Between the Shade and the Shadow

by Coleman Alexander

  Ahraia felt faint. She steadied herself on Losna, whose whole body trembled with fear.

  The Masai stared at them like trophies.

  “Her shadow test?” her father said aloud, his voice snapping the silence violently. He looked stunned. “She’s not old enough.” Not by half.

  Horrified gasps chased the echoes from the hollow. A rustle of unsettled wings fluttered above and a sprite coughed. Ahraia’s shock stabbed so deeply, she hardly registered that he had spoken aloud to the Masai, unbidden. But the rest of the darkening had. A dae-ward from Angolor stepped dangerously forward, his eyes shining brilliant golden beneath his veil.

  The Masai held up a hand, staying the ward. The scars on her face were graying, revealing the storm just beneath the surface.

  “You dare speak to me?”

  Even the dripping of the forest seemed to stop. Ahraia’s father quailed beneath her gaze, bowing submissively with the top of his head showing. Giving no indication she was appeased, she turned back to the Astra. When she spoke, her tone was flat and dangerous.

  “This is a troubling darkening, where shades and wards presume their voices are to be heard and where the will of the Masai is not absolute. Perhaps the Gelesh has fallen farther than I imagined.”

  The silence welled from every corner, sharpened by the low hissing streams and Tev’s choking sobs. Ahraia’s father kept his eyes down and the Astra pressed her lips together, staying submissively silent.

  Ahraia still couldn’t believe what was happening. Losna let out a whine and the Masai’s eyes flickered towards them.

  “Now, unless, I’ve misunderstood,” she said, “Ahraia is the eldest in her nit. Which means any Astra could ask her to become a sprite at any time. And I'm not willing to let her become a sprite to any darkening but my own.”

  The Astra’s mouth hung agape. It’s only by chance, ill fate really, that she’s eldest at all—two brothers dead and the other seen . . . she’s not ready to become a sprite. No Astra would ask her to enter her test so soon.

  The Masai’s lips curled down at the corners. “Unfortunately for me, I have no choice. You’ve condemned her brother to death, and rightly so. But in doing so, you expose her as eldest and make her entirely uprootable to any who would choose to call out the challenge. Offers will undoubtedly come—offers already have come,” she said knowingly.

  The Astra’s eyes widened in affront, but in a forced manner that Ahraia could tell it was an act. The Masai went on, unimpeded.

  “I know of at least three agreements you’ve already heard from other Astrael—in West Vale, Herth, even Menton—though I can’t imagine what of any value they could possibly offer. I won't let another darkening think they can challenge Angolor with a wolf-binder.”

  That’s preposterous, the Astra conveyed, but Ahraia could feel the truth bleeding through her thoughts.

  An easy smile spread across the Masai’s face and sent a shiver through Ahraia. “I know you mean to rid yourself of her. A wolf-binder is too dangerous for you . . . and she’s worth too much.”

  “You’ve already taken one daughter. Two would be too much, least of all her.”

  Ahraia couldn’t process what was unraveling. For once she agreed with the Astra; she wasn’t ready. But the Masai’s accusation caught her off guard. She bound her father.

  You were going to let her trade me?

  By the way his brow furrowed and his lip curled, Ahraia wasn’t sure he even knew about the Astra’s intentions. He didn’t answer.

  The Astra hesitated. Tev was still sobbing. A ward pinned Shim to the ground, though he looked like he was as limp as his shadow.

  The Astra nodded towards her shades. “Get them out of my sight.”

  Several sprites stepped forward and dragged the shades away. Tev’s sobs became faint, leaving only the sparse raindrops rattling on the shell above. Ahraia couldn’t think straight.

  Are you willing to let me speak plainly? the Astra conveyed. The Masai’s ears flicked in assent. Every sprite and shade in the darkening held their collective breath.

  “What are you willing to give me for her?” the Astra asked.

  Ahraia swayed on her feet, clutching Losna as the only thing steady in her world. The Astra pressed on before the Masai had a chance to answer.

  “You’re asking for a second daughter—a wolf-binder, no less.”

  The Masai’s smile hollowed out Ahraia’s insides. “I don’t need the first daughter. You can keep her . . . and the dae-wards.”

