by Nazri Noor
But I could feel sorrow, and loneliness. By God could I feel the crushing loneliness.
On more than one occasion I found myself crying out in pained frustration. And a few times I caught myself actually weeping, hardly caring to feel embarrassed anymore. Who was there to judge me? Certainly not my shadows.
But one of them approached me, once, holding out its arm, clutching a little rectangle of something soft between its wispy fingers. My cells had remembered what tissue paper was, and this was my shade behaving the way I would as a friend, in someone else’s time of need. I took the black square of shadow, feeling it disintegrate into nothing between my fingers, then mimed wiping under my eye with it. My shade, still faceless and featureless, nodded in silent approval. I couldn’t begin to explain how I knew, but it was smiling.
Over time, I saw them making an odd kind of progress, the five of them interacting in unusual ways that mimicked human behavior. At first in made me angry, thinking of this term within the Dark as some kind of punishment, where I was surrounded by remnants of my personality that mocked the parts of me that still believed I was human. But more and more, I could see that they were evolving in ways. Learning.
Without fail, the very moment I expressed any kind of melancholy or loneliness, the shades would wander towards me, giving me the eerie, voiceless comfort of their companionship. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d curled myself up into a shuddering ball on the ground, my face pressed to my knees, waiting for the embrace of madness.
Yet I would open my eyes to find that the shades had gathered around me, staring at me through sightless faces. It was shocking, the first few times, terrifying enough that I felt impelled to curse at them. But there was something so very primal about the way they reacted to things, almost animalistic. They were like dogs, in that sense, despite my acknowledgment that it wasn’t very healthy to see fragments of myself as pets.
And yet as pets they presented themselves, or at least as playthings, shallow companions. Don’t ask me how I managed, but I taught one of them to play rock, paper, scissors. The whoop of delight that rocketed out of my mouth that day was the first time I’d laughed in ages. I realized that it was also the first time I’d used my mouth to do anything other than moan, or scream in frustration into the endless void.
It was like a domino effect, and one after the other, the remaining shades learned to play the game themselves. Once I woke up to find the five of them playing freeze tag. It gave me the chills. Was someone lurking in the shadows, giving them instructions on how to play this childhood game or that? But then I finally understood. The shades were going through the motions of who and what I was as I developed as a person myself. I used to play tag, sometimes, when I was a kid growing up in Valero, raised under the love and care of Norman and Diana Graves.
It made me wonder how far I could take the shades, what lengths I could go to truly turn them into companions, and not just bodies to fill the spaces of the Dark Room. I bit my nails ragged, just considering the possibilities. Would they ever be able to talk, to communicate beyond gestures and body language? Would they some day learn to use magic on their own?
But baby steps. As Herald once told me, a step at a time. And one of those most important steps, I found, was discovering one of those exact doors that Hecate had described. It was as I saw it in the distant past, a swirling white portal suspended in space. I don’t know how my shadows and I eventually found it, but I liked to think that my strengthening bond with them was granting me a better sense of perception. And that thing about the tissue paper, too – that was one shade trying to be sympathetic, yet proving that it was capable of creating solid matter out of raw darkness. It was something worth looking into much more closely.
But first, the portal. I recognized it as one of several that Herald and I had shut down ourselves, back when I had to sacrifice the lingering specter of my own mother to seal away the Dark Room. Instinctively I understood that this was one of the gates I needed to guard, to ensure, as Hecate said, that the Old Ones could never return to our world again. It was the link between them and the earth.
I reached for the spinning portal, unsure of what I was doing, but very aware of the skeins of shadow emanating from the palm of my hand, from the tips of my fingers. I held my breath as my shades – my brothers, as I was starting to think of them – raised their hands as well. More ribbons of shadow emerged from their bodies, joining with those that I released into the portal.
The gateway absorbed the strings of darkness as it spun, the shadows turning its gleaming ivory white – the color of the Eldest – into a consuming black. Still it whirled, but slower, and slower still, until the spinning stopped entirely, as if the spiritual concrete my shadows and I had poured into it had started to set.
That was it, then. We had to find these doors, and seal them all, and guard them from the scourge of the Old Ones. And as the thought came to me, something like satisfaction flared in my chest. Responsibility. I was discovering my sense of purpose in the Dark Room, just as Hecate said. I was understanding the ins and outs of my new home – my domicile.
I turned to leave, puzzled and stopping when I realized that only four of my shadows were following. The fifth stood by the gateway, waving his hand towards the rest of us, as if telling us to leave him there. “Go,” the gesture seemed to say. “I’ll be fine.” I don’t know what came over me just then. I saluted my shadow, and laughed when it mirrored the gesture, giving me a snappy salute in return.
“We’ll visit you,” I told it. “We’ll come by and keep you company.”
My shadow nodded. Again, I couldn’t see its face, but I knew it was smiling. The shades were the friends that Hecate had been hinting at from the beginning.
I left with the others, heading to what I’d come to think of as the Dark Room’s nexus, a central hub to the dimension, despite the utter lack of directions, milestones, and features to mark things like left, and right, and center. But as we approached, I faltered mid-step, sensing that something was – well, it was off. Changed. Different.
