Between the Shade and the Shadow

by Coleman Alexander

  “Am I right?”

  Ahraia ignored his conveyance. She eyed his light-veil. “I thought we aren’t supposed to leave the darkening.”

  “We aren’t,” Altah said flatly. “Kaval and I are heading to the Stone Tree to await an emissary from Angolor.” Father’s orders.

  “From Angolor?” Ahraia said in surprise. “A match for Kren?”

  Angolor was the central darkening of the whole Silh, and a world apart from the Gelesh. It was ruled by the Masai, the Astra of all the other Astrael, and was a long and perilous journey from Daispar, around the plains and past the human realm to the south. Ahraia couldn’t remember an emissary ever coming—and certainly not for a simple match.

  “You don’t think they mean to uproot her?” Ahraia asked, unsettled at the notion. “I’ve heard the Masai takes every daughter she can.” She scowled. Daughters folded and kept the darkness of the darkening; they weren’t meant to be traded away like dae-wards.

  “Maybe.” Altah shrugged. “Maybe they’ve come regarding the trouble in the West Vales with the lightwalkers. It might have nothing to do with Kren. Father didn’t say.”

  Ahraia had heard rumors about the West Vales. Daispar buzzed with stories of the humans seizing the deep valleys towards the west. She furrowed her brow.

  Kaval glanced about warily. His next words were conveyed conspiratorially. There are whispers that the Masai thinks it started here, in Daispar . . . on the Astra’s watch. He gave Ahraia a meaningful look.

  How could you know that? Ahraia conveyed, eyes narrowing. “That’s absurd.” As much as she disliked the Astra, along with the rest of her siblings, she couldn’t come to imagine that the Masai would trouble herself with happenings in Daispar or the Gelesh.

  Altah’s ears tucked back. It’s true. I heard it from one of the dae-wards . . .

  “The dae-wards couldn’t tell the stars from a forest full of fireflies,” Ahraia said. “I can’t imagine an emissary coming all this way, just for that.”

  Altah shrugged, clearly put off that she wasn’t convinced. His voice turned peevish.

  “And I can’t imagine what would drive you into the light this early . . .” Without a veil, even.

  “You and Kaval are going out—”

  “Kaval and I are both going to be dae-wards,” he said, cutting her off. “We don’t have a choice but to walk the fringes of the night and the deep shadows of the day. But you . . .” Light-scarred and star-brushed. “It’s unbecoming . . .”

  Just then Kaval’s shade tree rustled and Ahraia’s oldest brother emerged with his light-veil hanging under his chin. His shadow, a fox named Reyn, trotted after him but veered straight for Losna. Reyn dipped his head and nuzzled beneath her chin in greeting while Losna licked at his ears.

  Altah was still glaring at Ahraia reproachfully.

  “Well, don’t get caught. It’s bad enough that you look like dae-ward already.” He stalked off, leaving Kaval and Ahraia standing awkwardly in silence.

  Another shade tree swished open, and Kyah peeked out.

  “What’s happening?” she asked, bleary-eyed. Her own fox, hardly more than a pup, peeked from under her elbow.

  “Go back to sleep,” Ahraia and Kaval responded together. The younger shade rolled her eyes, but disappeared inside her shade tree.

  Ahraia sighed. She had hoped to be out of the nit before anyone noticed. All she needed now was the two spritelings to wake up and she would have encountered her whole nit: spritelings, shades, and all of their shadows.

  Kaval studied her with knowing eyes as their shadows wrestled playfully. Reyn nipped at Losna’s ears as she pinned him easily to the ground with a paw. The silence resettled.

  Is this about the third task?

  She hesitated, then nodded.

  Kaval walked to the center of the nit, where the arching trunks of their mother’s tree grew, spreading overhead in a perfect dome. With a coaxing hand, he brought the nit’s orb from a slit in the trunks, drained of the last vestiges of its moonlight. He closed the shell and slipped the empty light-pod carefully into the folds of his cloak.

  “There isn’t any mystery about it,” he said, turning back to Ahraia. “Kren either sends Flit back, or they’re dead.”

  Both Reyn and Losna stopped wrestling, and their ears perked attentively.

