So now, it’s down to who will hold their nerve. Who will make the first move. No one wants to risk an attack. If Iro starts pushing Indol into me, he knows I’ll just do the same for Aequa and likely no one will finish. The same goes for if Aequa pushes me into Iro. And a draw will benefit no one.
But we also all know that if Iro stays ahead, Aequa and I will do what we have to. And if I look like overtaking him, Iro and Indol will do the same.
The four of us thunder along in a treacherously tight blue and green train. Sand sprays from beneath our wheels. My bones rattle. Legs tiring from the work they’re doing to compensate for my missing arm. Hair whipping wildlyacross my forehead. I see only the track and the other chariots; everything beyond may as well not exist.
Almost six laps in, I still don’t know whether to be terrified or exhilarated.
My mind races as we exit the corner into the straight to begin our final lap; I find myself examining every minute change in position, trying to divine what Aequa’s thinking, even as I know she’s probably doing exactly the same thing for me. The sixth dolphin tips down, still moving as I pass it. Only my sense of Indol’s wheel at my back prevents me from being convinced that he’s about to mow me down.
The penultimate corner, and Iro makes a mistake. Takes it slightly wide, turns marginally too late.
There’s a surge beneath me as Aequa notices it too. I come up the inside. Alongside him through the narrow gap between him and the pillar. I’m going to pass him.
We’re halfway through the curve when behind me, Indol—or Iro, more accurately—makes his move.
Indol’s chariot jerks, its forward momentum arrested without warning for just a second. My sense of Aequa’s and Indol’s stone wheels is abruptly almost on top of each other, but even as I wait for the sound of shrieking wood, Aequa’s chariot veers sharply away. She must have missed Indol by inches.
Aequa’s focus is shaken for the first time since we started; she swerved wide on instinct to avoid the collision, and now my pace slows as she wrestles to get her own chariot back in position. Indol, on the other hand, immediately bursts forward again. Just as fast as before. He arrows toward me. Iro is boxing me in on the side. His misstep was a feint, an awfully dangerous one. But it’s worked. Aequa is just far enough behind, now, that I won’t be able to respond.
Indol’s going to ram me.
It all happens so fast. Three seconds, perhaps, from beginning to end, as the realisation dawns that I’m going to get seriously injured. At best. Indol’s stone wheel screams closer as if in slow motion. I consider jumping. At these speeds even that won’t end well for me, especially with only one arm to brace my fall. But it’s better than being crushed.
I’m bending my legs to do just that when Indol changes course.
I barely stop my leap. At first I think something must be wrong with Indol’s chariot but when I risk a disbelieving glance, he’s simply steered wide, to the right of Iro. There’s a moment when Iro still doesn’t realise what has happened,fierce glee plastered on his face as he focuses forward. But then he twists. Expression moving from elation to surprise to fury in a heartbeat.
Iro is still thundering side by side with me as we exit the first corner of the final lap; Aequa’s ahead of Indol now, recovered enough to push me forward at full speed again, and Indol—despite what he just did—is doing the same for Iro. I have nowhere to go unless I fall back. The noise is deafening. The ground a blur. Everything shudders and aches, especially my legs. Even Will can only do so much.
Iro, anger plain in every line, abruptly slews in toward me. The wheels of our chariots meet with a sheering screech; I can do little more than brace myself against the impact. He swings away and then does it again. And again. Reckless, now. Risking a crash for both of us as he tries to propel me into the inside railing. He can’t get the momentum or the angle, though. I hold steady.
And I have the inside track now. One corner left.
Iro snarls as he comes in again, but this time, he leans out of his blue chariot just after he makes contact. I sway away, unable to fend him off with my one arm concerned far more with steering and holding on. Both our wheels sound like they’re about to shatter as they grind together.
He doesn’t swing for me, though. Instead he grips the edge of my chariot. His eyes are pitch-black as they look into mine.
When he lets go again, I can sense a new source of Will.
My chariot.
“Vek.” I mouth the word to myself. Frozen. Iro, the idiot, has just imbued at least some of the Will reserved for his own safety. Probably all of it, if he’s actually going to try and affect anything with it. It’s an incredible move—imbuing something as complex as the chariot in an instant, while doing what we’re doing, would in any other context be nothing short of brilliant. I’m less inclined to marvel right now, though.
Iro’s backed off a few feet, this time with a wild, contorted grin. I start to feel the wood beneath my feet shudder. Tip. He’s not wasting time. I consider using my Will-enhanced legs to damage the wood myself, maybe make him lose his imbuing, but I know straight away it won’t work. He’s too close, will be able to see and therefore adjust to the difference.
My desperation mounts. Iro’s Will pulses. Beneath my feet. Under my hand as I grip the frame desperately.
I lock a mental picture of the chariot in my mind.
Connection.
Just like with the boulder earlier: one moment I can merely sense the Will and the next it’s mine, an extension of me, as surely as if I’d imbued it myself. My chariot creaks and settles back onto both wheels. Across from me, Iro is almost comically confused as he looks across in shock. No telling whether he can no longer sense the Will, or whether he simply can’t control it anymore.
Final corner.
Iro screams his rage at being thwarted, swinging out farther than before and then angling in hard. Too hard. I’m marginally ahead of him now we’ve hit the curve, but not far enough; there’s no doubt he’s going to hit me. Ram me and take himself out in the process, because there’s no way his chariot will survive this impact. He’s decided it’s better to have no winner, than to let me take the victory.
On instinct, I drag the Will from the chariot—Iro’s Will—into my body. Feel a flush as I strengthen myself. A flash of relief as I register that now, I’m probably not going to die.
