The Shadows of Hythe
The wheat fields finally surrendered to a landscape of jagged, black slag and frozen earth. As the boys trekked West, the temperature plummeted. The air grew thin, carrying a sharp, biting whistle that seemed to emanate from the towering peaks of the Koppaburg Mountain Range ahead.
Nestled at the base of these mountains lay Hythe.
It was a village that felt out of time, even for Dane County. Thatch-roofed houses huddled together as if seeking warmth, and colorful gazebos stood in stark contrast to the grim, grey stone of the foothills. As the boys entered the old cobblestone streets, the atmosphere shifted. The villagers, who had been whispering in small clusters, went dead silent. Their eyes—dark and suspicious—followed the four strangers with an intensity that made Nathan pull his jacket tighter.
"They're staring again," Andrew muttered, his hand resting on the iron chain links he still carried in his pocket. "It's like Pickford all over again, just smaller."
"No," Fox Smith said, his eyes scanning the rooftops. "In Pickford, they were afraid of the Law. Here, they're afraid of the sky."
They found a small clearing near the edge of town, shadowed by two massive, gnarled Arwin trees. Michael King stopped, his eyes widening as he looked at the ground. Scattered in the dirt were old, rusted buckles and a shattered lens from a pair of spectacles—remnants that looked like they had been there for decades.
"This is where the Taft expedition started," Michael whispered, kneeling to touch the cold earth. "I read about this in the archives back at the Academy. Professor Taft and eighteen others. They came here looking for wind gods. They only found a cave."
"Wind gods?" Nathan asked, looking up at the jagged white fog shrouding the mountain peaks.
"The Zephyr," a voice rasped from the shadows.
The boys spun around. Emerging from the gloom was a man dressed in vibrant, mismatched silks and a unique red hat. His skin was leathered by the sun, and his eyes held a weary, ancient light.
"I am Koji," the man said, leaning against an Arwin tree. "I was the one who led the Professor up the black slag. I am the one who heard the screams from the Peak of Everlasting Eternity."
Fox stepped forward. "We aren't scholars, Koji. We’re just trying to get home. We're heading West."
Koji offered a sad, jagged smile. "West is the mountain. The mountain is the domain of the Zephyr. You think you hear the wind, little kings? You hear the beating of wings larger than your houses. You hear the hunger of things that leave nothing behind but white slime and wire."
Andrew scoffed, though his voice lacked its usual bravado. "Man-eating birds? We've dealt with worse."
"Have you?" Koji asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The Zephyr do not want your soul. They do not want to index you. They only want to feed. They are the vengeful gravity of the Koppaburg. If you go up there, you will not find a bridge of light. You will find the caves of the red lights."
Michael looked at his journal, then at the mountain. "The professor's glasses... the white substance... it was all real."
"Everything in Dane County is real once it finds you," Koji warned. "The villagers stay silent because they pay the tithe of silence. They give the mountains their whispers so the mountains do not take their children."
Nathan looked at Fox. "Maybe we shouldn't go West. Maybe we should go back to the Gate."
Fox looked at the mountain. He saw the deep white fog and the frozen slag. But he also saw the way the stars seemed to pull toward the highest peak—the same way they pulled toward the City of Dreams.
"The loop brought us back to the forest," Fox said firmly. "The forest led us here. If we turn back now, we're just accepting the loop. We have to go through the territory of the Zephyr. It's the only path the King hasn't guarded, because he’s too afraid of the birds to put soldiers there."
Andrew stepped up beside Fox, his chest out. "Fine. Giant birds. At least you can hit a bird. You can't hit a ghost."
Koji watched them, his red hat bobbing as he shook his head. "Then take the path of the black slag. But listen for the whistle. When the wind stops whistling and starts breathing, you run."
The boys turned away from the village of Hythe, leaving the silent, staring locals behind. They began the long, grueling hike up the mountain, their boots crunching on the frozen slag.
