Kzine Issue 21

by Graeme Hurry et al.

  Lianne turned teary eyes to see that her father had come into the room and pulled up a desk chair. He seemed to barely breathe as he listened. Much as it pained her to break the rare mother-son connection, this was not the type of story she needed. And time was short, with people’s lives at stake.

  “I’m wondering about a different legend, Granny. Do you know one about a giant worm with horns?”

  The old woman’s brow creased and she seemed to stare past Lianne at something horrible.

  “You okay, Mom?” her dad asked, but Granny waved him away.

  “Tatoskog,” she said. “The horned serpent. Just a tiny worm until it finds its prey. Then it grows fast as you can blink. And it eats you whole.” Her features relaxed and she started laughing, weak but joyous. “But that was the silly version. My Joseph told it that way to scare the youngsters.”

  “No, Granny. I think Tatoskog might be real.” Lianne could not believe she’d just said that. “And I need to know how to kill it.”

  “What?” Her dad asked sharply. “Don’t mess with your poor granny.”

  “I’m serious. Something ate a guy in the canal. A witness described it as a tiny caterpillar that grew into a giant worm with horns.”

  “Jesus!”

  “Watch your language, young man.” The way Granny snapped at Lianne’s dad made both of them smile.

  But Lianne got serious again fast. “Granny? What other stories are there about the Tatoskog? Do people ever win, or do they always get eaten?”

  “No, dear. Sometimes Tatoskog goes away in peace.”

  Lianne moved to the edge of her chair. “And when does that happen, Granny? What do the people do to make it go away?”

  A serene smile stretched the wrinkles in Granny’s cheeks. “They let it speak its wisdom.”

  It took all of Lianne’s self-control not to release a huff of frustration. “I guess that’s a metaphor,” she murmured to her dad. Then, slowly and clearly, she asked, “Granny? How can people hear wisdom from a worm? What do they do?”

  Granny chuckled as she turned her head back to the TV. “They listen, of course.”

  And that was all Lianne could get out of her grandmother, who stared past a daytime talk show with glassy eyes. Lianne kissed the old woman’s forehead.

  “So, have you changed your mind?” her dad asked in the hallway.

  She knew he meant about resigning. “Don’t really want to talk about it.”

  He shrugged. “You were born for this job. And we’re so proud of you.” When she shot him a glare, he put his hands up defensively. “That’s all I’ll say about it. Promise.”

  She declined his invitation to stay for a grill-out, more to avoid the resignation conversation than anything, and headed back to work. What galled her was the realization that her dad was right. She was born to be, not just a cop, but a leader of cops. The image of her resignation letter on the Mayor’s desk made her swallow hard.

  Two blocks from her parents’ house, her phone blipped. The word “Precinct” and a police badge icon flashed on the screen. “This is Chief Bohannon.”

  “Uh, Chief?”

  She recognized the shaking voice of Dai Aouda, her new desk sergeant. “What’s going on, Sergeant Aouda?”

  “It’s Detective Jessup, Chief. He’s not responding.”

  Lianne swallowed down a very bad feeling. “Where was he headed when you last heard from him?”

  “He said he wanted to check something about scene of the Trent case.”

  Her heart pounding, Lianne said, “The canal! I’m on it.” She attached the magnetized police light to the roof of her unmarked car. The stretch of canal where Michael Trent had disappeared was ten minutes away. Lianne did not have ten minutes. She floored the gas. Listen to your wisdom, my ass. If you touch my best detective, you’re gonna be the one listening, you bastard worm. And running for your ugly, horn-faced life.

  She skidded onto the gravel parking lot meant for employees. The thorns of a juniper bush scratched her as she raced to the water’s edge; she wondered if the monster was attracted by the smell of blood, like a shark.

  “Detective Jessup?” The constant crashing of the Amoskeag Falls nearby made it tough to distinguish sounds. “Focus,” she scolded herself. The lowering sun painted long, dark shadows across the canal and its banks. Lianne pulled out her flashlight to check under bushes and crevices between rocks. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Most likely Steve Jessup was playing poker or chasing down a lead or waiting for a dentist’s appointment and he just forgot to call in. Or turn on his phone.

