Race the Sands

by Sarah Beth Durst

  “Are you preaching to the poor and downtrodden now?” a light female voice said behind him. “You know the bejeweled crocodiles you typically read will be heartbroken.” He turned with a smile on his face—he knew that voice.

  “Gissa!” Without hesitation, he threw his arms wide. His old friend . . . and one of the high augurs. He remembered the latter only belatedly, lowered his arms, and bowed. “Your High Eminence.”

  She laughed and embraced him. “Don’t be ridiculous, Yorbel. I’ve missed you!” She then stepped back and surveyed him. “You have gray hairs in your beard.”

  He stroked it. “Does it make me look wise?”

  “Very wise,” she teased. She looked exactly the same as he remembered: pomegranate-round cheeks that always seemed to be smiling, silver braids twisted on the top of her head, and kindly brown eyes. She was the older sister he’d never had, the one who coached him through his studies when he was preparing for the augur tests, the one who teased him when he was acting too serious, the one he would trust with all his worries. Ever since the last emperor died, she’d been stationed in the western cities, helping to soothe the unrest. She’d had special training for unraveling sticky political situations and was frequently sent on missions by the high council. By the River, how I’ve missed her!

  “When did you get back?” he asked. Side by side, they began strolling toward the temple. Not too fast, because of the heat. Not too slow, because otherwise they’d be stopped by citizens with questions about their aura. Everyone knew augurs weren’t supposed to answer questions outside a formal reading, but everyone thought they’d be the exception. Ever since Emperor Zarin’s death, even before the transition period stretched on, the people had been anxious—his death seemed to have rekindled an awareness in Becarans of their own mortality, and the lines at the temple for readings had only grown.

  Yorbel wouldn’t have minded granting peace of mind to a few anxious citizens, a casual word here or there, like he’d done for the palace guard, except that he couldn’t promise it wouldn’t devolve into a mad rush for free readings. He knew the local guards wouldn’t appreciate it if he accidentally started a new riot in the streets. On the nearest street corner, a greenstone statue of a desert lion seemed to be staring at him reproachfully, as if critical of his thoughts.

  “Only this morning,” Gissa answered. “I decided to postpone the very exciting task of sorting my travel laundry and instead seek you out. I am hoping you’ll dine with me tonight? Fill me in on all that I’ve missed?”

  He wondered briefly how she’d known where to find him. The temple clerks knew about the summons, and all the temple guards saw him leave. It wouldn’t have been that difficult to deduce. “I can think of nothing I’d like better, except that I regretfully won’t be available.” As soon as he had all his affairs in order, he planned to begin his search. An idea occurred to him. “Gissa, since you’ve returned, I wonder if you’d do me a favor?”

  “Did you kill another houseplant? You know there’s such a thing as too much love. One of these days you’re going to drown a plant so thoroughly that I can’t coax it back to life.”

  “That’s not . . .” Well, truthfully, he had drowned another plant. It was only that they always looked so parched in the afternoon sun. “Yes, but I have some travel to do in the next few weeks, and I need someone to take over my readings.”

  “You? Travel? Where?”

  Yorbel made a face at her. “I travel sometimes.”

  Gissa gestured at a palm-tree-lined plaza. “The walk from the palace to the temple does not count as travel. Where are you going, and why?”

  He could have told her the truth. She was one of his oldest friends. Lies stain the soul, as was often said, especially lies between friends. But this . . .

  There was friendship, and then there were politics.

  It was better if the two were kept separate.

  “The emperor-to-be is displeased with our progress in the search for his brother, and since I am the face he knows best of the augurs . . . I feel a little distance from the capital would be prudent.” All he said was technically true, despite the implications.

  “The emperor-to-be is a fool to lose faith in you.”

  He appreciated her loyalty, though he wished he hadn’t predicated it with a lie. He reconsidered telling her the truth, but no, he’d promised discretion. He was not so naive as to think all actions were split neatly between right and wrong. You had to balance your intentions with potential consequences. The challenge of navigating that kind of moral ambiguity was precisely why people needed augurs to guide them. “It may be for the best. I haven’t walked the sands in far too long. My soul needs this to keep its balance.”

