Baker's Dozen

by Cutter, Leah

  “Come,” the shadow said, jerking his head to the side.

  Kyle gathered up his pack and followed quickly. The room was small, just a cot and a desk, no window, no books. There were a few drawings tacked to the wall. One was of a cave filled with a glittering river of blue diamonds; another was of a softly lit feasting hall. Kyle couldn’t draw, and wondered whether his shadow could, or if the pictures were gifts from someone else.

  “I dream of you, sometimes,” the shadow said, sitting down on the bed. “Of the light and the sky.” Did his shadow sound wistful?

  “I’ve dreamed of you, too,” the prince said, not admitting they’d been nightmares. “Why don’t you leave?”

  “Where would we go?”

  “Back—back to your bodies.”

  “You don’t want us.”

  The prince nodded, slowly. “I’ve never known a shadow. You’re the earth and dirt and night. I’m only used to the light and the sun and the sky.” He continued stubbornly. “But you’re enslaved. You can’t even leave here.”

  “Sure we can. Those traps are just to keep the curious out, not us in. Besides, here, we get all the sleep we want, and it isn’t bad work, finding the beautiful things in the earth. It’s warm and safe here.”

  “But it’s dark,” Kyle complained.

  “You’re afraid of the dark,” his shadow said, wondering.

  “I don’t have you to help me with it,” Kyle said, daring to take the step from the door to crouch next to the bed. “And I’ll be there to help with the sunlight and open sky. You’ll see.”

  “But why should I join you? After such a taste of freedom?”

  Kyle bit his lip. He didn’t have a good answer for that. “I think—I think it’s because we’re supposed to. Both of us will have to give up some freedom to be joined. But also because I want to.” Kyle took a deep breath. “I want to know what it means for the ground to welcome my step. I want to be able to ride. I want to know both the dark and the light.”

  As Kyle spoke he realized he said the truth. He reached out one hand and his mirror image reached out as well. Their fingers touched, then their palms. The warmth of his shadow staggered Kyle. “I promise to listen to you. Talk with you in my dreams. Listen to what you want to do.”

  “You won’t have to be afraid of the dark anymore,” his shadow said. “Even though you can’t see me in the dark, I’ll still be there, at your side.”

  “Please, let me show you the light.”

  Kyle wrapped his arms around his shadow and they sank into each other, warm night meeting cool sunlight for the first time. Kyle felt his shadow settle across his shoulders like a welcome weight. He felt a little heavier, but a little more grounded as well, as if the earth welcomed his footsteps finally.

  When Kyle looked up from his seat on the bed, a dozen faces peered at him through the open door. “You joined,” said one, awestruck.

  “So good to feel whole,” Kyle murmured. He didn’t lie. He just didn’t tell them everything: It also felt disquieting, as if he were suddenly ten years older.

  “Go to your bodies,” Kyle instructed, standing. “Your prince begs you.”

  The shadows nodded and started streaming away. Kyle followed them quickly out of the caves, across the dark valley; a river of dark shapes flowed from the mountain, over the hills, faster than the prince could go, even riding properly for the first time.

  Each shadow found his or her sleeping body or grave that night. The celebrations the next day were subdued, as both gravity and grace had returned.

  The prince had many adventures on the way back to the Kingdom of Illumignot. He did make it back, and he did marry the princess, and they did, together, work on making their shared dreams of flying come true.

  But that’s another story.

  Author’s Note

  I came up with this story back in the late ‘80s—1988, maybe—while I was babysitting a young boy named Kyle. I told this story out loud, and I think I may have written it down at some point. But I realized recently that I’d never typed it up. I decided that since I’ve remembered this story for so long that it was about time I actually wrote it out.

  Many of the original elements of the story are in this version, with the prince trying to be brave, how the children and the dead are affected by losing their shadows, the princess who challenges Kyle, and the meeting with his shadow at the end.

