The Beginning (32 page)

The afternoon sun blinked through the tall trees as Jahrra and Phrym made their way back towards the Castle Guard Ruin. She wanted to get Phrym home so he could rest up for tomorrow, and she knew she needed the rest as well. Jahrra felt relieved that she’d spoken with Denaeh, even though the Mystic hadn’t given her any easy answers. Sure, Jahrra now had a way to get into the race, but now she had a whole new set of obstacles to face.

To help disguise who she really was, Denaeh had lent her an old but finely-tailored plum colored cloak and a long scarf that would cover her entire head and face.

“It’s not a fancy riding cloak, but it is made of Aellheian silk, so it should do,” the Mystic had assured her.

Jahrra sighed deeply as they moved away from the forest, Phrym breaking into a faster pace across the rolling fields. With a little luck and the right timing, she might just be able to pull this off. When they finally reached the Ruin, Jahrra put Phrym into his stable and made sure he was comfortable, rubbing him affectionately on his velvety nose.

“Tomorrow morning is our day Phrym,” she said softly, “the day we have been training for for six months.”

Phrym simply twitched his dark ears and gazed at Jahrra with kind, smoky grey eyes. She patted him once more and walked briskly back to the old stone building she called home. She mumbled something about being tired to Hroombra and went straight for her room, her eyes trained on the floor the entire time.

As she lay in her bed that evening, trying desperately to fall asleep, Jahrra kept picturing herself charging past Eydeth up the steep slope of Demon’s Slide. She tried her best not to remember the dream she’d had several months ago; the dream where she and Phrym were left miles behind as the Resai men charged the steep hill onto victory. Jahrra squeezed her eyes tighter, and after several more minutes of tossing and turning she gradually fell into a troubled sleep.

***

Jahrra rose early to a morning draped in a fog so thick that she imagined it might be the closest thing to breathing water. Remembering why this particular morning was so important, she leapt out of bed and dressed quickly, her stomach twisting with anxiety as she pulled on her boots and tucked Denaeh’s robe and scarf into her bag. She grabbed some bread and cheese she’d hidden away from the night before and crept past the main room, careful not to disturb the snoring blue-grey mountain that was Hroombra. Even now, on the day of this daring scheme, Jahrra wouldn’t tell him what she was about to do. She just couldn’t face his disappointment before the race, and she couldn’t risk being stopped from going through with it, not after all that she’d done to get to this point.

Jahrra made her way towards Phrym’s small stable in the near darkness. When she was only fifty yards away he poked his head over the gate and let out a good-natured whinny.

“Shhhhhh!” Jahrra gestured dramatically. She quickly picked up her pace but kept low as she dashed across the field, trying to dodge the large tufts of wild grass and mountainous gopher mounds that littered the field.

After Phrym settled down, Jahrra saddled him and led him past the sleepy Ruin and onto the road. Just before sinking below the crest of the hill, she turned in the saddle and looked back at her home, hidden now within the mist like a worn headstone in a graveyard.

“I’m sorry Master Hroombra, but I have to do this,” she whispered.

She felt a small sadness welling up inside of her, but forced it to pass as Phrym let out a soft nicker. Jahrra quickly snatched up the reins and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Alright, Phrym, let’s win this for everyone those twins have ever bullied.”

Once they reached the bottom of the hill, she urged Phrym into a steady trot. They passed through the farmlands along the Aldehr River and Jahrra inhaled the cold, moist air, hoping that it would soothe her nerves. She closed her eyes against the thick fog, gladly welcoming the cool mist gliding past her skin like liquid silk. It reminded her of the Belloughs, and that thought comforted her. She listened to Phrym’s steady hoof beats and the melancholy song of an autumn bird resounding through the bleak morning.

