The Fork-Tongue Charmers by Paul Durham

when she reached out to brace herself for impact against the earthen wall, she was surprised to find that she just kept going, disappearing into an even blacker tunnel. Rye didn’t stop to make sense of it; she just kept running as fast as she could. She felt the patter of earth and pebbles on her shoulders like hail. Her boots slapped the loose soil and shallow puddles splashed her bare legs. Rye lost all sense of direction as she ran, bouncing off walls and crashing into what she thought were dead ends only to turn herself around and run some more. Just as the blue glow of her choker began to subside, a hidden root sent her tumbling. She felt the sting of reopened scars as her knees hit the ground.
    Rye sat up and pressed her back against the tunnel wall. Now, in absolute darkness, she realized she must be in the Spoke. Its tunnels had been carved out long ago by the Luck Uglies themselves, and Drowning’s hidden underbelly still remained a little-known secret. Rye knew there were other entrances and exits throughout the village: abandoned wells, forgotten cemeteries; even the now smoldering basement of the Willow’s Wares concealed entryways into the Spoke’s catacombs. Thorn Quill’s root cellar must have been another.
    Rye caught her breath. The glow from her chokersoftened and winked out altogether.
    She sighed in relief. Now she could sort out how to get back aboveground.
    Suddenly the choker flared to life, the glow so intense that it illuminated her face. She heard the scratching and scuffling of rapidly moving footsteps.
    Rye knew her weary legs could take her no farther. Reaching over her shoulder, she drew the cudgel from its sling. Her choker should ward off the Bog Noblin once it found her, but Slinister and Hyde would not be similarly deterred. She stood, clutched her choker in her hand, and held it out from her neck.
    â€œDo you see this?” she yelled into the void around her. “Do you see what this is?”
    The shadows were silent. Maybe it had.
    Then something struck Rye harder than she’d ever been hit before. It took the wind out of her lungs and sent her sprawling onto her back.
    Spidercreep pinned her to the ground and perched heavily on her chest. He was snuffling furiously, smelling her. His breath reeked of the sour stench of the bogs.
    She struggled desperately as the beast pressed itself against her, pounding her ribs with hard knotted stumps that felt like fists. Knots of rust-orange hair whipped her face. Spidercreep snapped, but she didn’t feel his bite, the frame of the muzzle protecting her from his jaws.
    Undeterred, he unfurled his long black tongue through the iron bars. Rye pinched her eyes tight as it lapped across her face like a giant snail. Rye yelled and thrust her elbow at his face. It slipped through the muzzle and Spidercreep instantly bit down into the thick leather of her coat. Rye panicked and tried to thrash free, but he held her elbow tight like a dog latched onto a joint of meat.
    Desperate, Rye tightened her grip around the cudgel. Swinging her arm up, she bashed Spidercreep in the side of his head. There was a clank of metal and her elbow popped free. Another swing sent Spidercreep flying off her.
    Rye sprang to her feet emboldened, her ears burning, and stepped toward the creature to give it one more wallop for good measure. In the light of her choker, she could see Spidercreep cower like a frightened hound. His pathetic whimper made her pause—long enough for him to leap aside and flee into the darkness.
    Rye stood at the ready, listening for signs of another attack. But her choker began to fade as the Bog Noblin’s retreat took him farther away, until the glow eventually disappeared entirely. There was no sign of Slinister—no footsteps or torchlight. She touched her elbow and felt bare skin. Spidercreep’s powerful jaws had ripped away a mouthful of leather, but everythingimportant remained intact.
    Her relief