And keeping their eyes on the queen.
I'm holding tightly onto Virago (and it may be just me, but I'm pretty sure that Aphelion is prancing extra high, so that I'm having the bumpiest ride of my life back here. I would normally think that a horse wouldn't be so devious, but then, I'd never met Aphelion before today), and I lean forward now, putting my mouth as close to her ear as I can, her ponytail flowing over my shoulder, her wolf's tail with it, giving me a little bit of comfort. “Do you think everything's going to be okay? Do you really think something bad is going to happen today?” I ask her with a grimace. Virago frowns, turning a little so that only I can catch her words.
“I do,” she says, gritting her teeth together. “But we are ready for it, whatever it may be. Come what may.”
“Come what may,” I repeat, swallowing a little and gripping her waist.
Life in Arktos certainly isn’t dull.
We get down to the front gates, and we move through them, eliciting a bright cheer from the assembled people located near the wall. They're already pretty drunk (it's late in the afternoon at this point), hefting up goblets of a drink that I'm suspecting is Magin as they cheer loudly and raucously, raising their arms to the queen.
I have no idea how Calla is sitting astride her mount since she's wearing that big-skirted burgundy gown, but somehow she’s managing it—and making it look very easy to boot. And she is not riding sidesaddle. Her mare is a tall, lean blue roan, the smoky color of her coat striking. And the horse is a heavy horse, like the others, so when her large hooves strike the ground, sparks are elicited from the horseshoes as they hit the cobblestones. The whole effect is particularly magical as Calla rides in the middle of all of the knights, her blonde hair blowing back in the wind, her gown spilling over the rump of her horse, the horse prancing through the streets like it's a show pony.
We pass through the front gates, and then we move around the left edge of the city, toward the encroaching forest. Here is where all the champions of the Hero's Tournament are gathered, different people from different countries, all present to vie for the title of “hero”—and, I've been told, a pretty cool-looking trophy, and a lot of gold. I'm thinking of this as Agrotera's version of the Olympics, but there are no silver or bronze medals awarded here. It's a winner-takes-all kind of game. The champions form a line, ready to march into the city.
As we canter smoothly (well, everyone else seems to be cantering smoothly; Aphelion suddenly seems to forget how to run, and I'm being tossed around like a sack of bruised potatoes) along the lineup of tournament contestants, I catch a glimpse of glimmering armor. There's the knight from Lumina, wearing her crystalline armor, astride her unicorn. My heart goes up into my throat to glimpse something so beautiful (and, you know, otherworldly), but then the rest of the contestants look pretty amazing, too. There's a guy astride a gigantic boar (with equally gigantic tusks), and a woman astride something that looks a little like a giraffe but that is pure white, and then there's a woman astride something that looks a little like a cross between a dragon and a dinosaur, standing up on its two hind legs, its two smaller front legs resembling those of a T-Rex, its scales an iridescent black. The rider is wearing armor made entirely of scales, her long black hair cascading down her back in a million intricate braids that are then knotted together to form shapes that remind me of Celtic knots.
Everywhere I look, there are interesting, fantastical-looking people, often laughing and talking together, but some are tensely sitting astride their mounts, waiting for the procession to begin. There are people other than knights and champions among us, too, because I see someone who I’m assuming is a queen or empress or something up on a dais, carried by four enormous cats. The animals look a little like a cross between tigers and lions, if tigers had lion manes.
And I also notice King Charix. He's in line in the procession with fewer men than he brought into the banquet hall last night, but there is still quite a crew of big, black-armored guys standing around, looking sullen and like they'd rather be anyplace else (since they are, apparently, too cool for school).
The champion of Furo is easy to spot. He looks like a guy on steroids who ate another guy on steroids for breakfast. He is almost twice as tall as Virago. I'm going to let that sink in for a minute. He doesn't look real; he looks, instead, like one of the parade floats that Macy's might blow up for the Thanksgiving Day Parade. He stands there like the Incredible Hulk, glowering and staring forward, and not taking part in any of the muted conversations that the other men from Furo are currently having. But as we canter past him, he watches us. The face-grate of his black helmet is lifted, and he watches us go by, and he actually smiles. But it's not a nice sort of smile.
