Between the Shade and the Shadow

by Coleman Alexander

  There were probably twenty of them, she guessed, all gathered closely about the blazing fire and settled between the strange moving shade trees that followed them wherever they went. A small boy played with a figurine, which was suspended by strings. He danced it across the ground as the others faced the fire. Their beasts of burden, like misshapen elk with no horns, brayed and snorted softly beyond the firelight. Horses, Kren had called them. And wagons. With wheels.

  Losna and Ahraia had seen their skeletal, white tops and round legs before, but only from afar, when they had been gathered on the plains in a place where normally only rocks and grasses stood. That night, she and Losna had kept a safe distance, and by the next, the humans had gone, leaving behind only flattened grasses, deep tracks in the mud, and rocks charred black by fire.

  One of the larger, bearded humans walked from behind the wagons and clapped the singer over the back. Something bright and metallic glinted at his hip, like an enormous drain. When he spoke, Ahraia marveled at the deep, stone-cut sound of his voice.

  “I’ll be honest, lad, you play like that each night, I’ll give ya your three rounds back when we get to Rhun and a place to sleep under a wagon as long as you want. Lord and Lady know we need a bit of cheer on this forsaken stretch of road.” He turned to the rest of the humans, pulling at his beard. “That being said, it’s getting late, and tomorrow’s gonna make for a long day—a day I’m not looking forward to. We’ll be making our way clear through this stretch of wood. I want every wagon loaded and ready to go by sunrise. If you’re late, you’re left. And you don’t want to be left behind in cursed woods.”

  The man spoke quickly and Ahraia struggled to keep up. Listening to a language she had never heard before was mesmerizing, and while she understood the basic intention of words, the little pieces slipped by her like leaves on a swift river, leaving nothing more than dim impressions of their passing. When the man said “lad”, he had been talking to the singer, but it wasn’t his name. It was . . . she struggled to understand it. Spritish language flowed, purer and more fluid. It never wasted time with such vague thoughts. Ahraia turned her ear again as the singer spoke.

  “Cursed woods?” he asked.

  A second man stood up, shaking his head. “There you go scarin’ ’em with your stories. Nothing good ever came from talking about those things after dark—”

  “Just as well, Layton,” the bigger man said. “I won’t go scaring anyone unnecessarily like. I just want everyone to be mindful . . . these are the north woods of Astenith,” he said, gesturing to the forest. Ahraia stiffened as the eyes of the humans turned towards her and the woods. “You’d be a fool not to keep your head about you—and as it is, we’ll be doing double watch for the next three nights. You know your lots.”

  Ahraia crouched further beneath the cover of the trees as the humans stood and started to move about.

  Let’s go, Losna urged her. Ahraia reluctantly stepped back into the woods, but heard a voice and froze.

  “What’s out there?” the singer asked.

  Ahraia held perfectly still, worried she had been seen when the singer’s eyes flashed towards the woods. Her heart pounded so loudly that she was glad for their small ears. The bigger man turned, staring right towards her.

  “Nothing good,” he said, pulling at his beard. “I’ve never had trouble myself, but enough sturdy men have stumbled from these woods cursing their eyes and mad as hell, talking of demons and spirits and whatnot. And those are the ones who’ve come back—a fair number never do.”

  “I don’t believe in demons or spirits,” the singer said. His eyes seemed to rest directly on Ahraia.

  The bigger man shrugged. “I don’t either, lad. But that being said, there are all manner of mares roam these woods. Wood wraiths . . . fidmares, tomptes, night elves, trolls—even lady lasts, though I don’t believe that one for a second.”

  Ahraia had half-formed thoughts of what the different words meant. Trolls were jontuns. Mares sounded like maras, but prowling and physical rather than the wispy-clawed spirits that drifted through the darkest hollows. Wood-wraiths and fidmares were nothing at all to her, hooded shadows and impish figures hidden between half-thoughts. But when the man said night elves, Ahraia had a bare impression of sprites: white skin, long ears, bright night-gleaming eyes. She wondered if he had seen a sprite before.

  “Tomptes and fidmares! Trolls and night elves! What a bunch of horseshit,” an old, grizzled man scoffed.