  Grudgingly, Lianne admitted that wasn’t so likely. “But why am I here?” she asked out loud. A mythical horned serpent? Seriously? She knew she was being ridiculous. Superstitious. She was being her Grandpa Joseph!

  And that thought made her defiant. Standing at the concrete edge over the canal, she growled the monster’s real name. “Tatoskog.”

  She noticed two things at once as she leaned forward. First, blood spatter formed an arc along the concrete just above the water line. Second, a small, thick worm was swimming toward her along the surface. It had tiny horns on its head. She wanted to examine the blood, but knew she should back away from the worm. Those conflicting impulses froze her. A muffled moan jumpstarted her decision-making. “Oh, my god. Jessup?”

  She didn’t see anyone, but a desperate sound came from below. Following the blood spatter to its source led her gaze to a rectangular opening, apparently a storm drain. Its rough concrete edge shone with blood.

  “Jesus.” Lianne didn’t even bother with the rusty hand-holds leading down into the water. The second she could get her gun holster and radio off, she jumped right in. Two boot-covered feet were visible. One was dripping blood into the water. Lianne pulled off her belt and made a tourniquet over the detective’s torn police trousers.

  The only good news was that the legs were trembling. He was alive. “Jessup? It’s me. It’s Lianne. I’m going to get out of there.”

  She reached instinctively for her shoulder radio to call for backup and a bus. Her radio was on the bank, next to her gun. “Damn it. Ok, Jessup. I’ll grab your legs. If you can hear me, if you can move your arms at all, try to push. Help me slide you out backwards.” She glanced at the water behind her. No worm, only a few leaves and a school of minnows. Lianne took one of Jessup’s calves in each hand, holding them steady even as he bucked with pain. “OK, here we go. One, two, three.” With the soles of her shoes flat against the concrete wall for counterforce, she pulled.

  It was a physics lesson gone horribly wrong. Jessup’s body gave no resistance, but slipped out as if it were oiled. He flew over her head, pushing her into an underwater backwards somersault. The world spun into murky green bubbles. At first Lianne lost her bearings. Needed air. Couldn’t find up.

  A glint from a lamp pole—it must have just popped on—showed her the surface.

  Then Jessup floated by, eyes wide and jerking left to right. She grabbed his belt on the way up. Her strong scissor-kicks pumped them both closer and closer to blessed air. Jessup managed a few weak kicks.

  The air Lianne gulped could have been champagne or the finest chocolate. Jessup’s brown face was ashen, but he was breathing on his own. As she pulled him toward the containment wall, she allowed herself the smallest feeling of relief. Almost there. Her hand was inches from the metal rung.

  “Reach out, Jessup. Can you grab that, help me pull you up?”

  “Yeah,” he sputtered.

  But Lianne couldn’t move. On Jessup’s other side, the brackish water swelled. With speed that almost pulled Lianne under, the serpent, following its massive round head, emerged. Its open mouth could have held a four-door hatchback. Teeth like yellow daggers yawned in three concentric circles. Lianne smelled death in its saliva.

  They were trapped, backs to the retaining wall. She didn’t dare turn to start climbing—not that facing that gaping maw was keeping them safe. “I think we’re about to die, J
essup.”

  “I know.”

  She wanted to comfort him, but suddenly couldn’t think of his first name. The toothy mouth was lunging for them.

  “Go under,” Jessup said hoarsely. They filled their lungs and plunged back in. Immediately she regretted it. The serpent dived, too. Desperate, she let go of Jessup’s belt and swam north. A weird, strangled sound made her turn, which she could only do in slow motion.

  It was Jessup, eyes wide with terror. The worm would soon have him in its mouth. Not an expert swimmer, Lianne was only yards away, but too distant to help. Plus, she needed air. Jessup’s only (slight) hope was if she could reach shore and get her gun.

  As she swam upward, her mind filled with images from her childhood. She and her brother and sister around the campfire in Merrimack River Park. Grandpa telling stories of the horrid horned serpent. Granny, smiling, smart, and kind, always knowing what to say to the spooked kids.

