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Mending the Broken

Chapter Two

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

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Blitz could not have quite said when he'd started heading to the stables set outside Imp City, but it definitely had to have been sometime after that sinner had been by who'd ordered a hit on a former partner.

"Fucking, arsehole," he'd practically spat over the desk at Blitz, the imp's feet up on it as if he didn't have a care in the world, a bit bored. "He thinks he can fucking off me and send me down here, burning my barn, killing my goddamn livelihood?"

"Well, you're down here, sweet cheeks, so I wouldn't get all high and mighty about it. Clearly, you did something wrong and won the grand prize of Hell."

The sinner had the good grace to look abashed.

"Yeah, well, there were drug deals and shit, only did it to get the cash for the place, get it if the ground. Didn't do fuck all for the last, what, six years since it was going strong. Never wanted to get caught up in that shit in the first place."

"Sorry, baby doll, but heaven doesn't keep score like that, heaven remembers. Now, it's this price we're offing for ya then?"

Truth be told, Blitz was more than a little interested in what the sinner was talking about, though he knew better than to say anything about it. Bastard would probably want a discount for his troubles, information being as important a currency as anything else in Hell.

But what he had learned from it, after giving the prick who'd burned those poor horses alive the grisliest death possible, was that there were some sinners that had started businesses that didn't involve porn or drugs down in Hell. Of course, most merely did that to get by, though when one involved a riding stables for different disciplines, his interest was duly perked.

He'd thought, before, he'd be able to work riding into an act of his at the circus, which was partially why he'd stolen Verosika's credit cards for them. Partially it had been to blow up what was left of their toxic relationship but that was by the by. Of course, he had quit the circus not long after that, but he never regretted taking the lessons. They'd been some of the best moments of his life, though Hell horses were very different beasts to those in the living world. They were not to be micromanaged, dominated or forced and working with one of them was an exercise in controlling himself that Blitz had not expected.

That was how he'd met Stormblaze, a Hell horse with a fiery, constantly smouldering mane and tail, ablaze in orange flames tipped with blue. His coat was half hair, short and fine but impervious to fire, and half armour like plate scales that covered the upper part of his body, from his neck along his back and halfway down his flanks to his hindquarters. Some Hell horses had more or less armour than that, but it put Stormblaze in a weaker spot than most, protected from aerial attacks while he was left exposed underneath. In battles for territory, he was not a very useful horse and could be felled easily.

That was why they'd tried, at first, to make him into a pleasure riding horse, even if the landscape for trail riding around Imp City, set in the Pride Ring, was not particularly scenic, barren, cutting and dry. There was a beauty to be had there for those that knew how to find it. But Stormblaze, well...he hadn't taken to that life. Challenging his riders, he'd burned them, thrown them, trampled them, sent more than a few to their second grave. Trail riding did not please him, neither did jumping or dressage or barrel racing or even herding cows. They'd put him to everything, trying to find where he fit in their stables, but nothing had come right. No rider nor any change of pace suited him.

And then Blitz had come along. He'd not known that Stormblaze was the devil himself in horse form, only that he was the horse he'd wanted to ride. He'd not taken "no" for an answer and that had been that.

Perhaps Stormblaze had been waiting for the right rider all along or maybe he recognised a kindred spirit in Blitz, someone that didn't want to be made to do anything, but they'd clicked. As well as a Hell horse and an imp could have clicked, but they had. There had been bucks and rears and attempts to throw him, but they were half-hearted at best and Blitz was more than agile enough after all his time in the circus to twist and rock and flex and ride out everything Stormblaze had to throw at him, all while interfering with the horse as little as possible.

Stormblaze liked that. In that way, he was given a little control back, a little more of the freedom that he had once had, running free. It may have been safer in the stables than running across Hell with a wild herd, but Stormblaze didn't understand that. But Blitz had sat with him and soothed him and talked to him and even led him out in hand, walking alongside him, to hunt for small mammals for him, making a game of it. There was little the Hell horse liked better than sinking his teeth into a fresh kill, still warm with the memory of life, or whatever life there was down in Hell, blood streaming over his face, around his sharp, carnivorous teeth. Unlike Earth horses, Hell horses had long, nightmarish jaws like those of a predator, hanging far further back and allowing them to attack larger prey, tearing flesh from bone.

Blitz didn't mind that. As much as he liked Earth horses too, Hell horses were what he'd grown up with, seeing every day I'm the circus.