For one thing, there was the tantalizing smell of hamburgers. Not just any burgers, either, but the familiar, mouthwatering scent of a double cheeseburger from the Happy Cow, along with the comforting fried aroma of both french fries and onion rings. I turned in place, scanning my surroundings for signs of physical change, but there was nothing. And despite my vessel no longer needing food to survive, the smells triggered something in me. I wiped at my mouth with the back of my hand, then again with the sleeve of my tattered jacket, careful to dab away a streak of drool.
Where was that smell coming from? I scratched the back of my head, marveling at the odor, then further confused by the sudden influx of sound. Utter silence had been my unhappy companion for so long that anything other than the sound of my own voice was welcome, almost musical. It all sounded like gibberish at first, until the noises and clicks assembled themselves into familiar arrangements of words, then phrases, then sentences. I frowned as I strained to understand them. My mouth fell open when I recognized who was speaking.
I ran towards the voice, noticing for the first time in forever that my shadows weren’t following me. They watched as I ran helter-skelter towards the sounds and smells of life, of humanity, and as I sprinted madly through the infinite nothing of the Dark Room, I thought I saw a pinpoint of light: an exit.
I ran harder, harder than I ever had in my various lives, in the spaces of time between my first and my second birth, my first and second death. Because more than anything, more than godhood, I knew that my body and my heart longed to be reunited with the best thing – the best person – that had ever happened to me.
The white speck of light ahead of me grew and grew, until it was the size of a window, then a door. Warm, fresh tears blurred my vision as I leapt from the Dark Room into the blistering heat of reality, shadowstepping for the first time in an eternity.
I fell heavily to the ground, unsure of where I was leaping or e
ven aiming, only knowing that I was dying to cross over from the black dimension I called home to the familiarity of earth. My fingers dug into the soft fuzz of an apartment’s carpet. I blinked rapidly to work the glare out of my eyes, coming face to face with the mortal who had summoned me.
The blinking came harder and faster as I fought away a steady trickle of tears. I beamed at the sight of the summoning circle he’d drawn with the geometric perfection of his magic, at the pile of greasy fast food he’d placed in its center as an offering, at the sight of the knife he’d used to draw a single speck of his blood.
The man I loved stared at me with huge, terrified eyes, dropped his knife, then sucked in air like he’d only just remembered how to breathe.
“I thought you’d never come.”
Chapter 34
Herald’s hair had grown out. He looked a little disheveled, his stubble left untrimmed, his eyes deep and darker. It could have been just the separation, and I’ll forever feel like a bastard saying this, but it made him look more attractive to me than ever.
The kiss took way longer than I expected, and I had no complaints, really. It was both hello and goodbye, both a greeting and the exploration of something that we’d both believed would be nothing more than a distant memory after my second death. It couldn’t have lasted minutes, but it felt that way, and it was the awkward, strange laughter burbling from each of our throats that finally caused us to break apart. It was the kind of laughter that came from joy, and from relief. I thought I’d never see you again, it said. I hate you, I love you.
“It’s been six months,” Herald said.
“Six months,” I breathed, rubbing my hands through my hair. I looked around Herald’s apartment, always such a poignant reflection of who he was as a person. It smelled the same, the faint citrus scent of clean that permeated the place from a little oil diffuser lurking in one of the corners. But it was just a bit messier, everything just a bit more rumpled, in more disarray. There were actually dishes in the sink, for once. My heart pinched.
“I thought you’d be gone longer,” Herald said, sitting back, adjusting his glasses, his pupils dilating, as if he was trying to get a good look at me. And he didn’t have to voice his surprise. I knew what he was thinking: that I looked exactly the same as the night he saw me.
“The Apotheosis,” I said, my mind racing for the right details to help explain what happened. “It’s what you saw. The five swords split me into pieces. There are shadows of me left in the Dark Room, and they’re taking up the slack for now. That was supposed to be my burden, to keep guard over the seals against the Eldest and keep them from ever coming back. Hecate said so. But the shades – it’s like they’re helping.”
Herald chewed on his lip, his eyes darting across the carpet as he mulled it over. “Then she knew all along that you weren’t going to be gone forever. She knew that the shadows were going to commute your sentence. She knew.”
I shook my head, ruffling my hair. “I always assume that she doesn’t care about humanity and the little things that matter to us. But she’s always a step ahead, somehow. I wonder what else she hasn’t told me.”
Herald stepped into the summoning circle, sitting beside me, taking my hand. “Listen. She’s never steered you wrong before. She’s a total weirdo, borderline crazy, but believe it or not – and I can’t believe I’m saying this myself – she has a track record for always wanting what’s best for you.”
“Like a mom.”
“Yeah. Little bit.”
“That’s a lot to unpack.”
He chuckled. “Understatement of the century.”
I waved around the apartment. “So is this. I guess you did kind of miss me, then.”
Herald frowned, and maybe he flinched a little, and I instantly felt like an asshole. “That’s a low blow and you know it.”
