Between the Shade and the Shadow

by Coleman Alexander

  The trees remembered her. They swayed at her first touch, quivering right to the tip of their needles and leaves. But Ahraia’s heart was a storm and her mind was the wind. The branches moved to the tempest of her will, as though terrified of what she might do if they refused.

  The underdae worked the same as a darkening: outer husk, inner shell, and a tree within that provided true dark. In the darkening, each layer consisted of a single tree: the shell, the nit, and the shade tree, and each was expanded over whole lifetimes. But in the case of Ahraia’s underdae, each layer was a fusion of trees and bushes coerced into coexistence. It had taken months to fully weave. And it was far more dangerous than using single trees—but seeing as only the Masai controlled the seeds for new darkenings, and the Astra kept the seeds for new nit and shade trees—Ahraia hadn’t had much of a choice.

  She turned her attention to the outer layer first, moving larger branches to re-form weavings that had been lost without her tending. These were simple, broad threads that wouldn’t be dark in their own right, but would support the next layer, which was more broken than the rest. Once she had a loose web, she began to truly work. She wove cedar and fir and fern and hemlock. She tied off branches to limbs and trunks, splaying leaves and turning needles. The light was growing outside. In a way, it made the work easier, showing where the underdae lacked integrity. Losna stood next to her, still on edge from the night and worried about all the light. She huffed and whined but left Ahraia to her work.

  The branches twisted and turned. Leaves spun and needles shook, and slowly the bowels of the underdae grew darker. Outside, she sensed that true light had finally come. Her skin felt a gentle burn, but the underdae was holding for the moment.

  “Ahraia . . .,” Hayvon said, bringing her out of her reverie. “There’s too much damage here. With this tree down . . . I don’t think I’ll be able to form the wall properly.”

  She looked back and saw that Hayvon had admirably gathered darkness to the inner layer, in his own haphazard way. A cedar that had anchored the western wall, however, was toppled over with its roots high in the air.

  “That’s not going to do,” she said, retreating deeper into the shadows with the shades watching her. She lightly bound the surrounding trees, testing which ones might be willing to help her. A pliable maple, with great broad leaves, shifted eagerly at her touch. She moved it into the gap, but there was nothing to anchor the fold. She tried feebly to bring a fir branch across to help but it couldn’t reach. She tried the same with a sapling but it merely bent and shivered and then sprang free.

  “I’ve already tried everything,” Hayvon said, his voice tense.

  Ahraia ignored him and bound an enormous fir tree well outside of the underdae. It was massive, the largest tree in the grove, its trunk as wide as a darkening core. Ahraia sat perfectly still, coaxing the giant to her will. Morning sounds drifted in as she produced a true binding, with birds chirping beyond the folds of the underdae and small creatures rustling through the bushes. The shades watched, probably unaware of what she was even trying.

  “You don’t think you can actually bend that, do you?” Hayvon asked, peeking out and seeing branches wriggling far above the outer shell. “That’s never going to work. You might as well try bending a bridging tree on your own. Those branches won’t even come close.”

  Ahraia set her mind on her intention and waited, straining slightly as the fir resisted. “Who says I want the branches?”

  “I told—” Hayvon stopped short as the earth suddenly shifted and a large root emerged just beneath the gap in the trees. Ahraia grimaced. It was as close to a smile as she could manage. She brought the maple down and hooked it to the root. Hayvon’s ears quivered straight and she went back to weaving the rest of the wall complete.

  Losna, go and get any fallen branches you can, we’ll just have to patch what we can’t fill.

  Her shadow went off through the grove in search of fallen limbs. Morning slipped on and the Dae-Mon’s brilliant light turned the outer world un-walkable, but the inside of the underdae remained dim and safe. Losna came and went by a low tunnel of leaves, thrashing and shaking the folding each time she passed. Hayvon used the branches that Losna brought, stacking them in the barest spots while Ahraia put the finishing touches on the shelter, weaving fir to cedar, maple to fox leaf. She worked without thinking—bonding and binding and bending and braiding.

  Eventually, Hayvon’s voice came through the fog of enchantment. “I think that will do.”

  The branch she was tucking away slipped and swung back idly. She re-bound the tree and tucked it in again, persuading it to curl around the pine branch to lock it in place. It wasn’t perfect, but it would be sufficient. The day would be kept out.