  “Wise of you to realize that,” Gissa said approvingly. “Then, to keep you from stagnation, I will happily do your scheduled readings. And save your plants.”

  “Thank you, Gissa. You are relieving me of much worry.”

  It occurred to him that he may need to tell many lies on his proposed journey. He wondered what the state of his soul would be at the end of it.

  Better a tarnished soul than a dead friend.

  He then buried that very un-augur-like thought deep within.

  “How was your meeting with the emperor-to-be?” Gissa asked.

  Yorbel knew he shouldn’t be surprised, since she’d obviously known where to find him, but still . . . It wasn’t as if the meeting itself was common knowledge to anyone but him and the student who had passed along the summons. He could have gone to the palace for any number of other purposes. “You’ve been back for mere hours, and you already know everything that’s going on with everyone. You have a talent, Gissa.”

  She laughed. “That’s the most polite way of saying ‘You’re nosy’ that I’ve ever heard.” Then she sobered. “Truthfully, Yorbel, how is our emperor-to-be?” She was treading closely to asking what they had discussed, which would have been an improper question. Confidentiality after consultation with an augur was customary and important. Also, it was law.

  Early on in their existence, augur readings had been public. But people had used their results as an excuse to persecute others, and so the first High Council of Augurs, in their wisdom, had limited readings and imposed strict rules of privacy. Of course, Gissa knows I can’t discuss details of my conversation with Dar, Yorbel thought. He gave her a true yet vague answer. “He loved his brother dearly and mourns him greatly.”

  Gissa nodded. “As is appropriate. But he cannot allow his emotions to interfere with his duties. Do you believe he is capable of setting aside his personal pain for the good of Becar?”

  He considered his answer carefully. He trusted Gissa, of course, but now that she had been raised to the top tier of augurs, to talk with her was to talk with all the high augurs. And there were some he wasn’t overly fond of, despite his respect for them and their integrity. In fact, his disagreement with some of their decisions was what had prevented them from inviting him to become a high augur, or so he had inferred. “I believe he wants to do his duty. But his brother’s death was unexpected. He will need time to come to terms with it.”

  “He may not have time.” Gissa was eyeing him more closely than Yorbel was comfortable with, as if she were trying to see what he wasn’t saying. He wished the conversation hadn’t shifted to politics. “Things are becoming more unsettled in the western cities with the passage of time, not less. As soon as the vessel for his late brother’s soul is found, Prince Dar will need to move quickly to restore stability.”

  “He will be ready,” Yorbel said, trying to put as much reassurance into his voice as possible. He hoped she’d believe him, and that she’d convey that to the council.

  “Will he? Is he aware of how far the empire could fall before he’s crowned? Soon, we will see an escalation of violence, as well as an increase in the threat from beyond our borders—”

  “You think it will come to violence?” He knew the courtiers were impatient—the guard had made that
clear—but he hadn’t known that such concern had spread throughout Becar. Sequestered in the temple most days, Yorbel didn’t have a feel for the mood of the bulk of the citizens.

  “I do,” she said seriously. “In some places, in small doses, it already has. We’re lucky it is nearly race season. The races will distract the commoners for a time. But once they end, I fear the worst. He will need to be coronated by the end of the floods and ready to rule, or steps will have to be taken. Do you understand my meaning, Yorbel? The high council will not allow Becar to devolve into riots and war. We serve the greater good.”

  That was . . . troubling. He thought of all the rumors he’d heard about Gissa’s “special training”—rumors he’d always denied, at least out loud. “Gissa, why are you asking these questions? Why did the high council summon you back?” He wasn’t certain he wanted to hear the answer.

  “In five weeks, when the races end, if the late emperor’s vessel has not been found or if Prince Dar is too distraught to accept his responsibilities, I will be the one to see the peace is maintained.”