  The Doom of Alokai Temple

  Storm stirred the sand with her cane, smearing the runes and sigils. She didn’t deny the future they foretold—she couldn’t—but she didn’t have the strength to face it just then. Instead, she picked up the long trails of seaweed and flung them into the encroaching waves. The water would purify them, scour them with sand and salt before casting them back onto the land to proclaim another future for those who dared read it.

  Painfully, Storm bent down to collect the handful of bright serat shells, purple and luminescent in the fading light, still warm against her palm, the bodies they contained shocked by their death. The serat lived for centuries: To kill them when they were so young was cruel; however, the goddess Brikal had demanded an extravagant sacrifice that night.

  Storm now knew why.

  Finally satisfied that she’d covered her tracks and no one could divine her work or easily spot the trails of blood, Storm allowed herself a few moments to stare across the water. The moons had yet to rise and clouds blocked the rivers of stars, ominously hiding the sea—if Storm believed in omens, which she did not. Fortunes drawn out of the deaths of small beings, bespelled chalk lines, and weeds coaxed from the depths? Yes. Mere physical phenomenon, without the geas of augury? No.

  Still, Storm pulled her shawl closer as the night blanked out the ocean, until all she knew of it was the soft splashing of the waves. Even when Ty rose, its red light barely reflected off the water.

  However, Storm didn’t have all night to wait for Gulik to rise as well, Instead, she turned and slowly made her way past the logs and ocean debris scattered across the sand to the small path between the scraggly thorns that encrusted the dunes. She’d walked the path often enough that she could do it blindfolded, counting her footsteps as she padded softly to the point of land, then beyond the rough rocks into the open bay protected by coral shoals so the waves merely lapped at the sands.

  Only a short distance along the circle of the cove sat Storm’s house, its logs encrusted with salt and sand. Inside, the fire was banked, warm red coals that just needed a sprinkling of firedust to spring back to life. Storm stored her supplies in the nets above her head, hiding the jars of colored chalk beside the long buoy-like gourds and stringy lures. She ignored the way her back ached from stooping too long, forcing her fingers to move nimbly as if they hadn’t been working in wet sand and cold all afternoon. Only with the fire blazing, sea- and dew-misted clothing changed for clean, and a pot of fish and other bounty reheating over the flames did Storm allow herself to ponder the fortune laid out that night.

  Storm hadn’t had a choice about doing the divination. She’d resisted the goddess’ call as long as she could. The price had shocked her—so many lives. Closing her eyes, she could still see the quicksilver light that had sprung up after the last rune had been drawn, as Storm had closed the circle with the living vines from the sea. The picture had exploded in her mind as it had across the bloodstained sand.

  Alokai Temple, drowned.

  It sat well inland, with wells but no river nearby. However, Storm couldn’t deny the towering wave of water that crashed over the grounds. She couldn’t tell the direction it came from, if the day had been sunny or storm-filled. All she knew was that the day was soon.

  Storm had to warn the people there, without revealing her own foresight: pillars of burned witches stretched behind the temple, stark black smudges beside the pure white stone walkways. She shivered. The taint of burned flesh never left the compound, no matter how the winter winds blew.

  The cost of disrespecting the goddess Brikal by not spre
ading her word was high. Storm would never be able to cast another fortune. What little luck she had would vanish. Brikal did not like to be ignored.

  Could Storm claim she’d had a dream? She could, but she’d either be ignored or put under more scrutiny than she already was. The townspeople didn’t trust her, living alone and so close to the sea. They were suspicious of her goods, though she had pure salt to trade, as well as fish, well seasoned and smoked. But few enough bought her wares. More scrutiny could bring the temple guards. It had happened before: She’d seen the guards form a line in front of poor Willow’s table so none could get through to her.

  A loud knock started Storm out of her thoughts. No one came to her hut, and anyone who came so late probably meant no good. With a sigh, she swung the pot out of the flames—it might be a while before she got to it, and no sense in wasting good food. She picked up her cane and made her slow way across the room. “Who goes there?” she called out as she neared the door.

  A frantic pounding came in response.

