Race the Sands

by Sarah Beth Durst

  Outside, Trainer Verlas had a mug of mint tea in her hand. She thrust it into Raia’s hands. “You talk in your sleep.”

  At least that meant she’d slept more than she’d thought she had. “I’m sorry. Did I say anything embarrassing?”

  “Only every deep, dark secret you’ve ever had.” Trainer Verlas flashed her a rare smile. “You called for your lion a few times. But nothing coherent. He’s fine, by the way.”

  At least that was a relief, on both counts.

  “You’re slated to run in the third major race of today. Get yourself some breakfast, and try not to let the crowds freak you out. Or the word ‘major.’ It’s just a race. No more or less important than any other.”

  Which was to say, Raia translated, vitally important.

  “Thanks for the tea.” She checked on her kehok again. He’d quit pacing and was sitting motionless, watching dawn spread across the bustling camp. It was beginning to fill as riders and racers poured in from up and down the Aur River, converging for the main races.

  She ducked into the washroom, sponged herself down, and dressed before seeking out the communal breakfast, served by the race organizers. She was halfway to a pyramid of pastries when she heard a familiar voice:

  “You made the majors!”

  Raia turned to see Jalimo jogging up to her. He was followed by Algana. Catching up, Algana panted, “We saw the standings and were so happy for you. Shocked too. Because, well, you kind of forgot to turn when we ran together.”

  “Good to see you,” Raia said. “Where’s Silar?” For a moment, she flashed to an image of the dead boy’s face, Fetran. Not Silar.

  “Why? Did I stick my foot in my mouth again?” Algana said. “I did, didn’t I. Silar is usually the one to point that out.”

  Jalimo pointed at the fruit table, where Silar was peeling a mango. She waved when she saw Raia looking at her. Raia waved back. “How were your qualifiers?”

  “Pretty excellent,” Jalimo said. “At least for them. Silar is racing against you. Algana’s in the fifth major race today. And I’m in the minors.”

  “There’s no shame in the minors.” Algana patted his shoulder.

  Drifting over to join them, Silar bit into her mango and wiped a bit of juice from her cheek. “Think of the benefits, Jalimo: there’s more time to relax when everyone knows you’ve already lost.” She winked at Raia as Jalimo sputtered.

  “I’m racing you?” Raia asked Silar. She liked it better when her competitors were nameless strangers. Fetran, she thought again. She wished she didn’t know his name. What if that happened to Silar or Algana or Jalimo? Or me?

  Algana jumped in. “She’d appreciate it if you ran straight off the track again.”

  Silar elbowed her. “No, I wish you all the best in our race. May you soar swift as an eagle across the finish line.”

  Raia looked at her for a moment. Silar held her pious expression.

  And then they both burst out laughing. Jalimo and Algana joined in. “You just . . . hopped over the wall . . .” Jalimo said, laughing. He mimed the action of the lion.

  Raia finished, “And kept running. Straight into the desert.”

  Catching her breath, Silar said, “Seriously, I do want you to do well.”

  “Me too,” Raia said. And she meant it. “So long as you come in second, and I’m first.” She smiled, because she meant that too.

  A hand landed on her shoulder, and Raia twisted to see Gette smiling at all of them. “First or second, what does it matter? Raia here will win on a technicality anyway. It’s her style.” He laughed, but none of them joined in. “I’m Rider Gette. A pleasure to meet more of my fellow competitors.”

  “Whoa,” Jalimo said.

  “He’s Jalimo,” Algana said quickly. “I’m Algana. And she’s Silar. You know Raia?”

  “Old race buddies,” Gette said. To Raia, he said, “You’ll be happy to hear you won’t be facing me in any of the initial races. Fate has spared you. Our schedules don’t coincide. But I’ll be rooting for you. So I can beat you and your lion again in a later race.” He patted her shoulder and then drifted off. A flock of other riders clumped around him, asking for his advice, his opinion, or just his attention.

  Raia and her friends stared after him.

