Tyson (Part One)
Tyson Ramirez was not ready for this.
“Kor venya wret!” his mother called from the sidelines. Tyson gave her a fleeting smile. Sure, she believed in him, but Tyson was smaller than all the other racers. Oh yeah, and human. That too. Tyson took a deep breath and leaned forward. The starting gun went off, and the racers ran.
There was only one rule in this kind of race, and it was simple: do not touch the other racers. Other than that, you could use anything to your advantage. Tyson nearly slipped on the slippery mucus left behind by the naga racer, but the spikes he’d built into his shoes activated as he dodged the racers who had slipped. A centaur smirked at him as she galloped past, jumping over the naga before stumbling and slamming head first into a tree. Tyson winced as he ran past. She was out.
Tyson glanced back to see the Hreinn jogging casually at the back of the race, chatting as if they hadn’t a care in the world. Tyson rolled his eyes as he overtook the scampering Natair-tarsusa, the ankle-biters. The Hreinn always won the races. Not only was this their territory, but because they had an advantage. They had more than one form. Tyson gritted his teeth and activated the rebound feature on his shoes. The spikes retracted, replaced by thick layers of bouncy rubber. Tyson’s strides extended. The trees blurred together as Tyson almost flew past, getting closer and closer to the naga. The finish line was up ahead, and the white and gray landscape couldn’t hide the thick red ribbon fluttering in the wind. Hooves sounded behind Tyson and he pushed himself faster, but it was no use. The Hreinn had shifted and soared past him in their reindeer forms, and swiftly overtook the naga. The one in front savagely bit the red ribbon in two and skidded to a stop with half the ribbon clenched in his teeth.
“Ko serato kor natal hrujaur,” Rosa told her son. Tyson smiled at her and accepted her comfort, but to be honest, he wasn’t disappointed, he was angry. The Hreinn won every race. The clank-beasts came to a stop and Rosa leaped out of the cart nimbly, offering a hand to Tyson.
Disna, maetr,” Tyson said gently, climbing out himself. Rosa shook her head and padded to front door of the forge, throwing it open.
“Rosa!” Tyson’s father put down his hammer with a grin, accepting a kiss from his wife before greeting Tyson.
“Tyson, latani Hrujaur?”
“Disna, patro. Hreinn hrujar yqar grua. Freqa.”
“Ko serato.”
“Ko gresa,” Tyson said, forcing a smile. It wasn’t true. Tyson took off his racing shoes in his workshop. He wasn’t exactly happy that he had to use technology to give himself an advantage.
Tyson had been an abandoned newborn in Brazil when Rosa found him. She was an Iara, a water nymph. She had raised him in the big city, where the technology from Europe was just beginning to surface. There she’d met Paolo, a man who worked to build the parts for machines from raw metal. They’d been married, but had to flee to Russia when Paolo’s family found out he’d married a supernatural. Tyson had grown up speaking Sylphi, the supernatural common tongue, and hadn’t learned much Portuguese. His Russian was non-existent. Paolo had learned Sylphi from his wife, and she’d learned Portuguese from him. The family mostly spoke Sylphi, though. Which fit, because in Russia, the majority of the citizens were supernaturals, and everyone knew Sylphi. Those who were born Russian spoke Sylphi well enough, but preferred Russian. Those like the Hreinn.
There they found good work. Paolo owned a forge, where he, Rosa, Tyson, and the baby Ari lived. Tyson had learned to work in the forge as early as seven, and now he was sixteen. He was smart, a good builder, and had invented some very useful things that had made the family’s life much easier. As good as he was in the forge, Tyson loved one thing most: running. He was good at it and enjoyed it more than anything else. But still, he was human. Even his baby sister Ari was half-human and therefore had supernatural grace and balance, but Tyson was full-blooded human.
The races had fascinated him since they’d arrived in Russia. They’d started as a way for the Hreinn to flaunt their strength for mates, before the supernaturals had made themselves known to humans, but now they were a wild taiga run that all species could participate in. Even humans.
Tyson cleaned his racing shoes in relative silence, the sound of hushed Portuguese and gently clanking hammers from the forge breaking it. The metal frames creaked slightly as Tyson dismantled the inner machinations and gears to wipe off the grease and soot.
