The Beginning (33 page)

Jahrra took a deep breath and let out a long, joyous cry as she and Phrym went crashing through the brackish water. The plume of water and the stampede of semequins frightened off the many sea birds resting along the shallow river bank. Jahrra laughed despite the soreness that was already building in her muscles. She felt free, truly free as she and Phrym easily kept on the tail of those in the lead.

Over the next several miles, Phrym slowly worked his way up to be among the top fifteen leaders. Jahrra peered around, trying not to succumb to the exhaustion she was feeling, or to think about how tired Phrym might be. The chestnut semequin next to her looked like she was faltering, and her rider seemed to be slackening his grip on the reins. The charcoal stallion just in front of them was also showing signs of fatigue and Jahrra knew that she had to stay focused and alert if she wanted to win this race. She set her jaw and willed Phrym to hold strong as the towering pale expanse of Demon’s Slide rose into view.

“Only a little while longer, Phrym! Just a little while longer!” she shouted breathlessly.

The riders encouraged their mounts into a quicker gait as they closed in on the base of the hill. Jahrra quickly brought Phrym up to pace and into seventh place. The marble gray semequin seemed to understand exactly what was at stake here, and despite his fading strength, he sped up in order to stay with the leaders.

The semequins hit the base of Demon’s Slide at full speed, beginning the hardest part of the race, the treacherous half-mile climb straight up through deep sand. Jahrra had trained Phrym hard through the dunes all summer long, but she couldn’t help but feel a little diffident. They were now halfway up the mountainside and she could still hear the spectators down below, their faint cheers exploding into thunder as the race drew near its end. Jahrra blinked and ground her teeth, her heavy breathing falling into rhythm with Phrym’s. She gripped the reins and leaned forward, praising him in Kruelt as he passed three other struggling semequins.

Jahrra lifted her head and glanced up. Eydeth and two others were just in front of them, but she knew the three ahead of her would never make it to the top. She grinned and reached deep within herself, pushing aside the fatigue, the worry and every last shred of resistance. Somewhere beneath the whipping wind, the biting grains of sand, the harsh cries of the riders as they urged their semequins on, she found the courage and strength to finish this challenge. She was exhausted, Phrym was exhausted, but they were so close to the end, so close.

“Come on, Phrym! You can do this, we can do this! We’re almost there!” she breathed more than said as Phrym’s hooves tore into the heavy sand. Phrym strained even harder at the sound of Jahrra’s worn encouragement.

The highest point ever reached by previous racers was marked by a great red stone, glowing like a demonic beacon a couple hundred yards above them. The four leaders, including Jahrra, were now only neck and neck and the distance from the finish line was dwindling. One hundred yards, sixty yards, forty . . . She and Phrym had to act now, or it would be too late; it would have all been in vain.

Without warning, Jahrra yelled out to Phrym in Kruelt, “Laeni Phrym, laeni! Llhoweh!”
Now Phrym, now! Go!

Phrym surged forward and pulled away from the three racers, tearing up the sandy hill and crossing the marker a mere fifteen yards ahead of the others. Jahrra let out a squeal of delight as the judge standing beside the red stone flew the green flag, signaling that she and Phrym had won the Great Race of Oescienne.

Jahrra threw her arms in the air, heedless of the scarf that was coming undone from her head, and urged Phrym to keep climbing, all the way to the top. The crowd below would have looked very small if Jahrra had bothered to turn her head, but she had forgotten about them. She could feel Phrym’s tired body struggling to climb, driving his front legs into the deep sand and kicking up with his hind legs, no longer able to run smoothly. They were only yards away now and at the great hill’s steepest point.

“C’mon Phrym, you’ve got it!” she coaxed, willing all of her strength and joy to overflow into him.

As they breached the crest of the small mountain, Jahrra imagined she heard the other riders and spectators gasp, even from this great height. She smiled and closed her eyes, falling against Phrym’s neck and giving him a victorious hug.

“We did it, we beat them all! And we made it to the top!” she breathed quietly through a very tired grin. She could have fallen asleep right there, lying against Phrym on top of Demon’s Slide, but all she did was smile.

Out of breath and dazed from her triumph, Jahrra slowly raised her head to look around, catching her breath at the scene surrounding her. From this point, she could see all of Oescienne; the great extensive ocean, the Thorbet Range running northeast from where they stood, the Elornn Range meeting it in the east and continuing far away into the northwest. Below them spread her beloved sand dunes, the lakes and the Wreing Florenn with the dark spot of the Black Swamp looking like a blemish on its eastern end. She found the small Sloping Hill and her tiny Castle Guard Ruin and even the remains of the ruined castle itself, like a tiny pile of gray rubble on the edge of the bluff.

