The River of Sand

by Kobe Bryant

  “Pretia!”

  Rovi was shaking her awake. “It’s time.”

  She could have slept for hours—even days. Instead, Pretia pulled herself to her feet, shook her head, arms, and legs, and followed Rovi off the van.

  “Just walk in like you own the place,” he said.

  “How about we jog in?” Pretia said.

  “Or run?”

  They took off, down the line of vans and coaches. They waved at the guards like they had every right to be entering the Crescent Stadium, which they did. They dashed past athletes preparing for their heats, coaching their friends, warming up and cooling down. Pretia could hear a voice coming over the stadium’s megahorn announcing the start of the upcoming heat—their heat. She heard the announcer thunder, “From Ecrof Academy: Vera Renovo, Eshe Sonos, Rovi Myrios, and Pretia Praxis-Onera.” She heard applause followed by silence.

  Once more the announcer introduced her team, “From Ecrof Academy: Vera Renovo, Eshe Sonos, Rovi Myrios, and Pretia Praxis-Onera.” The silence from the stands was deafening. She and Rovi picked up their pace.

  “Last call for Vera Renovo, Eshe Sonos, Rovi Myrios, and Pretia Praxis-Onera. Runners line up.”

  As the announcer finished speaking, Pretia and Rovi burst onto the field and raced to the starting line, where Vera and Eshe were waiting. At their appearance, the strangled tension in the stadium evaporated, and the Dreamers in the stands burst into applause.

  “Phew,” Vera said. “Let’s get into position. I’ll lead off, then Eshe. Rovi will run third. Pretia, you clean up. We need you to run last in case we fall behind. We just need a top four finish in our first two heats to make the finals. But that’s no reason to hold back.”

  The four of them put their hands together and fist-bumped.

  “We got this,” Pretia said. But she was nervous. What if she was too tired to do her part?

  “Racers, take your places.”

  Rovi pulled Pretia to the side. “Don’t think. Don’t look in the stands. Don’t worry. Just run.”

  “I got it,” Pretia said. She was less worried about her mind than about the fatigue in her limbs.

  Vera crouched into the blocks. Eshe, Rovi, and Pretia stood off to the side, readying for their turn with the baton. Eshe jogged in place as Vera crouched down alongside the seven other leadoff runners in their heat.

  The starter’s horn sounded. Vera was off. She seemed calm and confident as she sprinted down the track. At the halfway point she had a clear edge over the other runners. The officials had whisked the blocks away, in preparation for the next leg of runners. Eshe got into place and starting jogging while looking over her shoulder for the handoff.

  Vera passed the baton to Eshe, letting go at just the right moment—and Eshe raced away. Three-quarters of the way around the track, she was passed by a Realist from Dynami who handed off to his teammate first.

  Rovi was in third place when he received the baton. Pretia readied herself. She began to focus as she watched Rovi round the track. If he pulled into the lead, there was a chance, despite her overall exhaustion, that Pretia could race without exerting herself fully. She knew she needed to conserve energy for the later, more competitive heats. It was a risk, but one she felt she had to take.

  At the 300-meter mark, Rovi’s quick feet had put him in second place. Pretia began her jog and held out a hand behind her. The baton hit her palm just after the Dynami Realist to her left received his.

  She ran, the stadium a blur around her. She tried to focus on her form, on making herself as aerodynamic as possible. She was aware of the heaviness in her legs and the raw scraping in her lungs with each breath. But she was moving and not losing ground. At the halfway point she was still behind the Dynami runner. A hundred meters more and she could rest.

  Pretia could feel her legs slowing and a tightness in her back, probably the result of carrying all the Star Stealers. As she tried to lean into the final turn, her rhythm broke. Her steps grew erratic. Just before she crossed the finish, a Realist from Aquiis passed her, pushing Pretia into third.

  She staggered to a stop, then doubled over, her hands on her knees, desperate to catch her breath. In an instant, her teammates surrounded her.