  “Lady Lasts? I’d pay a fair bit to see a forest maiden,” another man added. His voice rose playfully and he nudged the singer, who gave half a smile.

  “Believe me, Tommen. That ain’t what you want to see,” the bearded man said. “You’d do well to think before you open your mouth. Now, a group as big as us won’t have any trouble, but we’ll push hard nonetheless. There’s some old ruins half-way through the woods that will give us a bit of shelter, not much, but it’s a damn sight nicer to make camp near something familiar, even if its empty. We’ll get in a few hours before nightfall if the road looks kindly on us. So, everybody to bed.”

  The humans began to move about purposefully. Ahraia tried to catch more of what they said, but they were talking too hushed and scattered for her to hear properly. Some of them disappeared into the wagons while others unrolled blankets on the ground. The child danced his figurine near the fire, until a woman swooped him up and carried him off, out of sight, while he made a racket the whole way.

  Ahraia felt a tug at her elbows. Hayvon had one sleeve and Losna the other, both were pulling her back.

  Hayvon’s conveyance came through sharply. I’m not going to get in trouble for not looking out for you.

  I’ll vouch for him, Losna thought.

  Ahraia let herself be pulled away, a nagging feeling tingling in her mind. Something about the man’s words lingered with her . . . something about “old ruins” sounded familiar.

  Old ruins . . . in the middle of the forest . . . She had no idea what he meant by “ruins”, but she had the impression of shelter. Deep unease gnawed at her stomach, as she struggled to recall the impression the man’s words had given her. Old ruins . . . a shelter, a stone shelter . . . broken, she thought more precisely.

  Her naggings dawned on her all at once, so sharp and clear she almost spoke aloud.

  You don’t think they mean to make for the Stone Tree, do you? she conveyed, her worry swelling. It made sense. The road from where they stood headed south, directly past the Stone Tree.

  What? Hayvon asked, still dragging her forcibly away. What are you talking about?

  The human said they were going to “old ruins” to the middle of the woods, Ahraia conveyed quickly.

  What’s a “ruins”? Hayvon asked.

  It felt like the Stone Tree to me.

  You bound them! Hayvon conveyed, apparently registering what she had said. You were listening?

  Yes, Hayvon, I was listening! she thought sharply. You weren’t?

  That’s not safe. You’re not supposed to bond humans—they’re dangerous.

  Not with their voices, you fool, Ahraia conveyed sharply. The human said they were making towards a place called “old ruins”. He said they would be there by tomorrow night. It felt to me like he meant the Stone Tree.

  So?

  So? So! Altah and Kaval are at the Stone Tree, waiting for the emissary from Angolor. Ahraia’s panic was rising. If the humans reach the Stone Tree before nightfall tomorrow . . .

  Hayvon’s face fell as realization dawned on him. Altah and Kaval will be trapped.

  Ahraia imagined the horror of being discovered by the humans while trapped in an underdae. Still light with nowhere to go . . .

  “They have to be warned,” Hayvon whispered.

  The night wasn’t old yet, but the Stone Tree was miles and miles away. Ahraia hurried through the woods, back towards where they had left the shades, folding back the forest with enchantments as she went. Losna and Hayvon chased at her heels.

&
nbsp; What’s your plan? Hayvon said, struggling to keep up. Even if you get there in time, there isn’t another underdae for miles. You’ll be caught by the lightrise.

  Ahraia cursed. She knew he was right. The Stone Tree stood in the fringes of the forest. It was the only underdae for a half a night’s journey big enough for all of them.

  You take the shades back to Daispar. I’ll warn Kaval and Altah.

  “I’m not going back to Daispar without you,” he hissed aloud. Father would be glad to give me to the Shad-Mon.

  Ahraia doubted their father really would, but she didn’t want the trouble of finding out. Her mind raced.

  Here’s what we’re going to do . . . I’ll go with Losna to the Stone Tree—

  Ahraia—

  “Listen!” she said aloud. “We can’t all go. By dawn, we’ll need darkness, and the shades are only going to slow us down. We need to reach another underdae by the time the Dae-Mon rises.”

