The world beyond San Voyager? Well, it was dark.
In the daytime, Yara would’ve been able to see the stunted oaks, the spruces, the fat and full rosemary bushes. They’d know what kind of creature was skittering through the shrubbery. Lizard, mouse, snake? Possibly all three performing some strange hunting ritual.
But in the dark, Yara was just trying their best not to trip over young clumps of prickly pear. This meant slowly shuffling into the wilderness. And was there any rush? God hadn’t provided a strict timeline. Or even a map. Yara thought they detected the scent of roses on the wind, though they had to admit they believed all flowers smelled like roses.
They had to admit they didn’t know whether they were walking in the right direction.
Yara considered following the stars, but knowing which way was north didn’t necessarily mean that north was the way to move.
Maybe all directions are the right direction, they thought, walking farther into the deep dark and—
Oh!
A blinking! Not in the sky. On the ground, a dotted line of milky lights stretching into the distance.
Oil lamps to light the way? No, oil light would glow orange. If Yara could consult their mother’s color deck, they would say the color of the light before them was Opaline.
Yara ran toward the first light until the sloshing in their messenger bag reminded them of Newt’s existence. They peered inside to find Newt riding the tiny waves inside his bottle. Perhaps Yara was projecting—it was dark—but they thought Newt looked frightened. No more running, they decided, and walked toward the first light.
A large oyster! Opened wide and somehow still alive. Its pearl glowed so bright Yara had to squint as they approached. God is really into pearls, they thought, reaching to pluck the small globe from its fleshy bed.
It’s important for heroes to be reminded how small they are when compared to nature. The ocean ushered Odysseus farther from home. The new fruit of the calabash spit into Xquic’s hand.
Here, the oyster clamped swiftly shut, pinching Yara’s finger.
“Hey!” they yelped as one by one, the oysters closed, depriving Yara of their guiding light.
As a prisoner of routine, Yara did what they always did when they believed they’d bungled the correct order of things. They started the encounter over again, stepping ten steps backward and then stepping ten steps toward that first oyster.
The oyster opened! The oyster spoke:
“To be of interest, one must always be moving.” The oyster closed.
Yara asked, “Is this my path? I am sorry for reaching in. Oysters aren’t supposed to open so wide. Are you dying?”
No answer. They wondered if this was going to be like their talk with the angel in the garbage disposal. Was Yara going to be mama-birded into eating more wet bread? Maybe if they started over again—
Yara stepped back again. Approached the oyster again. The oyster opened. Again.
“To be of interest, one must always be moving.”
The oyster closed. Another oyster along the path opened.
Bending down, Yara picked up the first oyster, resolving to find it, if nothing else, a decently sized saltwater tank. They placed it into their bag, sanitized their hands, and moved toward the next opened oyster.
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From Canon by Paige Lewis, published by Viking Books, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright © 2026 by Paige Lewis