The familiar towns of Lensterans and Aldehren, Toria Town and Hassett Town, Nuun Esse and the edge of Kiniahn Kroi looked like little ant hills busy with life from this distance. If she squinted and shielded her eyes from the sun, Jahrra could even see the hill where Yaraa and Viornen lived, the trees on the eastern side much greener than the others. She even spotted a small orange and blue sliver in the east she knew to be Ehnnit Canyon. But what astounded Jahrra the most were the mountains that piled beyond the Thorbet and Elornn ranges, stretching far into lands beyond her own small world, stretching far into the unknown of Ethoes.

Someday
, she thought dreamily,
I would like to see what is beyond these borders.

A sharp whinny from Phrym broke into Jahrra’s thoughts and she turned to look down the slope.

Eydeth had stopped his enervated semequin just past the stone marker along with the other competitors. They all had a look of horror and shock scrawled across their weary faces. No one had ever, in the history of the Great Race, climbed to the very top of Demon’s Slide, no one. Jahrra grinned and felt the cool ocean breeze brush against her teeth. Her shawl had finally come completely loose and was now only draped over her head like a loose veil. She gazed down at Eydeth, wondering if the truth had hit him yet. The horrible boy had a slight look of contempt on his face, as if angry not only at the fact that she’d won, but also that she had the strength and nerve to reach the top. He was still too far away, however, to recognize just who it was that had beaten him.

Jahrra’s smile widened. She knew Eydeth’s look of disdain would only intensify as she pulled the cloth completely free of her head. Her tangled hair fell loose, spreading like a banner in the wind, as Phrym reared and kicked, stretching out the soreness in his legs. There was no way to hide what the Resai men were now seeing: the young
woman
who had won the race.

Jahrra took one last look around, absorbing all that her eyes could take in, storing this memory close to her heart. She then took a deep, calming breath and began the slow descent back down the mountain with Phrym, preparing herself for the angry mob that awaited them. Only at this moment she didn’t feel apprehensive, she felt as light as air.

-
Chapter Fifteen
-

Dealing with Dragons

Eydeth glared at Jahrra as Phrym descended the steep hill.

“You’ll
hang
for this!” he spat, trembling with white-hot rage. He looked ragged and worn, as if he’d fallen off his semequin and been trampled.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jahrra said calmly, for once looking down her nose at him. “Your judges should’ve stopped me when I ran down onto the beach. Besides, no one gets hanged for entering a race. I’ll just be disqualified, but I’ll still have beaten you, and no matter what you say, you and I will always know the truth.”

Jahrra thought she was quite brave to say such a thing to Eydeth in front of all the other angry Resai men standing on the hill, but the thrill of victory was numbing, and her common sense didn’t have a chance to warn her to watch her tongue.

With his master’s gentle encouragement, Phrym continued down the mountain, leaving a fuming Eydeth and the other competitors behind. Just as she had predicted, Jahrra was met with glares of anger, disgust and disdain as they passed the many other riders who had stopped to stare in shock at their unlikely, and unexpected, champion. Jahrra couldn’t tell if these men simply hated her for beating them or hated her for being a Nesnan female who had ruined their prestigious race. She didn’t care. She stared them down and refused to look away from their spiteful gazes as she and Phrym passed one after the other.

Jahrra let Phrym take his time descending the steep hillside, moving at his own pace so that he wouldn’t injure himself. When they finally reached the base of Demon’s Slide, the now silent crowd parted to let them through, keeping their distance and shaking their heads in aggravated disbelief. Jahrra noted the race officials, scowling like the rest, and she even spotted her teacher, Professor Tarnik, looking as angry and disturbed as a wolf in a trap.

Jahrra turned her face from the gaze of her pompous teacher and caught site of something truly wonderful instead. There, pushed up against the edge of a sand dune, stood Gieaun, Scede, Pahrdh, Mahryn, Rhudedth and Kihna and her sisters, all donning looks of delighted shock as they locked their eyes on the winner. Jahrra couldn’t help but smile brightly in their direction, almost laughing out loud. Gieaun and Rhudedth looked absolutely terrified, but Scede was smiling proudly. Jahrra felt herself relax as she and Phrym began to part from the dismal throng.

