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?
“What’s up, guys?” I said, and reached down to pat Riot’s neck.
I heard someone snicker, and I peered at them. “What?”
Marcus scratched his jaw. I could tell he was trying not to smile. “Your horse, man. It’s the way he moves.”
“It’s called knee action,” Daryn said.
“Riot’s is quite high,” Jode added. He frowned and pressed his lips together, but I could hear him sputtering.
“It’s cool, G,” Bas said. “He sort of … prances. Reminds me of those Irish river dancers. You know, the ones that—”
He couldn’t even finish. He started howling. Suddenly they were falling all over themselves.