So, he'd struck a deal, being the only one, so far, able to ride Stormblaze without grievous bodily harm. He'd come down on his weekends and any days off, slow workdays, to exercise Stormblaze, and then he'd get to ride for free. When affording the keep of a horse was out of his reach for the time being, plus the time to care for them unless he moved out of Imp City, he could still ensure Stormblaze had enough to entertain him and that he got to ride, to simply be around the horses. They just "got" him.

The owner of the stables wasn't all that bad either, though they had committed a murder to be sent to Hell. That suited Blitz, not like anyone was squeaky clean down there anyway, look at what he did for a living. He would have found it weird if Danny was a Saint, but the sinner cursed like a sailor too and smoked two packs a day - just never around the horses, of course, or the barn full of bedding. Those things were especially flammable in Hell.

So it was that Blitz found himself parking up the van and striding out, a little less broken than he had been on starting the drive. An hour out, enough to clear his head, though Blitz did what he could to ignore and bury the deep, yawning ache in his chest. Just heartache. Nothing unusual for him, nothing he'd never had before.

Stormblaze, as ever, was out in a solo paddock with tall wooden fences reinforced with metal. Likely they were fireproof, but some stallions had to be kept alone, though some Hell horses were gelded too. It depended on how they got on with each other, no two personalities the same. The mares could be even more vicious, particularly when they were in oestrus. That was something that Blitz had gained a healthy respect for back at the circus and a few new scars from. They'd eventually blended into the larger, white scars layering the rest of his body, after the accident, but he always knew where they were.

"Hey there, boy, how're them fuckers treating you down here?"

The Hell horse's head shot up from where he had been stalking rodents burrowing underground, listening intently, and strode purposefully over to the imp who he had allowed to ride him. Standing at a good seventeen hands tall at the withers, he was too large, really, for Blitz, but that had never bothered either of them. He stroked the Hell horse's neck tenderly, scratching the more sensitive skin where no armoured hide covered his body, earning himself a rumbling nicker in return. The horse knew that Blitz meant a little variation in his routine, but, more so than that, he often brought mice treats in his pockets.

"All right, all right, I know what you're after."

He fished the packet of mice out of his pocket with a wince of memory, a ping twisting in the pit of his stomach. Stolas was the one who'd put him on to where he could find the mice, though Blitz had had to go for lower quality than what the owl demon enjoyed himself. He doubted Stormblaze could tell all that much difference in the flavour, considering how quickly they disappeared down the horse's throat. But he did what he could for Stormblaze, despite not liking the memories that such a small packet of mice brought up.

Stormblaze didn't know any of that, merely devouring the mouse, tossed in the air and caught in his mouth, with a hungry snap of his jaws. In no time at all, Blitz had him neatly in his headcollar, buckled at his cheek, and back at the hitching post outside the main stable block, an indoor barn. It was one of his favourite things to do, even if Stormblaze preferred running fast, taking the time to clean the horse, a grooming kit ready and waiting for him. They always knew when he was coming, or at least enough to anticipate that having things ready let things go a little more smoothly when it came to saddling and riding Stormblaze.

Stormblaze required things done in a certain way, an exacting way, something that Blitz was all too familiar with. He liked everything done particularly, from where his weapons were kept to how his home was. Sure, that might have meant that it was messy in a certain way, but Blitz didn't like anything being touched, nothing moved without his consent. If something moved, that might mean that something was wrong.

Not that something was wrong, mind you, but that something could be wrong. It was the same with horses. They did not spook at what was there but what could be there. They were always watching, always alert, even Hell horses. They knew that they were vulnerable to danger too, living in herds, a species that was preyed on by larger and stronger Hell creatures, though they preyed on smaller creatures. It was a chain of feeding, but Hell horses had to be alert, they had to be aware, despite their capabilities.

Kind of like an assassin on the job. Or when sleeping. Blitz never let his guard down, always ready to fight, to react. That was why he understood the horses, the grooming brushes with soft, fine hairs moving gently over the horse's shockingly thin skin. It twitched under his touch, muscles moving the skin in a fashion that was distinctly equine, but he was gentle and he took his time, going over every inch of the Hell horse.

Down the legs in smooth, slow strokes, careful of the tendons, where there was little muscle, skin pulled taut over bone. They were delicate yet powerful, a part of a Hell horse that could be easily incapacitated if they did not move with haste in their limbs. Flames would burst from Stormblaze's hooves and fetlocks when he moved at speed, not like some horses that had gaps in their limbs to allow their inner fire to burst free. He was an interesting breed, though no two Hell horses were born exactly alike.

