Race the Sands

by Sarah Beth Durst

  In that instant, Tamra doubted everything she’d believed and said. She’d been wrong. He was going to run for them. He wasn’t—

  And then the kehok veered sharply left, to the wall where Gette and Artlar had set up the array of weapons. He smashed full speed into the stand, and weapons flew off the wall, clattering to the ground and flying up to hit his rider.

  Gette flew backward off the lion, crashing hard onto his back on the racetrack.

  “Stop!” Artlar commanded.

  But the lion didn’t pay any attention to Artlar’s order or to the downed rider. Instead, he pivoted and ran straight at the trainer. Artlar readied his club, and the kehok leaped toward him and then sailed over his head toward the stable.

  The lion ran through the door, disappearing inside.

  Groaning, Gette got to his feet. He was bleeding from his forehead.

  He finally had his first scar.

  Lady Evara was laughing.

  “Raia, do you think you could show these gentlemen how it’s done?” Tamra asked calmly. She felt like melting into a puddle of relief, but she didn’t allow that to show.

  “Yes, Trainer Verlas.” She sprinted to the stables.

  A moment later, the lion padded out of the stable. Raia had removed the saddle, as well as every single one of his chains and shackles, and was riding him bareback toward the track with no restraints and no weapons. Tamra nearly yelped—she’d just meant for Raia to ride him. Removing every chain was taking a large risk.

  On the other hand, she was making a very clear statement.

  Raia rode the lion in a slow, stately circle around the track, demonstrating her control. The lion’s eyes and her eyes were fixed on Artlar and Gette, who stood frozen in the spot where Gette had fallen.

  Very politely and very softly, Raia said to Gette, “Such a shame to see a boy as pretty as you damaged. Someone should have told you you’re not going to win. You’re just not thirsty enough.”

  As Raia rode the kehok back into the stable, Tamra thought she’d burst with pride. “Augur Yorbel, could you please inform the emperor-to-be that his prize racer will only run for one rider?”

  “I will tell him,” Augur Yorbel said with a sigh.

  “Thank you,” Tamra said, and then she smiled at both Artlar and Gette, a wolflike smile that stretched her scar.

  This kehok may be a nightmare, but he’s our nightmare.

  Chapter 21

  “All right, move it out!”

  As Trainer Verlas barked at the various servants and guards, Raia scurried to check that everything was secure inside the cage: the kehok’s shackles were clamped to the iron bars, they had a supply of food loaded into the cart, her riding clothes were packed into a trunk. At last, she climbed into the cage with her kehok.

  This is it, Raia thought.

  Her last chance to qualify for the major races.

  If they’d stayed in Peron, they’d have traveled to whatever race was nearest—qualifying races were held on tracks up and down the Aur River. But since they were already in the Heart of Becar, she’d be racing her second (and last) qualifier on the same track that would be used for the finals, only a few miles from the palace, beyond the edge of the city.

  On the journey to the royal stables, the black lion had been hidden beneath a shroud of red velvet, but now he traveled exposed, laden with chains within an iron cage. Riding with him, Raia felt as uncomfortable as he was. She was wearing a royal uniform, at the insistence of Lady Evara, and she hated it. The gold embellishment around the collar pricked at her neck, and the red leather felt stiff. She wished she could wear her old practice clothes. She also wished they could travel under the velvet. She felt as if she was in a parade.

  She sort of was.

  All the streets on the way out of the city were lined with people, cheering, heckling, and just plain gawking at the emperor-to-be’s entry in the Becaran Races.

  “Everyone seems to have an opinion on whether or not we should win,” Raia said to the lion. “Of course, Trainer Verlas would say all that matters is our opinion on that.” She tried a tentative smile and wave at the crowd, and was rewarded with raucous cheers and ribbons tossed into the air.

  Riding in her chariot alongside the cage, Lady Evara called, “Isn’t this fantastic? You’re famous!” She blew kisses at the crowd and then urged the horses pulling her chariot to trot faster.

