stomach.
The gelding held Bastion’s glare, ears swiveled forwards, his liquid brown eyes fringed by a luxurious black forelock.
Down the back of his hind legs, the tell-tale stripes of the goddess’s blessing stood out in the dark.
“This is Finn,” Bart whispered as he returned. He threw a thick blanket over the horse’s back, followed by a saddle.
“Give me a different horse,” Bastion said, voice tight and low.
Bart paused from cinching the girth, only his upper face visible over Finn’s back. His eyes crinkled with a shrewd gleam.
“Afraid o’ Kinra’s wrath, are ye?”
Bastion scowled at the horse god's name. “Kinra be damned. I’ve never known a Thatian that didn’t get into trouble.”
Bart continued saddling Finn. “Whater’ the case, he’s the only one I’ve got.”
Bastion looked around, noticing the absence of normal stable sounds–the munching of hay, the swish of tails, contented snuffles. Finn punctuated the silence with a long sigh and shook his head.
“Bart,” Bastion began, frowning, “this is too important. We can’t take this horse.”
“Ye can and ye will,” Bart insisted. “Trust me when I say, there are just as many good stories about Thatians as there are bad–but they don’t make fer satisfactory gossip. Moonwatch is a two-day ride. Ye need a goddess-blessed beast to speed the journey.”
Bastion frowned. He didn’t believe in Kinra’s blessing or wrath, but Thatians were notoriously hot-blooded. He couldn’t fathom why Bart even had one in his stable.
Bart untied the bridle secured to the pommel of the saddle, slipped it over Finn’s head, and gently guided the bit into the horse’s mouth without banging his teeth.
He buckled the chin strap and ducked under Finn’s head, shoving a pair of saddlebags already fitted with a bedroll into Bastion’s arms.
“I’ll see if Ulla’s gathered enough provisions,” he said and disappeared back into the kitchen.
Bastion looked around one more time, convinced there had to be another horse hiding somewhere.
Silence permeated the stable.
Slowly, not quite believing what he was doing, Bastion moved his things from his pack to the saddlebags.
The wet shirt rolled up around the Acari pendant went in first. Something about it niggled at Bastion’s instincts, but he didn’t linger on it as he piled spare clothing and small essentials over top.
He would worry about it if this damn horse managed to get them to Lord Kyrith’s keep.
The rest of his things fit neatly, the green leather book going in last.
Bart returned with Ulla on his heels. She stopped dead in the doorway when she saw Finn, eyes slitted. The horse pawed at the ground impatiently.
“There’s a footpath behind the butcher’s shop that leads south into the bluffs,” Bart whispered, handing Bastion a bag of food and Ulla’s half-dry dress. “It’s a local route, so yer less likely to run into anyone unsavory. Ulla knows it.”
Bastion nodded, stuffed both items into the emptier of the two saddle bags, and secured the whole thing behind the cantle.
He stepped back and raked his eyes over Finn, thinking he was about to make an egregious error.
Then he took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and threw the reins over Finn's head.
The second he climbed into the saddle, every muscle in his body coiled.
Bastion willed himself to relax. An unconscious twist of the reins, tensed muscles–no matter how light his hands or thick the saddle, his nerves would bleed into Finn.
The last thing he needed was for the damned beast to pick up on his fears.
“Ulla,” Bastion said before remembering she couldn’t hear him. He nudged Finn towards her, offering his hand. She sucked in a breath and took a step back.
The blatant fear on her face hit him like an arrow to the chest.
Ulla met Bastion’s eyes, and for a cruel heartbeat, he thought he was on his own.
Again.
His hand hung in the air, the potential it held as fleeting as petals on the wind. Bastion wanted her safe as much as he ached at the thought of riding away from her. They’d scratched the surface of something while dancing, and he wanted to know more.
Then her expression hardened, as it had at the bar. She squared her shoulders and stepped forwards, nostrils flaring. Bastion held his breath, his hand tingling with anticipation. He never expected eternity to be the breadth of a few short steps.
All the air whooshed from his lungs as Ulla took his palm and he pulled her up behind him. Her arms wrapped around his waist in a vise-like grip as she buried her face in the hood of his cloak.
