Bay
Race day dawns bright and early and dad is already awake. He has coffee on the stove and a cup in front of him as he sits at the table and reads mom's journal. He is dry-eyed this morning, though his face looks a little blotchy, as if he didn't sleep well. Or he spent the night crying.
I stand by the table and bounce from foot to foot until he looks up and tells me to sit down.
I do.
He hands me a couple slices of toast with butter and jam.
I notice he has nothing for himself.
I'm too nervous to eat.
In the end, we split the toast, each taking a piece, convincing each other that skipping breakfast on race day is some sort of cardinal sin and ought not be done.
We both leave crusts on our plates when we stand to leave.
"You're coming?" I ask, incredulous, as I walk outside. He may have indirectly given me his blessing to ride last night, but I don't know exactly how far that extends.
Dad stops on the front porch and stares at the horizon for a long moment, the wind tossing his hair across his forehead. "Wouldn't miss it for the world," he finally says, so quiet, the wind almost steals his words before I hear them.
Then he looks at me as if he's memorizing me, every line, every stray strand of hair. He clears his throat. "You'd best get on down to the beach, girl."
"And you?"
"I've got an errand to run, but I'll meet you there." He heads for his truck. "Promise." He smiles, but it's sad, then he's in his truck and he rattles out of the driveway.
I walk to the barn.
The beach is insanity. There are people everywhere. Riders, racers. Hawkers sell last-minute trinkets and betting odds. Grooms run here and there getting colors, brushing a coat, tying ribbons and bells. Riders hold their horses like mother hens, hissing at anyone who gets too close.
I see Puck in the throngs, getting harried by a reporter. She looks upset.
I don't see Sean.
No one talks to me much. But I'm ok with that.
I look around for Dad, but I don't see him, either. I wonder where he went. Was it to get a drink? Is he really coming to the races to watch me?
Suddenly there's a shadow at my side. I look over. It's Sean. He stands with Corr, looking drawn and pale and about ten years older since I saw him last.
His lips twitch into a mechanical smile. He holds a braided circle of red ribbon in one hand, twisting it between his fingers.
"You ok?" I ask.
"Of course. You?"
"Fine."
"You have your colors?"
"Not yet."
He nods.
"Have you seen Puck?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "Wanted to wish you luck."
I smile. "Thanks." Then I point. "She's over there, by the way."
He looks at me, then at Puck and her island horse. He looks back at me.
I step forward and give him a hug. I've never hugged Sean before. Not like this.
For a moment, he is stiff, then he relaxes. He puts an arm around my shoulders, not quite a hug, but a return gesture.
"Good luck, Sean," I say.
"Good luck, Bay."
I give him a playful push. "Now go find your girl."
He gives me a real smile and walks toward Puck. He's soon swallowed up by the crowd. I head toward the beach to find my colors.
That's when someone calls my name. I stop, looking around.
"Bay!"
I spin and see Dad, walking across the grass toward me, holding something in his arms. Something silken and bottle green, the color of the sea during the heavy spring rains.
"Dad...you…" I trail off as he walks up. I don't know what to say. Because this means he went into the house. He faced the pictures, the memories, the ghosts. For me.
"I thought you might want your colors," he says and his voice is gruff but not unkind.
"These aren't from the race tent," I say. Not thank you, or I'm sorry, or that was very brave of you. I feel stupid. Of course they aren't from the race tent.
"They aren't," Dad agrees.
"These are from the house."
Dad nods.
"These are yours. From when you raced. The ones mom made you."
He nods. "I was supposed to be Malvern's first jockey. But I quit right before the races. I went fifths that year because I'd already sworn my intentions to ride. Malvern refused to give me my colors, so your mom made me my own."
"That wasn't in the journal," I say, surprised. I knew he raced. Knew mom made his colors. I didn't know he was supposed to race for Malvern.
Dad gets a faraway look in his eye. "Your mother didn't want to remember that I was supposed to race for Malvern. She rather wanted to erase him from my past, I think."
"Makes sense," I say. I wish erasing Malvern was as easy as leaving him out of the narrative.
Dad motions for me to move Tempest's saddle.
I loosen the girth and pull it off and set it on the ground. Dad throws the colors across his back. I reach up to adjust them on my side and meet Dad's eyes across Tempest's back. Dad looks sad, but there's also something proud in his expression and I feel unexpected tears prick my eyes. "Hey, Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you," I say. "For the colors." For everything.
