Sky Fire: The Prehistoric Race

       The annual Sky Fire ceremony is commencing soon, and all the clan riders have finally arrived after their arduous pilgrimage through the jungle to our capital village. This year’s race was blessed by the Sky Fire itself, marked with an unprecedented bright beacon of growing light that could be seen during the day beside the Sky Fire’s radiance and at night, shining brighter than our ancestors. The elders claim it is a good omen bringing fruitful blessings and fortune in the upcoming year. However, a good year could not commence if Pebble did not wake up on time for us to meet the other riders.

             I had been nestled comfortably next to Pebble all evening, so I know he should have had enough sleep; however, he was exceptionally tired in the morning we were scheduled to meet the riders. He either ate too much last night, or he is completely beat from all the training for the race. It is likely that it is both of those reasons. In any case, it will not look good if the local, and hosting, clan’s representative is late for the welcoming festivities, so we need to get going.

             “Wake up Pebble!” I said, pushing with my arms straight up against his belly. He stopped snoring and rolled over towards me, to which I had to sprint away from to not get squished like a moon bug. His big, protruding horn swung around his curved head revealing his big bright eyes, still half shut, as he rested his bill against his crossed front legs. He snorted and huffed in disapproval.

             “No, no time to pout Pebble. Today is the big day! If you are good in front of the other tribe riders I promise, we will feast on all the gourd fruit you want!” I said excitedly while tightening my pelt and riding clothes. At the sound of the word ‘gourd’ his eyes opened fully, and he rattled the muddy earth beneath us as he rose and shook his tail enthusiastically. His lingering lethargy vanished with the rest of the morning fog as the Sky Fire rose. He ducked down so I could strap the saddle around his back, and then ducked even lower to scoop me up on to his back. I scratched the leathery patches of his hide that I could reach, to which he leaned into like a muddy swamp pup. After tightening his reins, we stomped out of the stables and rushed out to the town center to meet the others. On our way, I looked up at the beacon in the sky and felt excited about the festivities. The elders say they have never seen a gift like the one that has made itself present to us and have no record of something like it ever happening in the past. It is a true honor that this was able to occur in my lifetime.

             Once we arrived, the others were almost ready, finishing up their morning meals and blessings. The fragrance of tender half-foots on a stick and bitter tea mixed together with the pungent spice of the ceremony’s face paints and coated the morning breeze in aromas that were only present once a year. The mighty Crag Crawlers nominated Roark as their rider, a young man fittingly as wide as his Crested Tri-horn. The easy-going River Monks nominated Tarten with his juvenile Spiketail. The Ember Walkers nominated Zarai with her raging Razortooth – which was being restrained by ten men and muzzled by two while they ate – and the ostentatious Sky Seekers nominated Brogi and his Sky Fire Spawn. Although Brogi’s mount could fly, the rules of the race dictated that this was not an advantage so long as he remained within as much reach of the ground as the others as they traversed the course. All of them had won at least one race in their annual attempts, except for me. They were not good at hiding their feelings of superiority, and my family was not good at hiding their feelings of shame towards me or my gourd fruit loving Sleekhorn.

             “It is alright Pebble, we will gain the Sky Fire’s favor this year,” I said, rubbing his back. Although Pebble was a socialized mount, being around others he does not frequently see makes him nervous, which might explain his lack of appetite during the morning meals. He avoided eye contact with the other mounts, especially Zarai’s mount which continued to grow more enraged as the morning progressed. I was surprised no one lost their arm while restraining the Razortooth.

In my experiences with the annual race, and other recreational races, Pebble always relished the social aspect of the events more than the competitive ones. He was calm and would often get distracted with fluttering glasswings and the dew on jungle flowers if the race’s route would traverse such things. No matter how much I would egg him on, he would just pause to catch his breath and lay down in these open fields to roll around in. I used to get mad at him when we were first paired by the roots of the mother tree, but I could see how happy rolling in the mud or chasing bright-tails has made him, and it is not something I had the heart to deprive him of. He has taught me a lot about the essence and tranquility one can find in nature, and I would not change him for any other mount.

We gathered behind the starting line soon after finishing our morning preparations. I padded Pebble’s face and neck a bit more, not because his hard crest needed protection – Pebble could ram a fortified stone wall down without a running start and think it was just a game – but more so because of the unpredictability of the Razortooth’s demeanor. I think all the racers were just hoping the race would be a quick one so they would not have to deal with Zarai’s aggressive tactics for half of a Sky Fire rotation. The racetrack itself was a difficult one, but familiar to me. A sprint out the village’s north gate through the swamps, through the sandbars of the eastern coast, following a trail that spirals up to Maruba’s Peak, less time to spiral down, and then the final stretch down the grazing hills of the western coast before reaching the other end of the village. We should be back before the Sky Fire recedes. Locals and visitors were cheering from the edges of the racetrack as if they all belonged to the same tribe, and all of us riders looked at each other with pride. For a moment, we were one and proud, and grateful to be representing our corner of the world in a race that stood for unity and prosperity. The elders chanted one last spirit song before the race horn was blown to indicate the start of the competition, and we were off, back to being singular representatives of our own tribes, vying for success and accolades for their own clan on the back of powerful, charging beasts.

