by Tamara Moss
Lintang hung back, straining to hear Camelia’s answer.
‘The merchants tell me it was on a volcano in the sea, which is mad. But then, she’s supposed to be not quite right in the head. She stabbed a man for trying to take her necklace.’
Romi the innkeeper snorted. ‘Unsurprising. Wasn’t there something about her in The Mythie Guidebook? I’m sure I remember seeing her under one of the entries, but it’s been too long since I’ve read the Gods-forsaken thing …’
Elder Wulan called for Lintang to hurry up. She spoke in Vierse rather than their native tongue. At school they were always supposed to speak, read and write Vierse, the language most spoken around the world. The Twin Islands hadn’t officially joined the United Regions yet, but that was only because Nyasamdra was too dangerous for outsiders to travel through their waters.
Lintang reached Elder Wulan as the rest of the children went into the classroom to gather sacks so they could pick fruit for the feast. While morning classes were filled with reading and writing, afternoon classes were spent outdoors learning about different jobs in the village, whether it be on the lagoon with the fishermen, tending to farmyard animals, or harvesting seasonal crops.
Nimuel ran up to Lintang. Even strangers could tell they were brother and sister – both their noses were petite but broad, their cheeks round, their hair as dark as fertile soil. The only difference was that he had inherited Mother’s eyes, grey-green like the rainforest leaves at dusk. At the moment they were bright with excitement. ‘Did you see the ship?’
She brushed breadcrumbs from his chin. He could be as messy as a blue-tailed howler sometimes. ‘Yes, but I’m not allowed to go to the welcome feast. I got into a bit of trouble at lunchtime.’
He groaned. ‘What did you do now?’ Some of the kids stuck their heads out of the classroom, yelling for him. He waved. ‘All right, I’m coming!’ To Lintang, he said, ‘Of all the days to get into trouble.’
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ she said. He rolled his eyes and raced off to join the others.
He was only seven, but he’d made so many friends since starting school. She could’ve made friends if she’d wanted to, of course, but the kids never did what she told them, even though she was the eldest. And they never accepted her challenges to duel. Who wanted to be friends with kids who didn’t like duelling? A bunch of sea sponges, the lot of them.
Well, except one.
‘Ah, Bayani, good.’ Elder Wulan headed to Bayani, who had been reading a book on the school steps. ‘Would you do me a favour?’
Bayani was twelve, like Lintang, but that’s where their similarities ended. While she and the other children came to class in sarongs or long, ragged shorts, he wore neat cotton shirts, clean pants and boots. His black hair was carefully trimmed by his mother, and his skin was darker than Lintang’s from his work on the gaya farm. He was always polite, knew the correct answers in class and loved learning. Normally Lintang would never have liked someone so responsible, but there was a good reason he was her best friend.
‘As a reward for your excellent answers in history class this morning, you may stay behind and tidy the schoolhouse rather than come out to pick fruit,’ Elder Wulan said to him.
He smiled. ‘Thank you, Elder Wulan.’
She rounded on Lintang. ‘And,’ she said severely, ‘as punishment for giving your mother so much grief today, you must stay behind and tidy the schoolroom rather than come out to pick fruit.’
Lintang scowled.
‘Don’t pull that face at me, Lintang of Desa.’
Lintang forced her scowl to relax. She had to grit her teeth so she could answer without sounding resentful. ‘Yes, Elder Wulan.’
It was so unfair. She’d been trying to do the right thing.
‘Right.’ Elder Wulan turned to Bayani. ‘Don’t let her leave the classroom, and don’t let her get into any trouble.’
Bayani grinned at Lintang. ‘I’ll do my best.’
Elder Wulan climbed the steps to check on the others, and Lintang peeked at the book Bayani had been reading. It was made of metal rather than papil, which meant it was an official textbook from Vierz. She caught sight of the cover.
The Mythie Guidebook
by
Leika of Zaiben
She should’ve known. He’d been obsessed with that book recently.
‘So what did you do this time?’ he asked while they waited.
‘Nothing.’ When he looked at her, she added, ‘I singed the larder, that’s all.’