  Storm threw open the door before it had slacked off.

  A soldier stood just outside, tall and proud, one of the king’s men. He peered at her with dark eyes, partially covered by his plumed helmet. His bare arms bulged with muscles, his chest made broader by the heavy rings sewn to his leather shirt. A sword, a cudgel, and a knife all protruded from his wide belt. Though the night was cool, his legs were bare, and his boots only came up mid-calf.

  “What do you want?” Storm asked crossly. If he’d come to rob her, well, she wasn’t as helpless as she appeared.

  The soldier looked her up and down, glanced over her shoulder into her room, then over his own shoulders briefly, as if determining that they were alone.

  “I know what you did,” he announced with the finality of a body falling from a cliff. “And I know the prophecy you saw.”

  * * *

  Craeg, the king’s guard, refused to say anything until after they were settled next to the fire. When he cast a longing look at the stew bubbling there, Storm offered him a bowl: Though the goddess Brikal was strict regarding fortunes, the god Kireg was even more of a stickler regarding the customs of hospitality.

  As Craeg sat down on Storm’s footstool, stiffer than dried leather, he drawled, “If anyone comes, this can be seen as a social visit.”

  Storm couldn’t contain her snort. No matter how friendly they seemed, no one would believe such a fiction, not if they knew her past troubles with the guards.

  Craeg just drew himself up tighter, though he took a grateful sip of the stew.

  The quiet of the night stretched between them. Without his plumed helmet, Craeg stood not much taller than Storm, though her bulk was made up of layers of cloth, whereas his were all muscles. The sword and cudgel lay beside him on the floor within easy reach, while his knife stayed in his belt.

  Finally Craeg put the empty bowl of soup to the side. Storm followed suit. Though she’d been starving earlier, she’d only managed a few bites. “I know what you did,” he repeated, softer this time, more like sharing a secret. “And I know what you saw. I’ve seen it, too,” he admitted.

  Startled, Storm grew very still. She didn’t dare admit to anything, regardless of how friendly Craeg was trying to be. He was still a guard.

  “Anyone who has even an inkling of the gift has foreseen the fate of Alokai Temple,” he said. He took a deep breath and stared hard at Storm. “But only a few have dreamed of the one who might stop it.”

  Storm had been careful not to confess to her ability to divine the future, but she had to say something now. “Go on,” she said, nodding yes, finally, yes, telling the truth of her talent.

  “You can’t do it,” Craeg said. “You can’t stop it. The temple must go. It has to be washed from the face of this world.”

  “How could I stop it?” Storm asked, incredulous. “No one has the power to stop such a force. “

  “You do,” Craeg insisted. “I’ve seen it.”

  Storm shook her head, denying the stirring she felt in her soul, the rising in her gut, as if the goddess Brikal demanded yet another sacrifice and prophecy.

  “You can,” Craeg said again, softer now. “Shoal, the high priestess, will beg for your help. You won’t be able to refuse. But you must. You must not stop the cleansing.”

  “Why do you bargain with me? Why not just kill me if I’m the only one with the power?” Storm asked, not caring about the death she was courting.

  It was Craeg’s turn to snort. “Fate cannot be denied that way, as you well know. All but the priestesses of Alokai Temple know that. If you were unavailable, another would take your place, maybe one not so amenable to persuasion.”

  “So what exactly are you trying to persuade me to do?” Storm asked, raising one eyebrow. “To stand aside as thousands are killed?”

  “In the hope of saving ten thousand more souls? Yes.”

  “It’s never that easy,” Storm said. “Without the temple, the people will be lost. The kingdom will be ripe for attack.” Everyone knew the western king envied their lands, and would maybe even offer help after such a disaster, sending soldiers with the healers to get a foothold here.

  “Yes,” Craeg said. “The king may get washed away as well.”

  Ripples of possibilities echoed around Storm. Was Craeg already working for the western king? Were the guards planning a coup? Or did they back the king’s brother, who floated through life on the smoke of poppies but who protected all witches who went to his lands? “What would you have me do? I can’t deny this foretelling, any more than you could deny coming to see me,” Storm asked, too buffeted by waves to see clearly.