First was the swamp, which was an easy stretch for us to take a significant lead in. Pebble was comfortable running in water, and his stocky build prevented him from being slowed down by the rigid mud and varying depths of the pooled water. This was also the case for the Tri-horn and Spiketail who were stomping beside us. We picked up enough mud in the first stretch before slowly deviating away from each other in a widening triangle formation, losing the Razortooth and Sky Spawn behind us. Luckily, the Spiketail and Tri-horn kept their distance. If a brawl were to break out this soon, Pebble would be ill-suited to the task against their natural armor and offensive prowess.

Exiting the swamp was a literal breath of fresh air. Pebble was able to pounce through the crystalline water of the bay to wash up the mud he had accumulated through the stagnant mud pit of decaying trees and sinking corpses just north of the village. The Sky Fire was still just peaking above the edge of the ocean out to the east, igniting the bay in its wake. Pebble’s stomping feet transitioned from sloshing in a murky paste to trotting gently along the crunchy grain of moist white sand. The Spiketail was rushing closer to the waves with its plated hide mirroring the back frills of the ocean dwelling mounts, and the Tri-horn closer to the thick green dunes, leaving the middle lane wide open for us. Halfway to the base of Maruba’s Peak at the end of the bay, the Razortooth and Sky Spawn caught up to us. Zarai was covered in brown ichor from the nose down, partly because of the Razortooth’s proximity to the ground when compared to the other mounts. Unlike the swamp, this stretch of flat and unimpeded land was a major advantage to the raging bi-pedal already infamous for its speed, granting it another chance at victory. Brogi was reining his Sky Spawn on its first straight path since leaving the village. I am surprised he was able to keep up with how many trees one has to dodge in the swamps when traveling by sky mount.

Ascending Maruba’s Peak proved to be a mighty task. The road thinned as we reached the summit, with moments of dread while looking over the cliff’s edge, hoping that our mounts were not as afraid of falling as we were. No one was brave enough to try and pass the other. One mount was barely wide enough to traverse the path, and having someone try and surpass another was an assured death sentence with a tomb reserved next to the northern-most jaws of the ocean at the bottom of Maruba’s Peak. Brogi must have felt right at home in the clouds. Descending was much easier, and more freeing than in other years since we had taken the lead and had no pace to maintain as we accelerated with the steepening decline. The elders were right – the glowing, red beacon over our village was a good omen, and this was the year we would not let them down.

After circling around the peak and descending on to the western edge of the bay, the gradient of purple, pink, and gold wildflowers stretched across the grazing hills before us, each sparkling in a dyed ocean reflecting the Sky Fire’s grace. Breathing in the salty sea breeze and spritzed nectar of a fresh bloom relaxed my shoulders, and for a brief moment I had forgotten I was even in a race. Pebble’s feet rampaged through the field, picking up explosions of pink and yellow petals in our wake. The other riders soon followed, paving their own way through the flowery clouds like brute-fish slicing their way up a gentle stream. The ancestors have truly blessed me this year. The festivities tonight will be unmatched.

Closing in on the final stretch, Pebble had other ideas. We had been so close to crossing the finish line when a patch of fresh gourd fruits caught his eye at the edge of the wildflower patch away from the village. I knew once his head turned, that our chance at victory had been lost. I knew better than to stop him, so I buckled at the reins – full speed ahead to the gourd fruits, you deserve it Pebble, I thought as I gently stroked his back. The other riders passed us and were received in the distance to a bellowing roar of cheers and cacophonous drums. I do not know who won. We slowed down as we reached the patch overlooking the western edge of the bay. Pebble dropped to his belly to slide into the patch instead of coming to a full stop and gently partaking in the fruits one at a time. He gorged his face immediately as I dismounted, and I pet his face. I could not help laughing at how eager he was to devour each of those gourd fruits. I think it made him happy too, since he would lean in and rub his cheek against my body while sliding some crushed gourds over to me. I fell to the ground with him, panting as if I had run the stretch he had just run, and stuffing my face with bits of gourd fruit alongside my best friend. We both sat in as much silence as we could afford, because Pebble’s munching was anything but silent, and we huddled up close as we looked up towards the sky at the beacon, which had grown considerably in size since the beginning of the race. An aura of light emanated from the beacon’s core, stretching colorful tendrils of light and fire across the sky like a hand extending its flaming fingers. What a beautiful sight.

“I am proud of you Pebble,” I said. He groaned in grateful agreeance. We both sat in awe, admiring the spectacle in the sky, sure of its prosperous significance as it continued to grow and manifest its blooming flame in a blinding, furious display of light. The others may have won the annual race, but Pebble and I were content in knowing we had had the best run, and the greatest enjoyment by slowing down and partaking in the gourd fruit and flowers. They surely missed out, Pebble, I thought with a gentle tear of love and gratitude slowly sliding down my cheek.