All smiles and confidence vanished in a quickened heartbeat however, when Jahrra finally gazed beyond her small bubble of self-satisfaction and took in the entire crowd, not just those immediately in front of her. Far away, on the very edge of the horde of spectators, stood two familiar figures; two
dragon-shaped
figures. Jahrra flicked her eyes downward and hung her head for the first time since the race had ended. She’d been so focused on the people around her, too busy keeping stubborn eye contact with her enemies that she hadn’t bothered to look up and notice the two most obvious onlookers standing just beyond the throng of people. And apparently the crowd had been so enraptured by the scandal Jahrra had caused that they, too, hadn’t bothered to look anywhere other than Demon’s Slide.

What on Ethoes is
he
doing here?!
Jahrra thought frantically once she’d gotten over the shock of seeing the young Tanaan dragon standing next to the old Korli one. She had a feeling that Hroombra might somehow have figured out where she had gone and come down to the beach himself, but she had never,
ever
, in her wildest dreams, expected Jaax to turn up. Hroombra hadn’t said anything to her about the younger dragon stopping in for a visit. What could possibly have brought him here now of all times?

Jahrra stopped Phrym in the middle of the silent crowd and looked to Hroombra, whose eyes were almost unreadable. He didn’t appear angry, that was a good sign, but he didn’t look pleased either. She felt ashamed now for what she’d done and felt her face flush red. The Resai judges and Eydeth could stand there and shoot accusing glares all they wanted, but they could never dent her. Hroombra only had to look at her, without any anger, without any emotion at all, and Jahrra was once again an insignificant, vulnerable child.

Jahrra swallowed, then braved a glance at Jaax. She tried hard to think of the last time she’d seen this dragon, and then remembered it was when she first started her lessons with Viornen and Yaraa, six years ago. Jaax’s silver-green eyes seemed to hold a flare of disappointed amusement, blended with a hint of pity and disgust. Jahrra set her jaw stubbornly and glared back at him, trying to interpret exactly what she saw there. He thought it was ridiculous that she had joined this race. She was obviously making a fool of herself and Hroombra. How dare she?

How dare I?
Jahrra thought, jumping to her own conclusions.
Well, if that’s what he thinks!
She quickly changed her look of bashful inquiry to one of spiteful loathing in a flash. She glared at the younger dragon with such contempt that he bowed his head only slightly, just enough to show that he had understood.

Jahrra hadn’t even come close to giving this look to Eydeth and the other Resai men while coming down the hill. She had beaten them all today; she had proven something to them. But with Jaax she felt she would never be able to prove anything. He would always be the one to tell her:
Not good enough
. No, Jahrra’s most intense anger wasn’t for her enemies, but for this dragon that underestimated and belittled her, not just once, but every time he had encountered her.

As the crowd turned to watch Jahrra’s progress, they also started to take note of the dragons. Those people standing closest to them backed away, expressions of fear slowly replacing their expressions of distaste. The Resai of Oescienne may speak ill of dragons, but it was a completely different story when the actual thing was standing just in front of them.

Jahrra grimaced when she noticed Tarnik making his way toward her, walking at a pace that suggested aggressive determination. She was even more startled when her school teacher cut her off by placing himself firmly between the two dragons and Phrym.

“Young Jahrra,” his voice was tense and brimming with anger.

Jahrra glanced down at him and her eyes widened in surprise. He was wearing a sash of red emblazoned with a line of prancing semequins. Of course; he was one of the many volunteer judges of the race. Why was she not surprised? Jahrra forgot about the dragons and looked him straight in the eye, as if daring him to speak his mind. She didn’t fear him; she didn’t fear any of them, not after what she had just accomplished.

He continued, now speaking on behalf of the race officials and registered participants, “You have insulted the integrity of this race, and you have blatantly and intentionally taken no regard for the rules and regulations of this honorable event. Therefore, speaking as a senior volunteer official of the Great Race of Oescienne, you are hereby disqualified.”

The horrible man’s voice had risen from a harsh whisper to a mediocre shout, but now he struggled to gain control of his temper.

After a few moments he continued more calmly, “I don’t know how you managed to sneak into this race, but it only further proves your deceitful nature. Think twice next time before doing something so foolish again. And you will return that semequin to its proper owner!”

Tarnik finished with an odd noise that resembled the cry of a chicken getting its neck wrung.

Jahrra would have laughed in his face, for his words were so ridiculous, so absurd, but the looks on the hostile faces surrounding her only proved that the opinion her teacher was expressing wasn’t an uncommon one.

During his little speech, Jahrra had been biding her time, preparing a response for him. Now she turned to the shriveled, oily Resai man and, loud enough for all to hear, replied in a slightly shaking voice, “I insulted the integrity of this race? How, by participating in it? What is more horrifying to you
Professor
Tarnik, that I am female or that I am Nesnan?” Jahrra took a deep breath. “Yes, I did sneak into this race; at the starting line I rushed in behind everyone else when the signal was given. I would have liked to enter legally, but that opportunity was not extended to someone like me, so I did what I had to do to prove to you all that I was capable of winning. And I did win, I beat all of your best racers, disqualified or not.”