  “Changed my mind,” Silar said. “You have to win our race. So you can kick his ass later.”

  “Riders up!”

  The race official’s voice trumpeted across the holding area, and Raia mounted her lion. She felt oddly calm. The chaos—the screams of the kehoks, the cheers from the spectators in the stands—was blending together into a blanket of sound that wrapped around her. She breathed in. And out.

  Urging her kehok forward, she rode him to the starting stall.

  Silar was two stalls down, on her silver dog kehok. As she eased her monster in, it bucked. Raia opened her mouth to cry out as Silar was thrown backward, caught herself on the wall of the stall, and steadied her beast.

  The lion let out a growl. Leaning forward, Raia stroked his mane. “She’s got this. Concentrate on us. Silar will be fine.” She knew she was talking more to herself than to the kehok. Her friend seemed to have control of her kehok now.

  “Ready!” the race official called.

  Raia focused on the track beyond the starting gate. She breathed in, tasted the sand that already filled the air, the stench of the kehoks, the sweetness of the garlands of jasmine that decorated the spectator stands.

  “Prepare!”

  She didn’t look at the stands. She knew Trainer Verlas was there. Most likely Prince Dar. She didn’t want to know if her parents were there as well. Or Gette, watching and hoping she’d fail. Or hoping she’d win so he could beat her later, as promised.

  “Race!”

  The stall gates were flung open, and the kehoks surged forward.

  Raia felt the wind hit her face. Sand flew into the air. Leaning forward onto the lion’s mane, she saw only the track in front of her. His paws ate into it.

  He rammed his shoulder against a red lizard kehok, and the reptile snapped at him. Her lion dodged, claiming the inside line. He raced past a long-legged kehok with a rider who was whipping him nonstop. Ahead was Silar’s silver dog, slowing to take the turn.

  Her kehok sped up. Pushing against the turn, they flew past Silar.

  Behind her, Raia heard a commotion: kehok screams, shouts, but it faded into the blanket of sound. She heard only the lion’s paws on the sand, her breath heavy and fast, and the whistle of the wind. She felt as if she were flying across the desert, alone with her lion.

  Ahead was the finish line, marked with black paint on the sand. Race officials flanked it. Beyond she saw the spectators, cheering and screaming, and she let the sight of them flow into her.

  Faster, she thought.

  And the lion ran faster.

  He burst across the finish line. First. Definitively first. No technicality this time.

  Raia pumped her fists into the air and turned as the race officials descended on her to chain her kehok. She expected to see Silar on her silver dog barreling across the finish line after her, in second, but instead she saw a crab kehok, a giraffe with a wolf’s head, a scaled rhino . . . “Silar. Where is she?” she asked the closest race official. “She rode a silver dog kehok.”

  “Two racers are down,” the race official said. “Accident on the track. Congrats on your win.” He moved on to the next kehok.

  Raia slid off the lion’s back as Trainer Verlas appeared, taking the lion’s chains. She was talking, but Raia didn’t hear. She walked toward the track, feeling numb. Her own heartbeat felt louder than the roars of the crowd. She should have asked how bad an accident. Broken bones. Just a fall.

  Silar’s fine, she told herself. She has to be.

  The medics jogged toward the finish line, carrying a stretcher between them, and Raia broke into a run. She stumbled on a divot in the torn-up track, but caught herself and ran to the side of the stretcher.

  Sila
r lay on it, her face twisted in pain.

  “You’re alive!” Raia said. She almost wept.

  “Can’t feel my legs,” Silar whimpered. “Why can’t I feel my legs?”

  “You’ll be all right,” Raia said, reaching for her hand. Their fingers touched, but the medics didn’t slow. They brushed past Raia, hurrying Silar to the healer’s tent.

  Raia stood alone on the track as people swirled around her, congratulating her, urging her to move along and make way for the next race. She looked up at the stands and saw Prince Dar looking down at her, with a beautiful silk-clad woman beside him. He raised his hand at Raia and smiled in approval.

  Turning away, Raia wanted to vomit.

