“That’s your trainer’s idea of a pep talk?” Jalimo said, staring after Trainer Verlas. “‘We’ll help you, but by then you’ll already be dead’? Very helpful.”
She’d been thinking the same thing, but she felt as if she should defend Trainer Verlas. “Well, what does your trainer say to you?”
From the stands, Trainer Osir cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, “Show them no option! Show them no mercy! Ride them hard!”
Raia raised her eyebrows at Jalimo.
“He more shouts than peps,” Algana admitted.
They all focused on the track ahead. It was a narrow straightaway into a curve. Like running through a canyon. I can do this, Raia thought.
And then: I wish I was out on the sands.
“Ready?” Trainer Osir bellowed.
No, Raia thought. She immediately corrected that: Yes. We can do this. “Run. That’s all we have to do,” she whispered to the lion. “You know how. Run like there’s no one around. Run like we’re on the open sand.”
“Prepare!” Trainer Osir shouted. Then: “Race!”
And then Trainer Verlas hit the lever that unlatched the gates simultaneously. The gates slammed open, and all four kehoks leaped forward. Raia clung to the saddle. “Run!” she cried. “Run!”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Algana hit the backside of her cheetah-rhino with a spiked whip. “Faster or death!” she cried.
The others echoed her: “Faster or death!”
Raia’s focus snapped. She didn’t want—
She felt it the moment her concentration broke, and knew with absolute certainty what would happen next: Blood. He’d attack the others. Claws. Teeth. Jaws ripping at their legs—she saw it in her imagination in a fast burst of images before she clamped it down. “Run!” she screamed at the lion. “Please, just run!”
And to her shock, he did.
He powered past the other kehoks, leaving them in clouds of sand kicked up by his hind paws. She heard the cheers behind her as she took the lead, and she leaned forward into the wind, rising up a few inches in the saddle, the way she did out on the sands.
They neared the first turn, and she tried to think of it like a dune, like her trainer had said, and take the curve—
But the black lion didn’t turn.
He ran straight toward the wall of the track.
“No! Turn! Please, turn!”
Raia felt his weight shift. Oh no, he’s going to—
He jumped, sailing into the air.
The racetrack walls were built high, so that no kehok could escape into the crowd, but they weren’t high enough for the black lion. His stomach scraped along the top, and he landed hard on the other side. Raia was knocked forward into his mane. Her forehead hit the obsidian, and pain blossomed, obliterating all other thought.
She didn’t lose consciousness, though. She kept clinging to the saddle as the black lion ran across the sands, away from the racetrack and toward the open emptiness.
Tamra watched the black lion clear the wall and run, with Raia on his back, into the desert. She wanted to shut her eyes and unsee it.
Around her, all the students were shouting. They’d never seen a kehok leave the track. It was common for them to attack their rider or the other racers. Sometimes they refused to run. Often they tried to attack the audience. They never fled. It had caught everyone off guard, Tamra included, and no one had reacted fast enough to stop it, even once they’d removed the shield.
At least I’ve given them something new to gossip about, she thought.
“Mount a rescue,” Osir ordered. He began to bark at the other trainers.
Tamra held up her hand.
He quieted.
“She’ll come back,” Tamra said, eyes fixed on the desert.
“You’re betting a lot on a student who couldn’t control her mount enough to stay in the race!” Osir said. “If we move fast, we might be able to reach her before her kehok quits running and decides to kill her.”
Tamra repeated, “She’ll come back. Wait.”
“She’s not a paying student, right?” Zora said anxiously beside her. “Where’s she from? Does she have family who will inquire about her?”
Tamra pressed her lips into a line and told herself that Zora was only looking out for the welfare of them all. If Raia had family who would press charges, they could all be brought before the race council for endangerment of a student. “She’s an orphan, she says.” Just because she later admitted it was a lie didn’t mean Tamra couldn’t say it.
“Good,” Zora said.
The other three students had finished the race and were jogging toward the three trainers. In the lead was the girl with the shaved head—Tamra had never bothered to learn her name. “We’re going after her, aren’t we? Why isn’t anyone going after her?”
“Raia knows how to race the sands,” Tamra said. “She’s safest if we keep our distance. Pursue her, and she’ll have a harder time coming back.” The lion would run faster or, worse, turn on her if he sensed them chasing after him. Her odds were better if she were on her own.
I should have realized she wasn’t ready, Tamra thought.
Deep inside, Raia was still running away.
Damn her family to the depths of the River.
Tamra stayed in the stands, waiting, while the others continued to whisper around her. She ignored all further attempts to argue with her, and instead kept her eyes trained on the sands. Raia and the black lion were no longer visible.
The sun crept across the sky.
She didn’t move, even though sweat stuck her tunic to her back, even though the wind blew sand in her eyes. She kept her eyes and her will focused on the desert, as if she could summon them back—she knew at this range it was impossible, but she maintained her vigil.
By sundown, Raia hadn’t returned.
Tamra did not allow herself to doubt or worry. Raia would come back. She was stronger than her fear. I could not have judged her so badly. I will not lose faith. I believe in her.
That was what she said each time another student or trainer came to question Tamra:
“I believe in her.”
