Race the Sands

by Sarah Beth Durst

  Bearing her, the lion walked regally out of the campsite and toward the racetrack. The route was hemmed in by walls, but they were no higher than the walls at the practice track. She knew he could jump them if he wanted to.

  Don’t think about that, she warned herself.

  Beneath her, the lion began to growl, a low rumble that vibrated through her thighs. “Walk forward,” she told him. “One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four . . .” He walked in rhythm with her counting, so she kept it up.

  Logically, she knew the walk from the campsite to the racetrack wasn’t far. But it felt like miles. All around them were shouts and screams from the other riders and racers. She counted louder, trying to keep her lion focused as they waited for the first two races to finish.

  Other riders on their racers began to fill the holding area around her. She heard excited whispers and tried to ignore them. As the second heat finished, she heard Silar’s name called: second place! She felt a burst of happiness for her friend and leaned forward to whisper to the lion, “We’re next.”

  “You want some advice?” the rider next to her offered.

  Startled that anyone was speaking to her, Raia shot him a look.

  And then stared at the rider.

  He was, in a word, beautiful. High cheekbones, black eyes with thick lashes, perfect bronze skin. He wore red sleeveless leather, showcasing his muscles, and his hands were folded casually on the standard rider’s whip. He was riding a kehok that looked like a silver spider.

  It took Raia a moment before she realized that he was the one the others were whispering about. He didn’t seem to notice, either because he was oblivious or because he was used to it. She guessed the latter. “Sure,” she said belatedly. “Advice would be great.”

  “Don’t run.”

  “What?”

  He flashed a smile at her, showing off his perfect teeth. “It would be a shame to see a girl as pretty as you damaged out there.”

  Okay, he was now far less beautiful.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “It’s your first race, isn’t it? Pity it’s against me.” Leaning closer, he added, “Someone should have told you you’re not going to win.”

  Motionless beneath him, his kehok watched her with liquid-gold spider eyes.

  “You’re trying to get into my head and shake my confidence. It won’t work.” She had already doubted herself far more effectively than this stranger ever could, and she wasn’t letting any of it stop her.

  His eyes widened as if in genuine surprise. “It’s fact, not opinion. I’m Rider Gette.”

  As if she was supposed to recognize his name.

  “Nice to meet you, Gette. I’m Raia, and I’m going to win.”

  She nudged the lion ahead so she couldn’t hear his response.

  At last, the track officials scurried out and began beckoning the riders, shouting at them to get to their starting gates. Raia and the lion walked forward with all the other competitors onto the racetrack. In the stands, the spectators cheered.

  Raia had a moment of panic—she didn’t know which gate was hers. But then she saw Trainer Verlas in the stands. She was holding up eight fingers.

  Gate eight.

  She guided the lion into the gate and was relieved when he didn’t fight her.

  “All we have to do is run,” Raia said. “Just this moment. Just this race. Stay on the track. Cross the finish line. Be faster than everyone else.” Reaching forward, she stroked the cool surface of his mane. It felt as smooth as glass beneath her fingers. “We are faster than all of them. I know we are.” She’d run with her lion across the desert so fast that she’d felt as if they were flying. She knew he could be fast out in the desert. He just had to be fast now, in this moment. They both needed to drown out the distractions and just look forward. And then the future would follow.

  Pressed against the front of the stands by several layers of other trainers and assistant trainers, Tamra studied the racers as they entered the track. The winged lizard—he’d be fast but hard to control. The rhino-like kehok—dependable but slow. The cheetah-hyena—quick in short bursts. It would need a rider who knew how to pace it, and its rider was a kid who looked like an overeager jackrabbit. They’ll run out of speed before the last lap, Tamra judged. Certainly the petulant child Fetran wasn’t a threat. So far, Raia’s only real competition was a blue lizard. Its rider was older and calm, and she guided her kehok into the starting gate without any theatrics. We can outrun them, though. Then she studied Raia and the black lion.