He shook his head, but he was smiling. ‘Of course you did. And who was to blame?’
‘Pirates.’
Bayani laughed.
‘Yes, Mother didn’t believe me either,’ she said glumly.’ She frowned at him. ‘Actually, it was that stupid pixie’s fault.’
‘Which pixie?’
‘Your favourite one. With the white glow.’
‘Pelita,’ Bayani said.
‘Right.’
The reason Bayani didn’t have any friends besides Lintang was that he loved mythies. He gave them names, and talked to them like people. He could usually be seen wandering through the village at dusk with two or three glowing pixies fluttering around his head. He even saved gnomes from wild-pig traps, and who would want to save an ugly old gnome?
She’d asked him about it before, but he’d just shrugged and said he felt sorry for them. Everyone thought he was strange, even the adults. Lintang didn’t mind that he was strange. It meant he wasn’t boring.
The school group started down the wide, dusty road. Elder Wulan glanced back one last time and gave a warning glare before they headed out of the village. When they were gone, Lintang said, ‘I have a great idea.’
Bayani sighed and went into the classroom.
She followed him. ‘Just listen.’
It was darker than usual in the room. One side of a heavy world map drooped from its spot, blocking the windows. It was cool thanks to the concrete walls, though it smelled of chalk and the earthen floor. A fruit dove fluttered in the low rafters.
Bayani slid The Mythie Guidebook back on the shelf between all the other battered books. Lintang picked up a dry rag and started wiping each desk and slate clean.
‘Mother’s only mad because I burnt her panna leaves.’
Bayani beat two dusters together. Clouds of chalk exploded around him.
‘If I get more panna leaves from the plantation, I could have them to her nice and early so she’ll still be able to make her fish wraps. Then she can’t be mad at me.’
Bayani stopped beating the dusters. ‘Lintang …’
‘This is important,’ Lintang said quickly. ‘It’s to make Mother happy. I’m being responsible.’
‘Says the girl who set her mother’s larder on fire and blamed pirates.’ Bayani stood on the little front stool to wipe down the blackboard. ‘Elder Wulan told you to stay here.’
Lintang gave a dramatic sigh and threw her rag aside. ‘All right. You’ve forced me to do this. Bayani of Desa, as your elder, I order you to let me go.’
Bayani snorted. ‘You’re three days older than me. I hardly think – hey!’
While his back was turned, Lintang had run to the storage cupboard. She hit the side of it in three special spots. The tired lock clicked; the door fell open. Two wooden swords, chipped and muddy and worn, sat on the top shelf. Mother had long ago regretted the day she’d had them made for Lintang. Elder Wulan was under the impression she’d managed to confiscate them for good, and Lintang was happy to let her keep thinking that.
She tossed one of the swords to Bayani. He caught it with a frown. His had a carving of a star on the hilt. Hers had a carving of a full moon, with two crescent moons on either side.
‘Ordinary duelling rules apply,’ she said. ‘If I win, I can go to the panna plantation.’
‘I’m not duelling with you.’
She smirked. ‘Yes, you are.’
This was why Bayani made an excellent friend. Lintan
g could talk him into anything.
She edged forward and tapped her wooden blade against his. It made a delightful clack. ‘If you win,’ she said, ‘we both stay here, and I’ll help you make this classroom spotless.’
Bayani tapped his blade against hers, thoughtful. ‘We’d better not. We’ll get into trouble.’
‘I saw you practising last night in the paddock,’ she said. ‘You want to beat me, don’t you? Come on. You never know. Today could be your lucky –’
He lunged. She yelped, blocking him just in time, then cackled as he attacked again. Usually she pretended to be Hantu, the legendary swordsman who battled a hundred soldiers on Malaki Mountain, but today she was Captain Shafira, fighting on a volcano in the sea.
‘Take that!’ she said, jabbing at Bayani and just missing as he spun away.
His attacks were fast; studied. She was right – he had improved. Maybe he’d gotten tips from the warriors’ guild.
Thwack! Clatter!
No one ever gave Lintang fighting tips. They were all scared that Mother would find out. Instead, Lintang had to use her reflexes, her strength, her knowledge of her sword.