By nightfall, the others were gone, and it was only Tamra, watching the darkening desert. Shalla will be home. She’d be fixing herself supper and wondering where her mother and Raia were. She’d set two extra plates at the table. I can’t go home without Raia. What would she say to her daughter? That she waited for a while and then gave up? What kind of message would that send? Giving up on Raia meant giving up on everything: winning the races, paying the augurs, protecting Shalla’s future, and being a good mother.
I should have gone after her.
It was far too late now. The time to do that was in the first few minutes. By now, the wind would have obscured all tracks. If she wasn’t back by dawn, Tamra would have to search for her. For her body.
If she didn’t return . . .
She will, Tamra thought. She stared at the desert, a black sea beneath the stars, and commanded it: Bring her back.
She thought she saw a flicker of movement.
Stepping onto the bleachers, Tamra peered out toward the darkness, as if squinting would somehow make it brighter. She must have imagined it. Now she saw nothing except the shift of shadows that was wind blowing across the sands.
Except were the shadows thicker in one spot?
She stared at it, willing it to resolve into shapes. Come back.
And then she saw them: Raia on the black lion, stumbling across the sands, back toward the training ground. They were a hundred yards out when they both fell and didn’t move.
Tamra ran to the shed, yanked out the transport cart, and then ran to the stable and hooked up the rhino-croc. She drove it out onto the sands. Her eyes scanned the darkness, looking for where she’d seen them fall.
She spotted them: motionless mounds between the waves of sand. “Faster!” she commanded the rhino-croc. He thundered over the dunes, the only sound beyo
nd the wind.
Reaching them, Tamra jumped off the bench. She ran to Raia.
Raia pried her eyes open. “I’m sorry. He wanted to run. And I guess . . . so did I.”
“I know.” Tamra helped Raia stand and hobbled with her over to the cart. She pressed a canteen of water into her hands, and Raia drank greedily. Carrying a second canteen, Tamra then limped back to the black lion. She opened it and poured the water onto his tongue.
He pulled his tongue, wet, back into his mouth.
“Come on,” she told him. “Into the cage. There’s food and water for you.”
All fight sapped out of him, the black lion hauled himself forward and flopped into the cage.
Inside, he ate and drank as Tamra drove the cart back toward the training grounds. Raia didn’t speak. She just drank from the canteen and looked up at the stars.
“It must have been a beautiful night for a run,” Tamra said conversationally.
Raia smiled, albeit weakly. “It was.” Then her smile faded. “I think . . . we might need a little more practice before the real races.”
“That might be a good idea,” Tamra agreed.
Chapter 10
Clothed like an ordinary traveler, his augur pendant tucked beneath his shirt, Yorbel boarded a westbound ferry. He hadn’t realized he’d become accustomed to the berth that people gave augurs until he was mashed between a dozen unwashed laborers on the ferry platform. He tried to breathe only through his mouth.
The river air tasted sour this close to the city’s docks. The fishermen were loading their boats with bait—barrels of fish heads and dead crabs. But as the sails puffed with breeze, the ferry sailed farther from the capital, and the air began to smell sweeter. Lilies grew thick by the banks on either side, and Yorbel saw farmers already at work in their fields, ankle-deep in watery soil, hurrying to harvest before the yearly floods began. He had almost been one of those farmers. Both his parents had been, until sickness claimed them, and as the firstborn, he would have inherited their strip of land, not far from the city, if the augurs hadn’t spotted him when he was eight years old and seen the purity of his soul.
His most vivid memory of that day was of the sky. It had been a brilliant blue. He’d been out in the fields with his parents, most likely watching a dragonfly instead of helping with the planting, and an augur had strode across the rows, crushing the sprouts.
He remembered his father had yelled, but he didn’t remember the words. What he remembered was how the augur had loomed over him, and he’d looked up and seen the expanse of blue surrounding him. So much blue that the man was left in shadows, and Yorbel couldn’t see his face. But he remembered the augur had spoken kindly and held out his hand. He’d given his parents gold for the crushed plants, and then he’d taken Yorbel with him.
His mother had cried blue tears—at least that’s what his memory said, though he didn’t see how that could be true. Tears were clear. The augur had told him they were happy tears, because his parents knew it meant that in his past life he’d earned this honor, but Yorbel hadn’t been sure. He hadn’t been certain of much those early days. He liked the temple and his lessons, but he missed his home and his parents. He wasn’t allowed to run free in the afternoons the way his parents had let him, while they rested in the shade of the palm trees. On the other hand, he was allowed to sleep later than dawn if he wished, and to eat as much as he wanted at meals. He’d never tasted such food: oranges so ripe that juice dribbled down your chin, meat so sweet that you’d think it was dessert, and rice that popped on your tongue with spices that made you dream about distant lands.
Odd the things one remembers, Yorbel thought. The taste of citrus. The blueness of the sky. Yet he couldn’t remember the sound of his mother’s voice or the name of the augur who had changed his life. The little things that made him who he was, the choices that shaped his aura, sometimes seemed so arbitrary. He couldn’t remember the day he’d been told his parents had died, when he became a ward of the temple—but he did remember waking one morning and realizing he’d cried in his sleep. His tears had tasted salty, and he’d wiped them away before his teachers saw.