This is the kind of smile that a wolf makes before falling in for the kill.
Giving me a little more to go on with this wolf metaphor, when the guy smiles? Yeah. His teeth are pointed. They are filed to tiny, sharp points. A chill lances through me as I catch his eyes.
I know, in that moment, that if you met this guy in a darkened alley, said darkened alley would be the last place you ever saw.
Virago holds the champion's gaze as we race past, and her jaw is set in that particularly hard line that I've come to know as determination and just the right amount of stubbornness.
“That's a big guy,” I mutter to her, and she smiles tensely, glancing back at me.
“He's not so very big,” she says, shaking her head. I shudder a little, and then we’re finally past him, and we’re all standing at the back of the line, ready for the procession to start.
I can hear hoof beats up ahead, and I glance up, surprised to see Charaxus cantering leisurely toward us, her head held high, regal, as her long black hair billows behind her. She is riding a tall black mare (I don't think they have any short horses or ponies in Arktos), and with her black armor, and the black saddle and bridle, the effect is pretty impressive. And slightly scary, especially paired with the scowl she's wearing.
“Are we ready?” she asks in a low growl as she comes alongside Calla. Calla nods, gripping the reins on her mare a little tighter. The mare tosses her head at Calla's tension, and the queen relaxes a little, giving a sidelong glance to Charaxus.
“Is it time?” she asks, her chin held high, bravely.
I realize at this moment that Calla really could die this afternoon, right in the middle of this procession.
I grip Virago tightly, taking a deep breath as all of the knights look up to the top right of the wall surrounding the city, above the front gates. One of the knights is standing on that wall, her armor glinting in the sunshine as she holds up a blue- and gold-colored flag. She holds it high, the stiff breeze taking it and fluttering it in the wind.
“We ride,” says Charaxus then, gathering the reins of her mare tightly in her hands. The mare rears up, striking the air before her with dinner-plate-sized hooves, tossing her head and eliciting a bugling sound of challenge that seems to spread out through the other mounts lined up in the procession, no matter what animals they may be. The woman on top of the wall lets the flag fall down to her feet, and the people at the very beginning of the line begin to move forward.
I've been in a few Pride parades in my day, and the one thing about parades that's true, even across worlds, is that they're slow to start. And when they do eventually start, they're very stop-and-go. The people at the beginning of the procession may be moving now, but that means the knights and Queen of Arktos (and, you, know—me), being last in the lineup, will have to wait forever (give or take a couple of minutes) to move. But we don’t have to wait as long as I thought we would.
And good thing, too, because all of the battle mares here, at the end of the line, are starting to act nervously, tossing their heads and stomping their hooves. But it's more than that. They keep lifting their noses to the wind, their nostrils flaring, as if they're sniffing out trouble, and they shift their weight back and forth. Some of them, like Aphelion, are even dancing in place, their necks arc
hed unnaturally, chomping at their bits, their necks flecked with sweat.
“What has the horses so spooked?” I ask Virago, who leans forward and places a calming hand on Aphelion's broad neck.
“I don't know,” she says, her voice tense with worry. She glances sidelong at Kell. “They only act like this before a battle.”
“They can tell we're tense,” says Kell, shrugging elegantly and tightening her grip on her reins, too.
But out of all the mares here, only Charaxus' remains calm, her four feet planted firmly on the ground. Actually, her back right hoof is cocked, and her head is lowered almost contentedly. Charaxus sits on her mare's back with perfect posture and poise, while the other mares dance around, tossing their heads, their knights sitting them expertly but taking a little bit of time to calm them down.