  “Go to the temple. Tell them what you’ve seen,” Craeg urged.

  “What?” Storm had been so cautious all her life. For someone to ask her to be bold, to proudly proclaim her heritage—she’d never expected that.

  “You must go. We both know why,” Craeg said dryly.

  “I know that,” Storm hissed. The price of hiding such a prophecy was too high.

  “Then, when the high priestess asks for your help, refuse.”

  Storm shook her head. “The temple can also be very persuasive,” she pointed out. Though their persuasion was more likely to involve broken bones and the threat of burning.

  “So let yourself be persuaded. Pretend to cooperate. But you must break at the last minute and let the wave fall.”

  “It will drown me as well.” Storm swallowed around the sudden dryness of her throat. She pulled her shawl closer over her shoulders, the realization making her cold.

  “You were dead the moment you walked out to the beach and called the seaweed from the waves.” Craeg gave a laugh, brittle and harsh. “It’s your time to go, grandmother.”

  Storm looked at Craeg sharply. She’d whelped a son eons ago, left him behind as her visions had dictated. She didn’t feel any kinship to this man, and grandmother was a common enough term. She still had to ask. “Are you?”

  Craeg shrugged. “Orphaned from birth, raised by the guard and the king. I am no one and everyone’s grandson. And I’m begging you, for the sake of my own unborn sons, let this cup pass you by.”

  Storm shivered. “I’ll try,” she promised. It was the best she’d ever be able to do, the most honest she could be. Death was a powerful motivator, and it appeared that no matter what path she chose, it was bound to encase her soon.

  * * *

  Storm stretched her leg out against the packed dirt floor, seeing if she could straighten it. The temple guards hadn’t been kind after her declaration of what she’d seen and they’d given her a beating fit for a younger person.

  Still, she thought only her ribs were broken. She took another cautious breath, the pain sharp at her side. When they’d thrown her into the cell they’d done her a favor, and her arm had been shoved back into its socket with the force of her fall. All her fingers worked, as well as her toes. It was just her knee that worried her. It had swelled to the size of a baby’s head. Her
cane would never again just be for show.

  What had she been thinking, announcing the doom of the temple that way, at the high priestess’ morning court? Craeg’s words had made her stupidly brave, thinking the priestesses would recognize the savior of the temple in her unveiling. She should have found another way to deal with the geas of augury—a way without sacrificing so much of her own flesh.

  Storm had also believed Craeg—too much, perhaps—that she now faced her own doom. The puzzles the gods had laid before her were too complex, the games they played far beyond her ken. Maybe she should have accepted their wrath instead, and just gone south.

  However, Storm had never merely accepted anything, let alone never being able to walk again. She pushed at her leg, trying to shift her knee around. The sliding disc of the cap wouldn’t set right. The pain made her whimper and her vision darkened. It wouldn’t budge.

  Storm took a deep breath, then two more, before she begged any gods who were listening to help and slammed her palm against the side of her knee. She screamed as the agony washed through her. When she woke from passing out, the throbbing ache made her want to vomit, but she could finally straighten her leg.

  “I could help with that,” came a slithering whisper. “Help ease your pain.”

  Storm squinted and peered into the dark corners of her cell. She didn’t see anyone or anything, just straw and the latrine ditch that flowed into open sewers below. There was no cot, of course, but someone had thrown a moldy, lice-infested blanket into the other corner. Storm had already vowed not to go near it. “Who are you?” she whispered after the voice had grown still. “Where are you?”

  “By the door,” the voice promised.

  Storm didn’t hold back her groan. Walking that far was out of the question, though it was only a few feet away. “Why would you help me?”

  “You’re the temple’s only hope.” The voice changed timbre now, losing its smoky edge and becoming more human. “And the temple is the last hope for the kingdom.”

  “From the western kingdom?” Storm asked.