The Beginning

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  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 sti
ll 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.

  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 t
he 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.