The Race
 
by Loren Dean

The Hour of Hantei had ended, and the horsemanship event was on.

Otaku Marako sat motionless in her saddle, her still demeanor refusing to betray the clench in her stomach. She had hoped for an easy win in this event, but when Shiko's name had been drawn from the bowl as her opponent... she could still feel the flush that rose in her cheeks when Miya Yoto had read the name. A hush had fallen so the crowd could listen, and when Otaku Shiko reined in beside Marako an excited murmur had run through the crowd.

Now here they sat, waiting for the signal to begin. Mighty Motoko stood his ground admirably, exuding a confidence that made Shiko's mare skittish. She spoke soothingly to her mount, with a tone that only came from living with horses one's entire life. Shiko had attended the Shinjo school, and Marako knew her own Otaku technique gave her an edge in this contest, but it was a thin edge, and both riders knew it.

"GO!" shouted Master-of-the-Games Yoto-san.

The pair of Otakus immediately flattened against their horses backs, streamlining themselves for maximum speed. The crowd seemed to approve of the start, easily half again as fast as any of the other contestants had managed, and a cheer went up from behind them. Marako made the first bend a length ahead of Shiko, and drew her katana in a motion that flowed with Motoko's shoulders. The katana was untested, she knew, but it gleamed expectantly, ready for the coming cut.

Marako barely felt resistance as her blade shot through the target-pole, and another cheer greeted her success, but Marako barely heard. Lost in the motion, her body, her mind, the very essence of her soul was focused on the task at hand. All that Was had coalesced into this action, and she rode as though she and her steed were one.

Behind her, Shiko was closing the distance. Her katana came free in a near-identical draw, but her shot at the pole started too high. Forced to bring her speed down to make the hit, as every contestant but the just successful Marako had been, Shiko watched her Otako cousin regain her lead, and cursed as she put her blade away.

Marako put her katana away as a matter of course, the action coming naturally, and reached alongside her saddle for her dai-kyu. Motoko sensed her motion, and lowered his head, partly for speed, and partly to clear it from her view. As one motion, she stood in the saddle, nocked an arrow, drew, and fired.

And missed.

From behind her, Shiko's arrow flew true, straight to where Marako had willed hers. Her cousin's ululating battle cry sounded all too loud in her ears, and she returned to position flush against Motoko, clenching her jaw against her own frustrated oath.

The final stretch of the course swung into view around the final bend, and the pair poured everything they had into the last ride. Hooves were a blur, the riders all but invisible in their stance. The crowd held its breath as the magnificent beasts neared the finish. Yoto was stoic, standing precisely at the line, his attention completely on the stretch of ground before him. The horses charged across the line, and as the riders reined in, Yoto held up the Blue cloth used to signify the winner.

"Otaku Marako! Point!"

Now she could hear the crowd.