  Ahraia heard something large moving outside of the underdae. She probed out for Losna with her mind, but only got a dim sense of struggle from her shadow.

  Losna, are you out there? she conveyed, forming a tiny closure, just big enough for her eye. She peered out, worried. Losna was wrestling with a fallen tree, far too big to be of any use. She fought with the tree stubbornly, as though dragging the body of some overlarge, prized kill.

  Get in here, Ahraia thought.

  Losna looked up guiltily. She grabbed the tree and jerked it closer.

  Come here, Ahraia conveyed firmly.

  Losna reluctantly let go of the log and slipped back into the underdae through her tunnel of leaves. Pine needles and burrs coated her fur.

  Ahraia turned back to the underdae, exhausted. Tev was asleep and her shadow was curled inside her cloak. Ahraia wasn’t sure if it was a sign that the squirrel was growing attached or if it was simply terrified of Losna. Shim was watching Ahraia with tired eyes, looking frightened and on edge. He had a small knife out on his lap, apparently in case anything from the plains came for them.

  Vesta was wrapped around Hayvon’s neck, her eyes closed but her tail flopping about idly. Hayvon, however, was staring at Ahraia with bloodshot eyes. She knew what was coming, and thought about binding him to stop it, but she was too exhausted.

  What happened at the Stone Tree? Hayvon asked, careful to keep the younger shades from receiving his conveyance.

  I don’t want to talk about it, Ahraia conveyed, picking needles from Losna’s fur as her shadow settled against her.

  I need to know. Hayvon paused. You’re . . . you’re sure they’re dead?

  She could feel the doubt in his words, a secret hope that she was wrong. It brought the night crashing back over her, and the emotions that had dimmed came bursting back like the Dae-Mon suddenly burning through.

  Positive, she conveyed. I saw them—and their shadows.

  All of them? He asked in shock. How?

  I don’t know. There was something there with them. Something . . . terrible. She shuddered, remembering the binding and the figure in the dark.

  Something there? You mean something that killed them?

  She nodded. Hayvon looked as though she had pushed him into a beam of light.

  You saw it? What was it?

  I don’t know, Ahraia conveyed, unwilling to admit what Losna suspected it had been. Losna lifted her head and glared at Ahraia.

  Tell him! she growled. Vesta’s eyes opened and her tail stopped on Hayvon’s shoulder.

  Ahraia drew a deep, shuddering breath. She stared blankly at her bloodstained hands. We think it might have been the Shad-Mon.

  Hayvon’s mouth hung open and Vesta’s head snapped up from his shoulder, obviously having heard a reflection through her shade. Hayvon seemed unable to form words. Ahraia kept her eyes down, digging at the blood beneath her fingernails. After a moment, Hayvon seemed to find his thoughts.

  The Shad-Mon? That’s impossible.

  Tell her that. Ahraia nodded to Losna. She would have been just as certain as her brother if she hadn’t felt the terrible crushing weight of the binding and seen the barest shape of the creature.

  The daemon doesn’t—

  I know.
Hayvon, believe me, I know. But I don’t know what else it could have been. You weren’t there . . .

  Hayvon swallowed hard, staring at her with a determined intensity. Will you show me? Vesta crawled off his shoulder onto his lap, facing him uncertainly.

  Show you? Ahraia thought, suddenly terrified, feeling sick at even the thought of reliving the scene for him. No. She shook her head. “No,” she said aloud, trying to push away all thought of it. A bird outside startled into flight and Shim and Tev raised their heads. Ahraia kept shaking her head. No, she repeated more subtly. I won’t. They were murdered. I can’t relive that.

  Hayvon was staring at her with wide eyes, idly pushing Vesta out of his face.

  Ahraia looked down at the blood on her hands, feeling guilty. They were already dead when I got there. Whatever it was . . . it was in the Stone Tree with them . . . inside the darkness. Made of darkness. Black fur and black eyes, standing blacker than a black shadow. Ahraia shuddered remembering how it seemed darker than the deepest corner of the underdae. It would have killed me too, but I think Losna surprised it. It had me bound, Hayvon, like a sprite would, like prey—bound firmer than any binding I’ve ever felt. I felt myself still . . . I knew I was in danger—but I didn’t have any control. It dragged me forward, without any effort.