  “I’m not going back to Daispar,” Hayvon said again, breathing hard as they scrambled up a hillside back towards the meadow.

  “I’m not suggesting you do.”

  “But there isn’t another underdae within a night’s march.”

  “Yes, there is,” she said.

  Hayvon seemed to have guessed her thoughts and was already shaking his head. “No, no, no,” he said, “I’m not going there . . . not onto the plains. That’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

  Fine. Then good luck in Daispar, Ahraia conveyed as they burst into the meadow and saw the young shades working over Tev’s kill.

  The Astra forbid you from going back.

  Well, then she’d better not find out, Ahraia conveyed. “Come on, you two,” she said aloud, letting a tone of command carry through her voice. In an instant, the shades were up and jogging next to Hayvon and her.

  “What's happening?” Shim asked.

  Ahraia ignored him as Hayvon continued to plead his case.

  There’s not enough night left, Ahraia. And even if we all manage to reach Plain Dark in time, you don’t even know if it’s still dark. If it isn’t, we’re all dead.

  If the underdae isn’t dark, I’ll make it, Ahraia conveyed forcefully.

  6

  The Stone Tree

  The deepest corners of the night enveloped them by the time Ahraia led the shades across a black-rock ravine that signaled one of the southern markers. The moons had set. She swallowed nervously. Hayvon sensed it too.

  We’re behind the turn, he conveyed, looking up. There’s no going back to Daispar tonight.

  Impenetrable clouds still veiled stars but Ahraia knew he was right. Losna roamed out ahead again, scouting off towards the Stone Tree. The shades were lagging, and for what seemed like the tenth time, Tev’s squirrel darted from her arms.

  “Get your shadow already,” Shim said sharply. Ahraia cringed at how much he sounded like the Astra.

  “He’s not listening to me,” Tev whined, scrambling after her shadow into the underbrush.

  We don’t have time for this, Hayvon conveyed, worried.

  “Tev, you have to make him feel safe,” Ahraia said. “You have to look after him—and listen to him. Hear him when he tells you what he wants, or what he’s scared of. Reassure him with your thoughts.” She tapped her head, trying to remember that not every shade’s link came naturally. Her bond with Losna had existed before she had even recognized it.

  “Well, Bashir wants to go back. He doesn’t like it at night,” Tev said, crawling out from under the ferns having finally coaxed the little squirrel back to her.

  Shim’s eyes narrowed maliciously. Not very shadow-like. Ahraia glared at him.

  Somewhere off in the night, a moon-raven cawed, calling out for the coming morning. Ahraia turned back to the younger shade.

  “Tev, remember, you are the shade that casts the shadow,” she said.

  “He doesn’t listen.”

  “He will—” Ahraia stopped, sensing movement in the woods before she saw it.

  Losna, she thought.

  Neither the stars nor the moon lit her shadow’s fur and no sound emitted from her paws, but Ahraia knew she returned—revealed first by thought—then by the barest hint of movement, followed by another dash through dark trunks, until at last, she streamed towards Ahraia and the others—effortless and silent—a silver arrow reduced to a streaking shadow in the dark of night. Tev and Shim flinched at first sight of her. Losna slowed and trotted the last fifteen yards, taking in their surroundings in a single, tense glance. Her fur bristled.

  Ahraia could sense Losna’s emotions storming in distress. Ahraia’s ears straightened.

  “What did you see?”

  Unnatural . . . danger. Losna was beyond agitated. She let out a low woof that trailed off in a growl. Ahraia trembled, cold sweat prickling her skin from the sudden and intense fear that flowed through their link. She reached out to touch her shadow’s memories, but there wasn’t any one thing, just vague instincts: deep unease and malice.

  “What’s wrong?” Hayvon asked. He pushed his hood back, his ears turning about just as Losna’s did. Vesta, who had climbed out of Hayvon’s pocket to comfort Tev’s shadow, hopped back to him, her head bobbing up and down like a bird, her small nose sniffing at the night. Shim and Tev hunkered down quietly, their shadows small and hidden in their hands.

  A long moment passed without a single breath stirring in the woods.

