Page 27 of His Human Believer

“Poachers?” I gasp.

“There is a market. A mounted Skyggjar head — not a claw, not a hide, the head — has been listed on the dark exchanges three separate times in the last decade at figures in the millions of credits. For a creature that does not exist. So long as no being can say definitively there is nothing there, some collector in the outer sectors will pay a fortune for a thing that cannot be delivered, and some being will go into a preserve at night to try and deliver it.”

“This is again, why you have taken the vow and are very carefully following through with this particular investigation.”

He looks out at the black wall of the canopy. “I want it in the record, properly, with evidence, in a form that cannot be argued back into existence, so that the listings come down and the households stop locking their offspring indoors and no further being walks into a preserve with a weapon on an alignment night.”

“Okay,” I say. “But answer the actual question. You told me why the legend is dangerous. I asked whether the kids are safe.”

“I believe they are safe,” he responds.

“Believe?”

“That is the only word available to me. I do not have proof of a negative. No being does.” He meets my gaze. “I have years of experience looking, and no bone, or print I can attribute, no documented predation. And years of accounts in which the creature has never once — not in a single variant, not in any region — taken a child.”

I sit up. “Wait. In four hundred years of stories about a monster that comes for children,” I say slowly, “it has never actually taken one?”

“Not in any account I have located.” He shrugs. “The legend says it watches them and that is the entire behavior described in every version. It appears, observes and withdraws. The fear is universal but the harm is not there. The Hyrrokin have a legend about a creature that has never harmed anyone but has caused three deaths and one destroyed fire beast out of a fear that never actually happens.”

I exhale. “Okay, that makes me feel better. But… as you said, the danger is still there, not necessarily from the Skyggar itself, but from the chaos that surrounds the hunt for the Skyggjar.”

“Exactly.”

I take a sip of traq. “Well, at least Molten Lava’s on it.”

“Yes, Team Molten Lava will hold the perimeter, both gates, and the length of the wall. That was Bergelmir Touchstone’s recommendation, not mine, and it is a good one.” He nods once. “Ninety-four offspring in the dark at a public event is a security matter without any creature at all. Beings get lost or wander. There are many ways for that night to go badly that have nothing to do with folklore.”

“So we’re covered either way.”

“We are covered against the likely risks either way.”

And that’s when someone comes up the path.

Skylo is in motion before we even hear footsteps. One moment he’s asleep, and the next he’s snarling at a male before he gets close. All three heads growling and bursting flame, blocking the being before it can bring us harm.

The male has his hands up. “Whoa, hold on,” he shouts. “Please call off your beast. I’m just walking on the path.”

He’s not Hyrrokin.

That is a puzzle because I’ve spent three diurnals surrounded by red skin and black horns. Tarvos is notorious for being very choosy about allowing off worlders on their planet. I’m lucky I got a travel visa. This male is tall and slim, with a light complexion, blue eyes and close-cropped, blond hair. He looks human, but because of all the time I’ve spent living on Salo, I can see the tell-tale signs that show the differences between our two species. He’s Gravian, which means he’s extremely strong.

“Skylo, down,” Vidar orders.

The wulver immediately banks his fires and he backs up to sit just in front of me.

“Apologies.” The male stops at the edge of our light, easy and unhurried. “I saw the burner. I did not expect anybody out here at this hour.”

I know that accent. That’s west-continent Gravian. It’s the accent of a male from a part of the planet known for not being as peaceful or as religious as the rest of the species.

“You’re a long way from Salo,” I comment.

He grins. “So are you, human. My name is Yorick Vail.” He comes forward and offers a hand to Vidar first, then to me. “Naturalist. I am conducting survey work on the eastern preserves during the alignment.”

“At midnight?”

“Nocturnal survey work. It includes a great deal of standing in the dark. As I imagine you know.” He’s already reaching into his jacket. “You will want this.” He produces a document tab and hands it straight to Vidar without being asked. “Research visa. Sponsored, three-month, restricted-access endorsement for the eastern preserves. Please do check it. I would rather you checked than wondered.”

Vidar reads the documentation. I watch his shoulders come down about half a nanco. He looks over at me. “It is in order.”