Ahraia pulled her cloak close and wiped rainwater off the tip of her nose. The forest dripped with the thick chorus of rain, every branch and leaf soaked through. Hayvon’s last conveyance brought the mystery of the Masai back to the forefront of her mind. Never in all her life had Ahraia heard of the Masai traveling to other darkenings, or at least, not as far as any in the Gelesh. The Gelesh were separated from the rest of the Silh by a narrow strip of darkness south of the plains. It passed frighteningly close to the human realm. Altah had presumed the visit was spurred by the Gelesh’s failing darkness and the ever-encroaching lightwalkers, and though Ahraia hadn’t considered it likely, she wondered now if the Masai was indeed blaming the Astra. A dim hope lit in her heart but it mixed with worry. She hurried to catch up with her father and the other sprites.
“What is the Masai doing in Daispar?” Ahraia called to her father once she was in earshot.
He turned around and glared at her with a reproachful flicker of his ears. He pulled his hood up and kept walking.
I mean, why would she come all the way here? she asked.
Her father pushed back branches as he walked; like most wards, he didn’t bother with bindings of the forest. Ahraia hurried after him with Losna close at her heel, folding the forest out of their path, sending water shaking from the leaves and branches.
She projected her conveyance to him as she caught up. Altah claimed it was because of the trouble in the West Vales. He said the Masai’s blaming the Astra for it.
Her father didn’t bother to stop, but she could tell that the thought irritated him.
“That’s between the Astra and the Masai,” he said, navigating down into a deeper ravine. “But I wouldn’t listen too closely to rumors from a fool who got himself killed by a human. Gavea’s right, he didn’t deserve true dark.”
“How could you be so callous?” Ahraia said aloud, stopping short in disbelief. Her throat tightened and her heart suddenly felt as though it would sear right through her chest. Losna’s hackles raised, influenced by their bond. “How could you care so little that they’re dead? I don’t care what nit you call your own—they were still your shades. Are you truly that pitiless?”
He turned around. His scars were flushed.
“Altah and Kaval would have only ever been dae-wards—and if they couldn’t keep themselves alive as shades, they wouldn’t have managed as sprites,” he snapped. “You’re already in enough trouble as it is. It’s bad enough that the Masai is coming to the darkening—which should be our only concern—but now besides the trouble with the lightwalkers, I have to bring our fabled wolf-binder before the Masai, light-scarred and reeking of smoke and humans. You seem to have forgotten how to convey anything and seem to think your voice is as beautiful as the night. It is not. And I don’t want to hear it again. Understood?”
I understand perfectly well, Ahraia conveyed, disgusted that he didn’t care about Kaval or Altah.
When he spoke, his voice shook uncharacteristically. “Listen to me, and hear me clearly. You’re so busy worrying about what is behind you that you fail to see what lies just ahead. The Masai of the whole Silh is in Daispar. That in and of itself should frighten you straight. You have more at risk than any shade or sprite in the darkening.”
Ahraia paused, his words taking her by surprise. What does the Masai have to do with me?
His ears straightened to their full length beneath his hood.
“You’re not foolish enough to think this is passing happenstance—an idle visit, do you? Then let me put it plainly, since you seem so determined in your naïvety.” He stepped closer, not seeming to notice as Losna let out a warning growl. “You need to start worrying about the simplest of things.” He held out his hand, all five fingers spread. With each point, a finger curled away. “You’re a shade. Burned by light. Having spoken aloud more times than I can count, having been caught hunting humans.” He wriggled the last remaining finger, then formed a fist, his words turning to conveyance. Having been seen by a human.
He continued silently, his words all the more dangerous.
Tonight, you’ve managed to put yourself and your shadow before the tip of a drain. The wrong turn of a leaf and you could easily end up in the Shadow Woods. All that is standing between you and that is me.
His voice rose to a whisper. “Maybe it’s time you stop fretting over your brothers and start worrying about yourself.”
With that he turned, leaving Ahraia standing against Losna in the dripping forest.
He’s going to get us out of this, right? Losna thought.
