Mythspeaker

They mounted and rode with their backs to the sun so that their shadows went on before them, eventually stretching over the greenish murk of a broad but shallow river. This they followed well into the afternoon as the riverside grew cluttered with fat​-trunked willows trailing their whips in spiraling dance. The river sank deeper into the soil, seeming to drag everything along with it, until Kyta and the others passed through fens nestled at the bottom of a wide gully. But just as things began to feel drab and familiar, a massive plume of water bluer than the sky pierced the twilight horizon. For nearly a minute it remained there, churning in white froth tinged cerulean. Then it plummeted out of sight as if it had never been at all.
“What was that?” asked Tumuhv in shock.
“Wonderful,” said Yudove through a broad smile.
Eno made a sound of quiet awe.
“That is the second-​tallest geyser on Gonoka, at least according to my father,” said Kyta with a grin. “And that,” he continued, pointing ahead, “is Yikah Weik’rah, a village of the Edgewalkers.”
They emerged from the willows into the broad semicircle of a two​-stepped mound overgrown with lush grass. Buildings lined the inner walls, almost seeming as though they’d been pulled out of the risen soil. Centered amid the arc of the mound was a wide hole into the dark from which the geyser had emerged. Perhaps a hundred people rushed about, all wearing shimmering jewelry of World Turtle shell.
“Welcome,” said a woman whose dress marked her as the village leader. Iridescent bands held her long braids together, and she wore a friendly smile despite seeming to be in a hurry.
The dour man beside her, however, didn’t bother with friendliness. “What do you want?”
Kyta startled at the unkindness. “Uh, we’re on a . . .” He searched for the right word. “Journey from Tlera Tana. For my father. But we’ve run low on supplies. Would you be able to help us?”
“Why’d you say it like that?” demanded Tumuhv through his teeth. “Just tell them we’re very important and to give us what we want.”
“Shh,” said Yudove.
He scoffed. “I don’t have to listen to you.”
“You do if you want them to give us food,” she countered.
“They’re staring,” whispered Eno. “People always stare.”
Kyta’s polite smile grew strained as he slowly spun to glare at his team. Tumuhv made a rude gesture in return. Yudove face​-palmed. Eno looked for a place to hide.
“Eyo ta manaroa.”
Kyta swung back around at the unfamiliar words, from which his gift swiftly took meaning: We don’t have time for this.
The wide​-open sounds were Ogoyike, the ancient language used by the Edgewalkers before the creation of Ay’do. And while Kyta had never learned it before today, it came to him as easily as breathing.
“Pela Pela has just erupted,” continued the man in what he thought was secret. “We must focus our time and effort on the harvest, not chatting with . . .” He scowled at Eno. “Odd children.”
A mischievous grin split Kyta’s lips as he interrupted in flawless Ogoyike, “Then perhaps it would be wise to give us what we need so that we can stop distracting you.”
The man’s jaw dropped, but the village leader laughed. “Very good! Ignore my attendant. Anyone who speaks Ogoyike is a friend to me. We would be happy to provide for you.”
They excused themselves, leaving Kyta and his team to wait for their supplies as the daylight dwindled. All around them, the villagers rushed amid the countless flat​-bottomed pools surrounding the pitfall. Every man, woman, and child held a tightly woven basket, which they dragged through the gathered water in search of the Edgewalkers’ favored trade and treasure: flecks of World Turtle shell carried up from far below by the geyser’s might. Whenever one was found, the people celebrated, singing for Gonoka’s blessings.
“Here’s everything you asked for,” said the village leader in Ay’do a short while later as torches were lit to stave off the night and give the shellhunters light. She held a pair of stuffed bags in hand. Her attendant carried a pair more.
“Thank you,” said Kyta warmly.
“You’re welcome. Now please leave,” the man said, dropping the bags at Kyta’s feet and walking away.
The leader grimaced. “You must forgive him. Pela Pela—​the geyser—​only erupts every twenty days, so we must make the most of it. Especially since the thefts.”
Kyta’s eyebrow rose. “Thefts?”
“A few sacks of shell have disappeared in recent months.” The leader leaned close, her voice falling to a whisper. “We suspect the Tenemusuh, though there is no proof.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Yudove icily.
The leader turned to survey her people as they labored. “All Tlera Tana waits for Pela Pela’s bounty. People seek comfort in holding a piece of Gonoka, no matter how small.” Her hand drifted to one of the World Turtle–shell bands in her hair. She sighed. “You’re welcome to stay the night, if you need.”
Kyta shook his head, his frustration at the Tenemusuh urging him to jump on Don’laweah and ride. “Thank you, but we must be off.” He handed bags to his teammates and threw the last over his shoulder, surprised at its heft.
“There’s barely any meat in here at all!” complained Tumuhv.
Yudove sighed. “Just say ‘Thank you.’ ”
“Thanks,” whispered Eno, without ever meeting the leader’s eyes.
The woman nodded, a bemused smile on her lips. “May I ask where you’re going?”
“South,” Kyta answered, thinking it unwise to say any more.
The leader’s expression clouded. “Then I would recommend you go back the way you came first.”
“Why can’t we simply go south from here?”
She grimaced. “South of here is—​was—our hunting ground. But over the last month, a predator has claimed it and filled it with the sight and stench of carrion.”
Tumuhv leaned in, any issue with his supply bag forgotten. “What kind of predator?”
The leader’s lips pressed so closely together they nearly disappeared. “A knife​-bear. Displaced from its territory, we think, by the Tenemusuh. Please don’t go that way.”
“Kyta,” said Yudove, burying a warning in his name.
