Between the Shade and the Shadow

by Coleman Alexander

  Golan smiled. Ahraia strengthened her binding, trying to discern his emotions. They were blank. Empty. Spritish.

  “That’s the trick, isn’t it?” Golan said. “But the Astra didn’t think your shadow should be taken.” And she didn’t think you—He stopped, looking as though he had swallowed his words.

  Ahraia waited and then finished the thought. “She didn’t think I could do it without Losna.”

  He grimaced and nodded.

  “How did you find me?” His presence made her uncomfortable. She was sure it had been his padding footsteps tracking her the last several days.

  “Well, it wasn’t easy,” he said, not noticing how Ahraia leaned away from him. The Masai has spies everywhere . . . He met her eye conspiratorially, his ears flickering nervously. His allegiance didn’t surprise her. Though he had come from the eastern woods, maybe even Angolor, he was bound to the Astra. She had taken him in, and likely would make him a nit-ward for a task such as this. He would be a young one, without even scars to show for it. He went on, oblivious to her thoughts.

  “I headed for the human realm, by the same route I showed you. Here and there a tree had a memory of you, but I’m not great at bindings. Just had to track you by ear and eye and mind, as they say.”

  Ahraia didn’t say anything when he paused.

  His smile faded slightly, seeing her doubt.

  “Then I got to the first human settlement around dawn—they were all gathered, dozens of them, with torches blazing and bright swords. I only just got away. I’ve been running ever since . . .”

  “You ran through the day?” Ahraia shook her head, imagining the horror of it. She wondered if she could survive the same. If she could, maybe she could make a kill in the light. She frowned, ashamed that she would rather face the light than make a binding.

  “The Dae-Mon’s not really deadly, not if you ease yourself into it,” Golan said, mistaking her frown. “Just a little light sickness here and there. Burns a bit at first. And the veil helps. Not with your eyes, but you get used to all the light eventually—”

  “Never mind that,” Ahraia said. “I don’t need your help. I need my shadow back.”

  He fell silent, looking startled by her admission. “Right . . .” he said, as though he didn’t know what else to say.

  “Listen, I don’t want—” she stopped short as a branch broke away in the woods. Golan’s ears twitched. Ahraia scrambled across the shade tree and re-formed her closure, peering out into the dusky darkening. Her ears turned down, seeing more movement, and another hooded figure. She turned to Golan.

  “Are you alone? Were you followed?”

  “I—followed? By what?” Golan widened her closure, tugging at it roughly, staring out beside her.

  For a moment, Ahraia feared it would be another ward, sent along with Golan, or a spy of the Masai’s possibly, who would condemn her for conspiring with the ward. But the figure moved loudly, brutishly—not at all like a sprite. Leaves crackled underfoot, and he pushed branches roughly aside. Through the tree trunks, she saw he was without a veil, and his skin was dark beyond just light-scars.

  A lightwalker.

  The figure paused, looking about. The silence of the woods was suddenly shattered as his voice sounded out.

  “Hello?”

  She couldn’t believe her ears. A human.

  Golan looked out through the crease, his brow furrowing.

  “There’s no way they followed me—”

  Shhh.

  Through the gaps in the darkening wall, Ahraia could see the rough spin of his clothes and the ungainly way that he moved. Had he hunted her? Or Golan? Breathlessly, she looked about for others, for more trailing him. None appeared. He was alone. She looked for a torch, a shadow, or a dae-mon, but saw none. She smiled, a feeling of undue elation coursing through her.

  “This is my chance,” she whispered.

  23

  Kill

  What’s a human doing in a darkening? Golan conveyed, looking perturbed.

  And he’s without any abhorrent dae-mon, Ahraia thought. Her smile spread, her nerves prickling.

  “You’re going to try and make a kill? At this time of day?” he whispered.

  “You’re not my shadow. Stay out of this.”

  “I could help.”

  “I don’t want your help. I don’t even know why you’re here. Whatever you do, just don’t interfere.”

  The ward’s eyes wrinkled into a smile. Ahraia ignored him, wishing she had salvaged at least a single arrow.