  “You?” But she was speaking of . . .

  “Yes, Yorbel.” Her voice was gentle, as if she knew he’d understood what she meant and knew it would upset him. “It is my duty.”

  “But . . .” There were a thousand things he wanted to say. He looked into her eyes and saw only her resolve—and perhaps a hint of pity. “Only five weeks?”

  She looped her arm through his. “Much can happen in five weeks. Let’s talk of pleasanter things. Tell me of all I’ve missed in the temple.”

  Only five weeks to prevent one friend from being killed . . . and another friend from being his killer. He wondered if his idea to search the kehoks was a waste of time—time that neither Dar nor Gissa had. Maybe he should abandon it as a wild-goose chase and actually chase geese instead. Perhaps the late emperor had simply been missed in one of the initial sweeps. Yorbel was more powerful than most of the augurs tasked with the search. Perhaps if he were to become involved in the main search . . .

  But then no one would be checking the kehoks, and that lack of thoroughness could spell disaster.

  Wrestling with his thoughts, Yorbel strolled with Gissa, his old friend and the woman known in whispers as the holy assassin, back to the temple.

  Chapter 8

  Standard practice if you had both a new rider and a new racer: train them separately. Drill the basics into each of them first before you expose them to each other. Build up the rider’s strength. Accustom the kehok to the feel of obeying commands before you combine the two.

  There’s no time for standard, Tamra thought.

  She was lucky that Raia wouldn’t know the difference.

  Unlucky that the other trainers would, however. Especially Osir. He wouldn’t hesitate to share his opinions loudly and frequently, which could undermine Raia’s confidence. Which meant it would be best if they trained elsewhere.

  Arriving at the training grounds before dawn light had spread across the sands, Tamra barked at Raia to help her. Together, they hauled one of the racing carts out of its shed. Essentially a cage on wheels, it was used to transport kehoks to the races.

  “Back it up to the stables,” Tamra grunted. “By the River, it’s heavy.” Ugh, her back hurt worse than it usually did, but she couldn’t let Raia pull the cart by herself.

  Sweating, they dumped it by the stable door. Tamra opened the cage door, then the stable door. Inside, she was pleased to see that her killer hadn’t slaughtered any other kehoks in the night. His shackles had held. A small miracle, she thought.

  “Why couldn’t we have used this to get the lion off the ferry?” Raia asked.

  “It’s reserved for races,” Tamra said.

  Raia’s mouth dropped open. “B-b-but I thought the races didn’t start until—”

  “No races yet. We need it for practice, so we’re borrowing it. Or if you’d like to be technical about it, we’re temporarily stealing it while there’s no one here to tell us we can’t. Happy?”

  “Not really.” Raia glanced around them as if she expected a city guard to pop out from behind a pile of manure and arrest them. “Are the others going to be angry?”

  Tamra considered it. She didn’t care if they were, but Raia obviously did. “Honestly, they’ll be relieved we aren’t training here with them.”

  “We’re not?”

  Examining the lion, Tamra held up her hand to Raia. “Love questions. Inquisitive minds are excellent. But I need you to shut up so I can focus.”

  Raia shut up.

  Taking a deep breath, Tamra narrowed her attention on the black lion. “Got another cage for you,” she told him. She wasn’t taking any chances with partial focus when dealing with him. He could just be biding his time until she loosened his chains.

  His eyes flickered toward her. Pinned down tightly, he couldn’t move his head. Oh, sweet Lady. He hadn’t been able to reach food or water all night—a common technique used on kehoks that needed to be broken.

  Not common for me, Tamra thought.

  If she hadn’t been so wrapped up in worrying about Lady Evara’s ultimatum last night, she would have noticed he’d been chained too far from the water bucket and fixed it.

  She hauled a bucket of water inside the transport cage and then filled the food bin with meat from the shared supplies. She also strapped a barrel of water to the side of the cart for later. The other kehoks began to batter at their stall doors, eager to be fed as well, but she knew the other trainers’ students would be tasked with that job. “You’ll get yours later,” Tamra told them.

