Free West of January by Dave Duncan

cramp spreading through my neck and shoulders from the twisted angle of my head. Black flames danced over my vision as I forced my eyelids not to blink.
    The tyrant reached the little grove and swiftly demolished it. Stamping its huge feet and lashing its tail, it wheeled and trampled in a frenzy of destruction, pausing once in a while to bend and snuffle and inspect something suspicious. Tree trunks splintered and toppled, mud splashed, until in short order what had once seemed like a safe hiding place had been leveled. Nothing remained but a puddle of splinters. Then the monster paused, baffled, glaring around and roaring.
    Could it not hear my heart? Would it give up?
    No! Now it began circling outward, the thunder of its tread shaking the valley floor, the massive tail sweeping wide arcs over the grass. The tail caught a boulder larger than me and hurled it sideways. In a flash the monster spun around and slammed a foot down on it. It bent and sniffed, then turned back to its systematic quartering of the ground. My heart sank into black despair.
    I blinked. Nothing happened. Very slowly I began easing my head into a bearable position. If death was imminent, then there was no point in enduring more pain. The tyrant froze. Two evil eyes peered across the valley in my direction. I stopped breathing again.
    At that moment came salvation. The monster’s ears swiveled, then its head, and it stared hard at one of the flanking hills. Without more warning, it turned and went striding off, faster than ever, clods of mud flying from its taloned feet. With a whimper of disbelief, I watched as the tyrant flowed up the hill and vanished over the skyline. I collapsed with sobs of relief, my heart thudding against the ground, my gut fluttering with nervous reaction.
    Then I heard what it had heard—a distant rattling and squeaking, faint hints borne by the wind. But there was nothing I could do to warn the angel, and I did not care what happened to him anyway. Sounds of monster footsteps and angel’s chariot died away together, and I was left in peace, alive.
    Soon I rolled over and sat up to inspect my injuries. I had badly scraped both my shins and a few other places, but the worst damage was to my knees, especially the right one. It was already puffed and stiff. The left was painful, but not so bad. Only with great difficulty was I able to rise. Yet I needed water desperately, and I would willingly drink whatever foul muck the tyrant had left in the water hole.
    I tried a step and almost fell. The valley danced black about me and then slowly cleared. For a moment I considered crawling instead of walking, but that seemed likely to be more painful, and slower. So I lurched forward, another step…then another…
    The hollow was a wide place between three mesas. Three valleys led into it. I had not progressed very far when I heard the rattling of the chariot again, coming from the gap on my left. My terror surged anew. I had been hoping that the tyrant was now engaged in eating angel, but somehow the angel had escaped and was now leading it straight back to me.
    Sure enough, in a moment the red and blue sails came into sight, and the violet body of the chariot below them. It was bouncing along at a leisurely pace, zigzagging around between the rocks and hummocks, certainly not moving fast enough to escape from the tyrant. The angel had seen me—he waved. Perhaps he had escaped the monster by accident and did not even know it was after him?
    I stood, helpless and almost immobile, watching the chariot veer across the valley floor, growing steadily larger. I had never been close to one before, for chariots were strictly out of bounds for us children. It was bigger than I had expected; I should hardly have needed to duck to walk underneath it. It rocked and swayed, and I was surprised to see that the four great wheels were in some way flexible, as if made of something springy, like cartilage, and they absorbed the worst of the shocks from