“Can you find a yellow pine? Bring me a cone.” And don’t go far!
Losna dodged away and returned a moment later with one of the round cones. Ahraia used her drain to cut away all but its inner core, so that it was half-round and half-hollow. She coated the inside with mud and then palmed it, using it to hold the stick against the board.
She took a breath and began to saw the bow back and forth. The stick spun freely in the cone, back and forth, her palm spared the gouging point. The sawing noise was the only sound in the forest. She worked steadily as sweat formed on her brow.
Nothing happened. Her arms began to tire.
This isn’t going to work, Losna thought, not understanding.
Ahraia didn’t answer. She sawed the bow: the spindle turned into the notch of the board, the rough noise of it nosing into the wood, back and forth. She sawed the bow until her muscles burned and her ribs ached.
A moment later, she noticed a scent of heat. A small wisp rose from the blackened wood.
Smoke! Losna slapped her forepaws against the ground in surprise.
But nothing more happened. No flame leapt forth. Ahraia stopped and Losna froze.
Where’s the fire? she thought.
Next to the branch was a scattered bit of loose shavings, warm to the touch, still smoking. Ahraia arranged her gathering of dry leaves around her stick. She picked up the bow and began to work again. Soon enough, the smoke returned.
Come on.
It curled and disappeared. Ahraia sawed harder, gritting her teeth. A wind stirred through the trees and the smoke rose and then spread. Ahraia dropped the bow and pressed her face to the ground, breathing gently, as the alp had. At first, the smoke disappeared. She stopped blowing, worried. But then it spread. She puffed again and it grew stronger. She blew again, and suddenly—
Fire! Losna leapt forward in excitement.
“Ha!” Ahraia shouted triumphantly. A single flickering flame rose, radiant and dancing with life. It devoured leaves and moss, the tinder curling away faster than Ahraia could imagine. She quickly added more leaves, slowing down when the flame disappeared momentarily, but then it rebounded, and grew, terrifyingly. A fire, as resplendent and terrible as any human or alp had ever made, now grew before her. The wall churned, apparently sensing the monster she had created. Her skin tingled with the flame. She pulled her veil up.
A ripple of fear tore a loose and ragged opening through the nearest portion of the wall. The serapin tree struck out defensively, falling short. It drew back, dragging its uncoiled branch back over fallen, dried leaves.
More tinder, Ahraia thought vindictively, letting the wall know she meant to burn it to the ground. The closure widened, large enough now that Ahraia and Losna could fit through side by side.
Let’s go! Losna thought. Ahraia stopped her shadow dead in her tracks.
“Not yet.” She eyed the opening. “I’m not going to fall for that again. Not today.” Her arm still felt numb where the serapin had stung her. Her eyes burned from the flame and the smoke. Her face was alight with the heat, but she continued to add twigs and stems, and then sticks and branches, all the while watching in delighted terror as the flames grew to a roar, so that the whole forest seemed to draw back. A part of her wondered what the alp would think of it. She took absurd pride knowing that she had stolen his magic. The flames grew, like some monstrous creature that she no longer had any control of and of which she couldn’t take her light-seared eyes away from. Ahraia smiled to herself as she restrung her bow.
Ahraia thought she sensed panic coming from a ward nearby, maybe one sent to watch her, to make sure they didn’t escape; soon enough it faded, chased away by the mirthful fire.
Now what? Losna asked, flinching back. Her ears flattened as a bushel of pine branches smoked and popped.
“Now we have fires to set.” Ahraia took a dead pine bough from the ground. Branches spread off its stalk like feathers from a wing, their needles still clinging to them dryly, even in death. She took a moment, tightening Hayvon’s veil. Losna watched with gleaming eyes.
What about the sprites?
“They won’t be about—just wards. It’s still day out there.” Ahraia had no doubt she could handle the dae-wards. Their minds were weak and malleable, and their bindings feeble and shadish. “Are you ready to run as we never have?”
Her shadow’s eyes gleamed in answer, shining golden with the risen Dae-Mon. Her lean muscles rippled beneath silver-gray fur, fluid and yet stilled, like water pooled on the top of an endless falls.