Clack! Crack!
‘You … you … wobbly jellyfish!’ Bayani said.
Lintang laughed, climbing onto a desk. ‘We need to work on your insults.’ A slate fell to the floor. Chalk snapped beneath her bare heel. She jumped as he tried to swipe her legs. ‘You ebony-nosed loobatoon! You brown-tailed barbanees! You blood-eyed ruberrince!’
He snorted and stabbed at her legs again. ‘So while I was practising sword-fighting, you were making up ridiculous words?’
She spun to dodge his attack and landed lithely on the floorboards near the front of the classroom. A toy landcraft clattered away on its wooden wheels. ‘And yet I’m still winning.’
‘You’re not winning!’
Smack!
‘I have to get those panna leaves. If I don’t meet Captain Shafira, I’ll die.’
‘Well, I’m glad you’re not overreacting.’
‘I mean it. I have to be the Islander she chooses to get past Nyasamdra.’
Bayani said nothing for a while. Lintang thought he was just concentrating – Whack! Clack! – but after a moment he said, ‘Do you think she’ll consider taking me?’
Lintang lowered her sword. ‘You? On a pirate ship?’ Rather than answer, Bayani swung and she barely blocked his attack in time. ‘Why do you want to leave Desa?’
‘Why do you want to leave Desa?’
‘As if I want to be stuck here all my life. I’m sick of learning about these amazing places and not being allowed to see them.’ She hit her blade so hard against his, the wood shuddered in her hand.
‘Same with me,’ he said.
‘I don’t believe you. You don’t like travelling. It was only last season that you had to go to Sundriya, and you said you hated being away.’
‘I was in an infirmary the whole time, surrounded by other sick people. Of course I hated it.’
‘But why would you want to travel with pirates? They’re criminals, you know.’
Bayani used a three-move attack to back her up against a desk. ‘Forget it. It was just an idea.’
She spun so the desk was between them. They stared at each other, panting. ‘What’s going on, Bayani?’
He’d been acting strange ever since he’d come back from his seven-day trip to Sundriya, the capital city south of Desa. His fever had been too high for the village’s traditional healers to save him. His mother had rushed him to a Vierzan medic instead, and when he’d come back, he wouldn’t say a word about what had happened. Something there had changed him, though. He’d become secretive, often wandering around with a furrow in his brow. And he didn’t always answer the first time his name was called anymore, as if he were constantly lost in thought. Whenever she asked him about it, he’d smile and say it was nothing.
‘It’s nothing,’ he said now, just as she’d expected. ‘Are you going to fight me or not?’
Fine. If he wasn’t going to tell her, she wasn’t going to play fair. The world map behind him was ready to fall. In one swooping movement, she picked up a duster and hurled it at the poster. It fell with a resounding crash. Bayani whipped around in alarm. While he was looking away, she lurched forward and thrust her blade at his throat.
‘Surrender!’
His groan rumbled through the wood of her sword. He turned to face her. ‘You cheated.’
She set her sword on the nearest desk. ‘I distracted you. That’s not cheating.’
He put his sword down too. ‘I can’t believe you beat me. I’ve been training every day.’
‘This isn’t some festival dance. There aren’t special moves. You have to make it up as you go along.’
‘How? How do you do it so well?’
She shrugged. ‘I just … feel it.’
He sighed noisily and started cleaning up the dropped chalk and slates. One of the slates was cracked. He examined it. ‘I don’t know how we’re going to explain this to Elder Wulan.’
‘Don’t bother – she won’t notice. Almost everything in this classroom is broken.’ She brightened. ‘And don’t worry about cleaning now. Let’s go to the plantation!’
‘No.’ He picked up his sword and tried to reach for Lintang’s, but she snatched it away. ‘The deal was that if you won, you could go to the plantation.’
Her smile fell. ‘You’re not coming with me?’
‘I have to tidy this mess. Besides, the panna plantation is near the orchard. What if Elder Wulan catches us?’
‘She won’t. It’ll be fine.’