I don’t know, Ahraia conveyed. She grabbed her shadow’s fur for reassurance, wondering for the first time if it was safe to return to the darkening. Her thoughts turned to running but the night was growing old. There were only so many underdaes, and any number of them could be occupied by other sprites or shades.
Gavea lingered and looked back through the woods.
“Where’s your brother?” she said.
“I’m not his ward. Find him yourself,” Ahraia said, quietly enough so that her father couldn’t hear.
Gavea’s eyes went wide. “You’re going to see the Shad-Mon in the end. Just wait.”
Ahraia ignored her. Losna snarled at Gavea and trotted after Ahraia, leaving the nitesse staring back through the woods for Hayvon.
Finding the shades wasn’t difficult, but it was farther than Ahraia expected. Tev and Shim were huddled in the same hollow, fearful and quiet. Tev had thankfully calmed, and sat running her hand over the back of her shadow, which clung to her forearm, leaving sharp, angry marks on her wrist. Both of the shades’ skin had mercifully returned to normal, the blistering marks from the initial burst of light having faded. Shim seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, and was taut as a bowstring as the sprites gathered about him and his sister. Ahraia conveyed subtly not to say anything about the human, but her father hardly paused to interrogate them.
“Where’s Nitesse Gavea?” he asked once he had finished.
Here she comes, Levath conveyed, looking back through the woods. Ahraia looked back too and saw movement. Hayvon followed Gavea, limping heavily and making enough noise to be a lightwalker. His feet snagged on branches and ferns.
Ahraia hung back, not having realized how badly injured he was.
Are you all right?
He didn’t answer. Ahraia had never seen her brother look so distant. He was pale beyond his normal ashen color. Shim shuddered nervously at the sight of him.
Hayvon? What’s wrong? Ahraia said, growing more worried.
Just hurting. That’s all, he conveyed, cradling his cloak where Vesta huddled. Apparently, they had settled their argument, as she was silent and hidden from the rain. Ahraia followed behind them, folding the dripping wet forest away from their path, attempting to keep them dry while worrying about Hayvon’s leg and about whatever their father had conveyed to him.
Gavea brought up the rear and Ahraia let the branches swing back, perhaps more than idly, spraying water over the nitesse’s path.
The journey back to Daispar passed miserably. The rain turned to a downpour, dripping in maddening drops from the canopy above. The first autumn leaves plummeted to the ground as well, and water beaded on the eaves-web of Ahraia’s cloak, streaming down her shoulders like rills over rocks.
Hayvon seemed oblivious to everything: the rain, the forest, and most of all, bondings and thoughts. His hair dripped, lank and sopping, giving him an empty and skeletal look.
What’s wrong with him? Losna asked.
He must be really injured, Ahraia conveyed, having given up on talking to him. She bound several ferns and moved them out of Hayvon’s path. She guessed that he and Vesta were deep in conversation as he kept his thoughts to himself. But his limp was getting worse, and he made no effort to keep his leg from dragging through the dripping wet-brush. They entered the low valley of Daispar by way of the southern paths. They had hardly rounded the first corner when Losna let out a woof, s
ignaling to Ahraia that something was behind them in the forest.
Nit-Ward! Ahraia conveyed. She spun about to see a single sprite running headlong through the woods. It was Lecke, one of the sprites Gavea had sent after the human. He slowed, dripping wet and breathing hard. Ahraia swallowed nervously, worried they had caught the girl.
Nitesse Gavea, Nit-Ward Beran, Lecke conveyed, his ears dipping deferentially.
Ahraia’s father turned about. “Did you capture the human?” His worry revealed itself in the rise of his voice. He gestured for Lecke to speak aloud.
The ward hesitated, and Ahraia could sense his fear. “Yes and no.”
Ahraia’s heart stopped.
“What do you mean?” Gavea said crossly.
Lecke licked his lips nervously. “Prin and Havis have it pinned in the meadow of the Stone Tree—but it’s setting fire to everything about it, and they haven’t managed to get close enough to bind it. But that’s not—”
“They haven’t bound it?” Gavea said, cutting him off abruptly. “They’re sprites, are they not? Get the dae-wards there before the daylight comes.”
