Between the Shade and the Shadow

by Coleman Alexander

  Kren led the way, but all of Ahraia’s siblings were there as well. Hayvon and Kaval marched on either side of her as though they were wards to a nitesse, and Altah walked behind them, brooding as ever and watching for even the barest sliver of moonlight.

  Losna was glad for the company; her thoughts thrummed across their binding, as though they were her pack, which in a way, they were. She wandered close by while Kren’s owl scouted to the east and Altah’s raven to the north.

  “We could try and find a keress,” Hayvon suggested after they had walked several miles without any sign of game.

  Losna’s ears perked. Keress? she thought fearfully. She and Ahraia had startled a herd on their first night, and since then they had gone out of their way to avoid the massive elks. Apparently even wolves were scared of keress.

  Kaval snorted, seeming to think the same. “And after that, we’ll hunt down the Shad-Mon.”

  Hayvon shrugged. “Ahraia’s a wolf binder. Who knows what she's capable of?”

  Ahraia blushed, not agreeing in the least. Her binding of Losna was special—but it didn't make her special. In fact, she had almost failed to bind a shadow at all; it had been pure chance that she had run onto the plains. The fact that she had a wolf for a shadow didn't make her any readier to hunt a keress. But, in a way, Havon was right. She couldn’t bring home something easy. Her first hunt needed to make a splash. It needed to be a good kill, to convince every sprite in the darkening, including herself, that it hadn’t been a fluke she had bound a wolf.

  It didn’t take long for Flit to return with news of a solitary stag in the woods nearby. They made their way silently towards it, and before Ahraia could gather her thoughts, the deer was in their sights. It had an impressive set of antlers and would surely be an adequate kill for her first hunt.

  It was standing, ears twitching. Ahraia wondered if it had heard them or caught some scent of them. She doubted it. The wind was hardly blowing, and sprites could move in absolute silence when they chose to.

  Kren eyed the stag and breathed out her next words, so quietly Ahraia could barely hear her.

  “I want you to reach out and make a binding, just to hold it still.”

  A binding? Like me? Losna thought. Ahraia cringed, not expecting Losna to understand. Ahraia knew how sprites hunted, of course, but she hadn't taken the time to explain it to Losna. This was only the first step. Eventually, at the end of her first year of hunting, her bow would be taken away and she’d be forced to do it using a drain, a hunting knife that let the blood of prey at close range. Doing so required a tremendous enchantment, the likes of which only the strongest shades could manage. The thought made her squeeze her bow tighter.

  Yes, she conveyed, sensing a deep unhappiness in Losna’s heart.

  Okay? Kren asked.

  “Okay,” Ahraia said, not trusting her conveyance.

  Losna let out an uneasy growl. The stag's ear twitched but Kren didn’t seem to notice.

  “Good. I’ll bind it first, then I’ll let you bind it. Once you’re ready, you can make your shot. Brace yourself: the first time you sever a bond it’s not very pleasant.”

  Ahraia swallowed. They crept closer, and with every step, she dreaded what was coming. She didn’t want to bind the stag, not if she was going to kill it. As she considered making the binding, she felt her own bond with Losna twinging with unhappiness.

  Silently, Kren signaled to her that they were close enough.

  All right. I’ve got it bound. Make your binding, she conveyed.

  Ahraia didn’t move. She didn’t do anything. She certainly didn't reach out with her mind to make a binding. Her fingers tightened on her bow. Ahraia just stared at the creature and felt her bond to Losna thumping in every heartbeat. She couldn’t make a binding and then break it through a kill. The pain would be excruciating. Kren mistook her silence for focus.

  Ready? Kren asked after what seemed like seconds.

  Ahraia startled, not ready in the least.

  “Yes,” she whispered. If she had conveyed it, Kren would feel the lie. She didn’t have much time. She raised her bow, and in that moment, decided she didn’t need the binding. The stag was ten yards away, an easy shot on a windless night.

  Do it, Kren conveyed.

  Before she could think twice, she let loose the arrow. With a soft whisper, it sprung from the bowstring.

  Thwack. The arrow struck the stag behind its shoulder. It flinched, took one leap, and crumpled to the ground.