  You have to show me. It couldn’t have been the Shad-Mon.

  Ahraia bit her lip, her heart constricting with the pain of the memory.

  Losna nudged her with her snout. Show him, she thought. Let him see for himself.

  But Ahraia couldn’t. Her fear, guilt, and pain all tumbled together, overwhelming her. She couldn’t relive the memory again. She shook her head, unwilling. She closed her eyes and blocked out Hayvon’s conveyance. She blocked out Losna as well, dizzy from the sudden feeling of loneliness and quiet in her mind.

  Ahraia’s jaw ached from clenching. It was the only thing to keep her from sobbing. A single tear formed and slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away, not daring to open her eyes. She lay down, facing away from the others. Losna nuzzled her and licking idly at her hand. Eventually, she laid her head on Ahraia’s arm.

  Ahraia didn’t move for a long time, listening to the strange sounds of the day. The wind sounded more dangerous than at night, as though it wanted to peel back the bindings of the underdae to bring light scorching down on them. Birds that she had never heard before chirped and sang outside. She lay in a daze as the Dae-Mon rose dangerously overhead, trying to sleep, hoping for the sweet relief of nothingness, but instead, every time she came close, she found herself rigid with fear, feeling the deep, falling sensation of being paralyzed by the enchantment. Every time the daemon was waiting, just beyond the veil of darkness. The memories kept tumbling about her against her will. She was reliving the night whether she wanted to or not.

  She rolled over and found Hayvon watching her. She guessed it was getting near mid-morning.

  “They’re my brothers too. I need to see,” he whispered. Losna raised her head but the shades kept sleeping.

  Ahraia nodded. “I know,” she said, having already thought through the memory a dozen times.

  When she spoke, she spoke aloud to make sure he understood what he was asking. “I’ll show you, but . . . it’s not going to be comfortable. It’s not going to be easy.”

  He nodded, looking fearful but determined.

  Ahraia took a deep, steadying breath. She scooted towards him until their knees almost touched. Losna watched on nervously. Ahraia looked into Hayvon’s bright white eyes—so different from the horrible, lifeless eyes of the creature in Stone Tree.

  Are you ready?

  Hayvon nodded. Ahraia took another deep breath. She formed the bonding, melding their minds so that he would see what she envisioned. She closed her eyes, searching for a thought that would prompt the memory. Fog over the meadow. The memory grew more palpable. She let it envelop her. The binding to Hayvon and the underdae faded.

  Ahraia could feel the dark of night surrounding her. Things she hadn’t noticed before seemed more pronounced. The fog wasn’t just drifting—it was flowing like water over the lip of a falls, with no wind or current to push it. But the grass didn’t move with it. The unnatural silhouette of the Stone Tree loomed like a ghostly monster, formidable and menacing. The dark closures of the underdae stared unblinkingly back at her. She reached out and touched Losna for reassurance. A dim part of her knew that it was a memory, but that part was fading.

  Losna’s fur was coarse and warm beneath her hand. Ahraia moved silently towards the underdae. The grass brushed against her knees and the crunch of hard dirt sounded beneath her feet.

  The moments slipped by in a blur of sharp details and raw emotions: a pulse of fear, hesitation, doubt. Losna jogged around the far side of the Stone Tree, searching for a sense of things. But Ahraia had her own sense of things: stone and dark and shadows. She knelt and saw the broken wing of a raven and the limp paw of a fox.

  Losna! She stepped back, horrified. Something was inside.

  And then the darkness descended upon her. She sensed the creature in the inky-black interior of the Stone Tree. Terror. She couldn’t move. The Shad-Mon was there with her.

  The binding wrapped around her mind anew, so complete and unbreakable that Ahraia nearly screamed. She would have if she could, but every fiber in her body gave way to the enchantment, entirely against her will. I’m going to die, she thought. Her feet dragged her towards the closure. Helplessness coursed through her. The Shad-Mon was just inside the darkness. A black wolf on its hind legs. She could see the shadow in the deep dark. Black as black. White teeth beneath lidless eyes. Vile. Evil. She felt the brush of its mind and nearly vomited from the sensation. She was as good as dead.