Who can say what shapes a person?
And who could say what shaped an emperor? That was why Yorbel had to search among the kehoks. He believed that the emperor had been a good man. He trusted those who had read his aura, even though he personally had never done so. But the sight of the blue sky, a taste of an orange . . . a moment can change a life. Who knew what moments the emperor had experienced before his death? There were things that could darken one’s soul in the space of a heartbeat. Decisions that could doom you.
True, it was unlikely for an emperor to suffer such a sudden fall from grace.
But it wasn’t impossible.
A life can change in a moment.
So can a fate.
He hoped Dar would forgive him for his thoroughness and that he would be proven wrong when one of the other augurs found the late emperor’s vessel among the many innocent beasts or birds. He hoped he’d be able to return to the palace, confess his failure, and beg forgiveness for his lack of faith in the purity of the late emperor’s soul.
And he hoped it would all happen before time ran out.
He thought of Gissa, ready to do her duty. He hadn’t asked her if she’d ever performed such a service before. Cowardly of me. But he hadn’t wanted to know. He preferred to believe her secret title was honorary, an homage to tradition rather than a reflection of action.
It won’t be necessary for her to act. Either I or another augur will find the vessel.
He wrapped that certainty around him like a cloak on a cold desert night.
On the south side of the Aur River, bells began to ring. It started as a few high notes that mixed with the calls of the brilliantly colored birds that flew beside the ferry, fishing in its wake. The bellringers then added another melody, low, that echoed the first bells. Soon, there were several melodies, dancing together, echoing and blending. Yorbel let the loveliness of the music wash over him, calming him. It was then he realized he needed calming.
It had been so long since he’d felt nervous that he’d nearly forgotten the sensation. His days were routine. His future was assured and his fate certain. But today was different. I don’t know how today will end. And, River forgive me, I’m excited to find out.
It was almost embarrassing, especially given all that was at stake for Dar and Gissa, but he was excited to have an adventure.
He hadn’t felt this way since he was a boy. He was glad that none of the other ferry passengers could see his thoughts or read his aura at that moment.
This is a serious task, he scolded himself.
But he allowed himself a smile as the ferry docked, and the ferryman shouted the name of Yorbel’s stop. “Excuse me,” he murmured as he weaved his way across the crowded platform and stepped off the boat.
Ahead of him was Seronne Market.
He had a plan: There were hundreds of kehok training grounds. Far too many to search. But he didn’t have to check every kehok. He only had to look for those with new souls. And any new kehoks would either currently be in or have recently passed through one of the kehok auctions.
If he could either examine those kehoks (if they were yet unsold) or compile a list of who owned them (if they had been sold), then that would make for a thorough search. It was still a daunting task. But a doable one, he thought. There were dozens of markets along the Aur River, but that was still better than searching hundreds of stables.
He strode into the market and was instantly assailed by smells and sounds and colors. The temples were austere gray and white, quiet places for contemplation and study. This . . . was not. He rarely left the grounds, and when he did, it was usually to the palace. This was distinctly different. He felt as if he’d fallen into a vat of marbles and been shaken around.
A woman danced with red scarves in front of him, while a monkey scampered behind her. A man carting a basket of fish pu
shed past him. A man shoved a tray of perfumes in front of him, demanding he smell, love, and buy. Another man, carrying a woman on his shoulders, walked by—she was juggling oranges. All around there were musicians: drummers, flutists, singers. He paused to buy a bag of roasted pecans, an indulgence, but the smell was irresistible. He ate them, tasting the salt and sweet on his tongue, as he found his way to the kehok auction.
All the music could not entirely drown out the humanlike screams, and the closer he drew, the less he could taste the pecans. He slipped the unfinished bag into one of his pockets. This was where his work would begin.
Carefully, he began to widen his thoughts. It felt a bit like listening to all the musicians and seeing all the brilliantly painted buildings at once, except he wasn’t listening with his ears and he wasn’t looking with his eyes. He began to see blurred colors flickering within the people around him.
If he concentrated on one person, he could see their aura: flecks of gold or streaks of black, a dusting of rust, and if he were to calm his mind, those colors would take form. Soon he was seeing the people overlaid with the images of what they would become, if they continued on their current path: a woman who bore the shimmering outline of a rabbit, a man who melded into the ghostlike shape of a boar, one who carried a cricket within him, another who would be reborn as human.
It made Yorbel’s head ache to see the world this way, overlaid with future ramifications of all the people’s past choices. Most augurs didn’t possess the strength to see so much at once. They required the quiet concentration of the temple and a one-on-one consultation. But there was a reason Yorbel had been selected at age eight for training.
But as strong as he was, as he approached the cages, his steps faltered.
The aura of the kehoks was unmistakable: layered with shadows, streaked with red, and sliced with angry, blinding-white lightning bolts. Confronted with such angry ugliness, he couldn’t breathe for a moment. He’d never seen one this close up before. It was nauseating, the way the colors bashed and swirled. So this is what a doomed soul looks like. I think I’m going to be sick.
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