  Kren looked up, seemingly aware for the first time. She looked at Ahraia, her mouth falling open, motherly despair plain upon her face. Her ears curled in apparent dismay that Ahraia would be uprooted in her stead.

  The Masai went on. “I’ve can give you more. More wards or seeds, or orbs . . .”

  The Astra scoffed. “There aren’t enough wards in all of Angolor to trade a wolf-binder.” Ahraia noticed a perceptible shift in her manner: her ears angled back and a hard edge had crept into her voice. The change was startling, as though she realized the Masai had her cornered.

  “You’re right, you know,” she went on. “I have received offers. From your allies and enemies alike. Some promising allegiance—even fealty—some promising darkness and wards. But who is to say I don’t keep her? It's my right to do so.” She stared fixedly at the Masai, her words threateningly close to treason. The sprites about the dell shifted uncomfortably. “And if I choose to, there’s no reason Daispar wouldn’t become the roots of a whole new spritedom. What will you do when a new Masai rises here, in the Gelesh?”

  The gleam of the Masai’s eyes disappeared entirely. “It would mean war,” she said.

  The Astra held a hand up and bowed in full formality, showing the top of her head as Ahraia's father just had.

  “A war which I have no intention of causing.” When she raised her head, there was a greedy turn to her ears. “But neither do you expect me to accept wards for a wolf-binder. If you insist she enters her shadow test, then it’s my only recourse to protect my darkening. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t deserve to hold what I do.”

  The Masai remained silent. Her ears twitched, signaling the Astra to go on.

  The Astra’s voice dropped. “You came here to address the failing darkness, but you’re going to take away that which will bring us the most darkness.”

  The Masai gave the Astra a wolfish grin. “So this is about darkness.”

  “I have no interest in seeing a new spritedom rise—or a new Masai, for that matter. But you’re right, the woods of the Gelesh aren’t what they once were; lightwalkers trespass on every side, and our cover shrinks with each passing night. I need darkness, and the ability to weave it, protect it, and spread it. I need the ability to reclaim these woods. I need your help in pulling over the veil of night. Is that not what a Masai is meant to do?”

  Every sprite in the darkening listened eagerly.

  “What would you ask?” the Masai said.

  The Astra rolled forward onto her toes.

  “I need new darkenings. I need the seeds of darkenings.”

  The Masai’s face twitched. “Darkenings?”

  A maddened gleam shone in the Astra’s eyes as she nodded once. Ahraia hoped that it was too much to ask, that the Astra was being too greedy. Darkening seeds were invaluable, and only the Masai held them. Ahraia hoped that the Masai would walk away, wanting nothing to do with the Astra’s preposterous request. But when she spoke, her voice was measured and practical.

  “And who would be their Astrael?”

  Ahraia’s throat felt like it was pinched closed.

  The Astra’s ears batted, unable to contain her fervor. “Whoever you choose. Your own daughters, if you wish.” I mean these woods to be allied to Angolor, an extension of your great realm in the east. Together, we can spread darkness as it once was. Her inner-voice dripped with sincerity.

  The Masai seemed to consider this for a moment. Ahraia was terrified, still holding on to the barest hope th
at the Astra asked too much. She lowered her gaze again as the Masai eyed her.

  “If she becomes a sprite, I will give you a single seed of a darkening.”

  “Two . . .”

  “Two seeds.”

  The Astra considered it for a moment. “She’s not the eldest yet. Not until her brother is dealt with, and he won’t be condemned until the turning, which is still three nights away.”

  “It’s only proper if the first task falls at the full moon.”

  The Astra nodded. “Then it’s agreed. Two darkening seeds and you have my wolf-binder.” The Astra bowed, ears pointed in acceptance. Ahraia’s breath rushed from her chest. She couldn’t process what had happened. She didn’t understand. She didn’t want to understand. But Losna’s thoughts unraveled more clearly, deadly aware of the loneliness of being cut away, of being exiled. She threw back her head and filled the darkening with a haunting, lonely howl.

  “I should have killed the human. I should have just killed her and been done with it.” Ahraia bit her lip in frustration, running her fingers over the trunk of her mother’s tree.