  Maybe.

  The key wasn’t whether he could be fast; it was whether he would run fast here and now, when it mattered. That was what a rider needed to do: unleash her monster’s speed at exactly the right moment.

  And Raia hadn’t learned how to do that yet.

  She hadn’t had time to learn much of anything.

  Still, it was possible. The lion had the raw speed, and Raia had the determination.

  Around her, all the spectators surged to their feet as the final rider and racer took to the track. She recognized him instantly:

  Gette of Carteka, the winner of last year’s Becaran Races.

  He looked as she remembered: clean-shaven and handsome in the highly manicured way of a man who knows exactly how handsome he is. He was riding a silver spider kehok and wearing sleeveless riding armor that showed off his lack of scars.

  Shit.

  We aren’t going to win.

  If they didn’t place first, they wouldn’t win enough gold. She wouldn’t be able to repay Lady Evara for the slain kehok and still have enough left over for the augur’s latest demands. . . .

  But it was too late for more training or even a pep talk. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The future will be what it will be. She’d told Raia not to think about the future, but it was Tamra’s job to worry.

  And I won’t let our dreams end before they begin.

  Pushing back from the front of the stands, Tamra scanned the audience, looking not for a familiar face but for a familiar type—and she saw him. Short, squat, with a clipboard that he was scrawling on as fast as his little fingers could write, the bookie was busily taking bets from a crowd that shoved and maneuvered to reach him. She usually avoided such people.

  Elbowing aside several people, Tamra pushed her way to the bookie.

  “Name,” he said.

  “Trainer Tamra Verlas.”

  He glanced up. She felt the looks of a few around her—her name came with a wealth of rumors and gossip and opinions. “You want to bet? But . . . you have a rider in this race. . . .”

  She heard whispers around her—it was well-known in the circuit that Trainer Tamra Verlas never bet on her own racer. She refused to listen to them. I do what I must. “Odds?”

  The bookie erased the shock from his expression. All business, he barked, “New racer. New rider . . . thirty to one.”

  She nodded. She expected as much. Raia was untried. “Two gold on a trifecta: the silver spider first, the blue lizard second, the black lion third.”

  He blinked. Two gold was a lot for a qualifying race. And to bet on a trifecta in a qualifying round was nearly unheard of—the racers and riders were untested. Even more, to bet against your own rider . . . It was considered bad form at best. Stupid at worst. Racing was such a mental game, and if a rider knew her own trainer was betting against her placing first . . . I’m not betting she’ll lose, Tamra consoled herself. I’m betting she’ll place third.

  I’m betting she’ll win us what we need to keep going.

  If she was right, she could come home with enough winnings to appease both Lady Evara and Augur Clari, at least until the next race. . . . “Odds?”

  He licked his lips. “Two hundred fifty-seven to one. Only exact placement pays.”

  Tamra dropped the two gold pieces into his hand, and he quickly tucked them into one of his pouches and jotted down her bet on the clipboard. Others pressed around him to place their bets. She w
iped her now-sweating hands on her pants. She’d done what she always swore she wouldn’t do. Then again, she swore she’d keep Shalla out of the clutches of the augurs.

  One of those was much more pressing.

  She felt Osir’s eyes on her, judging her, a smug smile on his face. She avoided meeting his gaze. Let him think whatever he wants. She told herself she didn’t care what his opinion was. What mattered was Shalla and Raia.

  Pushing back to the front of the stands, Tamra looked out again at the starting gates. Raia was gazing around her with a caught-gazelle kind of expression. Third, Tamra thought. All she has to do is finish third.

  “Ready,” Tamra whispered, as the race official shouted, “Ready!”

  “Prepare,” she whispered, as the race official shouted, “Prepare!”

  “Race!” she shouted, as the race official and every trainer and spectator in the stands shouted, “Race!” A second official pushed the lever that released the starting gate doors. All twenty doors flung open, and the kehoks poured out, the silver spider in the lead.