‘No, Lintang.’ Bayani dropped a handful of broken chalk into the chalk bucket. ‘I am absolutely, positively, not going with you.’
* * *
THE MYTHIE GUIDEBOOK
ENTRY #87: Propheseeds (common)
Propheseeds are sky mythies that take the form of three glowing dandelion seeds. They appear harmless, giggling childishly, and do not physically attack.
Diet: Unknown.
Habitat: Worldwide.
Frequency: Moderately rare.
Behaviour: The propheseeds will say your name three times, then, in the form of a riddle or rhyme, give you the details of your imminent death.
Eradication: There is no known way to banish or kill the propheseeds, and no one has ever escaped their prophecies.
Did you know? In the ninety-fifth year of the Bauei period, the propheseeds predicted that General Lor would drown. He locked himself in an old fort in the Arobi Desert, which then flooded after a freak rainstorm, killing him and his five attendants.
Danger level: 1
* * *
Pero and the Propheseeds
Lintang stalked triumphantly down the hill in front of Bayani, her wooden sword tucked into the sash around her sarong. She squinted at the bay over Farmer Johan’s growing vegetables. The fishing boats were coming in for the day, but it was too hard to tell if the Winda’s rowboats were among them – thick grey clouds had cast dark shadows over the ocean.
She turned to ask Bayani if he could see them, only to find he’d stopped at the edge of his farm. Two gaya had wandered to the fence, vying for attention. He tousled the woolly blue head of one, and patted a horn of the other.
‘Oh, so we’re friends again, are we?’ Bayani said to the one with the torn ear. ‘You were certainly grumpy enough during dawn milking.’
‘By the Gods,’ Lintang muttered. If it wasn’t mythies he was busy chatting to, it was his beloved gaya herd. ‘Come on, Bayani!’
She turned on her heel and continued downhill without waiting. Pitter wrens darted around her, snapping at the tiny white rain moths that always swarmed before a storm. The grazing paddock soon petered out, replaced by tangled rainforest. It would be quicker cutting through than going around. She left the path and squelched through the warm leaf litter. The canopy twisted over her head, making it as dark as twilight. The buzzing insects were nearly deafening.
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She took the path she knew, climbing onto a monstrous buttress root then checking to make sure Bayani was still behind her. He was picking his way between two spider webs.
She cupped her hands around her mouth. ‘Stop being delicate! They’ll build another one!’
He ignored her and continued in his careful manner. Leaves rustled above, probably blue-tailed howlers swinging from branch to branch in the canopy. A large flutterbee soared past her nose, its wings decorated in intricate patterns of black and orange.
‘Over the mountains and across the sea,’ she said dramatically as Bayani drew nearer, ‘there lived a warrior of legendary skill. His name was Pero.’
‘Oh, good,’ he said, climbing up to join her. ‘I like the legends of Pero.’
She jumped down from the buttress root. ‘But this is no ordinary tale, for Pero had seen the propheseeds.’
Bayani groaned. ‘I don’t want to hear about his death.’
‘Too bad, it’s what you’re getting.’
They headed for the plantation.
‘A good storyteller gives the audience what they want.’
‘A good audience stays quiet. Now, after his brave battle against the sea serpent Pero had returned to his village to take care of his sickly mother. He enjoyed his time chopping firewood, fixing things around the house and visiting the gaya girl, for they say those who take care of gaya make the best wives or husbands.’
‘You added that part in,’ Bayani said, reddening.
‘True,’ she said. ‘Actually, Pero visited the inn because he liked the barmaid. But on his way home one evening, beneath the shine of his ancestors’ stars, he came across a trio of floating dandelion seeds. They swirled and giggled before him, and he knew his doom had come. “Pero, Pero, Pero,” they said, and then they spoke in rhyme:
‘Mother of monsters, ruler of all
She is the one to whom you will fall
Fifty days for you to fight
Mratzi will harvest you in the night.’
Lintang stopped as she caught whiffs of sweet pannas mingling with the damp, earthy scent of leaf litter. And there was another smell – a delicious floral tang that reminded her of something. ‘We’re almost there,’ she said, and broke into a run.