  Chapter 23

  At dawn, before the next day’s races began, Trainer Limra, a squat woman who sweated profusely, approached Tamra to apologize and rant about the unsafe locks—she swore she’d triple-checked the shackles on her kehoks the prior day.

  “Luckily, all the kehoks survived,” Tamra said, even though it hadn’t been luck. She eyed the other trainer, watching her reaction. By now, the stable guards would have finished their reports to the committee, and a formal investigation would have been opened. If she were being uncharitable, Tamra would have suspected that Limra was apologizing because an investigation had been opened. “Accidents happen.”

  “Yes, they do!” Limra said enthusiastically.

  I am uncharitable. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to prep my rider for today’s races.”

  “Of course,” Limra said, heaving a sigh of relief. She’d probably expected Tamra to rage at her like a lot of trainers would have, but Tamra had no interest in expending the energy. Whether it truly had been an accident, the black lion was safe now. Another night had come and gone without any problems, and Tamra had even allowed herself to catch some sleep. Then Limra added, “I knew you would understand, after what happened at last year’s finals.”

  Tamra bristled. “Oh? Have we met before?”

  “Our riders raced together last year. As you said, accidents happen.” She then hurried off toward the stable.

  Watching her waddle away, Tamra swore under her breath. As if we didn’t have enough problems. She would bet large sums of gold that Limra’s rider had died in that race, at the teeth of Tamra’s kehok.

  At least the racing commission would see to it that Trainer Limra wouldn’t get another chance to sabotage any more stalls. Whether she was found guilty or not, she’d be watched closely for the rest of the season.

  And I’ll be watching too.

  Because Trainer Limra might not be the only one with a grievance.

  Not wanting to worry her, Tamra didn’t say a word about it to Raia. She helped her dress in her riding uniform, helped her secure the kehok saddle, and then kept an eye on her as she guided the lion to the starting gate.

  Raia was unusually quiet too. But she didn’t seem distracted. In fact, the opposite. She seemed determined.

  “Everything all right?” Tamra asked.

  “Should it be?”

  Tamra considered that for a moment. “No. But are you ready to race?”

  “Yes.”

  She said it with such surety that Tamra didn’t doubt her.

  Checking over the saddle one last time, Tamra turned away. Raia’s voice stopped her: “Silar might not ever walk again.”

  Tamra ran through names in her head, trying to connect the name Silar to a face. Ah, yes, one of the other riders from their training ground—one of the three who always palled around together and seemed to have adopted Raia into their little group.

  “I’m running for her,” Raia said. “Because she won’t ever have this again.”

  Tamra considered and discarded a dozen different responses—platitudes about her friend, wisdom about the arbitrary whims of fate, advice on how to work through the pain Raia felt. Instead, she simply said, “Good. Run for Silar. And for all of us.”

  The race official called, “Riders up!”

  Joining the others, Raia and the lion proceeded to the starting gates.

  Tamra felt the stares as she climbed into the viewing box beside the racetrack. Word of yesterday’s kehok “incident” in the stable had spread, combined with reports of the lion’s win in their first major race, making her and Raia a significant point of interest. Tamra wondered if any of the spectators suspected the incident wasn’t an accident—she doubted it. From the snippets of conversation she overheard, most were discussing the fact that she’d controlled three kehoks and stopped it from becoming a catastrophe. She didn’t linger long enough to be able to tell if they were impressed or appalled, and she didn’t care which it was, so long as there weren’t any more attacks on her racer. What was more important, and satisfying, was that the odds on Raia and the lion had improved.

  As the racers positioned themselves in their starting gates, Lady Evara sidled through the crowd to join Tamra. “I heard you had some excitement yesterday, in addition to our protégé’s first major win.”

  Tamra didn’t take her eyes off Raia. “I need you to ask Prince Dar for guards for the kehok. Trustworthy ones. The racing commission won’t supply extra guards for privately held kehoks, and I won’t hold the lion in the public stalls.”

  “Sounds like a necessary expense,” Lady Evara said. “Consider it done.”