  “Are you okay?” Vera asked.

  “I’m fine,” Pretia said.

  “You looked . . .” Vera began.

  “You looked tired,” Eshe said.

  “I said I’m fine.” Pretia righted herself.

  “You can always split yourself if you need to, right?” Vera asked anxiously.

  Pretia drew a deep breath. “Don’t worry, Vera. I’ll do what needs to be done.” Then she glanced around the stadium, taking it all in for the first time—the crowd, the banners, the noise. “Now what?”

  “What do you mean?” Rovi asked.

  “Well,” Pretia said, “we can’t hide anymore. Everyone knows I’m here now.”

  “I guess we wait with the rest of the Dreamers. What else can we do?” Rovi flung his arm around Pretia, and they walked off the field to where the athletes from House Somni were gathered.

  No sooner had they arrived than Satis Dario and Cleopatra Volis appeared in front of them. Satis’s usually kind, placid face was a mixture of relief and anger.

  “Your parents have been looking everywhere for you.” He lowered his voice. “Please tell me you didn’t leave the village.”

  “Satis,” Pretia pleaded, “I want to do my best. And Somni is going to need two podium positions. I really have to concentrate.”

  Satis glanced around the stadium. “You are going to have to answer a lot of questions,” he said. “But I suppose it will have to wait.”

  “I promise I’ll tell you everything after we win,” Pretia replied.

  “Okay,” Satis said with some reservation.

  “Thank you. I need to focus on this race.” Pretia paused. “My last race ever.”

  “If this is going to be your last race ever,” Cleopatra cut in, “I expect you to do better in the next heat. Your last one hundred meters were subpar.”

  “I know,” Pretia said.

  “I expect more from you,” Cleopatra said. “You looked worn-out, and it was only the first heat. Haven’t you been training?”

  “I’m fine,” Pretia said for what felt like the one hundredth time in the last hour.

  Cleopatra shook her head. “You didn’t look fine. Do better next time.”

  Pretia flopped on the ground and started to stretch to hide her exhaustion. Satis squatted down next to her. “Your parents are going to find out, you know. I’m sure word has already reached them—they’re probably on their way.”

  Pretia sighed. “I guess they’ll see my final race, then,” she said.

  “Better make it a good one, in that case,” Satis said.

  He moved away, allowing Pretia to keep an eye on the subsequent heats. When the first round was complete, there was a break, allowing runners to prepare for the semifinals. Vera kept up a running patter about their competitors in the next heat. Pretia tuned it out. She knew her only competition was herself.

  During the break, her eyes kept drifting over to the royal box. “Stop,” Rovi urged when he saw what she was doing. “If they come, they come. Don’t let it affect you.”

  “They’ll come,” Pretia said. “And they’ll be mad. But right now my focus is on Dreamer Glory.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Rovi said. He glanced over his shoulder to check that no one was around. “What was Satis asking you?”

  “He was wondering where I’ve been,” Pretia replied.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing, but he suspects I left the village. And when people find out the truth, they’ll strip our medals.”

  “Maybe not,” Rovi said. “And all anyone will ever find out is that we went to Hafara, which i
s below the Crescent Stadium. So technically we didn’t leave the site of the Junior Epic Games. We were here all along.”

  “Brilliant!” Pretia said.

  “But don’t worry about any of that now. We have a race to run.” The royal box was still empty when the leadoff eight runners got in the blocks for the first semifinal. Vera was in the outside lane. Rovi, Eshe, and Pretia stood to the side, waiting for their turns. On “Go” the runners took off.

  Vera was in command through the halfway mark, but then a few of her competitors picked up their pace and passed her. Vera crossed in third.

  The handoff to Eshe was smooth. Eshe maintained her position for the entire lap of the track, crossing in third like Vera and passing the baton to Rovi.

  “Go, Rovi, go!” Vera cried as Pretia got into position. Then she shot Pretia a knowing look. “Don’t be afraid to do what you need to do.”