  “Trust me,” Kaval said. “Dwelling on it won’t slow the turnings of the moons. You should just be reveling in the fact your test won’t be anytime soon. You’re still fourth in line. And the fog will fail the heart of the forest before Hayvon’s summoned into his test.”

  Ahraia opened her mouth to protest, but Kaval’s eyes turned to a smile.

  Just let me know if there’s any trick to it.

  Ahraia drew her brow in sharply. “Don’t think for an instant you’ll get it that easy,” she said crossly.

  Kaval undoubtedly smiled now. She turned back to the center of their nit and felt a grin tugging against her mood.

  Wants to know, but doesn’t want to risk finding out himself, she conveyed loosely to Losna, letting the echo out to Kaval.

  A snort of laughter carried after her.

  Ahraia led Losna past the trunks of the nit. Her mother’s tree had once been regal, woven with vibrant yellow night lilies, purple spade stems and silver horned flowers—but now, it looked decrepit, a skeletal reminder of what had been. Its leaves hung withered, its branches wain and colorless, like a creature tired and starved, with the folds of the darkening faintly visible above.

  The nit was ragged, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. After their mother’s death, it had passed to Kren to tend it, and her foldings had kept it as dark as could be hoped. Now, the responsibility had passed to Ahraia. For three turnings of the Bright Moon—ever since Kren had entered her test—she had been working on maintaining the dark. She spent whole days awake ministering to the tree’s branches and leaves, weaving tighter bonds and sending roots in search of good earth and deep water. Kaval fed it moonlight from the orb he carried, but he wasn’t as good at gathering it as Kren had been. The effort was exhausting for both of them, with little progress to show.

  And with the work came the dreams: dreams of the Shadow Woods, dreams of the Shad-Mon, and dreams of the fog and mist and the quiet creeping of the forest.

  Losna growled next to her and Ahraia realized her thoughts had been reflecting onto her shadow.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, shaping the nit's hanging branches into a closure leading to the central hollow. The nits of the other families grew about the vale, smaller, impenetrable domes sheltered beneath the draping sheets of the sprawling darkening tree.

  Where is everybody? Losna thought. It was murky black, as light as Ahraia had ever seen the central hollow, entirely empty, and without a single sprite or shade within.

  They’re all still underdaeing, she conveyed. She glanced to the darkening tree above. Although her brothers had delayed them, she could tell the Dae-Mon was still in the sky. Outside would be lethally bright.

  Are you sure we should be doing this? Losna thought.

  “Of course I am,” Ahraia whispered.

  What happens if they catch us?

  Probably better we don’t find out, Ahraia conveyed, wishing she had thought to get her hands on a light-veil. Only wards—or potential wards—grew them, but she wished she had one nonetheless.

  They won’t send us to the Shadow Woods, right? Losna worried, padding at her heels with her ears perked up.

  Ahraia folded aside a bushel of leech ferns with an enchantment, sensing a shiver of anxiety reflected within her shadows thoughts.

  I don’t think so, she conveyed. She led Losna along the edge of the hollow, beneath one of the core trunks of the darkening, towards the span of woods known as the Makers. Shades were forbidden from entering the Makers, especially on a night like tonight, when Kren would be finishing the last stage of her shadow test: the test that would make her a sprite.

  Losna trotted alongside Ahraia, her eyes
gleaming and ears twitching. Movement, she warned.

  Ahraia ducked behind a nascent web of winter-weave as a veil-wrapped sprite emerged from the fire-pits, filled up a bucket from the springs and returned to the hidden fires.

  Ahraia waited. They were halfway across the darkening and she was getting nervous. Being outside with the Dae-Mon in the sky was absurdly dangerous but she had a plan. They just needed to make it out on the shady side of Daispar. From there, a short walk through the darker ravines would lead to the edge of the Makers, where she had folded an underdae to protect her until true night came. After that, it was just a matter of waiting to see if Kren would be able to send Flit back to the forest.

  But first, they had to get to the Makers unseen. It wouldn’t be hard if they just—

  Hey!

  Ahraia flinched as loose conveyance echoed across the hollow. She whipped about to find Hayvon hurrying after them, like a great lumbering bear, not bothering with any caution or sense. He had his hood drawn up, as though the barely perceptible light would scorch him. A tiny set of brown ears and whiskers poked out from the pocket of his cloak. His shadow, Vesta, furtive and sly, was anything but bear-like. Inside the darkening, she rarely left his pocket.

