It had been an unremarkable night in an unremarkable place when Chel had fallen asleep. She knew from the moment she began to stir that something had changed.
Everything had changed.
Chel’s nostrils flare as the overwhelming scent of horseflesh and something else burns her nostrils. Her consciousness returns to her slowly and all at once, but her vision remains clouded and confused. She tries to shake her head to clear the unpleasant sensation as her vision begins to slowly clear but finds that the motion is impeded by something. She blinks rapidly trying desperately to clear the remaining haze from her vision, and in doing so becomes aware of other unpleasant sensations. The metallic taste in her mouth was from a bar of metal in her mouth, which she could not dislodge. She immediately tries to shift into something small enough to free herself from this device, but her shifting doesn’t respond, much to her chagrin.
Understanding settles when she sees other equines who also appear to be bridled, but unlike her all appear to be lacking wings. They, however, wear an assortment of other armor and some even have men sitting astride them, something that makes anxiety churn in Chel’s stomach. Surely this had to be a dream? But everything felt so real. She could smell the salt of the sea, the sweat of horseflesh, and the strange scent of man. She could taste the cold metal on her tongue. She could feel the leather straps against her face. She could hear the clanging of metal and the shifting of hooves against sand. Clearly not all of her senses were deceiving her.
Chel watches them warily – these men. These are not creatures she is familiar with. The muscles in her neck twitch as one, the one called Pollux, touches her so freely. She cares little for their conversation, still absorbed in trying to figure out what the actual hell was going on.
She has little time to puzzle things out. When strange drumbeats begin to echo from somewhere too distant to see, the other man – Castor – abruptly departs after clasping hands with the one who holds her reins in his hands. They mutter something to eachother – something she cannot hear over the sound of activity that now thrums through the encampment. “To Battle!” they cry.
Chel doesn't really have time to stop and think about her current predicament. The other horses and riders are already forming lines away from the dunes out closer to the shoreline, away from the tents and other supplies. There were a lot of things running through her head and most of them were any number of curse words. She wonders, idly, if she dies here in this place if she would simply wake up or...
The train of thought shatters when Pollux clambers, somewhat ungracefully, upon her back. She squeals angrily as he clumsily settles himself behind her wing joints. She flutters her wings until they are again comfortable and Pollux leans forward, again stroking her neck gently. She calms, for a moment, at the soft touch. “I’m sorry. There was no saddle that would fit without inhibiting your wings.” It isn't much in the way of apology, but it would have to do. The beating of the drums never ceases, and Pollux uses his legs and the bridle to guide her alongside Castor who is mounted on his own steed, a large black horse with deep brown eyes who acts as if this is the most normal, boring day of his life. Meanwhile, Chel longs to shed this body for one with teeth and claws if she’d be expected to shed blood this day.
The lines of horses begin moving as horns sound somewhere behind them. Chel has no choice but to follow. The men raise their swords and scream as the enemy does the same as they come into view across the sands. Eventually the lines meet in a ferocious clash of bodies, steel, and blood. Chel balks as others bump against her, crushing her wings against her sides. She grits her teeth and fights the bit between her teeth. She can't help but think that this man, who had the audacity to sit upon, her is going to get her killed.
That was quite enough of this she thinks. Chel, along with Pollux, takes to the air. She hears the man yelp in surprise and his free hand grip her mane tightly but it didn’t stop her ascent. Behind her, she hears Castor let out a whoop and she smirks. Maybe, just maybe, she could be good at this battle thing.
And she was. Chel allowed Pollux to guide her as they swooped down upon the enemy’s lines, forcing them back from above. This was much preferred to the crush of death and steel below. Surprised enemy archers had no chance to draw as Pollux cut them down. Swordsmen couldn’t reach the legs she kept out of reach. Chel and Pollux became a team on the bloodstained sands, each doing what they could to ensure the other’s survival.
Eventually the enemy turned and fled – the battle won.
Or so they’d all assumed.
She returns to the ground, landing beside Castor who’d been battling on foot having been thrown from his horse at some point during the melee. That was when the drumming begins again, but it is different this time. This time each drumbeat reverberates under their feet. She can feel the vibration in the sands. The waves of the ocean were vibrating in strange, unnatural patterns.
You know that thing they say about assuming? Applicable here.
Something was wrong. Chel knew it. The other horses did too. The men seemed to remain oblivious to the new threat that now been summoned from the sea. Castor and Pollux only began to grow concerned when the tide receded into a fury of bubbles just offshore.
“REFORM THE LINES!” they shout, in tandem, trying to organize what remains of their forces.
The Hydra bursts from the sea as Chel again makes for the skies, pushing herself higher and faster than before. It is difficult to climb quickly with the man on her back, but she can feel his fingers laced tightly in her mane, so she carries him clear of the three snapping jaws of the creature.
The Hydra uses its sweeping tail to clear the bloodstained beach, unleashing a shriek from all three heads that has Chel pinning her ears flat to her skull. It snaps at the men who thrust their swords in an effort to stop its progress. But when one head drives them back, another head swoops in and crushes the men in its jaws. The Hydra makes quick work of the men on the beach, she flies a wide circle so that Pollux can take stock of what is happening on the sands below. And it is that moment when Pollux sees Castor among the men trying to push the Hydra back into the sea.
“Brother!” he bellows as he digs his spurs into Chel’s sides. Chel snorts at the rude encouragement, but deep down knows that they are his brother’s only chance. So, she presses forward, allowing him to provide direction through the bridle as she gains speed as they grow closer to the beast. She can see, perhaps better than Pollux can, how the creature stalks his brother and presses herself faster, feeling the muscles in her wings and back burn with the extra burden she carries. The creature shrieks as Castor lands a superficial blow on its hide and focuses its central head on the soldier. Before it’s teeth find purchase, Chel dives. Pollux clings tightly to her mane with one hand and in his other, he brandishes his sword. The momentum of the dive is enough for Pollux’s sword to penetrate the beast’s flesh and sever the head of the beast entirely, giving Castor time to stumble to safety.
The Hydra’s two remaining heads scream and writhe in a mixture of shock and pain. Cheers erupt from the soldiers on the beach. Chel immediately levels off and banks so she could see for herself that they’d indeed been successful. But before she can even take a breath of relief, the Hydra has managed to regain its composure. The two heads that remain become eerily calm as the stump where the center head had once been begins to undulate. In mere moments, two fully formed heads sprout from where only one had been prior. The sense of relief she had felt only moments prior quickly evaporates.
The Hydra doesn’t even hesitate, with one of the newly sprouted heads grabbing a still shocked Castor and swallowing him whole.
On her back, Pollux screams.
c h e l . |