  It all made Raia feel sick to her stomach. She’d heard that the emperor-to-be himself would be at the race, even though it was only a qualifier. Given that, attendance was expected to exceed that of all prior years—or so Lady Evara had gleefully reported. Raia had already been invited to a slew of parties in the houses of the wealthy.

  Thankfully, Trainer Verlas had declined on her behalf, saying she had to focus. I think if I attended a party, I’d vomit on the host’s shoes.

  She wished they’d just arrive already.

  It got worse the closer they drew to the racetrack.

  Just beyond the city, the racetrack was marked with a line of flags. Raia tried to focus on them instead of the thickening crowd. She tried to steady her breathing. She felt as jumpy as a frog startled by every ripple in the water. She didn’t know how she was going to shut out all the eyes that would be on her—especially knowing that Prince Dar would be one of the ones watching.

  She felt even worse when she saw the crowd by the archway that marked the entrance to the racing grounds. Clustered so densely that she couldn’t even see the sand, they were cheering for all the racers arriving.

  “Splendid,” Lady Evara said. “A proper welcome. You don’t look pleased.”

  “I just want to race.”

  Raising her voice, Lady Evara called to the crowd, “Hear that? She just wants to race! What do you think of that?”

  Everyone cheered.

  Lady Evara beamed at her. “Beautifully done.”

  Trainer Verlas called from the front of the cart. “Let her be, Lady Evara. Not everyone loves a circus. Raia, you’re not their performing monkey. You can play along or ignore them. Your choice.”

  Trying to block out the crowd, Raia endured the rest of the journey out to the riders’ camp, a quarter mile from the racetrack. Spectators weren’t allowed in the camp, but that didn’t make the atmosphere any calmer—riders, trainers, and track officials swarmed everywhere.

  Climbing out of the cart, she looked around. The camp here was much fancier than at the track near Peron: a tent for each rider and trainer, with water pumped from the river for bathing, and an enormous, magnificent stable for the kehoks, with a view of the palace. Trainer Verlas had said they’d be here only for the day, but once the qualification races finished up and all the riders and racers converged on the capital, they would move back to this camp for the remaining races—the main races were scheduled in such quick succession that it wouldn’t make sense to travel back and forth to the royal stables. Guess I’d better get used to it, Raia thought.

  She didn’t think that was going to happen anytime soon.

  How did I end up here?

  She thought of Celin and her parents, and told herself this was better than the alternative. No question there. She wondered where her parents had gone after she’d left them at the training grounds and hoped they hadn’t blamed Silar, Jalimo, and Algana.

  She snapped out of these thoughts when Trainer Verlas started barking instructions at her. Raia changed into her riding gear surrounded by dozens of other riders doing the same. “You’re slated for heat six,” Trainer Verlas told her. “Heat three is currently on the track. Keep the kehok’s chains on.”

  As soon as she was dressed, she led the kehok to the holding area. Gripping his chains, she tried to focus on keeping him calm. Around her, other riders and their trainers were coaxing their monsters into position behind the stands.

  A kehok built like a bear lunged at another that looked like a giant river crab. The crab snapped its claws at the bear’s neck, and their riders and trainers jumped for
ward, shouting at the racers and hitting them with spiked clubs until they retreated. Beside her, the lion growled, a low rumble that Raia felt travel through the chains and into her arms.

  Look at me, she ordered him. Just at me.

  The lion swung his head toward her, and she stared into his golden eyes.

  From the spectator stands, Raia heard screams. She blocked them out, keeping her focus just on her kehok. She stroked his metal cheek. They had to win this race. So much was depending on it, and she’d yet to prove they could win any race.

  Behind her, she heard someone say, “Oh, sweet Lady, is he dead?”

  “By the River, I knew he wasn’t—” Trainer Verlas gripped the lion’s chains. “Keep your kehok steady. And don’t look.”

  Raia didn’t mean to look, but the rider next to her screamed as his kehok reared onto its hind legs and clawed at the air. The rider dangled from the chain for a half second, until his trainer and two others leaped onto its waist and pulled the beast down by force of muscle and will.