  Granny still knows. The moment Lianne propelled herself to the surface, she shouted with every ounce of her breath. “Tatoskog, I am listening!”

  Limp and bloodied, but definitely alive, Jessup floated to the surface near her. As she gathered him in her arms, the Tatoskog rose. And rose, and rose, towering over them. Its segmented body was so large now, Lianne feared the canal would overflow. She grabbed the top of the retaining wall—that’s how high they were floating. The worm bent so its impossibly huge, round mouth lingered over them like a portal to another world.

  “Tell me something wise, and then go away.”

  The giant serpent roared. It sounded like it was laughing at her puny efforts. A sense deep within Lianne told her that she must ask a question to receive an answer. “Okay, Tatoskog. What great wisdom do I need to hear?”

  Throwing its head back, the horned worm faced its mouth to the new moon, which seemed to hang right over the canal. A voice in Lianne’s mind spoke clearly. “This is your calling.”

  With an eerie wheeze like a balloon losing air slowly, the Tatoskog shrank. Soon Lianne could not see it in the dark water.

  Police cars pulled up. Their headlights showed a small worm flitting away, southward, faster than Lianne’s fear.

  “Chief?” An officer ran up. “The desk sergeant said you might be here. We got an ambulance, too.”

  As Lianne handed Jessup’s unconscious body up to the ambulance team, one of the EMT’s asked her, “Did you see it, Chief? The giant worm?”

  She nodded, taking the towel offered to her. “I saw it.”

  “Quite a memory to take with you, your last week on the job.”

  It was none of their damn business if she took back her resignation letter, so she just said, “I don’t think it will be back for a long time.” Until we need it again. Or maybe until it needs us. She looked out over the canal. “Sibobi.”

  “What’s that, Chief? Didn’t hear ya.”

  “Oh, nothing.” She whispered it again: sibobi. That was the Abenaki word for river water, which she’d suddenly remembered. And in the glint of moonlight she could have sworn she saw a glowing worm on the river’s surface.

  ILYSVEIL: TWILIGHT OF THE RADIANT DAWN

  by J. H. Zech

  Lyn presented her documentation to the guard at the wooden red gate surrounded by interwoven gold and green patterns. She kept her eyes down; she had never come to a royal compound without Empress Narsha before. She must’ve stood out in a commoner’s white robes, especially in front of a school.

  A dragonborn man passed by on the dirt road in front of the building, driving a horse-drawn cart carrying black ceramic barrels. A pungent smell assaulted her nose, and she surmised that the barrels contained fermented soy paste. Her tail waved back and forth in anticipation. She had heard from Her Majesty that her teacher would be an Ilysveilan human rather than a tigerborn. Dragonborns from the nearby Centrosian Empire were common, but a human felt quite exotic.

  “Go ahead.” The guard, clad in plated grey armor and blue cloth, opened the door for her and gave her the paper stamped with the royal seal, a turtle inside the ring of the world.

  She stepped through the gate connected to curved, red wooden brackets that supported the slanted black roof over the door. She entered a white courtyard with stone statues of tigers along the main path.

  A little girl in green robes and a man in dark blue robes stood at the center. His orange and black striped tail beat the ground in rapid succession.

  Lyn hid behind a tiger pedestal and watched. This royal villa had been reserved for a girls’ school. What was a man from the court doing here? She squinted. Golden lines weaved around the man’s robe. He turned slightly. On his chest was a four-toed golden dragon. She recognized the symbol. Prince Regent Teu.

  “What exactly are they teaching you here?” the Prince Regent asked.

  The little girl’s furry ears drooped. “Numbers and sah-yence, Your Majesty.”

  “Science? I see. Narsha’s letting the blasphemy of the Ilysveilan barbarians infect the minds of the young,” the Prince Regent said.

  “Um… May I go now?”

  Prince Regent Teu stomped his foot. “I still have questions for you.”

  The little girl whimpered.

  “Women ought not speak unless spoken to. I suppose they’re not teaching you Yukyo at this school. What is the world coming to? First the Western barbarians, and now the youth have no manners.”