Blitz' fingers worked meticulously over the horse's hide, using his palms to work conditioning oil into the armour plating. It would not be rendered too slick, thankfully, for he still had to saddle Stormblaze, but would ensure that the armour remained strong, no cracks showing through, keeping the horse in the best condition possible. With so much going on in the week and Stormblaze not being part of the regular riding or anything that they offered at the centre, the horse didn't always get the personal attention that he needed.

That was why Blitz took his time with him. And everything slipped away. He knew better than anyone else that he could not bring too much of himself to his time with Stormblaze - he could not bring so much for the horse to carry. The weight of the emotions that weighed him down, bearing his shoulders forward and curled, could not remain when he was riding Stormblaze, for it was not fair to the horse who allowed him to ride.

Leave everything at the gate.

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Or the van, as it was with him. All his emotions were left bundled up there, all the grief from Ozzie's, the pain he'd felt yanking in his chest when Stolas had turned away, how he had left Stolas there, on the step. The fact that his company might be now going under if the demon took the book back from him.

It didn't matter. Well, it did matter, but it would matter again after he left the stables. His time there with Stormblaze was sacred as the Hell horse languidly stretched out his neck and shook the tension from his body with a low grunt.

"Yeah, there you go, boy, ain't that better?"

Sometimes, Blitz hardly recognised the softness in his tone. Maybe he was that soft when he was with Stolas, but that was okay to think when he was with Stormblaze. It was a lighter thought, one that he could allow to warm him through. Somehow, it was easier still to think of the good things and allow him to feel good feelings when he was with the horse, though Blitz did not have the words to explain quite why that was.

He liked thinking of Stolas, the silly feather-duster. He was sweet and kind and...Blitz didn't know what to make of him, sometimes. Or a lot of the time. Sometimes he thought that Stolas was head over heels for him and the rest of the time, well, surely he was just a "fuck," right? That was what they had said at Ozzie's.

He let the slow, soothing strokes of the body brush over the horse's flanks soften the moment again, carrying him away. It was tactile, sensory, the scent of the horse tickling his nostrils, inciting him to take deep, slow breaths. Everything about Stormblaze allowed him to slow the pace of himself and his body down. Maybe that was why he liked going back so much.

It was easier there. He might not have all the answers and his thoughts might still have been piecemeal, but they were his thoughts and they did not hurt so much. They tickled around the edges of the wound in his chest, exploring it, but they did not sink their teeth and claws into it, as if they didn't have that power when he was around the horses. The equines had a power all their own and that was something that Blitz would do well to take note of, as much as he thought he had known all about them years ago.

But the thoughts could not follow him on horseback as he murmured to Stormblaze, saddling him swiftly and efficiently, though he girthed him up sympathetically. It was like tightening a belt too swiftly otherwise, if he slid the buckles on the girth up along the leather straps too quickly and sharply, as much as many others did the same to other horses. Others might have tolerated it, not Stormblaze. The bridle slid on in a sympathetic manner too, feeding the bit between his teeth and into the gap between them that was a few inches back in his mouth, though not at the corner of his lips. With his mouth closed, holding the bit, the Hell horse would feel every twitch of the reins, listening to his every aid. It was when he opened his mouth, ignoring his rider, that things would go south.

But Blitz knew that would not happen. And, if it did, he would be able to bring Stormblaze back to him. He always had before.

He swung up from the ground, light and agile, seating himself in the saddle. He didn't need a mounting block or even as a tool to mount the tall horse, but he was right where he needed to be as he rode out of the stable, enjoying the ringing sound of bare hooves on the concrete. When that gave way to the hard-packed dirt path outside, the tenor of the sound changed, the horse quickening his pace, ears pricked forward, intent on all that lay ahead.

"There now, boy, steady now."

Not that Blitz minded what Stormblaze was angling for, pressing on, enjoying the almost short, choppy pace of the horse, how he urgently quested for a little more pace. Oh, it was hard to deny him and, truly, Blitz had no desire to, not even as he moved onto the circular canter track, the sandy ground perfectly groomed for picking up the pace.

His guns, however, remained holstered at each hip, something that someone might have wondered at him bringing out on a ride, the grounds framed with scrawny trees, the kind that one might have wondered at how they managed to stay upright. Still, foliage in Hell was often of that kind, if it was not rich and green and likely to kill someone. It was just something that sinners and residents alike got used to, often sooner rather than later.