  Beyond them, Raia saw the body being carried on a stretcher. The boy’s head was turned to the side, and she caught a glimpse of his empty eyes as the race officials passed by the holding area. Below his chin was a mangled mass of red that her brain couldn’t interpret.

  “I told you not to look,” Trainer Verlas snapped.

  “Did I know him?”

  “Fetran. You raced your first qualifier against him.” Trainer Verlas scowled at the black lion, though he hadn’t moved beyond watching the procession of officials. “He used to be my student. Could’ve told them he wasn’t ready for this. In fact, I did.”

  Raia wasn’t sure she was ready for this anymore either. A boy had died! Just a few minutes ago, on the track she was about to race on.

  “Stop it,” Trainer Verlas said. “You aren’t like him. Don’t let it get in your head.”

  A voice boomed across the holding area. “Riders up!”

  Raia tried to steady her breathing once more as she led the lion across the camp and to the racetrack. Beside her, he growled, resisting each step, and she was having trouble focusing with all the shouts and cheers around her. Somehow, she made it, and loaded him into the stall at the start of the race.

  “You’re faster than any of them,” Trainer Verlas told her. “All you have to do is run.”

  And win, Raia thought. Glancing up at the stands, she saw the royal booth. Unmistakable, it was raised on pillars and draped in flags. Prince Dar was already there, on a black throne, flanked by nobles and guards. She couldn’t see his face from here, which made it worse. He looked more like a statue than a person. She wondered if he’d seen the death in the previous race. He must have. She imagined what he’d say if it had been her with her throat torn—

  “Raia? Raia.” Trainer Verlas clasped her arm. “You can do this. Just run.”

  But Trainer Verlas was wrong. She couldn’t do this. She’d been fooling herself. How could she race with the emperor-to-be watching, knowing if she failed . . . She’d just seen how badly a rider could fail.

  She wanted to ask Trainer Verlas how she had kept racing knowing what could happen. But there was no time—the trainers were all backing away, beyond the psychic shield so there would be no interference with the racers, and the cheers were growing so loud that Raia felt as if they were clogging her skull. Distantly, she heard the race announcer call, “Ready!”

  She wasn’t! She needed a few more seconds to pull her focus into—

  “Prepare!”

  I can’t do this. It’s too much! She felt as if her skin were going to burst and all her fear would pour out of her like smoke, leaving her a shell of nothingness. Beneath her, the lion was growling, shifting his weight as if he wanted to batter the walls.

  “Race!”

  The stall gates were flung open, and her kehok surged forward with the others.

  “Run!” she urged.

  She tried to focus on the sand, but this time it felt off. She was too aware of the other racers, of the cheering in the stands. She couldn’t shed the feel of the emperor-to-be’s eyes on her back, judging her as she headed for the first turn.

  She felt the lion pull back as they hit the turn, like they used to do. As they rounded the turn, several of the other kehoks jostled in front of them, and Raia and the lion slipped back in the pack.

  We are faster than this, she thought.

  As they ran toward the second turn, Raia felt something shift inside her. She suddenly stopped thinking about the crowd, the emperor-to-be, and why she had to win. She breathed in the scent of the track, the sweat, the stink of the kehoks. She felt the wind in her face, throwing sand in her face. It stung her eyes. She tasted it on her tongue.

  “Own the turn,” she whispered.

  Leaning forward, she urged him faster. His paws dug deeper and harder into the sand, and he ran lower. As they approached the turn, she felt herself straining for it, wanting it.

  And she felt exactly what Trainer Verlas had been trying to tell her—they claimed the curve for their own, pushing off it like a swimmer in a pool and gaining speed. They shoved past the kehoks ahead of them until there was only one in front: a monster with a hawk’s head and a beetle’s body.

  Raia fixed her eyes beyond the other kehok, focusing instead on the finish line.

  Only the race. Only the moment. Only the finish line.

  They ran, pulling ahead of the hawk-beetle, by one stride, then two. The cheers were like the wind in her ears. They flowed around her. All she felt was the rhythm of the lion’s stride. She raised her gaze up above the finish line, and she saw them: her parents, wedged between the other spectators. For the barest instant, her focus faltered.