  Lyn couldn’t stand to watch this any longer. Even if he was the Prince Regent, he had no right to push around a little kid like that. She stood up and walked toward them.

  Prince Regent Teu turned around. “Who are you?”

  “I am Lyn, Your Lordship.” Lyn bowed.

  “That’s ‘Your Majesty’ to you.”

  “My apologies, Your Lordship. Emperor Kojo was crowned the other day, so I’m afraid I cannot address anyone else but Empress Narsha as ‘Your Majesty,’ even the former emperor,” Lyn said.

  Teu’s whisker twitched. “You’re certainly well-informed. I was having a conversation with this little lady here, so please attend to your own business.”

  Lyn gulped. She had an idea, but even if she was right, a mere attendant arguing with the Prince Regent carried risks. Still, the little girl was looking at her with teary round eyes. “This is an all-girls school, Your Lordship. An extended conversation here may be unwise. Part of a husband’s duty to his wife in Yukyo is to avoid prolonged company with exclusively other women. The guard has seen you enter. I know you have no inappropriate intentions, but it may come across the wrong way to the court.”

  Teu grit his teeth, baring his fangs. “I have important matters to attend to. Farewell for now.” He turned and left through the main gate.

  Lyn sighed in relief.

  The little girl came up to her and hugged her. “Thank you, big sister! His Majesty was really scary.”

  Lyn patted her on the head. “It’s okay now.” She doubted it. A man like him wouldn’t take a humiliation like that lying down.

  Shortly afterward, a human woman with long black hair walked through the main gate humming to herself. She waved to them, the frills on her light blue dress fluttering. Lyn had never seen an Ilysveilan before. A human certainly looked different from a tigerborn, but she wasn’t as different as Lyn had imagined.

  “Are you two ready for class today?” she said.

  “Yes, Sensei,” Lyn said, bowing.

  She waved her hands in front of her. “Ah, don’t do that! Bowing to me just feels so strange. Oh, I forgot. You’re new here. Let me introduce myself.” Her thin figure curtseyed. “I’m Mira Chelavye, and I’m the instructor for Eva Academy.”

  “It’s an honor, Mira Sensei.”

  “Actually, we say our family name last in Ilysveil.”

  “Apologies, Chelavye Sensei.” Lyn had imagined that some strict elderly lady as her teacher. She hadn’t expected such a young woman. Chelavye didn’t look that much older than Lyn herself, and she was only sixteen.

  The little girl t
ugged on her sleeve. “Big sister. I’m Yun Aria.”

  They entered a room beyond a sliding papered door, where about ten other girls were sitting on square mats. Each had a tiny lap table in front of them. A mixture of red, green, and yellow patterns snaked around the walls, and a scroll with Centrosian hieroglyphic characters was fixed at the top of the front wall. Aria took a seat at the back.

  Chelavye stood at the front of the room. “A new classmate will be joining us today.” She gestured to Lyn.

  Lyn stood in front of the class and bowed. “I’m Lyn. Nice to meet you all. I look forward to studying with you.”

  Whispers swirled around the room.

  “Hey, she didn’t say a family name, did she?”

  “She must not have a family name.”

  “They’re letting a commoner study with us?”

  Chelavye clapped twice. “Settle down, everyone. In here, I’ll teach everyone equally.”

  Lyn sat at the back next to Aria. She sighed. She had hoped that the idea of girls learning all the things boys did would have united all girls. Even among girls, Lyn was still a commoner.

  Chelavye held a solidified block of ink in the center of a large paper on the wall. She pressed her hand against the paper. An intricate patterned circle glowed around her hand. The block of ink transformed itself into a diagram of symbols in a boxed grid.

  “That just now was alchemy. Transmutation is the process of transforming something into a different shape. If done precisely, you can even change the structure of the base atoms to change elements, as long as the total input is equal to the total output. This is called the law of equivalent exchange.” She pointed at the chart she had just made. “I did a review of Radiaurora’s alchemy. Your nation does indeed already have some knowledge of the law and the process. What it’s missing is knowledge of the elements.”