  Sand was thrown into the air, and Tamra tasted it. She heard the shouts and screams and cheers all blended into a single roar, and she was cheering too. And crying. Because this felt like home.

  Wind slammed into Raia’s face. Sand flew around them. And she heard thunder. It rumbled through her, shaking her bones and permeating her every thought.

  In the desert, when she rode the black lion, there was silence. Here, twenty kehoks pounded around the track—the sound extinguished the roar of the wind and the cheers of the crowd. Gette on his spider had pulled ahead of the pack.

  “Run!” she urged the black lion. Run!

  Around her, the other riders were screaming at their kehoks, forcing them faster, faster. She saw them out of the corner of her eyes: bits of nightmares so very close around her. She felt the heat from their bodies as they ran. The smell of their sweat clogged the back of her throat.

  She wanted to escape them. She couldn’t help it. Every inch of her wanted out of here.

  As the other kehoks jostled against the black lion, slamming into Raia’s legs, she only felt it more strongly. Out, out, out, her blood thrummed. And the black lion faltered.

  In that moment, the other racers shoved past them.

  The black lion stopped in the middle of the track.

  Sand settled around them. The thunder receded as the racers rounded the corner. “Oh, no, no, no! You have to run!” Raia shouted at the black lion.

  He pawed the dirt and eyed the walls.

  The walls were much taller on this track than the practice track, and they were crowned with stands full of people. She met Trainer Verlas’s eyes. I’m disappointing her. I’m failing!

  She couldn’t fail. There was too much to lose. . . . Don’t think about the future. Think about now! “You want out of this race?” Raia shouted at her kehok. “Then win it! The only way out is through!”

  His muscles were quivering.

  She leaned forward to make certain the black lion could hear her. “You don’t want to run with them? Good. So don’t. Run beyond them!” The open sands were beyond the pack of racers.

  He heard her.

  Slamming the dirt beneath his paws, he began to run. Faster. She leaned against his mane and clung to him, her eyes straight ahead at the pack of racers. “Run through them!”

  Low to the ground, he shot forward. She heard the wind in her ears, displaced by the thunder of the other racers’ hooves. Ahead was a cloud of sand, and she urged him faster. She closed her eyes as they met the cloud and plunged inside. All around her she heard the screams, smelled the sweat, but she kept pushing him faster, faster.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a lizard snap at them, lunging with its jaws, and the black lion veered to the side, bashing against another kehok, then running on. Raia kept her body scrunched as small as possible, shielded by his metal mane. Head down, she focused only on the sand before them.

  They passed another racer, then another, and then another. The pack of kehoks smashed together behind them as they rounded the next turn of the track.

  Four more ahead of them.

  She could see the finish line, the flags waving above it, red against the blue sky, murky through the cloud of sand. They passed another racer. And then another.

  Ahead there were only two left: a silver spider and a blue lizard.

  “You’re faster,” Raia told the black lion. “Show them you’re faster!”

  His muscles strained as he pushed faster. And in that instant, Raia felt what Trainer Verlas had been telling her about over and over: the moment. She felt as if every inch of her skin was aware—of the lion beneath her, the clothes against her skin, the sand pelting her cheeks. She saw every color at once, heard every noise. In those precious seconds, there was nothing but the race. She and the black lion were flying across the sands, part of the wind, part of the world. And she knew they could not lose. . . .

  Until the silver spider crossed the finish line first, followed by the blue lizard. And the black lion, with Raia—destroyed, distraught, disgraced—thundered across the finish line in third place.

  Officials swarmed the racetrack and around the kehoks. Assistant handlers leaped onto the sands and raced to their assigned racers. Shackles were attached, chains looped around the monsters while the kehoks fought, fueled by the exhilaration of the race and their desire to kill.

  It was chaos, but a controlled kind of chaos—race officials always ensured that the kehoks were stabled as quickly as possible, to minimize any chance of accidents.

