Hayvon? she conveyed, edging along the narrow crevice. Her hairs stood on end in the hollow dark.
Another fathomless well disappeared beside her, with water gurgling deep below. She moved farther along, passing the first recess, which was an alcove covered by a tangled, impassable wall of roots.
Hayvon? Are you in there?
Something—someone—was inside, ragged and almost lifeless. The barest whisper scraped out from deep within.
“I want my shadow. I want my shadow back.”
Hayvon? Ahraia formed an enchantment but immediately flinched away, pierced by aching loneliness. It was Tev. Her mind was fractured and Ahraia couldn’t bear to form any lasting connection. She dropped the binding and gripped the vines diving into the earth, clenching her teeth. The emotion was wretched.
She listened to Tev’s mourning, taking a heavy, steadying breath as she considered trying to comfort the shade, but nothing she could say would ease Tev’s pain. She stayed silent, and eventually, without other choice, left her crying to the pitiless dark.
A pit formed in the center of her stomach.
She moved farther down the chasm and lowered herself into a deeper ravine. The air was colder here, and the crescent of the darkening disappeared entirely.
“Hayvon?” Ahraia whispered, her voice swallowed by the void. Her heart thumped loudly against her chest, accompanied by the eerie silence and occasional drip of water.
Are you down here?
The dark and the silence melded, but she heard a muted scraping noise of something moving. She stepped back.
“I’m here,” a hollow voice said from nearby.
She stumbled over the uneven ground trying to find the opening to Hayvon’s hold. Her eyes adjusted and she could see him pressed against a narrow slit, trapped by the massive roots. He stared out, a single yellow-white eye visible against the inky black interior.
“Tonight’s the night, isn’t it? That’s why you’re here.” His voice was quiet, rough from disuse.
Ahraia opened her mouth to speak, but stopped as the words felt foul on the back of her tongue. She nodded, drawing in a shuddering breath.
Hayvon didn’t say anything.
“Can you get out of there?” Ahraia asked, finding her voice. She attempted another binding of the roots but instead of moving to her will, they groaned and tightened, and the slit between her and Hayvon narrowed. She stopped at once, frightened that the fissure would close entirely. Rootlets twisted down above her, poised to strike, a warning from the core to leave them be.
“It’s not worth it, I’ve already tried,” Hayvon said. “Do you have any water?” She could hear the desperation in his voice.
Ahraia fumbled at her hip and found her water-skin. It wasn’t full, but she handed it through the narrow slit, half expecting the roots to close around her wrist. She felt the weight of the bag snatched away from her and heard Hayvon fumbling to open it, and then the loud and exalted sounds of him drinking.
He finished, and she heard him shaking and tipping the bag over his mouth. After a moment, she heard him laugh, a bitter sort of laugh that took the heart from her. Then his voice slipped out with a touch of madness as he chanted a rhyme that every spriteling grew up reciting.
“Don’t drink the water, noiselessly part. Don’t break the branch, stay from the heart. Don’t try to run, or try to swim, waiting and watching, the Shad-Mon grim.”
“Stop,” Ahraia said, the horror of his fate suffocating her. Hayvon fell silent. Ahraia hadn’t heard the rhyme in years . . . since before her mother was condemned. She heard Hayvon squeezing the water-skin, trying to get every last drop.
When he spoke again, the singsong of his voice was gone. “Do you think the water in there’s really cursed?”
She didn’t answer. They both had watched the Shad-Mon summoned enough times to know the truth. Ahraia slumped down, as close as she could to the slit in the roots.
“Why did you do it? Why did you have to admit it?” she said, her thoughts from the last several days tumbling out. She saw a sliver of a smile, a half-dead smirk showing through the gap.
“To the light turns the ward . . .”
Ahraia didn’t hear any bitterness, but she thought she saw it playing at the corner of his lips. Guilt tormented her, pressing down like the dark of the chasms; she leaned her forehead to the roots and closed her eyes, clenching her teeth tightly. When she spoke, all she could manage was a whisper.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let the human go. I just . . . I didn’t think it would lead to all this.”