  She pulled out the longer of her two drains. The bone felt brittle in her hand, tainted. The only part of her that didn’t recoil at the touch was that which had been severed with the keress. She quickly put it back, choosing instead the small metal drain that she had used in her first task. An echo of the last time she had used the drain pulsed through her.

  You’re going to hurt yourself, the deep part of her thought.

  “Quiet,” Ahraia said, forcing that part of her into silence.

  Golan looked over at her as though she was mad. His ears batted for silence, but she ignored him, intent on the human.

  The stray light stabbed lethally through the darkening. The day ward’s smile faded briefly as Ahraia removed Hayvon’s veil and wrapped it around her face.

  “Any means necessary, right?” she said.

  Golan smiled wide again, nodding.

  Soundlessly, she enlarged the closure and then shifted into the darkening on all fours, staying hidden behind the jumble of nit trees. She stalked towards the human, not yet daring to make a true bonding. A crease in the shade tree was all she could see when she glanced back.

  The human had stopped, examining a portion of the unkempt wall. He reached out, running his hand down one of the cover vines.

  Ahraia edged closer.

  “Hello?” the human called loudly.

  She ducked down, wondering if he had sensed or seen her. Or maybe he expected others to be about. She smelled the faint hint of human clothes . . . and something else. Maybe it was Golan. She wiped her palms on her cloak, sweat forming even though the evening was cool.

  The human turned about, his eyes searching the darkening. She saw a gleam of something bright at his hip, and saw a clutch of arrows at his other side. A sword, she realized, having seen them in memories before. How humans grew such weapons was a mystery, and in all her roaming, Ahraia had never seen stone or tree or dirt like that.

  Her drain felt like a twig in her hand. She looked longingly at the black-feathered arrows at his hip. Maybe it would be better to wait for the night. If he was asleep, she could avoid enchanting him. She could creep forward without a noise and kill him quick and quiet.

  Ahraia blew out a slow breath.

  The dark wouldn’t come quickly enough, and other humans could be about.

  Do it already, Golan conveyed behind her. The crease in the shade tree was hardly more than a dark line. She wanted nothing to do with the ward, particularly one whose will bent to the Astra—but having him there provided a layer of reassurance. If things went to the light, perhaps he could help . . .

  She frowned and turned back to the human, letting out a long breath.

  She cast the first threads of an enchantment, melding the human’s mind. The bond took hold, like tendrils of a vine wrapping up the trunk of a sturdy tree, encasing it.

  A thin web of wariness lay across the human’s thoughts, but it nearly burst with underlying emotion. Excitement. Longing. A deep ache that reminded Ahraia of how she longed for Losna. The reflection, vague as it was, made her yearn for Losna all the more. She swallowed down the feeling, uncomfortable with the breadth of human emotions, uncomfortable with how similar he seemed to her.

  The human moved along the outside of the wall, his footfalls tumbling out in haste. She could tell at once his mind was different from the girl she had bound. He was searching for something. And he seemed to search with eyes and ears and mind as well. He felt aware. Awake. Like a
sprite. He knew what he was walking into. He knew it wasn’t like the rest of the forest. And he was excited. He knew it was . . .

  A darkening.

  Ahraia shivered. She was well aware she had put the word to the human’s thoughts, but he understood the place—which meant he was all the more dangerous. He wasn’t stumbling blindly through the woods as she had hoped. The handle of his bow was worn, the wood smooth from use. And the sword at his hip was no drain. It was long and lethal and razor bright.

  What would she do? Would she walk forward and kill him quickly? What if she jumped him? Surprised him? Could she avoid a deeper connection? If he got his sword out, she was dead. She had to disarm him before making her move—

  The human put his hand to the handle of his sword. Dim as the bond was, he was tensing. She had let her thoughts cloud the enchantment.

