Further casual inquiry and careful eavesdropping provided Jahrra with the rest of the information she needed. She learned that the race was only held every twelve years, and that the participants had to be at least sixteen years of age in order to take part. They also had to be male, Resai, and members of the noble class, and they could only ride a semequin, not a horse. The event took place the weekend after Sobledthe, and began a few miles south of Toria Town, ending in a strenuous climb up Demon’s Slide, a rather steep hill that was covered in wind-strewn dune sand. No one could tell her exactly how long the race was; one boy insisted it was twenty five miles, while another said it couldn’t be more than fifteen. It was no wonder only semequins were allowed to enter; any other horse might drop dead from exhaustion.
Why does this have to be so difficult? Jahrra thought infuriatingly. She was sixteen, which made her old enough to participate, but she was female and definitely not a Resai noble. She did have one thing going for her however; she had Phrym. Jahrra wasn’t at all worried about someone catching him as an imposter. He was a semequin, and he was more than worthy of being in the race. It was disguising herself that Jahrra was most concerned about.
After spending weeks secretly unveiling the mystery of the Great Race, Jahrra now had something new to consider. She had to figure out a convincing way to get into the event, and she had to do it fast. In the meantime, she took her frustration out in her defense lessons, something that her elvin tutors found quite astonishing.
“Jahrra, I can’t believe how much you’ve improved in the last month, what’s driving this determination?” Viornen had commented one day, out of breath after a fencing bout that had produced him as the loser. Jahrra had never once beaten him before.
“It’s just pent up stress from studying for the upcoming winter exams,” she lied.
Jahrra’s training was definitely going very well, and she was rather pleased with her own progress, despite her qualms about the race. She didn’t have the entrance fee, something she’d learned about the other day from another one of Ellysian’s smug remarks. There was no way she’d ever save enough even if she had all the time in the world. On the verge of panic, Jahrra now spent her time thinking frantically of ways to find the large sum of money in so short a time.
“Maybe I can sell the compass I found at the Eight Coves,” she told Phrym.
He merely whickered quietly and nudged her with his nose, hoping she had a few apples hidden somewhere for him to find.
“Or maybe I could raise some money by selling the rare herbs and mushrooms that grow in the Black Swamp.” She shook her head, trying to erase the thought. “No, I can’t do that. Then Hroombra would find out that I’ve been in the Wreing Florenn, and it might get Denaeh into trouble.”
Jahrra ran her hands through her hair, as if doing so would squeeze the troubles out of her mind. She thought of asking Denaeh, whom she hadn’t visited in months, but for some reason she felt she couldn’t tell anyone of her plan to enter the race, not even the Mystic.
One week went by, and then another. Before long it was only two weeks until the Great Race, and Jahrra still hadn’t figured out how she would enter. Gieaun and Scede had noticed that she seemed a little more stressed of late, and asked what the matter was. Jahrra only shrugged and said that she was worried about mid-term exams. This excuse was partially true, and she hoped it would be something Gieaun and Scede would accept. She felt guilty about the way she’d been neglecting her friends of late, but she still couldn’t tell them about what she was planning, and she was never going to. They would never allow it, and this time she knew they would do something to stop her.
After nearly six months of hard work and constant anxiety, Jahrra finally relented in her training and took a break to enjoy Sobledthe. Once again she and her friends went into Lensterans, but this time they stayed behind in town and didn’t take part in the scavenger hunt. Jahrra didn’t want to take the chance of running into Eydeth and his mischief-makers again, and she definitely didn’t want to see if that stranger was still lurking around in the woods.
With all that had occupied her mind lately, Jahrra had almost forgotten about what had happened to her at the last Sobledthe Eve celebration. Once in Lensterans, however, the memory came flooding back. Every time someone in the costumed crowd walked by in a dark, hooded cloak, she would shrink away, her heart pounding in her ears. The festival had been enjoyable, but it had done nothing for her frazzled nerves. Until she found a way to get into the race, there would be no rest.
Two days before the long awaited contest, Jahrra was still without a plan to sneak in. Luckily, school had been canceled so that everyone could witness this grand event, and she could spend the day trying one last time to come up with a solution to her plight. As the day progressed and Jahrra still had no answers, she knew that the time for desperation was at hand. By the next morning, the day before the race, she felt she had only one choice left. She had to seek out help from someone, and Denaeh was the only person she could trust.
Jahrra arrived early in the Belloughs the next morning, riding Phrym through a thick autumn fog that matched his coat so well. Denaeh welcomed them warmly, like she always did, scolding Jahrra for letting so much time pass between visits. Jahrra gazed down at her, claiming she had been extremely busy, hoping the Mystic didn’t notice the grimace in her smile.
After they had settled around a fresh fire and Jahrra had her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea, Denaeh got right to the point, “Why don’t you just tell me what you’re planning to do tomorrow, I’d like to hear it with my ears and not just my mind.”
Jahrra didn’t even flinch. She was so used to Denaeh’s ability to know exactly what she was thinking that it no longer shocked or surprised her.
“You are planning to run in the race,” Denaeh said, setting her cup down and rising. “That is why you came here, isn’t it? To ask for my help?”
“Yes,” Jahrra breathed with a mixture of relief and anxiety, “I need to find a way to enter. And I’ve spent all summer training for it, so don’t even try to talk me out of it!”
“Child! I wouldn’t dream of it!” the Mystic said in mock-astonishment, hand pressed to her heart. “Anyone who is acquainted with you knows that once you put your mind to something, you go on through with it. I’m here to make sure you go about doing it the right way.”
Denaeh smiled, and Jahrra suddenly felt ten times better.
“Luckily,” she continued without further delay, pushing her flame-red hair out of her face, “I’ve been to a few of these races before. One advantage is that the start is so confusing and noisy that if you stay hidden amongst the hills and brush above the starting line, and if you time it just right, you can run Phrym right into the whole bunch just as the signal is given to start.”
Jahrra stared, unblinking, up at Denaeh. Charge right in at the very beginning of the race, just like that? Would anyone see her and stop her? She took a deep breath and lowered her gaze.
“It sounds too easy, but I guess it is possible.” Jahrra raised her eyes. “What about the fact that I’m a girl and that an entrance fee is required?”
Denaeh smiled, that all-knowing smile Jahrra was so used to. “Do you think that even if you win, entrance fee or not, they would give you the prize?”
Jahrra saw what Denaeh was saying, and dropped her shoulders in a sulk. Sure I don’t care if I win the money or not, and of course they wouldn’t give it to me, she thought with a furrowed brow, but it’s still going to be very difficult to enter that race. Someone is bound to see me riding up on Phrym!