Hayvon didn’t answer at first. The silence engulfed her, and she didn’t dare bond him to find out what he was thinking.
“You didn’t know it would come to this,” he said finally, his voice without any accusation. It almost made it worse.
“But why did you take the blame? You didn’t have to. I was seen too.”
“It was a bad situation. And if I didn’t, it would have been all of us . . . it still practically was.” His voice was quiet, muted by the earth, but now she could hear the creep of bitterness at its edges. He let out a heavy sigh and went on.
“Gavea was hell-bent on condemning you and Father knew it. You’re too important to this darkening, too important to the Gelesh. He thinks you’re going to be the Masai one day. And I know it doesn’t matter, but mother thought the same . . .” He trailed off, lapsing into silence for a moment. “She wanted me to watch out for you. It’s almost like she knew what was coming . . . “protect her,” that was the last thing she ever said to me.”
Ahraia remembered all too clearly the night their mother had been condemned, how she had stopped before each of them with her final words.
Hayvon let out a deep breath. “I just never imagined that it would mean following in her footsteps.”
I’m sorry. Ahraia’s heart felt like a stone too heavy to move. There was no air to fill her lungs.
Hayvon spoke quietly but his voice was strong. “I would do it again in a heartbeat.”
Ahraia’s lip quivered in shame. The silence between them swelled. She was mortified at how cowardly she was. Even if it was unintentional, she had let him take the fall, and here he was, facing the Shadow Woods without so much as a whimper. Brave through it all, just as he had been when he had sent Vesta away.
“How did you do it?” she said at last. “How did you set Vesta free?”
“I don’t know.”
Ahraia hesitated. “Is she gone for good? I mean, if you weren’t . . .”
“If I wasn’t being condemned to the Shad-Mon? Would she really be gone? I don’t know.”
Ahraia fell silent, peering into the slit of the recess. Hayvon was drawn back, covered in shadow. She could sense the void inside of him and she pressed her next words unwillingly from her mouth.
“I’m entering my shadow test, once the Bright Moon’s turned. I need to know how you did it.”
“No!” Hayvon’s face was suddenly pressed against the slit. “You can’t be. You’re not ready!”
“I know,” Ahraia said miserably. “But with you being condemned, I’m the oldest. The Masai’s uprooting me.”
For the first time, Hayvon looked truly at a loss. “No!”
Ahraia nodded, the words tumbling forth. “Father planned this all along, him and the Astra. They set it up. He sent Kaval and Altah to the Stone Tree to be killed. And if you hadn’t taken the fall, he would have done away with you too. He needed all three of you out of the way—it was all part of the Astra’s plan for darkness.”
“They wouldn’t do that . . .” Hayvon said in disbelief.
Ahraia explained everything that had come to pass since he had been condemned. She would have shown him the memories too, but she hesitated to bond him deeply, terrified of feeling Vesta’s void again. She finished, and he stood back, not saying anything for a long time.
“He couldn’t have planned for this,” he said finally. “Being seen by a human? He couldn’t have ju
st done away with me . . . It’s just bad luck.”
Ahraia was about to answer when a ragged voice startled her.
“He was going to get rid of you,” it said.
Ahraia turned, unsettled, her skin crawling from surprise. She stepped away from Hayvon’s holding and saw a face pressed against another recess. It was Shim. His face was tear-stained.
“That arrow was no accident,” he said quietly.
Ahraia opened her mouth to protest but Hayvon spoke first.
“I knew it wasn’t. You little day-walking bastard.”
“I didn’t want to,” Shim whined. “It was an order from my Nit-Ward—what was I supposed to do?”
Hayvon lapsed into silence. Ahraia shook her head. It was the confirmation of everything she had suspected, the last piece to confirm her fears.
“That’s why he sent us hunting,” she said. The Astra was a convincing liar, but now Ahraia had proof. She bitterly wanted to turn back the nights. She wished she could have let Losna loose on her father and the Astra like she had on Gavea. Hayvon’s voice broke the silence.
“It was a piss poor shot . . . but I don’t blame you.”