As they climbed, the sky above Hythe turned a deep, bruised purple. High above, hidden in the white fog of the Peak of Everlasting Eternity, something huge shifted. A pair of glowing red lights flickered in the dark, watching the four new variables enter the killing floor.
Nestled at the base of these mountains lay Hythe.
It was a village that felt out of time, even for Dane County. Thatch-roofed houses huddled together as if seeking warmth, and colorful gazebos stood in stark contrast to the grim, grey stone of the foothills. As the boys entered the old cobblestone streets, the atmosphere shifted. The villagers, who had been whispering in small clusters, went dead silent. Their eyes—dark and suspicious—followed the four strangers with an intensity that made Nathan pull his jacket tighter.
"They're staring again," Andrew muttered, his hand resting on the iron chain links he still carried in his pocket. "It's like Pickford all over again, just smaller."
"No," Fox Smith said, his eyes scanning the rooftops. "In Pickford, they were afraid of the Law. Here, they're afraid of the sky."
They found a small clearing near the edge of town, shadowed by two massive, gnarled Arwin trees. Michael King stopped, his eyes widening as he looked at the ground. Scattered in the dirt were old, rusted buckles and a shattered lens from a pair of spectacles—remnants that looked like they had been there for decades.
"This is where the Taft expedition started," Michael whispered, kneeling to touch the cold earth. "I read about this in the archives back at the Academy. Professor Taft and eighteen others. They came here looking for wind gods. They only found a cave."
"Wind gods?" Nathan asked, looking up at the jagged white fog shrouding the mountain peaks.
"The Zephyr," a voice rasped from the shadows.
The boys spun around. Emerging from the gloom was a man dressed in vibrant, mismatched silks and a unique red hat. His skin was leathered by the sun, and his eyes held a weary, ancient light.
"I am Koji," the man said, leaning against an Arwin tree. "I was the one who led the Professor up the black slag. I am the one who heard the screams from the Peak of Everlasting Eternity."
Fox stepped forward. "We aren't scholars, Koji. We’re just trying to get home. We're heading West."
Koji offered a sad, jagged smile. "West is the mountain. The mountain is the domain of the Zephyr. You think you hear the wind, little kings? You hear the beating of wings larger than your houses. You hear the hunger of things that leave nothing behind but white slime and wire."
Andrew scoffed, though his voice lacked its usual bravado. "Man-eating birds? We've dealt with worse."
"Have you?" Koji asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The Zephyr do not want your soul. They do not want to index you. They only want to feed. They are the vengeful gravity of the Koppaburg. If you go up there, you will not find a bridge of light. You will find the caves of the red lights."
Michael looked at his journal, then at the mountain. "The professor's glasses... the white substance... it was all real."
"Everything in Dane County is real once it finds you," Koji warned. "The villagers stay silent because they pay the tithe of silence. They give the mountains their whispers so the mountains do not take their children."
Nathan looked at Fox. "Maybe we shouldn't go West. Maybe we should go back to the Gate."
Fox looked at the mountain. He saw the deep white fog and the frozen slag. But he also saw the way the stars seemed to pull toward the highest peak—the same way they pulled toward the City of Dreams.
"The loop brought us back to the forest," Fox said firmly. "The forest led us here. If we turn back now, we're just accepting the loop. We have to go through the territory of the Zephyr. It's the only path the King hasn't guarded, because he’s too afraid of the birds to put soldiers there."
Andrew stepped up beside Fox, his chest out. "Fine. Giant birds. At least you can hit a bird. You can't hit a ghost."
Koji watched them, his red hat bobbing as he shook his head. "Then take the path of the black slag. But listen for the whistle. When the wind stops whistling and starts breathing, you run."
The boys turned away from the village of Hythe, leaving the silent, staring locals behind. They began the long, grueling hike up the mountain, their boots crunching on the frozen slag.
As they climbed, the sky above Hythe turned a deep, bruised purple. High above, hidden in the white fog of the Peak of Everlasting Eternity, something huge shifted. A pair of glowing red lights flickered in the dark, watching the four new variables enter the killing floor.