  It’s okay. It’s safe. It was just a feeling. A silly feeling, really, she thought. This lightwalker was a gift from the night, alone and without light. She had to make a kill. She couldn't let her fears ruin it. She let out a breath, letting her mind go blank, forcing her fears to retreat. The human mimicked her, exhaling slowly. The tension bled out of his shoulders. His excitement returned, the gleam in his eye shining with the day’s last light.

  It’s safe, she encouraged, feeling the tendrils of thought creeping through his mind. Her legs quivered; her whole body was alight with anticipation of what was to come.

  Come. It is safe here . . . set your bow and sword aside, they look heavy.

  The human surveyed the darkening, his caution still outweighing his excitement.

  “Hello?” he called again.

  Ahraia flinched, shushing him to silence. Set aside your things and rest. This is home for tonight. She reached inside herself and drew out the most comforting memory she could find: she thought of her shade tree, with Losna curled close on a brittle winter day. She imagined the smell of fresh winter-weave and fallen leaves and dry, dusty fur. This was home. This was where she belonged. This is safe.

  The human set down his bow, seduced. He was entirely under her spell—the kill was going to be excruciating.

  You are weary, set down that heavy sword and rest a while.

  The human drew his sword and set it against a tree.

  Now, come. Come inside, there is shelter here.

  The last daggers of light crept up the trees, slanting dangerously across the decaying darkening. But dusk was deepening.

  Come, the woods are getting darker, it’s not safe out there. Come away from the wild things, the wicked things. There are no evils here, no mara or imps . . . no daemons or darklings to haunt these lands. I will keep you. You are safe now.

  Ahraia ducked closer, forcing the human to look away as she moved behind the trunk of a withered nit tree. Each movement she commanded, each time she glazed his eyes, or softened his ears brought them closer.

  Ahraia leaned out from behind the trunk, her face hidden by a screen of eaves-web. Deeper now, come and find shelter here. Her ears twitched. A leaf crackled loudly away through the woods. She glanced back towards Golan but didn’t see him. The human didn’t seem to have noticed. He stepped through the old woven wall.

  Ahraia let out a slow breath. He was tall, and not nearly as ungainly or graceless as the other humans she had seen, and though his face was half-hidden by his hood, he looked almost striking, without the roundness of eye and ear and face she had previously seen. For a moment, she forgot herself, staring at the strange creature. It was oddly satisfying having him spellbound at the tip of her fingers.

  What are you waiting for? Golan’s thoughts invaded her mind. She bristled, perturbed by the infiltration of thought and suddenly remembering her purpose.

  Stay out of this, she conveyed, only having a loose idea where the ward was.

  The human stopped, suddenly tense once again. A barrage of distrust reverberated across the binding. His eyes scanned over nit and shade tree until they came to Ahraia. They hesitated for the barest moment, lingering on the eaves-web, before slipping past. Her ears twitched nervously, startled by the brief and unexpected touch of his gaze.

  It’s safe, she conveyed unconvincingly.

  The human reached for his hip and suddenly realized his sword was missing. His fear burst across the binding. The sensation was familiar, like when Ahraia had suddenly sensed the menace of the Stone Tree, overwhelming and repulsive.

  Except this time, she was the wraith.

  The urge to let the binding drop surged within her, but she resisted, closing her eyes, clinging to the enchantment. She forced stillness into her mind, drawing forth the first memories she could find: anything to calm herself.

  They started simple: A pair of turning ears, the press of a wet black nose and the brush of fur against her leg. She heard the sound of laughter across a forgotten winter pool. She saw eyes, golden bright and brilliant. They were Losna’s eyes, moving in absolute laziness, the only part of her shadow willing to move after running across the Endless Plains on a moonless night.

  I’m being watched, the human thought.

  It’s just a feeling. Ahraia reassured him. She closed her eyes, forming a pool of stillness in her mind. She stayed that way a long time, trying to think of nothing at all. She took deep settling breaths and when she finally opened her eyes, the tranquility remained. The human’s fear was subsiding.

  Do it already, Golan urged.

  She shut out his thoughts, blocking him from her mind. Her attention was fixed on her prey. She tightened her binding, holding him still.