"Just make sure you do what I say for once and stay alive, young lady," Dad says sternly. There's the ghost of a smile in his eyes.
I reach across Tempest's back and grab Dad's hand, like we're shaking on a deal. He grips mine back, squeezing my fingers between his calloused, rough ones.
"I promise, Dad. I'll come back to you."
"See you at the finish line, Bay. I'll be cheering for you."
Then he drops my hand and walks away, a lone figure in a dull brown coat walking across the cliffs. Just before he disappears in the crowd, I realize he has a bottle green scarf tied around his right arm. A scarf that matches my colors. My heart swells and I get Tempest's saddle back on, then mount as race officials shout for the riders to get in formation.
I lead Tempest to the beach in a whirlwind of color, noise, and nerves. I see familiar faces as I mount up and am told where to stand. Faces of shopkeeps and doctors and fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters. Faces of Thisby. All of us, down here on the sand, with the salt and the sea and our courage.
Ready to race.
I stand in my stirrups and scan the crowd for Sean and Puck. I find Sean looking over heads as well. He meets my eye and gives me a brief nod and then I follow his gaze to Puck, looking small and lost in the sea of capaill uisce. Sean's too far away to reach her before the race starts, but I think I can get to her if I push through the crowd.
Puck holds up her wrist and I see a red ribbon flutter against her pale sleeve. Sean looks back up at me and I nod and push Tempest into the fray next to Puck. And that's when I realize this race isn't about winning at all. It's about surviving.
Puck
A capall uisce squeezes in close to me and I look over to see Bay shove her way between me and another rider on a white capall. Tempest dances in place beside me and Dove, the light jingle of bells ringing from his bridle. Bay gives me a smile. "I'll keep between you and them until you can catch Corr," she says. "Don't worry about the capaill — just keep Dove toward the sea and I'll worry about these guys." She jerks a thumb over her shoulder at the other racers.
"You don't have to do this, Bay." I wonder if Sean asked her to keep me safe and I feel equal parts guilty and angry. Guilty that Bay is caught in the middle of this and angry that Sean thinks I can't handle myself.
"He didn't say anything to me, you know," she says, as if she read my mind. "I know I don't have to help. But I want to see you make it, Puck."
I can't detect anything false in her tone. No jealousy, no sarcasm, no competition. "What about you, though? Don't you want to win?"
"It'd be nice if I did," she says. "And who's to say I won't?" She grins. "But if I don't, you're my second choice."
"Not Sean?"
Bay looks over at Sean for a minute. "I don't think he plans on winning this one." She looks back at me.
But there's no time to ask what she means because the race officials count us down and the race begins in one confused explosion of horseflesh, salt, and blood.
Bay
Blood spills as soon as we start. Two capaill uisce go down in a tangle of legs and gnashing teeth. There's a moment of confusion and chaos as the rest of us swerve to get free of the deadly distraction and then we're well and truly out of the gate. Puck pushes for the sea and I push with her, checking Tempest so that he paces with Dove. I can feel the pent-up power in my capall uisce singing through my veins. He wants to run. He wants to fly.
"Not yet, Tempest," I whisper, rubbing his shoulder. "Not yet."
We thunder down the beach in a crowded and noisy tangle, so fast it's nearly impossible to tell what's going on. Teeth snap at my left arm as a rider comes alongside me on a high-strung bay capall and I lurch out of the way. Tempest lurches with me and we nearly topple Dove. Puck and I collide in a jarring smash of buckles and knees and I feel a sharp twinge run up my leg. But there's no time to apologize as I shove Tempest back at the bay. Her rider barely spares me a glance. He's got his fingers wrapped in the reins and his mouth set in a grim line, eyes ahead as he tries to bring her under control.
I've barely got the time to put Tempest back on course when a black and white blur comes crashing between Puck and I. It's Mutt Malvern on that devil piebald, Skata.
There's a flash of something silver in Mutt's hand.
"Matthew!" I shout, reaching out, but there's too much distance between us.
There's a spray of red against Puck's thigh, but she doesn't scream. He raises the knife again and I slap Tempest on the neck.
Tempest was just waiting for permission. He lashes out at the piebald. His teeth graze her shoulder as we fly down the beach and the piebald screams, breaking stride for a moment. But a moment is all it takes to get Mutt's attention. He turns to me with an ugly snarl on his face and brandishes the knife.
"Stay out of this Fisher!" he shouts.
