When I die today, thought Dinah as they neared the tall iron gates, at least I will know what it felt like to fly. The ornate gates of Wonderland were left cracked open every day, for travelers and traders to come and go into the palace as they pleased. All around the gates now, Dinah could see Cards scrambling to shut the doors. To each side, large metal winches crawled with Spades struggling to turn the rusty levers that hadn’t been turned in years. Someone gave a shout, and the towering gates began closing toward one other, creaking shut inch by inch. On the left side, a tall, gray-haired Spade squinted in the sun as she neared. Dinah recognized him instantly—it was the Spade she had slapped that day on her way to the palace. He watched her with a fascinated look on his face as other Spades clamored around him, screaming and pointing at each other, pointing at her. His movement was tiny, so small that no one else would ever know, but Dinah saw it. His hand paused on the winch, just for a second. It was enough.
Morte plunged through the narrow opening, his broad shoulders clipping both sides of the iron gate, which then burst backward. The steed let out a whinny of pain as the gates cleanly sliced into him, but his speed never wavered. He had seen the open sky and the field of white flowers before him—he tasted the freedom denied him most days in the dark stables. There was a shimmer of movement under Dinah’s legs as Morte flexed his muscles, and then, just when she thought they couldn’t go any faster, Morte’s pace quickened, his stride lengthening. She leaned, and Morte instinctively turned east, never slowing. Faster and faster, his speed gained a growing rhythm as they soared away from the castle.
Dinah heard the gates being pried open behind her and turned her head in despair. A small army of horses emerged, led by a large man riding a white Hornhoov. The King of Hearts. His Heartsword was raised above his head and he was screaming Morte’s name over and over again, with a crazed look upon his face. Dinah gave a shudder. She had never seen her father be more himself than in this terrible moment, and she knew she would never again question whether he had thrown her brother from the window. He was full of hatred and fury, intent on her death. There was no doubt.
She turned away, her heart hammering in her chest, and clung to the monster’s neck. Morte gave a happy whinny and Dinah understood that he had just realized they were being pursued. Shivers of pleasure rippled down his back and his relentless gallop took on a joyous feel as they flew over bare fields and streams, past towns and villages, and over hills, flying until the palace was nothing more than a white-and-red dot behind them. Wardley had been right—Morte showed no signs of exhaustion; rather his speed seemed to increase. For every step her pursuers took, the Hornhoov took six. He would run them off their feet.
Dinah glanced back periodically, but it wasn’t long before the Cards saw the hopelessness of this pursuit. They fell back one by one as their horses collapsed, exhausted by this endless sprint. Only her father pursued now, but he was never able to gain on them, even astride another Hornhoov. Morte was stronger and faster than the females, and angry at his confinement. His heavy hooves pounded the wildflower-carpeted ground, the short-grass plain, the rocky sand. On and on, Morte overtook the fields and hills leading to the Twisted Wood. The distance between them grew and grew until Dinah finally saw her father turn back, a tiny speck of white in the distance. A whoosh of air released from her lungs and suddenly she dared to hope that she might live until nightfall. Her legs and buttocks screamed with pain with each gallop, her body slamming fiercely against Morte’s muscled back again and again.
Dinah pressed her head against the side of the Hornhoov’s neck, a new weariness overtaking her. She was sure if she fell, he would keep running. Not only did he not care for his rider, but he didn’t even seem to remember that he HAD a rider. The fall alone would surely shatter her bones. If she fell off, he would keep going, either that, or he would circle back around to kill her, his giant hooves grinding her head into pulp. And she would let him.
They were heading due east now, so she leaned left, hoping to turn him more north, into the deeper parts of the Twisted Wood. His body responded and he churned the mud out from under his hooves as they veered in that direction. Go to the Twisted Wood, Wardley had said. I’ll find you. The trees on the horizon grew taller and taller, their limbs reaching for the sky. The sun loomed high in the afternoon sky. They had been running for hours, for days it seemed.
Morte flew up a ridge and Dinah sat up with surprise, shading her eyes. She had almost fallen asleep against his immense neck. “My gods.”