Shim muttered an apology but Ahraia turned back aghast. You don’t blame him? “He shot you! You could have caught the human, if not for that.”
Hayvon’s voice was maddeningly calm. “Even as shades, we are wards. It’s our duty to do as our nit-wards command.”
“That’s absurd. Look at you,” she said, furious that Hayvon could be so forgiving. “What did listening get you? You’re without a shadow, due to be condemned at nightfall, and—”
“And you are alive,” he said. “That was my duty. Always. And I should have done a better job at it.” She felt his eyes lingering on her light-scars, tracing them from her jaw down to her neck. “Your duty is to become Masai, to lead the Gelesh and the Silh to a more wholesome darkness.”
Mine is to my shadow, Ahraia thought to herself, but it must have echoed out to Hayvon as he stopped short.
“It is to Losna as well,” he said. “But only in this sense: she lives . . . or she dies . . . it’s your choice. The test doesn’t bend and it won’t budge. It’s not some branch or tree you can manipulate to your will, Ahraia. Losna is going to leave you. It’s only a question of how.”
“So how did you do it?” she asked miserably.
“How do you bend the forest to your will? Strength of mind? Unbounded sense? I don’t know. But I knew what would have happened if I didn’t set her free. That was enough.”
They lapsed into silence. Ahraia sat in the chasm for a long time, unsure of when or how the night would come. Eventually, she stood up, knowing that Losna would be worrying and the night would be coming soon. She remembered Hayvon’s light-veil in her pocket.
“This is yours . . .,” she said, reaching through the small hole to hand it back to him. She dropped it and took Hayvon’s hand. She held it for a long time, squeezing tightly to say the things she couldn’t.
She felt something brush against her wrist, and when she withdrew her hand, the light-veil was tied loosely about her arm. Hayvon’s teeth showed in what she supposed was a smile.
“I would tell you to stay to the dark . . . but I know you won’t,” he said.
Ahraia’s lips quivered against her will as tears threatened to spill forth. She bit down firmly, searching for words that simply wouldn’t come. Look after yourself, she conveyed at last. Don’t go looking for the heart of the forest.
“I won’t,” Hayvon said, withdrawing to the dark, out of sight.
Ahraia pressed her forehead to the trunk and then turned away in despair. She headed up through the chasms, climbing until she emerged back into the darkening. She took a deep breath, composing herself before she wound her way back through the tendrils and boulders. The air was dim. Evening was coming. The dae-wards stood tensely off to the side, looking defeated and surly. Ahraia moved past them without a word, but pulled up short when she noticed a sprite standing nearby.
“Kren?” she said in surprise, relieved it was just her sister. “What are you doing here? I thought you’re supposed to be bending your nit—” she stopped abruptly as Kren’s ears flickered for quiet.
Ahraia looked about. The entrance to the chasms was empty. They were alone, with just the dae-wards. She turned back to her sister, trying to regain her thought. She hadn’t seen Kren since the night the Masai had arrived, and she hadn’t spoken to her in earnest since the beginning of her shadow test.
“What are you doing here?” Kren asked, an edge in her voice.
“I was just visiting Hayvon—” Ahraia stopped short as her sister’s ears flickered again. What? Ahraia conveyed, looking about once more, sure she was missing something.
“You’re a shade,” Kren said simply. Her ears were canted back in irritation, an obvious sign that she wanted Ahraia to convey.
Ahraia stared back at her, caught entirely off guard, struggling to tell if her sister was serious or not.
I’m sorry, she conveyed. Kren glared at her. The wards watched on, their expressions hidden beneath their veils. Flustered, Ahraia tried to think of something to say, anything to break the tension. I’m entering my shadow test, she thought dumbly.
“That doesn’t mean you’re a sprite,” Kren said. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And don’t expect me to help you with it.”
“I never—” Ahraia started in shock, before realizing her mistake. I didn’t mean for you to—She stopped again, dumbfounded. I just came to see Hayvon.
The braver dae-ward seemed to find his voice again. “Well, you’re not allowed here. Not while the lower recesses are occupied.”