Stormblaze snorted, stretching out his neck, Blitz moving naturally with him, sighing as he relaxed into the Hell horse's long, rolling canter. Satan, it was good to be back in the saddle. It felt like an age since he had sat up there, glancing back, a smirk on his lips. It was easy to think that his own personal demons remained on the ground somewhere behind him, that he could flee from them, leave them in the dust, if he was with Stormblaze.

"Come on, boy, let's do the thing, hm?"

Stormblaze was a good horse, when he was working with his rider and even when he was not, but warming up on the canter track and gallops was not his forte, ears twitching already to catch different sounds. They flicked back and forth a little anxiously, his stride lengthening again, chomping at the bit, playing it over his tongue.

"I know, boy, I know. Come on."

Yes... He was good, but everything in Hell had something that they were best at. Stormblaze would ride for him, carry him and his shredded troubles, but that was not what Stormblaze was born to do. What Stormblaze was good at was going in a straight line, really fast. And Blitz had just the thing for him.

A line of targets, strung up from trees, some with bullet holes in them and others fresh and ready to be shattered. Blitz always tried to use the guns that were less likely to blow the target to smithereens when he rode out, dropping the reins and pointing Stormblaze down the line. Though there was room for the horse to vary from his path, Stormblaze would run true and straight, half-rearing as he sprung forward eagerly in a strong, steady canter. Blitz grinned, spinning his guns, one in each hand.

"Go get 'em! Yah!"

No heels nor any calves were used to send Stormblaze forward, his stride eating up the ground. Blitz levelled his gun at the first target, coming up on him quickly with the drumming of hooves filling his ears.

Bang!

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One target down. Onto the next, swinging in a light breeze, the red lines drawing him to the centre.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

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One by one, every target went down, clicking to Stormblaze to pick up the pace, allowing the horse to come through as he wanted, pounding the ground until he was in a flat-out gallop. It was not a pace that the horse could keep up forever, not being that kind of Hell horse, but Stormblaze enjoyed it as much as Blitz did, the imp standing in a light seat, his knees bent as his calves absorbed the motion of the horse like springs.

It took balance and finesse, a keen eye to hit the centre of each target, though some of them were so torn and tattered that they were reduced to flapping scraps of paper in the wind of their passing. Those would have to be replaced, though there were not many that came out to the shooting range, the straight line where those so inclined could target their shots. Usually, it was only Blitz out there, his heart pounding, eyes bright, barking a short laugh aloud that he barely even believed burst from his lungs.

But it was him, all him, even as Stormblaze gave a hellish shriek and bucked, though Blitz rode it as if he was merely flipping from one trapeze to another. It was all a balancing act, yet something real, something concrete, something that could root even an imp like him in reality. The trees flashed by as he reached the end of the line and tipped the weight of his body to the left, directing Stormblaze around, an aid that the Hell horse readily obeyed.

Sometimes, someone had to have something simple in life. Stormblaze didn't need to go out for hours upon hours on trail rides. He didn't need to jump and he didn't need to dance and he didn't need to bond with another with the gentle nature of horsemanship either. His bonding was done at a pace, sides heaving, lathering up lightly with a damp sheen of sweat, his flames leaping and dancing where the blue hue of them flashed more boldly.

Down the line again, Blitz took out one target after another, urging Stormblaze on, faster and faster, as fast as the Hell horse wanted to go. Each target flashed upon him and he met them boldly, gunshots filling the air, though the imp only had a devilish grin on his lips for them, teeth showing.

Oh, it was good, better than taking out a target, better than anything he had ever done up in the living world. Maybe not better than sex, but good in another way, a way that made him want to do it again and again, until every muscle in his body ached and he was left panting and sweating, heaving and drained, but all in the best of ways.

He let out a whoop as he let his hands drag back behind him, a little past his hips, the wind caressing his face, Stormblaze pressing on up an incline. There were no bullets left, but that was okay - there would be plenty more for them to do. Stormblaze snorted, kicking up his heels, and Blitz laughed as they flashed through the trees, hooves pounding the dirt, kicking up clods of softer, shifting soil.

It was good. It was good to cry out, to let it all go, to feel that tight band around his chest loosen a notch. It was the sort of relief that made him think that everything might just be okay, even if he had no fucking idea how in Hell he was going to get there.

No one had the answers in Hell. Not a single fucking condemned soul. But Blitz had got as far as he had done by winging it, so...

He grinned, eyes shining with a faint, yellow glow, the shade of taller, older trees, spiky branches reaching to the sky, cast over him. He was good at winging it. Winging it was very much something he could do.

So, why not try that again?

As if in agreement, Stormblaze threw out a neigh.