  Ahraia froze, stunned the shot had actually landed.

  “Great shot,” Kren said.

  Ahraia looked at her, guilt rising that she hadn’t bound it. But Kren didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, must have assumed Ahraia was feeling whatever pain was supposed to come from the binding.

  Losna, however, seemed to sense what Ahraia had done and let out a relieved whine.

  “How do you feel? Are you all right?” Kren asked.

  Ahraia wasn’t sure if she was all right or not. The guilt inside of her was rising up, almost as bad as any broken binding could have been.

  “I’m fine,” she said, wishing she had made the binding after all. Would the others know? Would her mother sense it? Now that it was over, she wondered what she was supposed to feel. It must only come from a binding, because she definitely didn’t feel uncomfortable. Kren seemed rather pleased with her reaction, though, so she pretended like it wasn’t a big deal.

  “You’ll make a fine sprite after all,” her sister said, stomping towards the stag. Flit swooped down to land on her shoulder. "Come on, you three. Ahraia’s made her first kill.”

  “By binding?” Hayvon called.

  “Of course, by binding,” Kren answered before Ahraia could. Her siblings seemed to take hersilence as some sort of natural reaction to the kill, and once the moment had passed, she didn't dare tell them otherwise. Ahraia felt another twinge of guilt, but it was tempered by Losna's relief. This was her first hunt, and she would have plenty of time to learn to do it properly. For now, she had made a kill, and that was enough.

  2

  The Darkening

  Ahraia’s mother knelt before her, a summer breeze rustling the silver-white hairs that had escaped her tarry-vine.

  “Do you know the true purpose of our shadows?”

  Ahraia used Losna to steady herself, clutching tightly to the thick clump of fur at her neck.

  To guide us as shades? she conveyed. Her eyes and ears tipped down as tears dripped over her cheeks.

  Three years had passed since she returned from binding Losna, and, since that day, she had heard her mother’s voice many times—but this would be the last.

  Fog swirled from the opposite bank, spilling out over the waters of the Winnowlin and hiding the stars above. Her mother’s cheek bled from the Posturant’s cut, her mark of defeat.

  Her mark of condemnation.

  If she was nervous, she didn’t show it. Her stark-white eyes were fixed on Ahraia, her ears upright and face a veil of calm. Ahraia’s own lip quivered, and she couldn’t help as a stricken sob escaped.

  Stop that, her mother conveyed. Golden veins darkened across her eyes, like tendrils of clouds crawling across the Bright Moon. It shows weakness. And you of all shades can’t show weakness.

  Ahraia dragged a light-scarred hand across her face and sniffed hard. Losna nuzzled her, her tongue scratching across her wrist.

  That’s better. Her mother wiped the remaining damp from her cheek, ignoring her own bloodied face.

  “The true purpose of a shadow is not to guide the shade—but to make a sprite of her. Our shadows are a measure of us. They choose us as spritelings, when we are weak and naïve, grown of soft roots—and they leave us as sprites, hardened and sharp, cut from stone. But it’s what lies between that makes us who we are.”

  Ahraia leaned closer to Losna. They stood across the river from the Shadow Woods, surrounded by the other sprites, shades, and spritelings of Daispar. Kren stood next to her, along wi
th the rest of their nit. Her older sister’s fingers crept briefly into her hand, squeezing her for courage.

  Her father stood next to the new Astra who stared triumphantly at their whole nit, her perfectly pale face twisted into a sneer. Her belly already bore the first signs of a spriteling—her father’s new brood. Ahraia’s mother either didn’t notice or didn’t care. She was knelt down in front of Ahraia, as though they were alone in the deep hollows of the forest.

  “Between the shade and the shadow lies a bond. Two minds intertwined. Two hearts beating as one. Two creatures who breathe and bleed together. And the stronger the shadow, the stronger the bond—the stronger the bond, the stronger the sprite that emerges.”

  Ahraia flinched as a tree creaked towards the water, enchanted against its will by a dozen sprites. Its trunk groaned from the strain, settling just above the rushing current, branches and leaves gurgling in the river. Her mother ignored it.