Charaxus chooses this moment to turn to look at Calla. Charaxus has positioned her mare right alongside Calla's, and they are side by side; their knees might almost be touching, actually, but since Calla's dress is so immense, it's difficult to tell.
“We are here for you, milady,” says Charaxus solemnly now. Her voice is low, a growl, and pitched so that it doesn't carry, but Virago has positioned Aphelion close to Calla, too, so I can make out what she's saying. “We will keep you safe,” Charaxus says in a gentle growl. And at the very end of her words, there's a catch to her voice.
Calla glances at her quickly, then away, but I can see that she swallowed. “Thank you, Charaxus,” she says, and like Charaxus' words, Calla's are pitched to be heard only by Charaxus, but I'm close enough to hear her, too. And Virago also hears, because her jaw is tight as she tenses in front of me. I can actually feel the tension spreading out from her belly beneath my hands, can feel it even through the armor.
We start to move, the horses prancing in place, held close and tight by their knights, reins gathered into gloved hands, but the horses aren't having any of it. They dance sideways; they dance forward in slow motion (held in check by watchful knights), and every one of them—except for Charaxus' mare—is breaking out into flecks of sweat, the sweat gathering beneath the leather reins along their necks.
Ahead of us, along the curve of the outside edge of the forest, I can see the men of Furo. None of them are on mounts, which I find interesting. Every single other group of delegates is on mounts, or at least the champion is. They're the only people on foot.
Admittedly, I'm not quite certain what type of mount could carry their champion, since he seems to be a giant.
That giant chooses this moment to turn back and look at us. Virago stiffens against me and raises her chin. I can tell that they're gazing at one another.
And then, very slowly and methodically, the man lifts his massive hand, sticking his thumb up...and he traces his thumb across his neck.
My first reaction to this is a cold dread. The second (admittedly, much later) reaction: they have that gesture on this world, too?
The “you're dead” gesture.
Virago lifts her chin even higher and doesn't rise to the bait, much to my relief, but still...that was kind of chilling to witness. I can't even imagine that guy in hand-to-hand combat. He could beat an elephant, if he wanted to.
As I sit there on the back of the horse, as I hug Virago as tightly as I can, all of the horses moving forward in a stately procession, I feel a shiver come over me. I feel every hair rise on the back of my neck, and a tremor quakes through me. My brother, Aidan, always posits that everyone in the world is psychic, and he told me that, since he's so psychic (he's not a very humble guy), this means that I'm psychic, too. I don't know if I believe that, but what I'm feeling right now really can't be explained. I feel as if something's wrong, something's off, and that things are about to get worse.
There's music in the procession, moving along with us. Musicians are located between the groupings of champions and their delegates, playing mostly woodwind-type instruments, as well as people carrying drums and banging on them in perfect rhythm. The musicians directly ahead of us are playing something that sounds dignified and lively, but there's this minor-key type sound that's also working its way into their music, weaving through the melody...and that's not making me feel much more relaxed.
“My love,” says Virago as we near the city walls and the front gate of Arktos City. The city itself was once so beautiful and atmospheric, but now the sight of the gates looming above us just fills me with anxiety: anything could be waiting for us in the city, anything ready and waiting to kill Queen Calla. As if she can hear my thoughts, Virago leans back and says quietly over her shoulder, “Be ready for anything. But know also,” she says, lifting her chin, “that I will die before any harm comes to you.”
“Don't go dying anytime soon,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice light, but it betrays me, catching on the last word. I clear my throat. “Just watch Calla. I've got a bad feeling,” I tell her, gripping her waist.
“Me, too,” she says solemnly.
And then we pass through the open gates into the packed streets of Arktos City.
When I say “packed,” I mean that the streets are literally teeming with people, wedged in tightly, waving little banners (most of them here, in the beginning of the city, are cobalt blue covered in gold-embroidered stars), tossing paper confetti. There are bits and bobs of magic spiraling around us and making stars appear in the air above people's heads, falling stars whooshing around the horses and exploding with loud pops of sound and color. Sparkles rain down on the people with miniature, magical explosions. The horses are actually pretty good about all of this noise and magic as they prance in place but still move forward, showing no signs of spooking.
