It's actually sci-fi, but it fits more here at this point in the story. sorry so long.
Arion’s hooves pounded against the earth, leaving small, round marks. He took running leaps across the land, his horn pointed straight forward like a navigation tool. The steady beat of his heart could be heard by his rider, who was firmly pressed against Arion’s body. The moon cast a faint light all over the grassy moor. The rider could see nothing through the mist, but the horse’s eyes were strong and fierce. Arion seemed to understand the direness of the mission, and that has instilled a certain iron determination in him.
Arion, the speeding horse of legend in all of Arsashia, belonged to the Empress. But astride the horse right now, legs pinned hard to the sides of the creature, was a man by the name of Ghabriel. Ghabriel whispered words of urgency into the horse’s ears, and Arion seemed to understand these more than the force of any whip that might’ve been used to set fiery speed in the horse.
Ten miles ahead of Arion and Ghabriel’s current location was a man on the very edge of the moor. He carried a lantern and looked about into the night, wearing a long brown leather trench coat. The trench coat was torn and ratty and the leather was worn in some rough patches. Occasionally you could spot some chew marks where the man had bitten – one part near the bottom had been completely ripped off and consumed. As this man would tell you within a few minutes of idle chat, the human body could live off of leather alone for a handful of days. And, in the same gruff and informative tone, he would tell you that a handful of days were just enough.
A handful of days would be a godsend to the speeding Ghabriel. The chill wind was freezing and stinging his face – his eyes struggled to remain open, first in a desert like dry state, and then watering to the brim with tears. Arion was long-distance running at around a record breaking sixty miles per hour. The horse’s panting and heart beating was the only thing that could be heard by the rider for miles around. In the silence of the night, it seemed like they were the only things that were about to something.
Ghabriel knew much better, though, and pleaded the horse to go faster. It seemed like an empty and pointless plea – Arion had already seemed to have given his best, and his best was amazing on any standards. The speed that Ghabriel needed this horse to reach was something that could not be asked by anyone in their right minds. He could ask no more from the gods, themselves.
But with these new pleas, the horse seemed to jump forward viciously, and Ghabriel had the odd feeling as though they were not even touching the ground at all. It occurred to him then what exactly he had done. Arion was up to such a speed now that he barely touched the ground, and every time he touched the ground for a second to allow his feet to propel him forward, his heart would let out a tremendous beat.
Arion could see, through his eyes, the ground speeding out from underneath him. He appeared to be going so fast that his body had immense trouble keeping up with his legs. The terrain fell into his command, and soon the lantern of the leather dressed man came into view.
Ghabriel muttered to Arion to slow his pace.
On the edge of the moor, the man dressed in leather had widened eyes at Arion and Ghabriel’s approach. He took a tentative step aside. The horse was a white blur across the land, its mane whipping about with the wind. The man took a sharp intake of breath as Arion flew across the land at a speed defying all laws of nature. Then, slowly, it let loose speed and came to a halt beside him.
The two men surveyed each other. The leather dressed man was long-haired and not well shaven. He carried an oil lantern in a hand that had suffered many cuts, bruises and burns. His teeth, which were yellowed, were bared in a grim sort of smile that resembled a grimace more than anything. His nose was misshapen, which dulled any sort of attractiveness he had left. Beer was on his breath, and other than that, it could be told that he had not showered in over a week.
But the leather dressed man had every right to gape at Ghabriel, too, for he was in quite a state. His shockingly white-blond hair was drawn back in a ponytail, but most of it had fallen out. He was still, though, clean shaven, and now that Arion had come to a stop he sat completely erect. His skin was unscathed and pale – so pale that you could see some veins winding their way up his arm. To the man surveying him, it seemed almost that he could prod this man astride the horse and his skin would rip like paper, revealing the even more delicate organs inside.
Ghabriel dismounted Arion, the fair white horse that still drew in gasping breaths, and gave him a deserving pat on the side. Arion nodded, understanding, and then lowered his head slowly in exhaustion.
“You are sent by the gods, Arion,” whispered Ghabriel. Then the fair skinned man turned to face was appeared to be his total opposite, and spoke a few choice words that he had planned out in his flight.
“Messenger,” he rasped. “Dace, is it?”
The leather dressed man nodded. “Aye,” he said, “that’d be me.”