  Hayvon—you scared me! Ahraia conveyed.

  He had hardly reached them when he held up a hand. “Wait for us,” he said, and hurried back towards their nit.

  Where is he going? Losna thought.

  Ahraia shrugged, her ears twitching with impatience. Hayvon returned holding a light-veil and fumbling with it around his hood.

  “I hate this damned thing. Don’t know why I grew it so thick,” he whispered once he reached her. “What’s your plan here?”

  “Decided to come?” she asked in irritation.

  He nodded, oblivious. “Only to keep you out of trouble.”

  She took a deep breath, trying to force down an angry tirade. Losna leaned forward on her foreclaws, eager to be gone. Ahraia pursed her lips.

  “The Makers won’t be sealed yet, and I’m guessing the dae-wards are still awood. I’ve been folding a bit of darkness at the edge—”

  “A shelter?” Hayvon cut in. “A new underdae? You can’t do that—not without permission. How many times have you been caught? Have you already forgotten—”

  “Stop,” Ahraia said, putting a firm binding over him to force his lips closed. “It’s not like we’re allowed any of this. You’re either with us or you aren’t.”

  Hayvon frowned but shrugged. Fine. But—

  “Good,” Ahraia said, tightening the binding further to cut off his thoughts. “We’ll use the shelter until first dark falls, then we can—”

  Losna growled barely a moment before a loud, unchecked voice cut through the darkening.

  “Shade Ahraia, Hayvon.”

  Hayvon bowed his head, tucking back his ears deferentially. Ahraia closed her eyes and let out a heavy sigh. She wanted to curse Hayvon for slowing them down. Recognizing the voice, she turned to find their father, Beran, match of the Astra and head of the nit-wards, walking through the dusk light towards them.

  “What are you two doing about at this hour?” he asked.

  Ahraia subtly bound Hayvon. Let me talk to him—

  Nothing! Nit-Ward, Hayvon conveyed roughly before Ahraia had finished her thought.

  She glared at him and his markings paled under her stare, though his eyes never left the ground.

  “Is that so?” their father said.

  Ahraia bit her tongue. A deep frustration mingled with her annoyance at Hayvon’s lack of subtlety. Strong as he was with bondings and bindings, his conveyance was forced and rough; he lacked the necessary control to lie convincingly. Vesta ducked deeper into his pocket, sensing Ahraia’s mood.

  Losna glowered at her father. Her demeanor wasn’t remotely appropriate, but like Hayvon couldn’t control the subtleties of his inner-voice, Ahraia couldn’t constrain the better nature of her shadow. At least one of them could show how they felt.

  Come here, her father conveyed to her.

  Ahraia glanced up.

  Her father wore his hood like Hayvon, his white hair framing the light-scarred skin about his eyes and ears from a forgotten time when he had once been a dae-ward. His eyes glowed a too-brilliant shade of yellow and he frowned at Ahraia as she approached.

  “Don’t you think your time would be better spent training for your test, rather than trying to see what will happen?” he asked.

  Ahraia swallowed down a hundred different excuses and lies with a single knowing glance. If she guessed right, he had already interrogated Hayvon in the uncomfortable silence.

  Yes, Nit-Ward.

  His ears were rigid, and he pursed his lips, weighing his words. “Nitesse Gavea tells me she caught your shadow hunting for you again. Is that true?”

  Ahraia’s ears curled at the mention of Gavea. Named after the Blood Moon, she was every bit as malevolent. Ahraia hesitated, wondering if she could lie convincingly. His gaze penetrated her, cold and pale. She decided better of it and nodded instead.

  Her father’s mouth twisted downward in a frown. The Nitesse had reason to suspect you didn’t have the prey bound.

  Ahraia flushed with embarrassment and her ears twitched against her will. Hayvon glanced at her sideways.

  Of course I had it bound. Gavea just has it out for me, Ahraia conveyed quickly, hoping her brother hadn’t heard the charge. Her father let out a long sigh, obviously aware of the lie at the edges of her thoughts.

