“Some situations in life are difficult to figure out, Jahrra. This is one of them, but I assure you, it won’t be your last.” Denaeh smiled, eyes glittering.
Jahrra looked up at the Mystic and smiled back weakly. “I know I have to take my chances, and I guess entering just as the race is beginning is the only chance I’ve got.” She sighed, and then asked, “But how can I make myself less obvious? I already run the risk of being disqualified by bursting in, how can I blend in with all the other noble Resai men? I don’t own any fancy riding clothes.”
Denaeh grinned once more and answered, “So, all you have to do is dress so that your head and face are covered. If I remember correctly, there is a grove of willows growing alongside a small canyon that opens up onto the beach. You can use the trees to hide behind just before the race begins. By the time the race is over and you have won, it won’t matter. They’ll disqualify you, there’s no doubt about that, but you would have beaten them anyways.”
Jahrra sighed heavily as she thought about the plan she and Denaeh had devised. It was a long shot, but there was no other way. She tried to spend the rest of the morning in the Black Swamp relaxing in the cool shade of the dark oaks, but by the time she was ready to leave, Jahrra felt just as nervous and perturbed as ever.
The afternoon sun blinked through the tall trees as Jahrra and Phrym made their way back towards the Castle Guard Ruin. She wanted to get Phrym home so he could rest up for tomorrow, and she knew she needed the rest as well. Jahrra felt relieved that she’d spoken with Denaeh, even though the Mystic hadn’t given her any easy answers. Sure, Jahrra now had a way to get into the race, but now she had a whole new set of obstacles to face.
To help disguise who she really was, Denaeh had lent her an old but finely-tailored plum colored cloak and a long scarf that would cover her entire head and face.
“It’s not a fancy riding cloak, but it is made of Aellheian silk, so it should do,” the Mystic had assured her.
Jahrra sighed deeply as they moved away from the forest, Phrym breaking into a faster pace across the rolling fields. With a little luck and the right timing, she might just be able to pull this off. When they finally reached the Ruin, Jahrra put Phrym into his stable and made sure he was comfortable, rubbing him affectionately on his velvety nose.
“Tomorrow morning is our day Phrym,” she said softly, “the day we have been training for for six months.”
Phrym simply twitched his dark ears and gazed at Jahrra with kind, smoky grey eyes. She patted him once more and walked briskly back to the old stone building she called home. She mumbled something about being tired to Hroombra and went straight for her room, her eyes trained on the floor the entire time.
As she lay in her bed that evening, trying desperately to fall asleep, Jahrra kept picturing herself charging past Eydeth up the steep slope of Demon’s Slide. She tried her best not to remember the dream she’d had several months ago; the dream where she and Phrym were left miles behind as the Resai men charged the steep hill onto victory. Jahrra squeezed her eyes tighter, and after several more minutes of tossing and turning she gradually fell into a troubled sleep.
Jahrra rose early to a morning draped in a fog so thick that she imagined it might be the closest thing to breathing water. Remembering why this particular morning was so important, she leapt out of bed and dressed quickly, her stomach twisting with anxiety as she pulled on her boots and tucked Denaeh’s robe and scarf into her bag. She grabbed some bread and cheese she’d hidden away from the night before and crept past the main room, careful not to disturb the snoring blue-grey mountain that was Hroombra. Even now, on the day of this daring scheme, Jahrra wouldn’t tell him what she was about to do. She just couldn’t face his disappointment before the race, and she couldn’t risk being stopped from going through with it, not after all that she’d done to get to this point.
Jahrra made her way towards Phrym’s small stable in the near darkness. When she was only fifty yards away he poked his head over the gate and let out a good-natured whinny.
“Shhhhhh!” Jahrra gestured dramatically. She quickly picked up her pace but kept low as she dashed across the field, trying to dodge the large tufts of wild grass and mountainous gopher mounds that littered the field.
After Phrym settled down, Jahrra saddled him and led him past the sleepy Ruin and onto the road. Just before sinking below the crest of the hill, she turned in the saddle and looked back at her home, hidden now within the mist like a worn headstone in a graveyard.
“I’m sorry Master Hroombra, but I have to do this,” she whispered.
She felt a small sadness welling up inside of her, but forced it to pass as Phrym let out a soft nicker. Jahrra quickly snatched up the reins and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Alright, Phrym, let’s win this for everyone those twins have ever bullied.”
Once they reached the bottom of the hill, she urged Phrym into a steady trot. They passed through the farmlands along the Aldehr River and Jahrra inhaled the cold, moist air, hoping that it would soothe her nerves. She closed her eyes against the thick fog, gladly welcoming the cool mist gliding past her skin like liquid silk. It reminded her of the Belloughs, and that thought comforted her. She listened to Phrym’s steady hoof beats and the melancholy song of an autumn bird resounding through the bleak morning.
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.