“We have no time to spare,” he replied, his jaw set. “We must keep moving forward if we’re to . . . do what we need to do.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “Even if moving forward carries us to the jaws of a knife​-bear?”
“We’re going to get eaten,” Eno said sadly.
“No, we’re not,” said Kyta, nearly twitching under the pressure of what Deer Mother had set before him. He wouldn’t back down. Not now. Not ever. “We can handle a knife​-bear. We have to.”
“Finally, we agree on something,” said Tumuhv as a flourish of fingers brought a blade into his grip.
Kyta winced. “Don’t make me regret this. Let’s just get through the hunting ground as fast as we can.”
Despite the leader’s protests, they left Yikah Weik’rah as the waning moon climbed through black​-splashed indigo scattered with early stars. Very quickly, the sounds of the villagers and sharp scent of the geyser were smothered under silence and a musk of old meat left to molder. And in the lingering cloud of that unsettling stench, the trees and bushes seemed to grow sinister and unkind.
Kyta’s focus lingered on the sky, ensuring he led them properly southward. But if he’d been more attentive, he might have noticed a black shape moving among the trees, just at the edge of vision. Fortunately, Eno’s owlish eyes caught what he’d missed.
“Something’s following us,” they whispered.
“Where?” said Tumuhv eagerly.
“Off to the right.”
“Knife-bear?” Kyta asked.
“Don’t know. I’ve never seen one before.”
Kyta gritted his teeth. To be honest, he’d never seen one before either. At least, not alive. There was a knife​-bear pelt in one of the hunters’ lodges, old and coated in dust. Bigger than him even if he stretched as far as he could.
“We shouldn’t have come this way,” said Yudove.
“We didn’t have a choice,” Kyta insisted.
“Be silent.” Tumuhv’s eyes glinted. “I’m hunting it.”
“Or is it hunting us?” Eno asked forebodingly.
A tree limb crashed down to one side, and in the first instant he looked, Kyta caught a glimpse of a broad shape on all fours. His breath stopped in his throat. He fought to reclaim it. “We’re fine,” he managed to say. “We just need to—”
“Attack!” shouted Tumuhv. “I’ll circle to catch it off guard!” He tried to urge his horse into a gallop.
“I don’t think so,” said Yudove, stopping the mare with a touch.
“Get off!” Tumuhv ordered.
“Um . . .” Eno whispered.
Yudove’s face twisted into fury. “You aren’t risking that horse in some backward attempt at glory.”
“But you’re risking your hand,” Tumuhv shot back.
“Stop it, both of you!” Kyta said, pushing Don’laweah between them. “We need to focus on getting to New Collum!”
“We should, um . . .” Eno muttered.
Yudove nodded. “He’s right.”
“Shut up,” said Tumuhv.
Eno’s voice snuck between them. “Run.”
“What?” they all asked in varying degrees of frustration.
“Run! ” the owl squealed, kicking their horse into a gallop.
A spine​-tingling growl bled through the death-scented bushes, growing so loud it almost resembled a roar, and for an instant, Kyta, Tumuhv, and Yudove hesitated. Then Kyta yelled, “Ride!” and they bolted after the Blackfeather.
From the gloom behind them lurched the great bulk of a knife​-bear. It moved fast, never allowing more than a glimpse of its appearance in the dark, but Kyta caught sight of slate-gray fur stretched over a rumbling mass of muscle. Sharpened crests of tarnished bone lined its snout and brows. Claws like blades cut through the soil. Taller than a man and far stronger, it grunted and growled and pursued them ravenously.
“We should climb a tree and hide!” wailed Eno as the others caught up.
“Coward,” shouted Tumuhv. He spun to catch a glimpse of the bear, his mouth stretched into a ferocious grin. “I can take it!”
“No, you can’t,” said Yudove. “It’s a knife​-bear!”
“So what?” Tumuhv replied. “I have knives, too.”
“Not the same!” Kyta yelled. “We’re a team! We need to work together!” He peered into the darkness ahead, but the clutch of trees they’d entered had obscured much of the already scant moonlight, leaving him nearly blind. “Eno, can you get us back into the open?”
“Uh, well . . .”
“Can you do it or not?” Tumuhv roared.
“Okay!” the owl squeaked. “Curve left! Straight. Now right!”
They pushed their horses as fast as possible, emerging into the open flat of a dismal gulch. Here, Kyta hoped that their jewel horses would simply outrun the lumbering predator—a hope the knife-bear quickly dashed.
“Is it getting faster?” he demanded, scarcely believing his eyes.
“It doesn’t have to swerve around trees anymore. It can just run in a straight line,” observed Tumuhv. “Either we fight now or it catches us.”
“Can you throw a knife at it?” Kyta asked.
“One of my knives?” The Raincatcher boy looked offended. “I’d rather throw your head at it!”
“You could’ve just said no,” Kyta grunted as he struggled to think of a way to escape. “We need to be faster.”
Yudove lifted her voice. “Hold tight to your guide ropes and lean forward. Bend your knees and really clutch your horse’s sides. Stay low. Low as you can.”
“But then I can’t—” Tumuhv began.
“Just do it!” Kyta ordered.
They all did as she’d said, creating as little wind resistance as possible to give their mares the best chance at outrunning the frightful creature behind them. The ground rose from the gulch toward the wildflower fields beyond. The dank odor of death that permeated the air began to fade. Bit by tiny bit, they seemed to be gaining ground until something new leapt straight across Kyta’s path from the bushes, sending Don’laweah into a sudden juke that nearly threw him from her back . . .