Page 60 of Mostly Shattered

“Nyxorneth,” says the horned boy.

“Thal’gorath,” shouts a girl struggling to keep her tethered companion from lifting her off the ground.

“Zharog.”

“Vorthyx.”

“Molgarath,” a small cat shifter says, poking the girl next to him with a claw.

She yelps and swats at him. “No. It’s Draakmar!”

“Xeltharok!”

“Grav’Zhul!”

“Enough.” The witch lifts her hands, and they instantly go silent. “Yes, those are all beings that live deep within the earth. But who is the great creature that sleeps in the pit down there waiting for me tosend it naughty children to snack on when it wakes?”

“For fuck’s sake, Costin.” I exhale in panic. “How many ancient fucking evils are there?”

The witch turns more fully to face me this time and twitches as she steps forward.

“Uh, sorry.” I hold up my hands. “Please, continue.”

The woman gestures toward the chasm with a bony finger and returns to her students. “We call it Nyxorneth, but it is older than time and has no true name. It’s been there for centuries, longer than your families have walked this dirt. But every now and then... someone gets too close. And when they do, they are never heard from again.”

She lets the words hang in the air, savoring the rising tension.

I lean into Costin, feeling safer with him next to me. He looks down at my death grip on his arm.

The children stare at her in silence.

The schoolmarm flashes a wicked smile as she turns to stare at me. “The creature of the pit has a gnawing hunger that knows no bounds. It’s always waiting for someone foolish enough to look over the edge and—” Suddenly, she snaps her fingers, making the children jump. Her cold cackle echoes across the bridge as the kids join her laughter.

The children scurry along behind her as sheleads them from the bridge. I want to stop her to ask which of the many evils they just mentioned was the one I’m up against. Though, I’m not sure giving it a name will make me feel better.

I glance over at Costin. His expression is tight, but he catches me staring and raises an eyebrow. His posture is tenser than before.

“Can we cross now?” he asks.

“I feel like you’re not telling me something.” I don’t move.

He doesn’t answer right away, instead flexing and twisting his arm to force me to let go. His expression sharpens, but not on me—on something behind me.

“I’m keeping you safe. That’s what matters.” He nods toward the bridge. “We need to keep moving.”

I glance at the throng behind us but only see the teacher leading the kids into the crowded marketplace.

I keep to the middle of the bridge as we pass, trying not to look anywhere but at my feet until we’re on the other side.

Structures crafted from mud and stone line one side of the walkway. A few of them have windows, and I see wooden furniture inside. The doors to the dwellings are all closed. The foot traffic around us lessens as Costin ducks between two of them.

“The troll lives in there.” He points toward atunnel’s entryway hidden behind one of the homes. “Let me do the talking.”

As an independent woman, I should tell him he can’t order me around. As a human about to meet a troll in an underground tunnel in the supernatural realm to discuss the nature of evil, I think I can let his tone slide.

“Wait,” I stop him.

“What is it?” He sounds annoyed.

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