  The narrow slit where the orb fit stared back at her like a black, lifeless eye.

  We should leave, Losna thought, her whole body quivering, from nose tip to tail tip.

  “And just run from it?” Ahraia said wistfully, running her fingers along the inside of the empty cache. She had watched Kren and Kaval slip the moon-bright orb into the tree countless times, covering the opening lest any light escape. Now, the hollow was painfully dark. Ahraia wished she had forcibly enchanted the orb from the human: peeled back the girl’s fingers and ripped it from her mind. She sighed and picked idly at a rough spot on the bark.

  “Where would we go?”

  To the forests? To the plains? We could run. What about Plain Dark? Or farther still. What about a new darkness, something you could fold?

  “They would hunt us.”

  Even on the plains?

  Ahraia clenched her jaw bitterly. “There’s no darkness there. Not for me.” Her skin itched from all the light she had already suffered. Her scars were darker now, the angry-red giving way to silver-gray permanence over her ashen skin, almost like the Masai’s.

  Losna let out a low whine and rested her head on her paws with her tail tucked beside her.

  What happens if Gavea finds the human?

  Ahraia didn’t want to think of it. She didn’t have an answer. It was full day outside the darkening, and her remaining siblings were asleep in their shade trees. There were only three left: her sister Kyah, and the two spritelings, Thelon and Alua. It seemed impossible that in less than a turning, all three of their older brothers were dead—or close enough to dead. Three nights remained until Hayvon would be condemned to the Shadow Woods.

  “If we had only gotten to Kaval and Altah quicker,” Ahraia said, “then none of this would have happened.” She resisted the urge to scream, to howl with all her fury at the injustice of it. She turned back to her shade tree.

  The innards were blissfully black. She settled in against the trunk, leaning against Losna and combing her fingers through her shadow’s fur. Losna didn’t even seem to notice. The shadow test had poisoned their bond.

  “If Hayvon just would have listened . . . why did he tell them he was seen?” Ahraia ran through a thousand ways things could have gone differently.

  To protect you. To protect us. Losna thought, laying her head against Ahraia. If he hadn’t, it might be us. It should have been us . . . we were seen as well.

  Ahraia swallowed guiltily. She shook her head. She couldn’t begin to imagine cutting Losna loose, no matter what the circumstance. The void within Hayvon had been haunting, an absence like missing his limb, or his heart, or his mind. She had no doubt that it had clouded his thought.

  Ahraia ran her fingers over Losna’s back. The test was like a spider’s web from which she couldn’t escape. And though she couldn’t bear the thought of sending her back to the forest, the alternative was far worse. She shuddered to think what failure would mean. Losna would be shown the light—pinned down by a dozen bindings, snarling and afraid, and then suffering the Astra or the Masai’s drain . . .

  “I can’t suffer what Shim did,” she said.

  Losna huffed in irritation. Then why must we go through with it?

  “Because . . . it’s the only way we both live,” she said, defeated. “I can’t run. If the wards didn’t eventually catch us, the light would. It’s not like I can underdae forever, and there’s more than just darkness that this place provides.” Food, shelter, protection from lightwalkers and the light of the world . . .

  Losna’s chest rumbled and she pointedly looked away. Ahraia knew she didn’t understand the shadow test; she never had. In truth, Ahraia didn’t understand it either. Sending Losna back to the woods wouldn’t make her a sprite—it would simply destroy her. When she was younger, she had thought she could change it, and take her shadow with her. But as time went on, she realized the truth—no shade ever became a sprite with their shadow, and the only way for a shadow to live was to pass the test and release it back to the world.

  She sighed, shaking loose her tarry vine. She hung it to the shade tree, where its filamentous roots hooked on greedily.

  “It could be worse. Look at Hayvon.” Shadowless and condemned.

  A low rumble of discontent came from Losna, but stopped abruptly. She raised her head, her ears twitched and she let out a quiet growl.

  Instinctively, Ahraia reached out with her mind. She flinched, sensing an unfamiliar presence lurking inside the nit, just beyond the wall of her shade tree.