Jahrra glared at him and glanced around at all the other angry, disapproving faces. Not one of these people contained any hint of compassion or sympathy or even any sign of the ability to comprehend what it might be like to be in her position. For a brief second Jahrra felt pity for them, her hatred seeming almost selfish.

She sighed, and in a softer yet still determined and passionate voice said, “You may be my school teacher, but you’ll
never, ever
tell me what my worth is again. I have proven it today, whether or not you wish to acknowledge that fact. Oh, and Phrym I’ve raised from a foal. If he belongs to anyone, he belongs to
me
.”

Jahrra broke her gaze with the embittered Tarnik and cast her eyes upon the eerily quiet crowd surrounding her. She only saw fire behind the Resai men’s eyes, their glacial faces not able to hide how they felt. She knew she wouldn’t change the way they thought, but at least she had spoken her mind. She sat up a little straighter in the saddle and took a deep breath. Now she had to address her next challenge: facing Master Hroombra and Jaax.

As Jahrra turned Phrym towards them, she heard the beginnings of irritated whispering. She thought that the spectators were just adding their last begrudging remarks, so she didn’t bother to stop.

“That semequin belongs to my father!” someone called out over the murmuring of voices.

This time Jahrra didn’t ignore it. She turned so sharply that she spooked Phrym. It was Eydeth, and he had followed her down the hillside.

She gave him a poisonous glare and said through gritted teeth, “He does
not
belong to your father and you know it! You know he’s been with me for eight years now!”

Jahrra tried to control the anger in her voice, but it was no use.

“Obviously she is lying, Master Tarnik. How does a Nesnan come upon a semequin, and one of such good bloodlines, without stealing it? Did she find it? In the Wreing Florenn?”

The murmuring turned to sniggering; the crowd pleased to find some way to ridicule the disgracer of their precious race.

“Come now Nesnan, give me the animal. I wouldn’t want to humiliate you even more by forcefully taking him from you.”

While saying this, Eydeth led his own semequin over to Jahrra and Phrym with his hand outstretched. Phrym sensed the trouble and became edgy and tense. Jahrra tightened her grip on the reins.

“He won’t go with you willingly,” she growled. “In fact, I doubt that you could handle him. You had trouble with your own mount during the race. I saw how you had to dig your heels into him in order to get him to cross the Oorn delta.”

Eydeth’s eyes became an inferno and he turned to two older Resai men who were with him. “Take the stallion. My father will be glad to see him returned.”

Jahrra clung to her semequin’s back and put a comforting hand on his neck as he whickered in agitation. Phrym began to panic and rear up again as the two men drew near. Jahrra wanted to call out to Hroombra, but what could he do? It was her own fault she’d gotten herself into this mess, and she would have to get herself out of it.

The men were now only a few feet away. They reached up for Phrym’s halter, but before they could grab hold of the reins, Jahrra heard Jaax’s strong and steady voice call out, “Young Eydeth, since when has your father bred marble gray semequins? Last thing I heard was that he preferred his stock to be pure and clean of color, and his preferred color was snow white, like your fine stallion there.”

He nodded towards Eydeth’s own semequin, and Jahrra could have sworn she saw fear behind the boy’s eyes.

“The semequin is mine, gentlemen.” Jaax’s tone held a tinge of fire as he addressed the entire crowd clamoring around to see justice served. “I brought him here from the province of Rhiim and put him under the care of this young Nesnan. It may have been a foolish move on my part, but it is the truth. I ask that you never question this again.”

Jaax was always stern, but Jahrra thought she detected something more in his stance at this moment, a rigid anger she couldn’t remember ever sensing before. She looked up at the younger dragon, her brow furrowed, but he was currently looking down upon Eydeth the way a cat looks at a mouse.
Or
, Jahrra thought with some satisfaction,
the way a dragon looks at something it wants very badly to burn to a crisp.
Eydeth made no further remark, but sat back in his saddle, cowering and fuming.

Jahrra knew that the Resai never liked Hroombra, but not because they were necessarily afraid of him, but because they didn’t feel bothered enough to consider him a threat. There was something different about Jaax, however; something that demanded unquestioning respect. Jahrra took this moment of silent challenge between the dragon and the crowd to quickly calm Phrym. She whispered and hummed to him, leading him closer to the dragons before any more interjections could be made.