  “Good,” Tamra grunted.

  On the track, the race officials shouted:

  “Ready!”

  “Prepare!”

  “Race!”

  The kehoks shot out of the starting gate.

  Raia and the lion burst into the lead.

  She ran with a fire and passion that was beyond anything Tamra had seen her use. “At last,” Tamra murmured. Somehow, while she’d been worrying about attacks and sabotage, Raia had discovered something it often took riders years to discover: how to convert pain into power, and powerlessness into strength. “She’s going to win again.”

  “How can you tell?” Lady Evara asked. “She’s not even at the turn!”

  “She’ll win.”

  “I’m placing another bet.”

  By nightfall, the requested guards were waiting for them at the camp, along with Augur Yorbel, to Tamra’s surprise. He bowed to Raia. “Congratulations on your win today.”

  “He ran fast,” Raia said modestly. “I just let him do what we both wanted to do.”

  He waited while Tamra helped Raia secure the lion in his cage, and then she shooed Raia into the tent to bathe, eat, and sleep.

  “So I’m fairly certain it was attempted murder,” Tamra said without preamble.

  Yorbel startled. “You mean . . .”

  “I’ve no proof, but thank you for the guards.”

  “The emperor-to-be has enemies,” Yorbel said, considering it.

  “So do I, apparently.” She told him about the trainer Limra. “I could, of course, just be paranoid. It would be an enormous risk to plan such a thing—the race commission will investigate, and if they find her guilty, she’ll be barred from racing for life. I can’t see how the risk would be worth the revenge, if her only motive was last year’s race.”

  “She could have been hired by the emperor-to-be’s enemies, chosen because of her history with you.”

  “Gold plus revenge?” Tamra nodded. It was plausible. “In that case, I’m doubly thankful for the loan of the guards.” The four soldiers from the palace had taken up position on each corner of the kehok cage. It was ostentatious, but hopefully, everyone would assume that the emperor-to-be was just overzealous about his return to racing and extra anxious after the incident in the stable. She doubted anyone would suspect the truth.

  With a groan, she lowered herself onto the bench next their firepit. The fire was embers, so she tossed a log onto it. Flames shot up, and the fire ate at the edge of the bark.

  Yorbel sat next to her. “My augur friends do not understand my obsession with this year’s races. Sometimes I don’t either. I cannot help but wonder if this is the best
path.”

  “She won again,” Tamra pointed out. “If she keeps this up, she’ll be in the championship race.”

  He sighed. “I thought my involvement in this would be over by now.”

  “I asked for guards,” Tamra said. “I didn’t ask for you.”

  He laughed. “That was blunt. I know you didn’t. Dar requested I accompany the guards. He wants my assessment of the situation.”

  “And your assessment is you don’t like lying to your friends, and you worry about whether this will work?” she guessed.

  He stared into the flames, as if the tiny sparks of fire held the key to unanswered questions. “I have devoted my life to the study of ethics. Read countless volumes on morality and the betterment of the soul. Engaged in discussions with the wisest minds. Spent hours in contemplation. Only to face reality and be unsure if I have made the correct choices. Again and again, I find myself in situations where there are no good choices. How does one live a moral life and still live in reality?”

  “You know, I never thought I’d be in a position of counseling an augur on morality, but here goes: You’re doing the best you can with the crappy dice you rolled. Sure, when the options are choose right from wrong, there’s an obvious way to act. But when the choices are just ‘better’ or ‘worse’?” She patted his knee. “You’re doing fine.”

  He met her eyes, and a faint smile touched his lips. “Shockingly, that makes me feel better.”

  “Frankly, I don’t worry about the state of my soul,” Tamra said. “I worry about whether the ones I love are safe and happy. What happens to me after I’m dead . . . I won’t remember who I was or anything in this life, so what does it matter?”

  “You would give my colleagues fits if you said that to them,” Yorbel said.

  Tamra massaged her neck. She’d been tense all day, and her muscles were aching as punishment. “You’re not having fits.”