  She then opened the black lion’s cage and loosened his restraints. “Drink. Eat.”

  The black lion didn’t move, or even raise his head. Instead, he began to growl, a low rumble that sounded like distant thunder and grew until she felt it vibrate through the soles of her feet.

  “You’re hungry and thirsty,” she told him. “Stubbornness won’t cure that. Move.”

  She thought he was going to continue to resist, and she’d have her first battle of wills here before the day’s training even began. But, dragging his chains, he limped into the cage and began to drink. She closed and locked the door behind him.

  “How do we pull—” Raia began to ask.

  Tamra gave her a stern look. She then opened the cage with the rhino-croc kehok and guided him to the front of the racing transport. She hooked his chains to the shaft of the cart as if he were a horse hitched to a carriage. Climbing into the driver’s seat, she patted the bench beside her. Raia jumped up into the seat next to her.

  “Where are the reins?” Raia asked. “Oh. Sorry. No questions. I forgot.”

  Leaning back and putting her feet up, Tamra flashed her a grin. “No worries. But also—no reins.” She tapped her forehead. “Just this.”

  “But how—”

  “You might want to hold on,” Tamra advised. To the kehok, she commanded, “Go!”

  The rhino-croc charged forward, and the cart lurched away from the stable. Jostled, Raia grabbed on to the bench. Tamra tilted her head back to feel the kiss of dawn, as she aimed the rhino-croc toward the open desert.

  They thundered away from the training ground.

  Raia clung to the bench as the cart sliced through the sand. She’d wrapped a scarf around her face, leaving a slit for her eyes, as protection against the sting of the sand particles kicked up by the kehok’s hooves. But she still felt sand on her face. It coated her tongue, filled her nose, and sneaked down her neck beneath her clothes. She felt as if the desert wanted to swallow her.

  Aside from the times she’d watched the races, she’d never in her life been this far from the Aur River. Nearly everyone in Becar lived their lives within just a few miles of the river, only leaving the green swath of earth once a year to watch the Becaran Races out on the sands. So she’d only ever witnessed the desert as it looked when it was transformed by hundreds of people erecting viewing stands, pitching tents, and celebrating the turn
of another season. In her imagination and memory, the desert was a crowded place.

  Now, though, it was empty. Except for the sand. And the sky. Without all the trappings of the races, there was nothing to distract from the expanse of sky that stretched enormous above them. As the sun rose higher above the horizon, it bleached away the blueness, and the sand dunes around them changed from pink to a golden brown.

  I never knew.

  Legend said the desert was a gift from the sky to the earth. The constellations saw a lush, green world and wanted to shower it with their light, and so they sprinkled bits of stars. Those star bits became specks of sand, and where they fell, nothing grew. So much fell that the creatures feared it would extinguish all of existence. All the birds flapped their wings and all the animals blew to create wind to move the sand into one area. And then the warrior Aur cracked the world in the middle of the sand and created the mighty river. Or something like that.

  Raia’s father liked to tell that story as a cautionary tale for how even the best intentions can do harm, so why bother trying to be different from who you are? But that was the antithesis of how the augurs taught that story, and Raia was more inclined to believe them.

  Because there was definitely something about all the sand that made her feel as if she were looking at a sky full of stars. The desert shimmered so brightly that she squinted from the glare.

  At last, Trainer Verlas called to the rhino-croc to halt. He shuddered to a stop, his sides heaving and his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Trainer Verlas vaulted off the bench, unhooked the water barrel, and carried it to the kehok. She pried open the top so the kehok could drink the water inside. He began lapping it up as Trainer Verlas secured shackles around the rhino-croc’s legs so he wouldn’t be able to run.

  Raia climbed down from the bench. She’d been so tense holding on that her muscles were stiff. She felt like a piece of bent metal that needed to be straightened.

  “Ready?” Trainer Verlas asked her.