An hour later they crossed a wide wooden bridge spanning the Raenyan River, heading north. By now, the fog was finally crawling back to sea, the bright sun of early morning burning the tips of its long white fingers. Jahrra and Phrym traveled north until they reached the tiny, narrow gully leading down to the beach. As they quietly traversed the rocks and driftwood littering the sandy gulch floor, Jahrra was able to distinguish the pounding surf from the murmur of a large crowd. Her own heartbeat quickened and her palms began to sweat.
You’ve got to calm down or this will never work!
she told herself as she licked her dry lips. Her plan was to wait a little ways up the canyon and then join the race at the last second, exactly as Denaeh had suggested.

Phrym sauntered up to the last tree standing where the walls of the gully came level with his shoulders. His ears pricked forward at the sound of a hundred whinnying semequins, but to Jahrra’s great delight, he didn’t answer them. She carefully stood up in the saddle, trying not to reveal herself, and peered over the screen of leaves. She almost laughed aloud when she saw the competitors before her. They had their semequins lined up behind the starting line, falling back in groups until the last line was only one hundred feet from where she and Phrym stood.

“Oh, perfect Phrym!” she breathed with some relief. “We won’t be seen at all if that is how they’ll be lined up when the race begins!”

She kneed Phrym forward, stretching to get a better view of the entrants and their semequins. The Resai men wore a variety of colorful riding clothes, but all of them well-stitched and crafted from the most expensive materials. Surrounding the mounted horsemen was a sea of onlookers, writhing and swelling like a storm-brewed ocean. Some of these spectators were dressed in attire Jahrra had only seen on the residents of Kiniahn Kroi. Those standing further away from the center of the race, however, wore everyday work clothes.

Jahrra willed herself to look further down the beach, her stomach turning to liquid when she recognized the colorful patches dotting the coastline for as far as the eye could see.

“There must be a hundred thousand people here to watch this race!” she hissed into Phrym’s back-turned ears.

Jahrra swallowed her apprehension and turned her head back to the immediate crowd just in front of her. She let her eyes wander over the anxious mob until they fell upon a familiar figure. She narrowed her eyes in distaste and felt a wave of nauseous fury rise in her throat. Eydeth, perched atop his white semequin, stood in the third row from the back. Ellysian, in a hideous canary dress, stood below him, giving him what Jahrra could only imagine was a gesture of luck. The taller Resai couple standing behind Ellysian must be the twins’ parents; she remembered catching a glimpse of them a long time ago at their mansion in Kiniahn Kroi. Jahrra grimaced. Despite their obvious glee at seeing their son in this prestigious race, they had the same sour look about their faces that their two children often wore.

At that moment, Eydeth forced his semequin into a rear, aggravating the competitors surrounding him. Jahrra’s face drained of color. He was wearing the exact same goldenrod outfit she had seen in her dream. She drew a sharp breath and took out her violet robe and quickly pulled it over her riding clothes. When she finally managed to get her arms through the sleeves, she reached for the matching scarf, wrapping it around her head, making sure to cover her face. She was meticulous about the task, acting as if it were the most important thing she would ever do. As she tucked her long blond hair into the dark folds of the cloth, Jahrra kept her wrathful gaze locked on Eydeth’s pompous figure. She narrowed her storm-blue eyes, the only feature of her face now peering from behind the bundled shawl. She would beat him if it was the last thing she did.

Suddenly, there was a sharp horn blast that forced the semequins’ heads to jerk upwards in fright. Jahrra had to grab for the pommel of her old saddle as Phrym started under her. Although it was fairly worn out, her older saddle was smaller and lighter than her new one. She quickly settled him down and directed her eyes towards a tall wooden platform towering above the crowd. A man dressed in a fine blue tunic and cloak stood there with a great ram’s horn in one hand and a red flag in another. The crowd’s murmuring faded away to silence until only the soft churning of the waves licking the shore and the occasional semequin snort could be heard.

When he had everyone’s attention, the man opened his mouth and bellowed above the ocean’s din, “Welcome to the Great Race of Oescienne! All of you gathered before me are some of the finest athletes around, and some of you have even traveled from as far away as Terre Moeserre to take part in this renowned event!”