  “Wolves have ever been the most revered among us. Like us, they’re ruled by the strongest, with no heart for the weak. Losna marks you, as the light marks you. But unlike the light”—her mother paused, took her hands and turned them, so her scars were hidden—“Losna marks you for greatness. She marks the strength within you.”

  She locked eyes with Ahraia and conveyed the next so softly that no one but Ahraia was privy to her thoughts. You will be an Astra one day. Perhaps even the Masai of the whole Silh.

  Ahraia’s heart fluttered nervously. She sniffed and tried to straighten up, holding her ears a little straighter and her chin a little higher.

  “Sister . . .” the Astra said with an edge to her voice. The drain was still poised in her hand, the narrow blade held away tensely, as though the fight might recommence at any moment.

  “Since the first nights of the Silh, there have only been a handful of wolf binders.” Her mother ran a hand through Losna’s fur, but her conveyance played softly beneath her words. To every Astra across the Silh—to even the Masai—you are a threat. They see you as I see you: a force that will one day rise to condemn any one of them over a similar bridge.

  The fog curled out of the Shadow Woods, engulfing the far end of the bridging tree. Ahraia swallowed nervously. Her mother glanced towards the tree before her gaze slid past the Astra.

  You must be wary, she conveyed.

  The Astra took a step forward. “Behra . . . it’s time.”

  A tear ran unchecked past Ahraia’s cheek. Ahraia’s mother reached forward and pressed down on it with her thumb, as though she could squash the emotion from Ahraia.

  “Understand this.” The Astrael . . . the Masai, they are no threat to you, not yet anyway. They are but a ripple from a stone that hasn’t even been cast yet. She fixed Ahraia with a hard stare. “The greatest threat to you is you. If you can’t send Losna back to the forest when the times comes, then it will be you walking across this bridge.”

  “Behra,” the Astra said, her voice cutting with impatience.

  Ahraia’s mother stood up, pursing her lips. She nodded once to Ahraia and then turned to Kren. She reached inside of her cloak and removed a dark orb, with a dangerous slit of muted light showing out. The orb was small, fitting just inside her fist, and was in the shape of a seed. She passed it to Kren.

  “You’re in charge of the nit now,” she said, patting the top of Kren’s hand once.

  Kren nodded bravely, remaining hard-eyed and stoic.

  Then their mother leapt up the bank, clambering onto the trunk of the bridging tree. She stood above the sprites and her gaze found Ahraia’s father, but he wouldn’t meet her eye. Ahraia could only guess what was conveyed, but her father shuddered, and the new Astra watched on with a faltering smile, her hand resting on the curve of her belly.

  “Look after my darkening, sister,” her mother said. Then she turned and crossed the river. The fog and mist swirled about her as she reached the far bank and leapt to the moss-covered Shadow Woods.

  “Unbind the tree!” the Astra called.

  The enchantment lifted and the bridge sprang back, spraying water across the forest with a wild rush of leaves. Fog billowed about her mother.

  “Don’t drink the water. Don’t touch the trees. Don’t make a noise . . .” Kren whispered over and over.

  Then every sprite in the darkening knelt in ritual to drink from the river, Ahraia’s father and the Astra among them. The touch of their lips to the water elicited a distant but menacing roar from the heart of the forest.

  The Shad-Mon.

  Fresh tears streamed down Ahraia’s face. Her mother stood on the far bank and met her eyes.

  Don’t let your shadow cast you into the light, she conveyed. Then she turned and disappeared into the woods.

  No! Ahraia thought helplessly.

  Losna whined and shifted on her paws. In no time at all, a horrible, guttural roar rose from the woods. Losna howled and Ahraia screamed in despair, but the roar of the Shad-Mon drowned out both, echoing on without escape.

  Ahraia awoke with a start.

  Ringing silence replaced the roar, but her heart pounded in her ears. A deep sense of unease lay over her and a stab of loneliness constricted her throat. It took a moment to realize that the warm fur beneath her head and the gentle breathing beside her was her shadow’s.

  Losna raised her head, awake. You dreamt of it again, didn’t you?

  Ahraia laid her head back down, comforted by Losna’s presence. Yet the memory of her mother’s death remained and an unsettling fear still festered in her mind, lingering just beneath the surface.