Ahraia ignored the ward, still staring at Kren in disbelief. Her sister seemed a hollow reflection of herself—the touch of her mind felt like a hollow reflection as well. Even her face looked different. Her eyes were pitiless, cold and dim; her face emotionless and still. Only her ears held any emotion, and it was anger.
“What did you want to see Hayvon for?” Kren asked flatly.
You know he’s about to be condemned, right? Ahraia said.
Kren’s face was devoid of any understanding. “That doesn’t explain why you were down there. Does the Astra know?”
Ahraia flushed. She looked at the wards. “Can I have a moment . . . with my sister?” She emphasized the word, but Kren didn’t seem to notice. Or she didn’t care.
Emboldened by Kren’s presence, neither ward moved.
Do you really want to be forced again? Ahraia conveyed, her anger rising. By a shade?
They shifted uncomfortably. Ahraia glared at them until one after the other, they shuffled away.
Once they were out of earshot, Ahraia turned to face Kren, who watched her with a mix of indifference and displeasure.
“What’s come over you? Hayvon’s being condemned and you don’t even care. Kaval and Altah were murdered, and all of it in the name of darkness. And yet you stand here as though my voice is the greatest offense . . .”
Kren’s jaw was quivering, but her eyes glinted like their father’s. Ahraia formed a bonding to her sister, knowing it wasn’t safe to say her thoughts aloud.
Father set this up. Kaval and Altah are dead. And Hayvon too—
“Hayvon’s not dead yet,” Kren said matter-of-factly.
Well he’s going to be! Ahraia snapped. And Kyah and the spritelings as well. They’re alone. And our nit’s orb was lost. They’re without guidance. And the Astra’s threatened to kill them if I don’t pass my test. She was breathing hard, her teeth clenched.
Kren broke away from the binding, as though the emotions were too much for her. She glowered at Ahraia.
“It should be me going to Angolor.”
Ahraia stood in shock, completely at a loss for words. She stared at Kren, wondering how she could possibly be so detached. But as she looked at her, she realized, it wasn’t her sister standing before her—not even a hollow shell. A sprite stood before her, a memory only in li
keness.
“You’re shadow broken,” Ahraia whispered, fighting back anger. A void like Hayvon’s was opening inside her chest, but this one was for her sister. “You were supposed to look after us . . . you still are,” she whispered.
A ghost stared back at her.
“I was supposed to go to Angolor, to live in the ever-spreading dark.”
Ahraia shook her head, too upset to speak; she made to move past Kren, but her sister grabbed her by the wrist, wrenching her to a stop.
“You don’t deserve it.”
Ahraia twisted her arm free. The wards perked up nearby and two weak enchantments tried to stay Ahraia’s hand. They hurried forward to intervene. Furious, Ahraia cast her own bindings, directing the wards to lunge against one another. Carried by momentum and forced by her mind, they crashed together with a satisfying thunk. Through the link, she sensed two unsuspecting skulls colliding. The wards crumpled to the ground and she disentangled herself from the binding. She felt Kren briefly try to bind her, but her sister flinched away, her mind seeming to recoil from the touch.
A growl rose in Ahraia’s chest. She sensed her shadow hurrying through the woods.
Losna emerged, leaping effortlessly onto a long beam of root that led to the hollow. The air swelled with her snarl.
There you are! she thought. Her worry ebbed across their bond.
Ahraia kept her eyes towards the wards, who were standing up and looking towards her again, rearranging their veils and their cloaks.
The Masai came looking for you, Losna thought.
Ahraia glanced at her and saw her fur was standing on end. Her tail was low and her ears sharp and turning.
She did? What did she want?
She didn’t say. Another low growl emitted from Losna’s chest.
Kren sneered at Ahraia, seeming to think Losna was growling at her. “You wouldn’t be anything without the protection of your shadow.”
Ahraia bit back her retort, struggling to fathom how her sister could have changed so much in the span of half a turning. “I never said I am.”
Kren’s voice quieted, her every word clear and sharp.
Between the Shade and the Shadow Page 21