“Please, take Arion and ride on. Set the first fire to alert all of Arsashia.”
The dark man called Dace hopped onto Arion. He looked troubled, as could be told by the way his eyebrows converged, but he obeyed. His ratty and dirty appearance rather marred the moon white beauty of Arion, but he made no whinnying protests.
“Why must I –” Dace began, but Ghabriel cut him off.
“I am Ghabriel – yes, yes, the one they call the angel of the Empress. And you, Dace, must believe me when I say that the Empress has died.”
The words, when spoken, instilled even farther fear and confusion in Dace’s eyes. He felt the sudden ice chill of the night, and stared deep into the depths of the oil-lit lantern that sat where he had stood moments before. A heavy feeling gathered underneath his eyes and he reset his gaze upon Ghabriel as the angel of the now-dead Empress opened his mouth to speak again.
“We must find her.”
Dace nodded in an agreement and gulped down his worries and cries. All the strong, battle-worn man could think of was his wife and children at home. What would become of them?
“Go!” Ghabriel bellowed, and Dace jolted as Arion took off into the night, a white streak of lightening across the cold ground.
Dace leaned close to Arion and listened to his breathing and the beating of his heart. He seemed to take some comfort in this and brushed his rough face against the side of the creature. He did not attempt to direct the horse for it seemed to know the way far better then he did himself.
Dace was a traveler. His coat pockets were filled with many things from other countries to assist him in survival in the wilderness. He has found his wife in London, England, but by the time they married they were in Arabia on a caravan. They traveled the world for many more years, seemingly on an adventure that never ended. But now he lived in a small village in northern America, raising his first child. In doing so, he took up the post as a messenger for his native country, Arsashia.
The Fires of Arsashia were strategically spaced - many were in the middle of nowhere, and you could only see the next fire if you had true-born Arsashian eyes. Arsashian eyes were extraordinary, for these eyes could see quite farther, and their search for light was so persistent that they could see on the darkest night. The fires lit all over the world, but usually drew no notice of officials. The northernmost fire was in the Artic Circle and Antarctica itself has the most Arsashian Fires then all the other continents of the world.
Of course, the Fires weren’t only there to notify those few travelers and messengers of Arsashia. They were all above a hole, that, when the fire was lit, a ball was dropped. And this ball fell all the way down to Arsashia, where it hit a plate made of Arsashian metal that let out a loud ringing sound. And so Arsashia, the people of the center of the Earth, were notified as well.
Arion was unleashing his great speed by the time the Fire came into view. Dace was leaning low over the horse, his face buried into Arion’s fur. The white beast snorted and came to a halting stop beside the fire, sucking in breaths deeply, its great white chest heaving.
Dace leaped off the horse and stared at the Fire for a few seconds. There was one singular place – hard to miss – where all he had to do was spit. True bred Arsashian salvia was explosive chemicals inside of them. It was conveniently used to cook food out in the wild, as was, of course, its original purpose. But the salvia burned if you swallowed too much, and, when one was dehydrated, the mouth began to bleed. Dace, of course, had experienced this many times in his travels.
Mouth very well watered, Dace leaned low over the Fire and drew up his salvia. He spit into the one singular place and fell back against Arion, the white horse. The horse neighed and backed away from the Fire, in which a blaze was beginning and slowly leaping higher into the night sky. It bit away and fought back the mist, sucking the moist from the air.
Down in the moor, Ghabriel saw that light and fell down on his knees in prayer. He prayed to every God he knew or heard of, and some he had just made up on his own at that very moment. His white blond hair was wild and danced around his face as a wind blew through the moor, whipping around and flickering through the Fire before dissipating. Ghabriel drew in a handful of sweet breaths and rubbed his clean, white robed knees against the ground and dirt. His hands dug into the ground and he held up clumps of grass to the sky, muttering his praises.
Dace, however, up on the hill, was far less praiseful. He stood against the bright white horse of the Empress and watched the flames flicker in front of him. He could see, very distantly, out of the corner of his eye, a fire burning a couple of miles away. The Fires were starting and soon, in about seven days and twelve hour’s time, all of Arsashia would know about the fate that had befallen the country.
Who could ever pray when their civilization was so lost?
And where did the Empress go when she died?
Could she die?