Ahraia had never truly looked at Losna in the light. The day before, she had been too worried about the chain. Now she saw her in truth. She was beautiful. And fierce. Ahraia couldn’t have hoped for a better shadow to follow her in the light.
“Head for the river, towards the Shadow Woods. When we get there, there is a log that crosses most of the river. We may have to swim a bit.”
But you can’t swim. Not well enough to cross a river. Is it like the Winnowlin, back home?
“It’s worse.” Wilder. Angrier. “I’m counting on you for that.”
Losna’s chest swelled as she took a worried breath. And if we make it across?
Ahraia snorted at the audacity of it. “Then it’s simple. Just a matter of dealing with the Shad-Mon,” she said, trying to make light of a fate she had run from her whole life. “We’ll do what we always have—run.”
She was thinking of her bow and their small beady eyes though, and she was thinking of the way Losna’s howls had driven them mad. The daemons preyed on the defenseless, on sprites who walked despairingly into their grasp; at the very least, they would give them a fight they had never faced before. But she was also thinking of what she had sensed upon her brief binding of the Shad-Mon: the pervasive instinct of protection, the deep bulwark in their mind. Something was in the heart of the forest, and whatever lay there, the daemons lived to protect it, more than anything. If Ahraia and Losna could threaten that, perhaps the daemons would let them pass through the woods rather than fight. All she and Losna needed was a head start, a way to get to the plains or mountains without being chased. Then they would be free to seek darkness of their own making, without the violent expectations of the sprites or the wicked aspirations of the Masai. Ahraia could run forever with Losna, and she would be glad to.
The fire cracked and popped. Ahraia sensed wards on the hillside drawing nearer.
“It’s time,” she said to Losna. The needles ignited as she touched the pine branch to the fire, spreading swiftly from tip to stem. The scars on her wrist glowed, and she shielded her face, heading for the dried leaves beneath the serapin tree. They lit and shriveled, spreading like a flaming flood towards the wall, catching branches, pine needles, and dried moss in their flames as they went. The serapin tree thrashed, the wall flailed in surprise. Both drew back from the flames.
Ahraia bound the trees, showing the full force of her intentions to the wall.
“You are going to open,” she said, spreading her binding farther and higher, jabbing the flame towards the wall. “Or I am going to burn you to the ground.”
The wall writhed with a mixture of anger and alarm. The branches closer to the closure drew away, enlarging the opening, but others still grew stubbornly downward, blocking her path. An overwhelming sense of defiance swelled from the older pillars, and they seemed to rally the wall. Creeping tendrils folded over the closure while branches swung towards Ahraia as a unified front of resistance.
“Very well.”
She pushed the flaming branch against the most aggressive vines. A branch swung down, forcing her back, but she swept inward, dodging the swaying limbs, setting flame to any bough or leaf that didn’t withdraw. Realizing her single flame wouldn’t be enough, she returned to the fire and lit a second branch. Her veil was sticky with sweat. Losna danced at her heels, ready to pull her back if the wall managed to grab her.
“Open!” Ahraia commanded.
The resistance felt more h
aphazard. The flames around the serapin tree had settled to embers, leaving the trunk blackened and charred. She swept the fire closer and the wall pulled away, quicker than before. Fallen leaves were aflame, licking at its base; a trunk started to blacken and a wave passed through the palisade—fear was taking root. Another branch swung out at her and she held the flame towards it, gritting her teeth at all the light and warmth.
“Open.” Open!
The branch pulled back, too slowly.
“Not good enough!” She torched the branch, seeing flames spread to the wall finally. The boughs flailed as though in a tempest—true panic spread through the wall and an opening formed, a full closure. Ahraia swept a wide arc and the wall peeled back, all semblance of resistance gone. Its will to fight her had burned away.
“Losna, you first,” Ahraia said, keeping the flame steadily upon the edges of the gap and forcing it wider and wider. Beyond, she could see the forest was equally lit by the Dae-Mon, with slanting rays stabbing down to the understory. Shielded as the woods of Angolor were, light still penetrated in places.