  “It’s getting worse,” she said. “And if it isn’t her, it’s me in the Shadow Woods . . .” Her voice came out hoarse and timorous. She shifted to conveyance, uncomfortable with the unwelcome noise. Creaking trees and drifting fog, and that roar . . .

  A low growl reverberated in the depths of Losna’s chest.

  It’s been ever since you started tending the nit tree . . .

  Ahraia sighed. She didn’t need a reminder of Kren’s departure. The emptiness of their nit stung the air, like the breath of winter’s first nights, biting and bitter.

  “Someone has to look after the rest of the nit.” She sat up and noticed a faint glimmer broke the perfect dark. Beyond their shade tree was her family's nit tree, and beyond that, the darkening. But a hint of light snuck through from the west. Dusk was coming.

  She stood up and Losna raised her head from her paws.

  “Come on,” Ahraia said, “we’re late.”

  Losna rolled to her feet and shook her fur. Ahraia folded back the branches of the shade tree and headed into the nit with her shadow close behind.

  “Hayvon! Wake up already,” Ahraia hissed, peering into the pure black of her brother's shade tree. The scent of deerskins permeated the interior, keeping back the light that his haphazard folding couldn’t.

  A figure rolled over and something scampered across the floor of the shade tree. Losna’s ears twitched and her eyes gleamed. She pushed up next to Ahraia and sniffed at the dark interior. Vesta? she thought, looking for Hayvon’s marten. A thin sliver of dull light streaked past her into shade tree.

  “Ahraia, is that you?” Hayvon mumbled. “What are you doing up already?”

  At the sound of Hayvon’s voice, Losna pushed past Ahraia and into the shelter.

  “Losna—no. Hey! Get out of here,” Ahraia heard, only able to see her shadow’s tail wagging in the streak of dimness. “Is it still light out?” Hayvon asked incredulously.

  “It’s almost night,” Ahraia said, lowering the branches back. “Get up. Kren’s test starts anytime now.”

  A sigh escaped from inside the shade tree.

  “It’s still dusk,” Hayvon said, nonplussed.

  “So . . .?”

  “So you shouldn’t be up. We shouldn’t be up . . . besides, once night falls we’re not allowed anywhere near the Makers.”

  “I know,” Ahraia smiled. “That's why we’re going to leave before nightfall. Come on.”

>   She pushed the branches of his shade tree back to reveal the last vestiges of the lingering day. Hayvon wrestled Losna aside and stared out, squinting against the barely perceptible light.

  Losna sniffed at him, nuzzling at his pockets, her tail wagging. Vesta? she thought again, snorting and stomping about him in search of his shadow. Hayvon pushed her away and stared past Ahraia.

  “It is not dusk. It’s still full light out. Are you crazy?”

  Ahraia looked behind her.

  Daispar was murky black with the barest hint of where the Dae-Mon might linger in the west—as light as it ever got beneath the tightly woven darkening trees. No sprites would be up and about yet. Like Hayvon, they would still be underdaeing beneath their shade trees.

  “Does the ward not turn his face to the light to provide dark for the sprite?” she said with half a smile.

  Hayvon scoffed. “I’m no ward, and you’re certainly not a sprite.”

  “Well, do you want to see Kren’s test or not?” Ahraia asked, growing impatient.

  “Not if I have to burn my skin off trying.”

  “Fine.” Come on, Losna.

  With a last snuffle towards Hayvon’s cloak, Losna emerged. Ahraia let the branches fall back and turned toward their nit, irritated with Hayvon.

  She noticed movement and stiffened. The branches of Altah’s shade tree peeled back, followed by a dark flutter of wings. A moment later, her older brother emerged with a small carry-sack over his shoulder. He stopped when he saw Ahraia. His shadow, Mehra, a dark, silver-tipped raven circled and settled on his shoulder. She croaked quietly.

  “What are you doing up?” Ahraia asked warily.

  Altah fished a light-veil from his travel sack, his ears turning down and tucking in.

  “I’d ask the same, but I imagine I already know.” You’re trying to see Kren’s test.

  He wrapped the veil carefully over his nose and mouth, so that only his moon-white eyes shown out below his silver-white hair. He brought his hood around both, then lifted his eyebrows.