“We have a runner out already,” Lecke said. “But that’s not why I’m here.” He hesitated, and spoke quietly under the dangerous glare of the nitesse. “We came across a group of alps. Their leader claimed to have met the Astra last night, and claimed to have been given free passage through the woods.”
The alp! Ahraia conveyed before she could help it. She had completely forgotten about seeing the Astra and the alp the night before. An echo of her surprise must have escaped because her father turned towards her, his ears flickering for silence.
Lecke went on, each word worsening Gavea’s ire. “Prin sent the rest of the wards to track them.”
“What about the human?” Gavea said, her ears turning dangerously downward. “Is it just Prin and Havis after it now?” Lecke nodded. Gavea spun towards Ahraia’s father. “I thought this was already dealt with, Beran.”
Ahraia barely registered Gavea’s words as she turned over the thought of the alp. She turned her conveyance inward, just to Losna. That was only last night, she conveyed in disbelief, remembering the golden hair and icy eyes; it felt as though years had passed since then.
Ahraia’s father ignored Gavea. He turned back to Lecke, looking unimpressed.
“Was it Anasazi?”
Confusion spread plainly across Lecke’s face. He nodded. “Yes, Anasazi . . . of the Cirice. Are alps being left to roam the Gelesh?”
Gavea’s ears batted in irritation. “This is your fault, Beran. You can’t even handle your wards. They should have been warned about the alps last night. Now the human is going to get away.”
“You worry about your nit—I’ll worry about my wards and the human,” Ahraia’s father said, causing Levath and Tallin to draw sharp breaths. He ignored them and turned to Lecke. “Tell Prin to call them off; the alps have the leave of the Astra.”
Lecke looked startled by the order. Gavea’s eyes gleamed dangerously, and her thoughts echoed out, unchecked.
It would suit you all too well to let the human get away—for the sake of your shades. She turned back to Lecke. “Forget about calling them off, this night is getting too old. I’m not going to leave this to chance. Lecke. Come with me.” Gavea turned and headed back through the dripping woods, away from the darkening, with the ward in tow.
“Where are you going?” Ahraia’s father called, his eyes narrowing.
“To catch that human,” Gavea called back.
Ahraia’s father watched her go, his jaw set tightly. He turned back to Ahraia, meeting her eye.
You’d better hope that human ends up dead before Nitesse Gavea binds her.
11
The Masai
Why are alps being given leave to roam the Gelesh? Ahraia conveyed to Losna, holding back branches for Hayvon and Vesta.
Her shadow jogged ahead of her towards the looming darkening, just as perturbed.
The wall funneled rivulets of water to either side of the closure, protecting the passage out of the dripping forest. They passed inside, and Losna shook herself, a mist of water spraying from her fur.
Ahraia hesitated, letting her eyes adjust. The true dark felt blissfully soothing, dry and warm. The waterspouts streamed with rainwater, directing what the shell couldn’t turn back into urns and pools that had been dry since spring. Beneath the spouts, however, an unnatural, forced silence quivered inside the protective dark. The air reverberated with the tangled conveyance of dozens upon dozens of sprites. Ahraia slipped between the outer nit trees past a bank of drying eaves-web, following her father and Hayvon by a narrow path with Losna close behind.
Those are bad omens, Losna conveyed, looking up.
A pair of white moon ravens hid in the upper eaves of the darkening. They weren’t shadows—not of Daispar, at least.
They’ve arrived, Tallin conveyed ahead of them. The hairs on Ahraia’s neck prickled.
The Masai’s already here, she conveyed to Losna.
The group emerged into the central hollow to find the entire darkening gathered, packed together in the rain-pattered silence. Every sprite, spriteling, shade, and shadow crowded about the deep-set depression from which the central springs flowed out to the west. Even most of the dae-wards congregated inside, something Ahraia hadn’t seen since the Astra had supplanted her mother. They stood about the edges, their light-scarred skin and yellow-bright eyes showing out from the small creases of their light-veils.