Losna darted through the wall and Ahraia followed with the flame held above. In a matter of steps, she was through to the other side, but the palisade collapsed around her. She dropped the flame and dove to the ground as a branch whipped down and lashed around her ankle, dragging her back. Losna lunged at it, snapping clean through the branch in a single bite. The wall groaned, thrashing in pain. Losna grabbed Ahraia by the shoulders and pulled her away as the branches lashed out at her.
Are you all right? Losna said in surprise.
“Yes . . . I’m fine,” Ahraia said, glad to be free. She heard shouting away through the woods.
More wards.
Ravens cawed harshly, and the whole forest erupted in their terrible squawks. Both white and black wings filled the canopy. She heard the shouts of wards and sensed waves of conveyance sweeping across the woods.
“To the river.”
The days chained to the ground hadn’t slowed Losna. She lunged forwards, tail streaming behind her and ears tucked back low. Ahraia sprinted after her, paring back branches before her every footfall. She used small springs and darted across logs while the ravens cawed and called overhead.
The woods were alive with movement and light. She sensed a weak binding descend on her. She saw hoods, some with veils, some without.
Dae wards and—
Sprites! Losna thought. A stronger enchantment swept through the woods, slowing Ahraia. A branch reached out and tripped her. She stumbled to the ground, then shoved herself back to her feet, but more sprites streamed through the woods. The whole darkening looked as if it had emptied. Makeshift veils covered their faces and they moved through the light with a madness that could only be driven by the Masai.
Look out ahead, Losna thought, darting to the side. Ahraia looked up and saw a swarm of sprites and wards. She turned to follow Losna but saw more sprites closing in. They were shouting and calling to one another. Strings of conveyance billowed through the air, too convoluted and fragmented to understand. Ahraia ducked behind a fallen log with Losna next to her.
How are we going to get out of this? Losna thought worriedly.
By using as much light as possible. Come on. Ahraia stood up and headed towards true sunlight. It wasn’t midday yet, but the forest ahead was luminous and brilliant.
You’re going to have to be my eyes if it gets much lighter, she conveyed. She squinted. The Dae-Mon was so bright. Too bright for sprites, she thought to herself.
This way, Losna thought, directing her away from the darkness and towards a seam of lighter woods. The sprites seemed slow and ungainly, like humans in the middle of the night, but the dae-wards moved quickly, accustomed to the light. Ahraia’s skin was hot and angry.
Through here, Losna guided her, turning back almost the way they had come and sprinting up a ravine cutting through the hillside towards more light. The ravens cawed a raucous chorus overhead.
Ahraia’s eyes were so close to shut that she had hardly any idea where they were headed, but Losna directed her as she ran, and she followed with only the vaguest awareness of obstacles: Log. Root. This way. Sprite ahead. Low branch.
Ahraia ducked but her hood caught and pulled off her face. For a fearful moment, she thought she would be burnt to ash, but gasped to find that she was still breathing. Still alive. She opened her eyes a hair wider and she saw the brightest forest she had ever seen: a vivid, day-colored wood that spread before her like a different world. Ahraia and Losna ran like the wind, remembering what it felt like to run under the moons for the first time. This was the same but wilder.
This way, Losna thought, but even as she did, a sprite’s enchantment snagged Ahraia’s feet.
“Stop!” it yelled.
Others didn’t bother with voices. Stop! They commanded. Ahraia’s feet faltered and she tumbled to the ground. Losna stumbled as well but managed to stay up. A dae-ward leapt out from behind a tree, his eyes smiling behind his veil. Losna wasn’t fully subdued, and she leapt at the ward, attacking him with brutal ferocity and emerging from the fight with a bloodied snout.
But more sprites poured through the woods, heavily cloaked and casting their enchantments like a web over Ahraia’s mind. Her legs gave out, no longer answering to her. She tried to form a spring, but she was suddenly face-first in the dirt, the earthen smell filling her nose.