The spectators burst into excited applause, the gesture rolling down the beach like a great wave. The semequins started pulling at the bit and shuffling their feet, including Phrym, but Jahrra just tugged on his reins and reminded him that it wasn’t time to run yet.

After the crowd settled, the man went on, “As you all know, the race runs from here to Demon’s Slide. The first rider to make it past the marker at the high point wins the race and the prize money, along with the glory and honor that this coveted achievement brings.”

The man paused and took on a more formidable tone before he continued, “Cheating in any form is not tolerated, and any man caught doing so will be disqualified immediately! Now, I will raise the red flag for you to get set. When I bring it down, the race has officially begun. Riders get your semequins ready!”

The many rows of horses and riders suddenly shifted together, as close to the starting line as possible. The men were still and tense, their eyes trained on the top of the platform, but the semequins were becoming more and more uneasy in the pressure of the moment. They tossed their heads and pressed their ears flat, ready to charge the moment their rider gave them the order.

Jahrra stiffened atop Phrym, sensing his restless feet below them. Her heart was beating faster than she thought was possible, and her nerves felt like they were on fire. But she kept her eyes fixed on the man standing on the platform. Once satisfied that all the riders were in place, the official sharply lifted the red flag.
Alright
, thought Jahrra, feeling her mouth go dry and her muscles stiffen,
this is it
.

The few moments that the flag hung in the air felt like an eternity to Jahrra. When the official finally brought the scarlet banner tearing down, Phrym burst out from their hiding place, Jahrra urging him into full speed as they quickly caught up to the back of the surging pack.

There was a great bolt from all of the semequins as the crowd roared with excitement. Jahrra watched Eydeth’s white mount tear into the lead with a dozen other horses as she and Phrym worked their way into the middle of the horde. She knew Phrym was more than capable of keeping up with Eydeth’s semequin, but she wanted to save his energy for the big finale. At the moment, she needed to focus on keeping Phrym with the middle of the pack without getting pummeled.

Once the distance between the racers and the starting line widened, Jahrra realized that the hardest part of the race, entering it undetected, was over. She tried to relax a little, inhaling the sharp salty air as they sailed along the water’s edge. Phrym had been tense because of her anxiety, but now she had to relax; she had to remember her lessons with the elves and trust the months of training she and Phrym had endured.

Jahrra closed her eyes for a moment as she soaked in all of the sensations around her. The pounding of a thousand hooves beat in rhythm with the crashing waves, and the small flecks of wet sand bit at her exposed skin like shards of ice. The rolling of the sea and the faint screaming of the onlookers urged them on. Above the uproar, Jahrra heard the heavy breathing of the semequins and the frantic encouragement of their riders. She could smell salt and seaweed, leather and the all-familiar scent of horses. She could feel the cool air streaming by, the tugging of the wind, the smooth, athletic motion of Phrym running beneath her. Jahrra allowed her senses to guide her, and finally she calmed down and became the competitor she had trained to be.

I’ve done it
. She swallowed hard only to find that her mouth was still dry.
I’ve made it into the most exclusive race in all of Oescienne! Now all I have to do is beat Eydeth.

“Alright, Phrym!” Jahrra shouted through her thick scarf. “Let’s go!”

Phrym immediately responded to this new burst of confidence from his master and immediately his gait smoothed out and quickened. As the miles sailed by and the cheering crowd stretched thinner, Jahrra allowed herself to loosen up every now and again, trusting Phrym to keep his strong pace. To their right, the ocean stretched on forever, covered by the blanket of fog that had finally pulled away from the land. The sun was now very high in the azure sky, turning the tumbled gray dunes into a wonderful golden cream color.

Jahrra took her eyes from the distracting scenery and looked forward. Beyond the several riders that led the troupe she caught sight of the halfway point, the delta of the Oorn River, about a mile ahead. She felt a sudden pang of sadness. This was the river that crept from Lake Ossar, her place of refuge that was once again threatened by the evil twins. She closed her eyes as the river’s mouth drew nearer, imagining it was just another ordinary summer day and she was racing alongside Gieaun and Scede and not among a hundred strangers.