"Make me!" I jostle him, grating my leg again on buckles and leather and bone. But I've done my job. Puck slides away on the other side. Mutt growls and lunges and now it's a chase. I spur Tempest forward and the piebald lengthens her stride to keep up. Mutt shoves me farther into the racing lane, into the middle of the pack . A chestnut in front of me snaps at Tempest and Tempest snaps back, but I rein him in. I don't want him to pick a fight.
Mutt runs into me from the right again and Tempest screams — a warning as Mutt and the piebald chase us farther inland. The piebald screams back and bares her teeth as I sway out of the way of Mutt's knife.
He misses and laughs.
It's only too late I realize he wasn't trying to cut me at all. He was forcing me to the edge of the racing strip — Tempest runs so close to the heavy wooden poles that mark the course that my boot scrapes up against them. Mutt pushes into us again and slashes at me with the knife. I jerk back and lose control and Tempest crashes through the poles in a shower of sand and wood and blood.
"Bastard!" I shout as Mutt veers back into the race and rides away. I pull Tempest in a circle to calm him and swear under my breath. Luckily, Tempest seems to have escaped our crash with just a few cuts — nothing broken. I don't know if breaking the race barrier disqualifies me, but it's put me so far back in the line up I don't think I can recover. Unless...the sand rises on the other side of the poles and at one point, they nearly meet in height. It's not the packed wet sand of the racing strip, so it will slow Tempest down, but if I can jump the fence at that point, I might be able to put myself back in the running.
"Let's go, Tempest!" I shout and snap the reins against his neck to get his attention. He bursts forward with a trumpet call. "Let's beat that piebald."
Sean
Bay gets pushed out early. I don't see exactly what happens because she and Puck are behind me, but I see enough to know it's Mutt's fault. I snatch glimpses under my arm as I ride. Mutt crashes in between Bay and Puck. Bay takes his ire — of course she does. Because Bay realized before any of us that this race was about keeping each other alive. Sometimes I wonder what I'd do without that girl.
Then I'm caught up in a scuffle between a gray and a chestnut who try to bait Corr into the fight. But I keep a steady hand on the reins and remind Corr I'm here. He dances neatly out of the fight, only to nearly collide with another capall coming in hard on our left. She bites and I feel pain in my leg. I realize belatedly there's blood as Corr slides ahead of the grasping teeth. The race is a mass of sound — pounding hooves, heavy breathing, screaming. Men screaming. Horses screaming.
When I finally get a chance to look back again, I can't see Puck. I see Bay and Tempest crash through the poles on the edge of the racing strip. Mutt Malvern rides away laughing. I turn my attention back to the race. As far as I know, Bay is down for the count. While there's no rule to disqualify her for breaking the barrier, I can't count on her to make it back into the race now.
A horse sneaks up on my right and Corr bares his teeth. I hold him back as recognition sinks in. It's Dove and Puck. I can't stop the smile of relief that breaks my concentration for a moment. Both Dove and Puck are bleeding — Dove from a bite on her shoulder and Puck from a gash in her leg — but they're alive. I feel anger heat my chest as I realize the cut in Puck's leg wasn't made by teeth. It's too clean. The Scorpio Races have no rules against weapons. We've ever needed them before. Perhaps I should have brought my own.
A scream beside me pulls me back into the violence of the moment and Corr and I swerve around a pair of fighting capaill. Beside us, Dove stays steady, running straight and true. I look ahead and see Privett and Blackwell's mounts crash into each other and pull apart, a deadly dance for first place. Behind them Mutt beats the piebald into a frenzy as he tries to catch up. And I realize that in the middle of all this mess, I have a clear shot to the front.
Any other year, I'd run that gauntlet right up to first place and watch the smiles and the scowls as Corr pulled off a win from the middle of the pack again. Any other year, I'd be gone like an arrow straight and true. But any other year, I didn't have Puck Connolly and her bold bay racing beside me, counting on me to keep them running. Corr tugs at the reins. He wants to take the chance too. I feel it in the way his blood sings to me.
There's a part of me, a part wild as the sea, that wants to let Corr fly. To prove I'm still the champion of these races. But that part of me is silenced by the part that so desperately wants Puck Connolly to make it.
So I stay. I stay beside Puck and her little bay.
Puck
Sean and Corr run beside us, big, strong and steady. I know Sean could coax more out of Corr. I know he sees the opening in front of us and I know he could take it. But he checks Corr and keeps him in pace with Dove. And for a moment, I forget that we're on this bloody beach and I imagine it's just me and Sean and Corr and Dove, riding the cliff tops together. Flying across Thisby like we own it.
