The Beginning

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  All of a sudden, Phrym no longer had wings and they began spiraling back to earth, the rushing wind making it hard for Jahrra to breathe. She expected them to hit the ground any moment, but they didn’t. Instead, they landed softly upon the sandy beach. Jahrra glanced behind her, hoping to see the other horses far off in the distance, but they weren’t there. She turned and looked down the beach, and far ahead of them she saw the large pack of racers. She and Phrym had been passed up, beaten by all of the Resai men, led by one young man dressed in goldenrod astride a brilliant white semequin.

  -Chapter Fourteen-

  The Great Race of Oescienne

  For the very first time in her life, Jahrra found the spring months much more miserable than they were enjoyable. As summer approached and the school year wound down, her mind became more and more overwrought with a multitude of troubles.

  First of all, she had school work and the twins to deal with; especially Eydeth’s nasty glares and comments because of what had happened at the cove. Secondly, she had Kruelt and Ethoen history with Hroombra, not so enjoyable now that everything she was reading and everything that Hroombra was telling her was in Draggish. Thirdly, she still had her defense lessons with Viornen and Yaraa on the weekends, and as soon as summer began she would once again be training every day.

  The one thing that bothered her the most however, was the thought of the Great Race of Oescienne. That day at the coves had caught Jahrra up in a determination she had never before experienced, a determination that was driving her on despite everything else that was wearing her down. She was going to run an arduous race in six months, and she was going to win it. Eydeth had finally pushed her over the edge, and this time she was going to hit him where it hurt most. She was going to play his game and beat him at it.

  Jahrra decided early on that as soon as school was finished for the year, she would be spending her every waking hour training with Phrym for the long race. That is, every waking hour not devoted to lessons with Hroombra, Viornen and Yaraa. As the summer days approached and slowly passed by, Jahrra made up excuse after excuse why she couldn’t spend more time with Gieaun, Scede and her other friends.

  “I have extra lessons with Master Hroombra,” she would grumble, or, “I have a new difficult maneuver I have to learn for defense lessons.”

  Gieaun and Scede were disheartened, but they knew how hard Jahrra was expected to work. It just seemed strange to them that, all of a sudden, she had absolutely no free time at all.

  “Maybe next week, then,” Scede would say begrudgingly.

  So that was how Jahrra’s summer passed; training with the elves during the day, struggling over Kruelt in the evenings, and racing Phrym across the beaches and up the dunes on her few days off. Before she knew it, summer came to a close and autumn was just around the corner. Jahrra now had only three months left before the race, and she found it harder than ever to concentrate on her school work.

  As the day of the race grew nearer, the boys in school became more and more enraptured in the discussion of it. This energetic talk made Jahrra realize that although she and Phrym would be more than ready for the challenging event, she really knew nothing at all about it. She immediately made up her mind to go about gathering information carefully.

  “But we have to make sure Gieaun and Scede don’t know what we are up to,” she told Phrym. “You know what they’d say about all of this.”

  Unfortunately, gathering information on the race itself was much more tedious than she had thought. She couldn’t just walk up to her classmates and casually start asking questions about an event she was previously not interested in. That would be far too suspicious. What Jahrra could do, however, was keep her ears open and listen carefully for any conversation that might have to do with the famous event. So, with the prestigious competition only a few months away, Jahrra took a mental deep breath and quietly delved into the secretive art of acquiring information, something she had plenty of experience in doing.

  She lucked out one day when Ellysian was strutting about the schoolyard bragging about how her brother was going to beat out all of the other contenders in the Great Race.

  “He’ll be the youngest one to enter, but our semequins are much finer than any of the other nags that will be running.”

  Jahrra’s ears perked up immediately and she stopped dead to listen carefully to Ellysian’s words.

  “What’s so great about this race anyway?” she asked a passing classmate in what she hoped was a slightly irritated tone.

  The older boy looked offended that Jahrra should ask such a question and replied, “Only the best athletes and semequins in all of Oescienne are allowed to enter, and only Resai men of the noble class for that matter.”

  He finished his statement rather pertly, looking Jahrra up and down with a scowl. He then turned and continued walking as if she hadn’t said a thing to him.

  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, a
nd 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!

  “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 awa
y 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.