“Long live the queen!” starts a chant close by. Virago smiles at the people in the crowd, though I can tell she's uneasy about this. We start to wend our way down the main thoroughfare, through the city, our horses steadily striding uphill, and a smattering of “long live the queen!” chants follows with us as we rise higher and higher toward the palace.
I'm beginning to notice that, when the champion and knights of Furo and King Charix move through the crowd, the voices on either side of the route grow hushed. Everyone’s cheering like mad for the people before them, and then they're cheering like mad for the people after them...but, as one, the crowd falls to silence when the Furo delegates walk past. It's an odd, eerie sensation when a cheer suddenly stops; it reminds me a little of a wave performed badly in a sports stadium.
I'm not the only one noticing the lack of enthusiasm in the crowds here in Arktos for the Furo men. The black-armored guys are starting to grumble amongst themselves. They strike me as very poor losers (I'm not sure why; maybe it's because they were standing around like sullen toddlers earlier), so it's starting to bother me that they're grumbling. I know that relationships between Arktos and Furo aren't stellar at the moment. And I paid attention in Social Studies: when the relationships between countries are strained, it's a land of dry tinder, and it doesn't take much to set off the spark that ignites everything.
So I'm gradually starting to feel more uncomfortable and more worried, and it's when we round the final bend and are on the straightaway toward the palace that I realize my heart is in my throat.
It's the home stretch. We're almost there. Most of the other groups in the procession are already inside the palace, getting ready for the opening ceremonies that are going to take place in the banquet hall.
But we're not there yet.
I lift my eyes. There's a tiny glint up high. I don't know why I look up; there are glints and glimmers and shimmers everywhere, with all the magic in the air, making miniature pyrotechnics. But I look up, anyway. And though there are people spilling out of every window from the buildings surrounding us, though there are tons of people crowding the rooftops, too, there's one rooftop that's noticeably empty...
Save for one lone figure positioned in the corner closest to us.
Calla's mare is starting to ascend the wide marble steps in front of the palace, pi
cking up her hooves daintily and placing them with care on each step. All of the horses and other mounts ascended the steps, too (which impressed me—it's not always a simple feat for animals to climb stairs), and Calla is giving the mare her head with the reins to make it even easier on her. It's because I noticed Calla right before I looked up that I realize something in this moment.
It's difficult to see the figure up on the roof, because this person is far back from the edge of the building; I can hardly make out their head. And their head is swathed in a hood...which is odd, given the day. It's warm out here, far too warm for a cloak and hood. I've already pitied the knights at least a dozen times, wrapped up in their leather clothes and armor; they must be positively roasting.
So when I look up and see this cloaked figure—this cloaked figure who appears to be hiding—I pause. But then I also see that the person is holding something, something that’s being pointed toward Calla...
I just saw where Calla was, saw it very clearly, and there's no mistaking the direction of that object. It's so far up that the shape is hard to make out, but cold dread fills me as recognition dawns: an arrow. They're holding a crossbow, and the arrow is being aimed directly at Calla.
“Virago, look!” I whisper, pointing upward instantly, and then, heart hammering, I shout, “Calla, look out!”
Instantly, everything changes.
I've seen the knights move quickly; I saw Virago best the woman at the bar. But how fast the knights reacted, up until this moment, was slow in comparison to here, now. Because, in a single heartbeat, they have leapt into action, vaulting off their horses to surround Calla.
Kell, who was riding behind the queen on her own mare, is off of her mare's back in a second and then launching herself in a graceful leap to settle behind Calla on the horse. Instantly, Kell's eyes are closed, and there's a shimmer of strange, iridescence around both her and Calla, as well as Calla's mare. I think she’s shielding Calla with magic.
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