My thoughts are interrupted as a dark shape materializes in the surf in front of us. It's Mutt Malvern on the piebald mare. How'd he get back here? I thought he was in the lead. The piebald runs a horse length ahead of us, but we're gaining on her. I realize too late that Mutt hangs back on purpose. Dove approaches Skata and the piebald rears, but I'm trapped between Skata and Corr. There's nowhere for Dove to go. Skata crashes down on Dove from above, her teeth sinking into flesh behind Dove's ears. Dove squeals in pain.
"Let her go, Mutt!" Sean shouts beside me. "Leave Puck out of this!"
I lean forward over Dove and do the only thing I can think to do. I grab the piebald's ear, a slippery, wet thing. I feel like I'm holding a fish, not a horse. I twist that ear as hard as I can, pulling sharply. The piebald screams and lets go of Dove.
"Get out of here, Puck!" Sean shouts at me.
Everything is chaos. I've got Corr on one side and Skata on the other. I'm jostled and shuttled between the two as Mutt leers at me and Sean glares at him. But then Dove finds an extra bit of speed and she shoots out between the two bigger capaill right before we would've been crushed between them. I look back to see Corr crash into Skata. Mutt viciously saws on the piebald's reins to keep his balance. Skata rears again, but Corr pulls away. Sean's gaze is locked on me.
And I'm torn. Torn between getting out of this deadly fight and staying back to help Sean.
He seems to read my thoughts.
"Get out of here!" he yells. "Go, Puck."
And then Skata's teeth flash dangerously close to Sean and his focus is back on the deadly mare and Dove keeps running and I have to look forward even though it feels like betrayal. I set my mouth in a grim line. I can't let Sean's sacrifice mean nothing. It's now or never.
I let Dove have her head.
Bay
Tempest flies, even on the loose, dry sand of the upper beach. I'm nearly keeping pace with the stragglers, passing the ones who get caught up fighting or lose their capaill usice to the sea. There's a dune ahead of us — only a few yards now — that's nearly the same height as the poles marking the track. If I angle us right, Tempest can jump the poles with ease and we'll come back in the middle of the race. Which means we might still have a chance at winning this thing.
I watch the riders beside us carefully. I've got to find an opening to jump into. Otherwise, I'll crash into someone and we'll get killed. I try to keep an eye on Sean and Puck, but I lose them in the chaos near the surf. I look back at the horses close at hand. There! Between a black and a chestnut capall — there's my opening. I spur Tempest on and he gives me another burst of speed.
I look back out at the surf again and this time, I spot them. Sean and Puck and Matthew Malvern. It looks like they're in a fight with the piebald and Puck's caught in the middle. The piebald rears and I hear shouts and screams. I think one of them is Dove's squeal.
I check my opening again. It's still there.
Then I hear another shout and I look back at Sean and Puck in time to see Puck shoot forward and slip out of the fight. Sean shouts at her and she flies.
But that leaves Sean fighting the piebald by himself.
The opening between the black and the chestnut is closing.
The jump looms up in front of us.
I have only seconds to make a decision.
Sean
Mutt and Skata loom over us like some sort of demon out of a nightmare. But Puck is gone. Puck is safe.
In the chaos, Mutt grabs Corr's rein and I'm not fast enough to stop him. He forces Corr's head down to Skata's and Corr bucks against him. I hold my salt-slick saddle between my knees for all I'm worth.
We gallop down the beach in a frenzy of motion, Corr jerking to free himself, panicked because Skata's on his blind side. Skata lashes out with teeth. She scrapes Corr's nose and cheek. He bites back, but he misses because he can't see her. If I could just get Mutt to let go of Corr's rein, I could pull away. But I can't think. I can't react. I don't have time.
Mutt and I crash into each other as our capaill uisce struggle and I feel pain shoot up my leg. I wince. A flash of silver catches my eye and I see the knife in Mutt's hand. The knife that cut Puck. Anger grips my chest again.
The knife arcs down.
I throw an arm up, as if that can stop the deadly blade.
Any second, I expect to feel the sharp bite of the knife in my flesh, but Mutt doesn't hit me.
Instead he brings the knife down on Skata's neck. A spray of blood splatters my face, my shirt, my hand.
"See if you can handle this one, Kendrick!" Mutt cackles. He drops the reins.
I have only one thought as Skata slams into us.
Matthew Malvern must want to die.
