“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 the 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.