  The human’s back was to her. She stepped from behind the eaves-web, drawing her drain. She took the first step, not thinking of what she was doing, not daring to bring fear into the human’s mind. She danced closer, letting him look about as she slid from one tree to the next.

  She was twenty paces from him, hiding behind a large nit tree. A ray of sunlight lay dangerously overhead. I’m going to see my shadow. Ten paces, behind a narrow alder. This accursed task will be done. Five paces. What was that noise? Two paces. This is it. One pace. She stopped, the drain poised but her will quavering.

  She was right behind him. The smell of his clothes pressed against her nose, his musk stinging at her nostrils. Her knuckles were blanched, white around the drain. He knew she was there. He could feel her, and though his fear was true, it was nothing compared to hers. She held the blade forward, ready to strike.

  Ready, but not willing.

  Her fears and doubts slithered up her spine, rooting her to the spot. She couldn’t move. A force within her—that part of herself who knew what would come, that part that had heard Losna—held her firmly.

  You bound him, tightly. That means he’s a part of you, it said. You can’t kill a part of yourself.

  Ahraia grimaced, fixing her grip, ready to push the blade forward.

  There isn’t a choice. I need my shadow. She braced herself. Knowing the pain that was about to come. I’m going to be okay. I’m going to be a—

  A ray of light shifted. She drew her hand back, nearly exposed to it. It settled, directly between herself and the human. She waited, holding the enchantment. Once it passed, she would finish—

  Snap!

  A branch broke nearby. Ahraia flinched, startled to see movement off through the woods. A second human was stalking towards the darkening, still mostly hidden from view but coming closer. Ahraia’s concentration broke, and the human in front of her swept back his hood, apparently just as startled by the noise as she was. He reached for his sword, then remembered it wasn’t at his hip. A redoubled sense of fear echoed across the bond. Ahraia stood transfixed, paralyzed by the sudden panic, unable to push the drain forward.

  The underbrush rustled with movement. The human’s ears twitched and turned.

  His ears . . . Ahraia stepped backwards, her task forgotten as she realized he wasn’t at all what she had thought—he wasn’t even human.

  His ears were sharp and pointed, and they moved, almost like
hers.

  Alp! She broke the binding, recalling at once how dangerous the alp in the Stone Tree had been. The alp was suddenly moving, scrambling away from her, sensing her menace without even looking back to see her.

  In that moment, she heard a leaf crackle right behind her, but there was no wind to turn it. She spun about.

  Golan stood just a pace away, with his drain drawn and veil pulled close. His eyes glimmered madly. Startled, Ahraia’s conveyance bubbled out.

  What are you—

  A haphazard enchantment suddenly bound her, strong, like the fingers of a bog mara, sharp and bony and meant for one thing. Golan lunged at her with the drain swinging towards her chest.

  She reacted on instinct; her mind flexed, snapping the connection. She spun to the side, slowed by the tendrils of enchantment. Golan’s drain tore across the side of her ribs. Searing pain burned across her side and it took all her power not to scream aloud.

  Lightening quick, Golan swung again, violently. She formed her own binding, slowing his arm and ducking his swipe. She stabbed outward and then sliced back as he dodged away. Her blade caught and tore across his shoulder.

  He bared his teeth.

  Ahraia scrambled towards the cover of the nit, her task forgotten, unsure where the lightwalkers were or if they had even seen her yet. Through her fleeting link to Golan, she sensed a maddening urge for death. She fled deeper into the darkening but he sprinted after her, tackling her to the ground. He rolled on top of her.

  Ahraia wrestled and squirmed, but Golan’s fingers were like vices, bruising her wrist and pinning her to the ground. He pounded her hand against a root, knocking her drain away.

  His blade rose to strike and then plunged towards her. Ahraia bound him, flicking his hand aside. The drain slammed into the ground, an inch from her throat. Golan punched his elbow down, hammering into her face. Her teeth clacked together painfully, and she saw darkness far beyond the coming night. Still loosely bound, she sensed him swinging towards her again. She rolled away, realizing the binding was her only escape. She took him, firmly in her mind.