  Halfway around the track it seemed that Rovi was going to gain ground, but he stagnated and was still in third place when he passed to Pretia. It was a fluid transition. She didn’t break stride as the baton hit her hand. But Pretia felt sluggish from the get-go. It seemed as if she were running through mud.

  She was tiring. She was aware of the weight in her legs, the distance that remained to run, and the runners at her back. She was aware of too many things at once. She despaired as a Dreamer from Aquiis passed her. She tried to accelerate, but she had nothing in reserve. She was staring at the backs of three jerseys as she pounded the track. The runners ahead were pulling away. Catching them was getting harder and harder with every passing millisecond. She needed to stay where she was or all would be lost.

  Pretia could feel someone else right on her heels. She knew better than to look—it would cost her more time. But she could feel the runner closing in. She tensed.

  There was only one way to ensure her team would qualify for the next round. Pretia needed her shadow self. Split, she urged herself. Split!

  The finish line was in sight, but she had fallen significantly behind the lead three runners.

  Now the runner who’d been on her heels had pulled even. Pretia could not afford to lose another millisecond, another millimeter. If she did, she’d cost her team a spot in the finals.

  But where was her shadow self? Why wouldn’t it come? She needed it more than ever. Split, please, split. Nothing happened.

  There were only a few feet between her and the finish.

  Come on, she commanded her shadow self.

  But it was too late.

  She’d crossed the finish in tandem with the runner at her side.

  Her teammates swarmed her. Rovi patted her back. “Good job,” Vera said. But Pretia could hear the reservation and disappointment in her voice. Had she held on to fourth, or been pushed back to fifth?

  “I’m sorry,” Pretia said.

  “It was really close,” Eshe said. “There’s going to be a review.”

  Pretia glanced at Vera’s face. She could see the tension in her jaw. Pretia’s failure to split might have cost Vera breaking Farnaka’s record and the team’s chance at gold.

  “It’s okay,” Rovi said.

  Pretia turned so her back was to Eshe. “I couldn’t do it,” she whispered. “I couldn’t split myself. I think my shadow self is exhausted.”

  Rovi looked at her, concern in his eyes.

  “I’m so sorry,” Pretia said again, panting.

  “You have nothing to apologize for,” Vera said. “You’ve done so many heroic things today.”

  “But what if that means the Dreamers don’t win the Junior Epics?” Pretia said under her breath. “What if you don’t break Farnaka’s record?”

  Before Vera had a chance to reply, Eshe wheeled around and forced herself between them. “We made it,” she cried. “Pretia finished fourth. It’s official.”

  A wave of relief broke over Pretia. She pulled away from her friends. “I need some space. I need . . . I need to rest up.” She headed for the sidelines of the track.

  “Is she okay?” she heard Eshe ask Rovi.

  “She’s fine,” Rovi replied.

  Pretia sat down at the edge of the stadium. She knew she should stay loose, but she was too tired. She understood what had happened out there. Her shadow self was exhausted from carrying the Star Stealers and even more from the time her two selves had been separated on either side of the River of Sand. She didn’t know if she could summon it for a final effort.

  Pretia was dimly aware of the other semifinal heat. All she knew was that a team led by Rex Taxus had made it into the final round.

  During the break before the last race, Rovi joined her. “Listen,” he said, “no matter what happens out there, we’ve accomplished so much. Just do what you can. Vera, Eshe, and I will try to go the extra mile.”

  “I don’t want to let you down,” Pretia said. “Or House Somni.”

  Rovi didn’t meet her eye. Instead, he glanced around the stadium, something clearly on his mind.

  “What?” Pretia asked. “What are you not telling me?”

  “I don’t want to pressure you. Everything you did in Hafara is more than enough for one day—you know I believe that. But there are only two Dreamer teams in the finals.”

  Pretia groaned. “So both our team and the other Dreamer have to medal in order for Vera to break the tie, right?”