  The growl came unexpectedly: violent and protective, sure as death. Losna was just behind her. Ahraia’s heart soared and she tumbled backwards. The Shad-Mon retreated with a sense of surprise and panic. And then Ahraia was on her knees at her brother’s side. She burned with moonlight suddenly, sharp and bright, and her eyes blurred with tears. Blood coated the floor: warm and wretched. She grabbed the knife: Icy-cold and charcoal dark. Losna was dragging her away. Ahraia tossed the knife aside and then she was running. Running and rising. She came out of the memory breathless and sick.

  The night faded and the dark gray of the underdae swelled around her with the sounds of day. Ahraia leaned over and vomited, her fear overcoming her.

  “I left them. We can’t leave them like that!” she said hysterically.

  It’s okay, Losna thought, whining in worry.

  What in day’s light was that? Hayvon conveyed, clutching his chest, wide-eyed and terrified. Tev and Shim cowered in the deepest shadows, watching them. Vesta had scurried into Hayvon’s pocket and was now curled up and hidden, quivering at his chest.

  Losna was next to Ahraia, trying to comfort her and keep the fear from reflecting through their bond. It’s okay, she thought again, nuzzling against Ahraia.

  But the simple reassurance of her shadow did little to quell the terror and guilt that swelled within her.

  That was the Shad-Mon, wasn’t it? Hayvon conveyed, barely managing to keep his thoughts from the shades this time. Black eyes and black heart.

  Ahraia was shaking. Her hand felt cold where she had held the creature’s knife. She scratched at her skin as though she could still feel the brief, unnatural moonlight.

  Where did that light come from? Hayvon conveyed as though he guessed her thoughts. She hadn’t properly broken their connection.

  The moonlight? Maybe the clouds broke, she conveyed, still scratching.

  Ahraia . . . there wasn’t any moon last night.

  Ahraia stopped scratching. Her heart suddenly clenched tightly as she realized he was right. There had been no moon or stars, but her skin had definitely felt light, dim but undeniable.

  The orb, Hayvon said flatly.

  Our nit’s orb! Ahraia’s heart stuttered. Kaval had been carrying their orb, the one that fed mo
onlight to their nit tree. She had been too shocked to notice it, but the faint light she had felt had undoubtedly come from the orb, somewhere on the ground in the underdae.

  We have to go back for it, she conveyed feeling an overwhelming sense of despair.

  What about the Shad-Mon? Losna asked.

  A shiver of fear raised the hairs at the back of her arms. We don’t have a choice. If we don’t get that orb back, mother’s tree won’t last a turning.

  Hayvon looked frightened but didn’t argue. Their nit tree couldn’t survive without the orb’s light, and without the nit tree to leech off of, their shade trees would wither as well.

  Already wracked by guilt for fleeing her brothers, Ahraia felt doubly foolish. She should have noticed the light, no matter how faint it was.

  Hayvon’s eyes grew darker. The orb’s going to be lethal after a whole day under the Dae-Mon.

  He was right. It was dangerously light outside—and the orb would be engorged, close to shattering, Ahraia guessed.

  We’ll just have to find a way to cover it. One of the shadows can carry it . . .

  Hayvon’s ears turned down. His eyes grew even darker. What about the humans? he worried.

  The humans! Ahraia felt faint. She had entirely forgotten about the lightwalkers. Her chest felt as though her heart had given up, collapsed inward on itself. “If the humans find them, we’re dead. If the light doesn’t kill us, the Astra will.”

  8

  Bright Fire

  A low crescent of the Blood Moon sat just above the horizon when Ahraia and the shades finally emerged from the shelter. Ahraia hadn’t slept but now the light had finally surrendered to the night. She led them to the edge of the grove, where stars spilled in between the clouds streaming in from the west. She caught the scent of rain on the wind.

  “What are we going to do if the humans are already there?” Hayvon whispered as they hurried across the plains.

  What are we going to do if the Shad-Mon is there? Losna thought darkly.

  “I’ll figure something out,” Ahraia said, answering them both. She looked back. The shades were already lagging behind. Both of their shadows were hidden in the folds of their cloaks and their hoods were drawn up against the dim light.