  The branches of her shade tree suddenly twisted back, pulled against their will, and before Ahraia could react, she saw the Astra standing outside. The Astra peered inward, looking gaunt in the midmorning murkiness, her perfectly white eyes gleaming from the sunken hollows of her face.

  Losna heaved off the ground and bared her teeth, holding her tail stiff and low behind her. Shadow killer, she thought.

  What are you doing here? Ahraia conveyed without thinking or bowing. The Astra’s ears lowered, and she hesitated at the closure, either wanting Ahraia to come out or waiting to be invited in.

  Ahraia didn’t move.

  The Astra pursed her lips and stepped through the unobliging closure, her displeasure spread plain across her face. But it was nothing compared to the storm erupting in Ahraia’s mind. Since the day of her mother’s condemnation, Ahraia had resented the Astra, even hated her, but a deep part of her had always understood: posturants were the way of the darkening, the way of sprites. Her mother had chosen to fight. But Shim and Tev, Hayvon and Losna were different—they were never given the choice. Ahraia’s ears flattened and her heart pounded right beneath her throat. She swallowed down the urge to set Losna on the Astra.

  A low rumble emanated from the depths of Losna’s chest—she was more than willing.

  The Astra glared at them, ears just as flat and her hand resting not too casually above her drain until Losna’s growl faded into nothingness. Once it did, the Astra’s gaze moved from Losna to Ahraia to the shade tree, studying it in one prolonged, sweeping look. The silence deepened.

  “This is an unusual shade tree,” she said at last.

  Ahraia couldn’t tell if she disapproved.

  “Night-bells and winter jasmine . . . these need light, and warmth.” She eyed the medley of flowers and vines braided amongst the shade tree. Ahraia held her breath as her gaze came to rest on the brightest flower, a ball of white petals dangling from the central branch of the shade tree.

  “A moon flower?” The Astra’s anger seemed momentarily forgotten. She raised her hand, cupping her fingers a hair’s breadth below the petals.

  I doubt my weaving brought you here, Ahraia conveyed, snapping the Astra from her reverie. She drew her hand back and a frown played at her lips.

  “I won’t lie. I have no love being inside your mother’s nit tree. It doesn’t sit well in my heart
to feel her presence.” Not in the least.

  It wouldn’t sit well with her, either. Ahraia’s conveyance slipped out before she could stop it. Losna swished her tail in agreement.

  If the Astra was offended, it didn’t show; her face had stilled, her ears were uncurled, and her eyes had faded to white.

  “I don’t blame you for being angry,” she said uncharacteristically. “I would have been too.”

  Ahraia remained silent, not out of respect so much as a lack of anything to say.

  “But she wasn’t a good Astra. Under her watch, the dark faltered . . .” As the Astra spoke, Ahraia’s heart fluttered in her chest. Losna’s lip curled up in a snarl.

  “Dimdale and Enshad’s dark eroded, and Daispar’s and the Gelesh’s strength are weakened because of it. Now my hand is forced. It was my only choice to act then, much as I do now.” The Astra looked down at her hands. The shadow’s blood stained her wrists, as though it was still the blood of Ahraia’s mother. “In the end, I did it for the good of Daispar—for the Gelesh. Our woods have been failing for years. We needed change—we needed an Astra who would lead us back into the darkness.”

  And you thought it would be you, Ahraia conveyed, wondering what the Astra was getting at.

  “I know it will be,” she said. Her eyes narrowed again, her placid rigidity returning. “The price you’ve garnished alone will set much of what has failed back in order.”

  That’s all this is about? Returning darkness? Ahraia conveyed bitterly.

  “That’s what it’s always been about,” the Astra said. Veins of gold crept into her eyes. “I know it’s hard for you to conceive of a night beyond the next, but I’m looking out for your future. That’s partly why I’m here—to remind you of your purpose in all of this.” Her contempt showed plainly in the downturn of her ears and lips, chastising Ahraia as a silly shade.

  “You’re poised to be the next Masai—and the Gelesh will be just one sliver of your province. These darkening seeds are as much for you as they are for me. And while the shadows of my labor won’t be realized for years to come, when they are, the woods of the Gelesh will be ruled by a new darkness, where no lightwalker would dare roam. That’s what’s at stake.”