Ahraia looked up and saw Losna clawing at the ground, already taken by enchantment. A sprite rushed out of the woods and tackled her, holding a drain to her throat. A dozen others circled closer and more were coming. Angry, light-bitten eyes stared at Ahraia. She pushed down the panic threatening to freeze her. She reached out and bonded the sprite holding Losna, barely managing to keep the drain from sinking into her shadow’s neck even as her own body went limp. The other sprites advanced on her.
Desperate and unable to fight the overpowering enchantments, she bound every sprite in her mind’s reach, forming a loose and commanding enchantment. The casting was weak because of the sheer number of sprites, but she didn’t need it to be strong, she simply needed it to be sudden.
“Hoods off!” she said. None of the sprites expected it. Hoods and veils were ripped away without thought, and screams echoed through the woods, filling the world like the brightness that permeated everything. The enchantments holding Ahraia suddenly shriveled away in shock and anguish. Free, Ahraia reached in her pocket and grabbed the searing orb and tossed it high in the air above her. Light spit out in brilliant fullness. The sprites and wards cowered away.
Losna wrenched free as her captor screamed into his hands, covering his face. A moment later, his scream was silenced as her jaws wrapped around his neck. Losna turned and surged at the other sprites, attacking with the desperation of a cornered beast—growling and snarling, clawing and biting. Ahraia was right next to her, drain out, screaming into the fray. She slashed, the blade glimmering under the Dae-Mon’s light. She cut the arm of a nearby sprite, and then shattered a brief binding as she plunged it into the neck of another. Two hooded figures were crouched, ready to leap on Losna. Ahraia formed a lightning-quick binding and forced their hoods off. It was Shalih and Kren. They fell screaming to the ground.
“Run, Losna. Now!”
Losna broke away from the sprites and Ahraia followed, suddenly running free, back into darker woods, back through a stretch of Angolor’s outer halls. The light of the orb burned behind them, and the woods ahead were smoky dark. Every sprite and ward from the darkening lay behind her.
She heard jeers echoing after her.
There’s nothing but the river! Cut her off! She’s pinned.
Ahraia ignored them, sprinting towards the river and the Shadow Woods beyond. She and Losna were going to reach the river before the sprites could catch them. She heard the waters rushing through dark trunks. She saw the fog billowing against the light of the Dae-Mon.
“It’s just ahead—”
She skidded to a halt. An e
nchantment seized her, like jaws wrapping around her neck, the most devastating enchantment she had ever felt. Like at the Stone Tree, it settled about her: paralyzing, absolute, unbreakable.
“Stop,” a voice ordered.
Losna stumbled to a halt. Ahraia felt the darkness descend around her as the Masai stepped from the forest with a smile spreading across her face.
Almost there . . . but not quite.
34
Bound
“And here I thought your shadow cast you.”
The Masai stood wreathed in her wolf’s cloak, shaking her head. Her jet-black drain slipped from her sleeve into her hand, and though the Dae-Mon had risen, she wore no veil. They were in her realm—under her spell now. The deathly grip of the Masai’s mind crushed tighter and tighter.
“You’ve surprised me, Shade Ahraia, in every way,” the Masai said. She stalked forward, a curious frown drawn across her face. “You didn’t manage to enchant the keress. You didn’t kill the human . . . and yet somehow you manage all this?”
Ahraia gave no answer.
“You managed to escape Golan and Shalih too?”
“It was you who sent the ward?” Ahraia felt blood surge to her ears. She remembered blood pouring from Golan’s mouth, and forced the image to the Masai, whose frown deepened.
“I should have known you were stronger than your Astra made you out to be. You’re a wolf-binder, of course you’re strong. And that makes you wolf-like in every way: stubborn and dangerous, just like your shadow.”
Losna bared her teeth. The Masai tilted her head slightly, her ears twitching.
“You’ve escaped the Shad-Mon. Come back from the dead?” She shook her head in disbelief. “You’ve managed to break your shadow free and hide from me. And somehow, someway, you’ve managed to free yourself from the sprite-wood. No shade, not once since the hearts of the forest were first laid, has managed to unlock their shadow or break through the palisade.”
Between the Shade and the Shadow Page 44