The Astra stood in the middle, nearest to the springs, surrounded by her closest wards, and facing a group of sprites and wards Ahraia had never seen before. Among them, one stood a step forward from the rest.
Is that the Masai? Losna thought, catching a glimpse through the crowd.
Ahraia’s throat tightened as she swallowed. It must be.
By the looks of it, the company from Angolor had only just arrived. Most were still wearing traveling cloaks, their eaves-web still dripping and their hair falling lank and unkempt about their shoulders. Ahraia stood on her tiptoes to get a better look, catching glimpses of the Masai through the silver-bright hair and hoods of the sprites and wards standing before her. It was strangely surreal to see the leader of the whole Silh. Somehow, she seemed impervious to the damp. Her traveling cloak looked to be sewn of inkan silk: a deep, nightshade of silver, dark and rich and sinuously shifting as she moved. Beneath it, she wore a dress of shadowy-velvet web. Her hair was long and held high by an intricate tarry vine, with dazzling purple flowers.
She was speaking, and her voice rolled quietly through the hollow. “First it was Holcrek . . . then Dimdale and Enshad. Now the West Vales. It’s not hard to see that the Gelesh is being torn apart by lightwalkers.”
Not Daispar, the Astra conveyed, her thoughts carrying from below. She looked surprisingly simple, dressed in a demure black eaves-web that clung to her unblemished skin. Her drain was threaded tight at her hip.
The Masai sounded unconvinced. “If Daispar is the heartwood of the Gelesh’s strength, then it is also must be the root of its weakness.”
The Astra blushed visibly, the markings at her neck and ears graying.
The Gelesh stretches too far for any single darkening to oversee. We need more darkness, more daughters and more wards. We can’t begin to range all the ways from the Endless Plains to the ever-swelling oceans of the west.
“Which is why I’m here,” the Masai said, turning. Ahraia got her first clear look at her and was surprised to see she didn’t look nearly as regal as her clothes did. She was beautiful, though not in a very spritish way. She had dark, lingering scars, darker than Ahraia’s, wrapping behind her ear and up her neck. Her eyes were sallow yellow and faded, as though they had once been bright and wardish, or even wolfish maybe. And while her voice was calm, even quiet, Ahraia couldn’t help but feel a tightness growing in her chest as she listened.
“The Gelesh is vital to me—I’m not willing to cede it to the Dae-Mon
and the lightwalkers.”
The Astra didn’t answer, at least, not aloud or in any conveyance that Ahraia heard. The Masai paused, and eventually continued.
“I understand you have a freshly cast sprite, unrooted as of yet . . . I want to make arrangements for her uprooting. In return, I’ll give you what you need to protect your lands.”
All eyes and ears turned towards Kren. She didn’t look as though she had registered what the Masai had said; she still had the same, empty stare that had haunted her since her shadow test.
Kren can’t be uprooted, Ahraia conveyed towards Hayvon out of habit. Daughters aren’t supposed to be given. She belongs here.
Hayvon didn’t seem to notice. Ahraia didn’t see the Masai’s ears flicker, though they must have because the Astra’s conveyance gave way to words.
“We need every daughter we have. Folding darkness is the only way we’ll ever keep—”
The Masai held up a hand, cutting the Astra off as though she had bound her.
“Two of your shades are dead within a night’s march from here, undoubtedly the devilry of lightwalkers. Alps and humans both have been reported in the area by my scouts. More lightwalkers are spreading to the West Vales, and two darkenings of the Gelesh have failed since you’ve become Astra of Daispar.” She stopped and let her words sink in. The unbearable silence settled, but this time, it was devoid of any conveyance. Only the drip of rain could be heard, falling steadily on the outer husk of the darkening and streaming down the funnels. “Folding darkness isn’t your problem—Daispar is plenty dark.” She gestured about them. “Protecting the Gelesh is your problem.”
The Astra’s jaw moved as though her mouth was full of mud that she couldn’t spit out. Ahraia held her breath, hoping that the Astra would refuse.
We don’t even know what killed the shades, the Astra replied, not fully objecting. Lightwalkers might not have had anything to do with it.
Between the Shade and the Shadow Page 14