Stain's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

The morning after the bargain, the keeper found Stain stretching outside his den. The albino iguana adjusted his crimson robe and crossed his arms. His purple feathers lifted. "A promise is cheap," the keeper said. "Show me you can win. Run a timed trial. If you can't prove it, I take my tree back, and you run in broken shoes." Stain's throat went dry. "Time me, then." The keeper shook his head. "A runner can't judge his own runner. I need someone fair. Someone who knows speed." He studied Stain's face. "And you need someone to chase. You run soft alone." Stain knew he was right. Alone, he held back. He needed a rival on the track. But he knew no one willing to stake a morning on him. They walked to the Purple Grove Lodge, a round hut with purple walls and a steaming pool inside. Runners gathered there to soak tired legs. At the water's edge sat a lilac saurian in red veils thin as spider silk. Gold wrapped her gladiator sandals. Her large silver eyes tracked a glowing dragonfly that circled the steam. This was Sylvara Scaletide, and every head in the lodge turned toward her. "She runs the north course faster than most men," the keeper murmured. "Ask her." Stain's stomach knotted. He hated asking anyone for anything. He stepped forward anyway. "I need a runner to race against. One lap. My keeper times it." Sylvara looked him over. She noticed his green foot wraps, torn from the sacred tree. One corner of her mouth lifted. "You run on basket weave. Bold." She stood. "If you lose to me, you buy my soak for a week." "And if I win?" "You won't." She walked past him toward the door. They marked a start line in the dirt. The keeper raised one clawed hand. A pink molerat poked from a burrow nearby, snout twitching, watching. The dragonfly drifted overhead. The keeper's hand dropped. "Run." Stain exploded off the line. Sylvara matched him stride for stride. Her gold sandals flashed. His wrapped feet gripped the dirt clean, no split, no cut. For the first time he did not hold back. He had something to chase. He pulled half a length ahead, then a full length. His racehorse legs stretched long. He crossed the line first, chest heaving. The keeper looked at the sun's shadow he had marked. His feathers settled flat. "Fast," he admitted. "Faster than I hoped." Sylvara caught her breath and laughed, not unkindly. "The wraps are real. So are the legs." She tilted her head. "But I ran the north course. You ran one short lap. The grand race is long." Stain's grin faded. The keeper heard her. His dark eyes narrowed. "Long," the keeper repeated. "Can you hold that pace for the full distance?" Stain said nothing. He thought of the weakness in his body he never named, the one that gnawed at him in long races. He had proved his speed. Now he had to prove his stamina, and that was the one thing he feared he could not fake.