25 #3
Asta had to move fast. The time delay gave her the cover she needed to stop at the towers without the judges calling out the medics to check on her, disqualifying her from the race.
But her actions would draw attention soon enough, and who knows what the judges would do then?
Her best chance was to be back in the saddle before they decided.
She brought herself to the tower’s edge and leaned back into the canyon. She was at the bottom in the blink of an eye, but the landing was harder than she had meant it to be, the impact jostling her injured leg. She cried out at the spasm of pain that shot through her thigh.
Asta hobbled her way toward the beacon glowing at the far end of the canyon.
She had remembered one thing from her humiliating final project for Parsons’s class: there were no rules on the books stating beacons had to remain stationary during a race.
So Asta was going to steal the beacon. When the other racers passed through the canyon, the beacon would not be there. It would be flying with Asta. By official record-keeping, none of them would finish the race. Except Nat. But only if Asta could catch her.
The beacon flashed in synchrony with Asta’s armband as she came near.
She wrenched the transponder from the bracket that secured it to the wall of the canyon and put it into the zippered breast pocket of her race suit.
The magic illusion passed straight through her clothes so that it looked like the light was coming from her ribs.
Carmine had followed her to the far end of the canyon.
She braced her feet against the wall and tried to contract the rope, but the pain in her injured leg was ruining her focus.
The line grew as solid and inert as a braided rope.
It had been so much easier on the exercise grounds.
Whatever had been wrong with her leg before, that hard landing on the bottom of the canyon had made it worse.
A lot worse. Desperate, she began to climb the cord hand over hand.
She helped herself as much as she could with her good leg, but it was too slow.
Overhead, against the stark lights of the raceway, two shadows flashed on the canyon walls, one after another. These must be two of the lagging teams. So they had caught up at last.
Asta’s armband flashed green. Her penalty delay was over, but she wasn’t at the top yet.
‘Carmine,’ Asta screamed. Her feet slipped on the sheer walls of the canyon.
She saw Carmine’s head pop over the edge of the canyon wall.
‘Go, buddy, go!’ It wasn’t exactly what they had practiced, but Carmine had never once second-guessed Asta’s instructions and did not hesitate now.
He stretched out his wings and flew. Asta let herself be dragged up the wall of the canyon.
Suddenly, she was in the air, suspended from the glimmering cord. She tried again to contract the cord, and this time it worked, pulling her toward Carmine, who beat the air with eager strokes of his wings. Asta thought the whole world must be shaking with the screaming of the fans. It was mayhem.
Asta hit the mountainside and rolled, the magic cord still attached to her waist. Shaking her head to clear it, Asta jumped to her feet but her leg crumpled under her.
Carmine bounded to her side and boosted her into the saddle with a gentle nudge.
A moment later, they were airborne again.
The cheers from the crowd roared into a blazing cloud around them.
Far ahead, Asta caught sight of Nat chasing Basma around the far buoy. Vulture was nearly wild with the irritant, but Basma was racing defensively, blocking every opportunity to advance.
So long as Nat wins, Karol had said.
Asta had to catch Nat before she crossed the finish line.
‘Now, Carmy! Now!’ Asta made herself small in the saddle, heels down. ‘Everything you’ve got.’ She let the reins go slack.
Carmine was like a beast possessed. His silver eyes flashed as his head darted back and forth.
He wove around the teams in front of him.
The beacon in Asta’s pocket flashed as they passed.
One. Two. Not ideal, but Asta could see that the dragons were exhausted from catching up after the chute.
Their wingbeats were choppy. Their heads were drooping.
She did not think that they would spoil her plan.
Still, Asta was glad she had kept Carmine from flaming at the fences. She would need everything he had left to pull this off.
Three teams left: Basma, Nat, and Felix. Asta watched them descend, one after another, into the canyon.
As Asta approached the canyon, Stryke emerged out the other side and on to the final straightaway.
The screens would be showing, now, that Basma’s trigger had not registered the beacon.
Her armband would not have flashed. On the track below, Basma turned in her saddle, looking back at the canyon in alarm.
But there was nothing to see. The wall where the beacon should have been was bare, dark, and empty.
The raceway erupted in confusion and dismay.
Asta touched the glowing transponder in her pocket.
Now Vulture was out of the canyon. Nat, too, hesitated and turned, confused.
Asta had rounded the final buoy and was nearly at the canyon’s entrance. Nat and Basma looked to their pits. Ride on, they were being told. Race for the finish.
They were too far ahead. Asta could not catch them on the ground. There was only one option left.
‘Eagle,’ she shouted.
In response, without a breath of hesitation, Carmine banked.
At the near end of the canyon, Essie and Felix were already on the ground, careening toward the opening.
Just as Asta entered the shadow of the tower walls, Carmine’s wing brushed the side of the canyon. It was just a little wobble, but they lost some altitude. They would pass only a few feet over Felix and Essie. Asta could hear Essie’s grunts as she ran the canyon floor.
The beacon in her pocket flashed. It had registered Felix’s armband.
‘Shit,’ Asta cried. If Asta couldn’t catch Nat now, Hummer would think she had done all of this to give the win to Felix. Or steal it for herself. Granted, she expected to be disqualified before she hit the ground, but it wouldn’t matter to him. He would have no mercy. It had to be Nat.
‘Come on, buddy,’ Asta yelled. ‘Almost there!’
They burst out into the brilliant track lights, and Carmine straightened.
In some distant part of her mind, Asta was aware of the air-splitting roar of the crowd, but all she could hear was the sound of Carmine’s wings. All she could see was the track below with its two dragons – one dark, one pale – racing for the finish line.
Basma was several body lengths ahead of Nat. She had figured out the rigged track and clung to the outside edge. In her wake, Nat was rigid with fury.
Carmine pumped his rust-red wings, chasing after the running dragons.
Now. This was how she got free.
Carmine dropped, skimming over Nat’s head. The beacon in Asta’s pocket flashed. The light on Nat’s armband answered it.
Asta veered Carmine away to avoid passing too close to Basma.
Basma whipped her head around at the sight of Asta and Carmine flying past her for the finish.
The words she shouted at Asta were inaudible over the noise of the raceway, though Asta could guess the gist of them.
Basma would never forgive her – should never forgive her. But it was too late. It was done.
Carmine flew like the wind. They crossed the finish line low to the ground.
It was over.
Carmine beat his wings in the air to slow himself, his feet finding the track, kicking up dust. In a moment, Asta was surrounded by race marshals, demanding she dismount.
Her descent from the saddle was anything but graceful.
When she hit the ground, her leg gave out immediately.
Torque caught her as she collapsed and propped her up as the marshals snatched the beacon from her suit’s breast pocket.
Then Basma was there, cursing at Asta, her black eyes blazing.
Asta saw Gem pushing his way through the crowd.
She looked for Felix, but he was not there.
The sound coming from the stands was nothing Asta had ever heard before, one earthquake after another. Under her feet, the ground shook until she thought it might crack open.