Page 35 - Folio Only

sinewy, feathered muscles fanned against the face of the earth with a blast of
wind and dust. And suddenly the earth was below them, not beside, and trees
shrank to very Calabrese broccoli and hillsides became mere disturbances of
light and shadow.

“Hup! Hup! Faster, steeds, a day of frenzy, a night of eternal rest!” They
hit their stride a moment later, high, high above the earth. “Nothing to do now
but fly west, blind to the west, to the Immolation!”

Bartolomeo looked to his right to see the lead horse who was doing all
the rallying. Oh, great, thought Bartolomeo, it’s Mostro! Il Bruto. The Brute.
The strongest in Bartolomeo’s herd. Mostro stood a half-a-span taller than the
rest of the horses, even if you take into consideration he had his head down as
he was straining, straining, pushing the team to course faster, harder. “Let’s
break the speed record, ragazzi!” he said, “Let’s race so hard we’ll get to the
Western Edge before sunset!”

Colpevole said, “Uh, no, Mostro, that’s not possible.”

Mostro snorted, “Sure it is! We just need to push harder than any team’s
ever pushed before. Come, let’s make history!”

“We can’t get to the Western Edge before sunset --”

“We can!”

“ --because we’re carrying the sun, Mostro. It’s right here with us in the
chariot.”

“It is?”

“You can’t feel that heat?”

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