Bastion put his hand over hers and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. This entire night had gone to shit.
He turned to the innkeeper. “Take care of yourself, Bart. Thank you for all your help.”
Bart let out a long sigh and nodded.
“Safe travels. May Asherah smile on ye.”
__________
A sliver of moon winked at them through a veil of clouds, misty and worn like a death shroud.
Ulla guided Bastion with stiff movements, her grasp loosening only long enough for her to correct their course, her pale palm cutting through the dark like the rudder of a boat.
Then it would snatch up the front of his shirt again, her arms locked around him in a bone-crushing embrace.
Somehow, despite the darkness, Ulla’s fear, and their inability to speak to each other, they made it to the narrow footpath behind the butcher.
Finn fell into a brisk trot, clamping the bit in his mouth and pulling at the reins.
They needed to get away from Cypress Shoals as quickly as possible, but Bastion hesitated to pick up their pace with such poor visibility.
Finn fought him, snorting and tossing his head, eager to go. By the time dawn kissed the sky, Bastion’s arms ached from holding the Thatian back. But now they had light. He patted Ulla’s hand to warn her, and his already-aching ribs protested her strength as she squeezed even harder.
Bastion relaxed his hold on the reins, leaned forwards, and let Finn run.
The speed and length of his stride nearly suffocated Bastion.
He could barely hear the drum of hooves beneath him over the wind whipping by.
His eyes began to water, and he leaned even further forwards, bringing Ulla with him, until he felt the sting of Finn’s mane against his face.
They would have left the sea grass dancing in their wake if not for the wind already threading its way across the bluffs.
Bastion didn’t want to stop.
Not when his back and arms began to scream, not when his gut churned at the sight of distant black smoke, not even when he began to question the terrible risk he took in letting Finn gallop for hours on end.
A normal horse would have refused to continue or dropped dead by now, from a burst lung or splintered leg bones.
Finn must have truly been goddess-blessed because he raced the wind with wild abandon, never tiring.
Twice, Bastion wrestled the Thatian to a stop so they could stretch their legs and relieve themselves. He looked away guiltily when Ulla pressed her palms, glowing a soft blue, to her inner thighs. Despite her fear and discomfort, she got right back on Finn, her expression resolute.
When the sun dropped, casting an arrow of liquid light across the sea, Bastion started to look for a likely camp.
Just as it dipped beyond the horizon, he spotted a fallen tree, dead leaves clinging to its bare branches.
He steered Finn towards it, the way becoming a tangle of shadows and amorphous shapes as night fully fell.
They reached it just as they began–in the dark and in one piece.
Ulla released Bastion’s aching ribs and slid from the saddle, leaving Bastion’s back cold. She staggered away to collapse against a boulder. Bastion followed, tying Finn to the tree, now rimmed in the first whisper of starlight.
He tried to go to her, but she raised a hand, her face turned downward and away.
He wanted to insist, but there was little he could do.
Traveling so quickly over such a long distance had been challenging for him as an experienced rider.
For Ulla, it had probably been grueling. All they could do was rest.
Quickly, he circled the tree to scavenge wood for a fire and almost fell face-first into a shallow stream running beneath its upturned roots.
That pleasant surprise assuaged some of his worries.
Minutes later, he dumped an armful of wood in a pile near Ulla’s feet.
He felt her eyes on him, even in the dark, as he withdrew flint and tinder from the saddlebags and went to work on the fuel.
It took him a long time to get the fire going, and he was grateful she couldn’t see him flush with embarrassment over the struggle.
Finally satisfied, he cast a concerned eye on Ulla before going to Finn.
Removing the saddle, blanket, and bags revealed a layer of sweat across the gelding’s back.
He hung everything over a branch, flipping the blanket upside down to dry.
With nothing else to use, Bastion picked up the corner of his cloak and began rubbing Finn down.
The gelding gave a whole-body shake, then stilled with a deep sigh.
Aside from his desire to run unchecked, Finn proved to be a valuable mount. Perhaps he’d misjudged the Thatian.