  On the black lion, Raia saw it all swirl around them. The lion’s sides were heaving, but he wasn’t fighting her like the others were their riders. We lost. She felt numb. If they hadn’t stopped, if she hadn’t lost focus . . .

  A rider knocked into her shoulder, hard. She nearly slipped off the saddle, and then a hand caught her elbow. She pulled herself back up and looked over into Gette’s smiling face.

  “Told you I’d win. Better quit while you’re not dead. You’re not thirsty enough for this.”

  He winked at her, released her elbow, and let himself be swallowed by the adoring crowd. A second later, Trainer Verlas was beside her.

  “Get off and help me chain him,” Trainer Verlas ordered.

  Raia blinked at her. “I don’t want to quit.”

  “Good. I didn’t think you did.”

  “I felt it,” Raia told her. “At the end. No future, no past, exactly like you said. But it was too late. I was too late.”

  Trainer Verlas nodded and held out a hand to help her slide down. “Focus on your lion now. Keep him calm. Keep yourself calm. The aftermath of a race can be even more dangerous than the race itself, especially once the racers are exposed to the emotions of the crowd.” She slapped the hook of a chain onto the lion’s collar. “Muzzle him.”

  Obediently, Raia slipped the chain muzzle over the lion’s face. He didn’t fight her. “You ran well,” she told him. “It’s not your fault. I failed you.”

  “You’ll do better next time,” Trainer Verlas said briskly.

  Raia shook her head. “There isn’t going to be a next time, remember? I want to race again, but we can’t. This was it. We had to win. You told me so yourself. Lady Evara—”

  “You placed third,” Tamra said. “That’s good enough for your first race.”

  “But Lady Evara said—”

  “She said I had to repay her for the slain kehok with our winnings. And third was enough for that.” Tamra shook a pouch clipped to her belt, which Raia looked at with surprise. “Let’s discuss what went wrong, and what you’re going to do next time.” Together, they led the lion across the fields toward the campsite.

  Raia didn’t know what to feel. Confusion. Relief. How would the winnings from third place at a qualifying round possibly be enough to satisfy Lady Evara? And the augurs for Shalla? And her parents? “But how . . .”

  “You weren’t going to win that ra
ce. You will win the next—you can still qualify for the major races if you win your second qualifying race. It’s best of two that determines placement. But to have that chance, I had to do it.” Trainer Verlas took a deep breath, then confessed, “I bet against the present so we can have a future.”

  Raia realized that Trainer Verlas was looking at her anxiously, as if she were worried. Trainer Verlas so rarely looked worried. It was a strange expression on her face: the crinkle in her forehead, the extra-hard grip on the kehok’s chains. She’d heard that trainers didn’t bet on their riders, at least the good ones didn’t, the ones who trained champions. “You placed a bet? Against me?”

  The lion made a lilting kind of sound, a query at the end of his growl.

  Maybe I should be offended. But I wasn’t going to win that race—it was my first. She did the right thing. Raia met the lion’s golden eyes. She knew she was imagining it, but she thought he looked as worried as Trainer Verlas. Worried about me? The thought almost made her smile. “It’s okay. This is good,” she said to both the lion and Trainer Verlas. “It means we’ll get another chance.”

  She knew it wasn’t possible, but he seemed as if he understood. While all the other kehoks fought their riders and racers as they were shoved back into their cages, the lion walked docilely inside his cage and lay down, paws crossed in front of him. She climbed into the cage with him and sat in the corner. “And next time, we’ll outrun them.”

  He growled as if in agreement.

  Chapter 13

  After Raia climbed into the cage with her racer, Tamra hitched the rhino-croc kehok to the transport cart. She was aware she was smiling, which probably looked alarming to anyone close enough to see, but she didn’t care. That could have been a disaster, and it wasn’t! She’d happily celebrate a non-disaster.

  “Well run,” Osir said from behind her.