  “Exactly,” Rovi said. He looked apologetic. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “It’s fine,” Pretia said. “I needed to know.” She got to her feet and began to jog. “I needed to know,” she repeated. “And now I need to warm up.”

  As she jogged and stretched, Pretia was aware of the thousands of Dreamer eyes on her all wondering the same thing—would she let her team and her house down? She was the weak link on the field. Everyone knew it.

  The announcer summoned the racers to the starting line for the finals.

  Pretia took a deep breath. It was now or never.

  Vera crouched down in the blocks. Pretia leaned over and clapped her on the back. “We got this,” she said, demonstrating a confidence she didn’t have.

  Vera nodded. She was in the zone. Pretia wished she could join her there.

  Just before the start, there was a commotion in the stands. Pretia looked up. The crowd rose to its feet as a hush fell. She heard the announcer over the megahorn: “Everyone, please face the royal box to acknowledge our king and queen.”

  Along with the entire stadium, athletes and spectators alike, Pretia faced the royal box and saluted her parents. It was surreal, standing on the field and acknowledging her parents as if she were a regular citizen of Epoca and not their child. But perhaps, for the next few minutes, that’s exactly what she could and should be. Maybe they’d be able to see her that way: just another runner in an important race, instead of their cherished Child of Hope.

  “On your marks,” the announcer said.

  Vera got back into position.

  “Get set.”

  Pretia was aware of Eshe visibly vibrating with excitement at the arrival of the king and queen.

  “Go!”

  Pretia willed herself to ignore the royal box and devote her focus to the events on the field.

  This was it—the Dreamers’ last chance to claim the Junior Epic Games, Vera’s last chance to break Farnaka’s record, and Pretia’s last ever chance to race, to compete, and to medal.

  Vera burst into the lead, dusting her competitors as she raced down the track. At the final turn she was in complete control. She passed the baton to Eshe, who sprinted away. For much of her lap Eshe maintained Vera’s lead, but at the third turn, a Realist from Rex Taxus’s team pulled even. On the homestretch he passed Eshe. But Eshe held him close. She extended the baton to Rovi’s waiting hand.

  But before Rovi could grasp it, Eshe dropped it. A gasp went up from the c
rowd.

  The baton fell to the track, where a runner from Dynami kicked it. The baton shot off the track into the grass. Rovi dodged incoming runners, weaving around them in order to retrieve it. By the time he did, all seven other runners were well past the first turn.

  He returned to the track. “Go, Rovi, go,” Pretia screamed.

  “Go!” Vera echoed, her hands clenched in anxiety.

  It was an impossible task. The runners were spread widely across the track, but the leaders were well out of Rovi’s reach. He was working harder than Pretia had imagined he could, straining with every step. But Eshe’s mistake had cost him too much ground. Rex Taxus’s team was in the lead. The other Dreamer team from Dynami was in second. Rovi was half a track length behind the leaders.

  Pretia got into position for the handoff.

  One by one, the other seven runners received their batons and sprinted away. When the baton hit Pretia’s hand, Rex Taxus had already passed the halfway mark and was closing in on the 300-meter line.

  The time had come for one last, desperate effort. If her shadow self had deserted her, Pretia would have to rely on her body and spirit alone.

  Push.

  She gave everything she had, despite the overwhelming exhaustion in her limbs. By sheer force of will, she raced around the track, trying not to think of the outcome and about how far behind she was.

  She needed to enjoy this, to savor it, to make the most of this one final moment. She needed to drink it all in and remember it and let go of all the fears that could corrupt her last seconds as an athlete. She needed to race away from those fears, leaving them in the dust.

  The stands vanished. The track vanished. Her competitors vanished. It was just Pretia out there, alone, racing for all that she was worth, running unburdened by all the anxieties that had led to this moment. And then her shadow self emerged, bursting from her with a jolt such as she’d never experienced before.