  “Keep your eyes and ears about you,” Ahraia said, taking in the woods, unnerved. A thin line of fog seeped through a seam in the forest. Losna, what did you—

  Losna turned and cut her off, emitting a low, dangerous growl from the deepest bellows of her chest. Vesta scurried into Hayvon’s pocket and Shim nearly tripped as he stepped back in alarm.

  Ahraia reached out and steadied the shade. What is it? she thought, her free hand reaching instinctively for her drain.

  Danger. Losna’s thoughts were simplified to a single point.

  Which way?

  Losna didn’t move. She kept her body pointed south, towards the Stone Tree.

  Ahraia sniffed. The forest smelled as it always did: pine and maple, fern and foxglove. And mist.

  “Hayvon,” Ahraia whispered with forced calm, her skin still crawling with Losna’s agitation. “Take the shades to Plain Dark.”

  “But—”

  “Listen to me. Just do it.” It’s not safe for them. She bound him so he could feel the fear radiating from Losna, letting the link transfer the emotion; he shuddered. His breaths grew shorter and his eyes darted about the woods.

  “What is it?” he said, resigned.

  “Get to the underdae,” she whispered. “We’ll meet you in a bit.”

  “I don’t want to leave,” Tev said, looking towards Ahraia.

  “Shhh,” Ahraia whispered before forcibly quieting her with a binding. “Go with Hayvon.” The little shade followed Hayvon with a nudge from Ahraia’s mind, her eyes glazed over and her shadow clutched tightly in her hands.

  Ahraia watched them slink furtively eastward towards the plains, keeping her eyes shifting about the forest for any signs of danger.

  Come on. We’re losing the night, Ahraia thought. Losna didn’t argue but let out another low growl.

  The Stone Tree wasn’t far now—another two valleys and they would reach the underdae. They moved quickly through the empty woods. When they reached the valley, Ahraia could feel at once why her shadow was so unnerved. Her hair stood on end, her every fiber telling her to run. She had never felt a place shuddering so strongly under such menace as this.

  Losna let out a quiet, deep growl. Kaval and Altah would be fools to still be here, she thought, having regained some of her sense.

  We have to find them, Ahraia conveyed. They moved in silence across the valley floor and paused at the edge of a wide, treeless expanse.

  The meadow stretched out beneath a thick, seeping layer of fog. A black veil of clouds blotted out the stars and the moon, and Ahraia had
the intense and immediate feeling that something wasn’t as it should be. She could see the dark silhouette of the Stone Tree on the far side of the meadow, slipping in and out of the fog.

  The Stone Tree wasn’t a tree at all. In fact, it didn’t even look like a tree—not in the least. But the humans used it like a shade tree, a shelter built of stone that they used during the night instead of the day. The human road passed beneath the colossal structure like a tenuous serpent through the dry grasses. The Stone Tree rose on the far side: high walls laced with dark closures. One whole side had caved in; the rubble-pile slanted downward, overgrown with bramble and grasses. The remaining structure loomed as tall as a tall maple tree, held by some human magic from collapsing in its entirety.

  Do you think they’re in there? Ahraia asked. She wanted to call out to them. She wanted to hear their voices without moving any closer.

  Don’t, Losna thought warningly.

  Instead, Ahraia scoured the meadow with her mind. The Stone Tree was a long way off, too far for conveyance or binding, and she felt only an ominous lacking—an emptiness. She wished she wouldn’t have reached out at all.

  Losna sniffed. She turned her ears forward and back. Ahraia did the same.

  No scent. No noises. No movement.

  Just fog.

  Something’s wrong, Losna thought. Ahraia silently agreed. Had her brothers sensed the same menace and fled? Could there be humans about? Or alps? She didn’t smell smoke, didn’t see bright fires. She didn’t see carts, or wagons, or horses.

  We have to find my brothers, she said, putting her hand on Losna’s back for reassurance.

  Losna tensed but didn’t argue. Ahraia stood up, readied herself, and then slipped from the forest onto the field.

  It took only a matter of moments to cross the meadow. The gentle folds of the grass gave way to the hard dirt of the human path and then back again to meadow. They passed a low ring of crumbled stone. Losna prowled next to Ahraia, a ghostly silhouette in the deepening fog, seeking for any signs of what might be amiss.