  “Ahraia . . . you understand what’s at stake here, don't you?” He let the question hang between them, like a serapin vine in the forest, ready to strike at the barest misstep. She sensed the Dae-Mon finally dropping beneath the horizon and a deepening gray settled about the darkening.

  “This isn’t just about you—or your shadow—or even your test,” her father continued. “There is something greater happening in these woods. This is about the future of the whole darkening: every shade and shadow, every sprite and spriteling. The dark of the Gelesh has been constricting for years. Lightwalkers encroach on every side, alps and humans both. It’s not beyond my memory that a dozen other darkenings once existed within the Gelesh. Now we are but a few—Daispar being one of the last.”

  What does this have to do with me? Ahraia conveyed.

  The pale-yellow of her father’s eyes grew speckled with a ring of darker gold. His voice stretched with impatience.

  “If we are to have any chance reclaiming these woods, then this darkening needs its strongest shades to become sprites. Do you understand? If not . . .” He didn’t finish the thought in words. Instead, he bonded Ahraia more firmly and showed her a stark vision of what he saw: moonlight streaming through broken branches, a solitary, light-scarred sprite eking life out of the barest recesses of the forest, a nit laying bare and withered beneath a broken darkening under a canvas of stars. The last image wasn’t Daispar, but it held too much detail to be his imagination. It was a memory, of Holcrek or Dimdale or one of the other darkenings that had failed in recent years. Ahraia shuddered, breaking free of his enchantment to see his cold eyes burning with earnestness. “Do you see? Is that what you want to become of us?”

  No, she conveyed, lowering her eyes. But why is it my—

  “Your binding of Losna shifted the power of the whole Collective.” His voice rose, and Hayvon grimaced against the grating sound of it. “Astrael from darkenings across the Silh send all manner of tokens trying to curry favor with Daispar—all on the assumption that they might one day have to answer to you. Word is you’ve even caught the eye of the Masai. It’s imperative that you become a sprite.”

  Dusk had fully settled now. The first sprites began to emerge from their nits. Some headed towards the Makers to witness Kren’s test, while others headed towards the cook fires. The smell of roasted beets and venison drifted from the confines of the deep recesses, from which light never escaped, not even as flickers. No other shades or spritelings were about, nor would t
hey be. A few sprites looked towards Hayvon and Ahraia but most pointedly ignored them.

  “Until the day comes that you are summoned into spritehood, you have two tasks: prepare yourself for your test and keep from the light. Neither of which you seem capable of. This darkening needs you. The Astra is counting on you.”

  Ahraia flushed in anger at his mention of the Astra. I don’t care what she thinks she needs, she conveyed, letting her thoughts tumble out unchecked.

  Hayvon flinched but kept his eyes to the ground. Her father’s ears angled sharply downward, as though she might have just declared herself a lightwalker.

  A nit rustled open and several sprites emerged, saving Ahraia from facing his wrath. She looked up and realized Kren walked among them, headed off to her test. Her sister looked pale, worn down to her bones, her skin seeming as white as her hair.

  Where’s Flit? Losna thought. Ahraia glanced about and noticed that Kren’s enormous eagle owl was missing. It was the first time she had seen her sister without her shadow since she had first bound her.

  Already in the Makers, I suppose.

  Kren froze on seeing Ahraia and Hayvon.

  “Move along,” their father said, stepping between Kren and Ahraia.

  Kren’s eyes didn’t leave Ahraia. She swallowed painfully, looking as though a lump of stone rested above her heart.

  Ahraia leaned past her father. “Good luck,” she said, ignoring his admonishment. Kren gave her a wide-eyed nod, then allowed the sprites to escort her towards the Makers. Ahraia found her father still glaring at her.

  “You’re out of line Ahraia. You—” he stopped himself short, the muscles in his jaw clenching in frustration. He shook his head. “You may not think it, but I have your best interests in mind.”

  My interests? Ahraia thought in disbelief. Is that why you deserted our nit? And left us for her—

  “Enough!” he said, his voice rising loudly. A half-dozen sprites turned at the sudden burst of noise like a brace of grouse startling into flight. Ahraia could feel the anger boiling across the space between them. “What happened with your mother is done. The strongest lives to rule, and when the Astra challenged your mother, she won. Behra understood that. You should as well.”