  The lion’s paws strained toward the finish line—and then, with an inhuman burst of speed, the hawk-beetle shot past her.

  Raia and the lion crossed second.

  Slowing, she felt as if the world were crashing down around her. She felt the sweat on her skin. Heard the cries of the crowd like a hammer. Leaning forward, she lay against the cold, smooth metal of the lion’s mane.

  We lost.

  Second.

  Tamra breathed in, tasted the mix of sweat and kehok stench, and tried to wrap her mind around the standings that were posted on the flags raised above the tracks. We lost.

  We can’t come back from this. Not if we want to be grand champion. After this, Raia and the lion would be placed in the minors, with no chance at running for the charm.

  Lady Evara fluttered her fan. “What does this mean? How could this happen?”

  “It happens,” Tamra said, keeping her voice steady. She could not let Raia see how bad this was. It would shake her confidence, and then . . . There was no “and then.” This was it.

  “Is it over? Is that it?” Lady Evara asked. “We lost, and that’s it? There should be a rematch! Or what if she wins another race? Can she run in another qualifying race? We can bribe someone to erase her first race results, say that this was her first . . .”

  Maybe I was wrong, Tamra thought. Maybe we don’t have what it takes. Maybe she should have let Gette race the black lion, fled back to Peron, and . . . She didn’t know what. There wasn’t a backup plan.

  She twisted to look up at the royal box, but Prince Dar was too far away for her to see his face. She had no doubt that he’d schooled it into an empty expression—as royal-born, he’d know how to hide his emotions.

  She wondered if Augur Yorbel had watched the race and what he was feeling.

  “She ran well,” Tamra said. A slow start, but she’d compensated for it, taking the turns exactly as they’d practiced. She’d had enough speed in the final leg, but then that other kehok, the one shaped like a beetle with a hawk’s head . . . It had spurted forward as if burned. She didn’t think the creature had had that much left in reserve. Certainly its rider hadn’t looked like the kind who held back enough for a last push—he’d stormed full-speed out of his gate. She frowned, her face a mask of concentration as
she replayed the race in her mind.

  “It shouldn’t have happened that way.”

  The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was. That kind of rider with that kind of technique . . . he shouldn’t have had the strength for such a final burst of speed.

  She noticed a commotion near the finish line. Judges were on the sands, arguing with one another. The crowd near them was beginning to push and shove.

  “Ooh, a scandal!” Lady Evara said, delight in her voice.

  A second later, Tamra realized what she meant: a new flag was being raised and the old results flag was being lowered. Raia and the lion were first.

  “The hawk-beetle kehok cheated,” Tamra guessed. She’d been right—the rider hadn’t given his racer the extra push. The extra push must have come from his trainer, who, Tamra saw, was down on the sands, near the finish line, arguing with the judges.

  He must have found a way to position himself within the psychic shield. Tamra felt as if she could breathe again. Her knees felt wobbly as she plopped down onto a bench.

  “That was so exciting!” Lady Evara said.

  “One word for it,” Tamra agreed. Lucky was a better word.

  Standing, she looked for her rider. Raia had already disappeared into the stable. Tamra wasn’t sure she’d seen the change in results.

  “I feel breathless,” Lady Evara said. “What happens next?”

  “We go back to the royal stable, and prepare for the next race.” The first major race. If they could win enough major races, then they’d race in the final championship race. If . . . If . . . If . . .

  This was too close. We can’t let it get this close again.

  They’d had one lucky break. She was certain the River wouldn’t grant them another.

  It hadn’t granted that foolish child Fetran another.

  Lady Evara was eyeing her with a piercing look, and Tamra was reminded yet again that she was much more calculating than she acted. “Do you have ideas for ensuring the next race is less exciting? We have yet to have a solid win. It would be lovely to feel confident about our chances as we head into the majors. There are still a lot of races between us and the final championship race, and I don’t think my nerves can take this much excitement.”