“Sorry,” I said, meaning it as I bowed my head. “Really sorry.”
He sighed. “I tried for months, you know. I set things up, offered all of your favorite food, ended up eating it when you didn’t appear. I have tons of leftovers to go through every week.” He formed his hand into a fist and pounded lightly on his chest. “And probably an impending heart attack, too. Your diet was terrible.”
I shrugged. “I was a hedonist. Huh. Still am, I guess.” The smell of the burger and fries became so overpowering then, and I tore through the wrapper, shoving my face into the Happy Cow burger, moaning gratefully at my long overdue taste of charred beef and melted cheese. So that hadn’t changed about me, at least. “So you rotated through all of my favorite snacks, huh? That’s a long list. I hope this keeps working and you get to feed me fast food every night.”
Herald pulled his knees up to his chest, scratching at his collarbone as he half-smiled distantly. “Yeah. Every night.”
I swallowed my mouthful of burger, stared at him for a quick second, then looked around the room. “Every night,” I echoed. “That’s how long you’ve been trying?”
The tears came suddenly. Herald had never been so openly emotional in our entire time together, but now the floodgates were open. He rubbed one hand against his eyes, nudging his glasses away with the other, sniffling.
“I really missed you, you fucking idiot. I really thought I’d never see you again.”
I dropped my cheeseburger right then and there – something you’d never to get me to do under any circumstance – and pulled Herald into my arms. He shuddered there for some moments, and I held him tight for as long as he needed me to. Every night, he said. Every night. I bit my lip. I thought it’d been hard going for me in the Dark Room, sinking into its mire of solitude and shadow, but I’d never considered that he’d have suffered this badly. I wondered how the others had dealt with my second death, if I’d caused them as much pain. I wondered about my father.
“Listen,” I said, squeezing him tight. “I don’t know how long this connection will hold, how long I can stay away from the Dark Room. It’s like – well, it’s fully my domicile now, and I have to go back eventually.” It was my womb, the source of my power, and, I thought with some bitterness, my home. “I’m okay with you crying all night, but we should make the most of the time we have.”
He wiped at his face again, nodding. “Y-you’re right. I’m not sure when it’ll kick in again, anyway. I can’t believe this night worked. I don’t know what I did any differently.”
I shrugged. “I guess I’ve been a demigod long enough to qualify for a communion or something. It’s like I’ve marinated. Or spent enough time in the oven.”
Herald shook his head, laughing bitterly. “What the hell kind of a long distance relationship is this, anyway? Most people can still video chat. I have to summon my boyfriend with a frigging blood ritual.”
I chuckled myself. How the fuck had we gotten here? But that was when the idea came to me. I knew that I’d been stripped of basically every biological need, yet my hunger was easily triggered minutes into reentering reality. I had to know.
“We really should make our time count,” I breathed, my throat dry.
Herald’s mouth formed into a perfect O, his eyes widening. “Oh. Ohhh. Yeah, I’m with you.” He nodded eagerly, clearly restraining the grin forming on his mouth. “But you’re going to have to take a shower first. Several showers. Weirdly, you don’t actually smell like a dumpster fire, but it’s the principle of it.”
I lifted my arm and sniffed. Nothing. Huh. All that time and I hadn’t noticed. Maybe it was another perk of godhood. But a warm shower sounded fantastic. No running water in the Dark Room and everything.
“Okay,” I said, “but we’ll have to make it quick. The Dark Room will want me back soon enough. I’m sure it’ll rubber-band me home even if I don’t want to go. I’m not exactly sure how long I’ll last.”
Herald frogmarched me to the shower just as soon as I finished talking. Spoiler alert: I lasted long enough, in every sense of the phrase.
Chapter 35
Sterling draped himself along m
y shoulders, the smell of his body spray attacking my senses. “So that’s what you are now, huh? A demigod. A tiny little fledgling infant demigod.”
I shrugged and tried to shake him off, but no use. Sterling had always been way stronger. “I mean, I wouldn’t use those terms, exactly.”
He took a swig of his beer, then carried on. “Puny little toddler godling man-baby.”
“Okay, okay,” I grumbled. “That’s enough.”
He tipped back another mouthful of beer. “Serves you right for making us worry,” he said. “Here’s hoping you can actually stick around long enough this time.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s not my call. I’m still new to all this god stuff, but here’s hoping.”
I looked around at our gathered friends. We were on the outskirts of Valero, having ourselves a nice little picnic, like the good old times, and I was being a good little godling and staying within the confines of my summoning circle. But just having Team Borica nearby, seeing the world and breathing the air outside of the Dark Room, that was worth so much. I heaved a longing but contented little sigh.
In all honesty, I felt incredibly weak when I returned to the Dark Room from Herald’s apartment that first time, and not just because I was, um, worn out from various unmentionable activities. My shades had to drag me bodily to our designated nexus, which was markedly uncomfortable until one of them had the idea of constructing a makeshift stretcher out of pure shadow. I distinctly remembered being so exhausted, but being so curious about what the shadow had done before I passed out.
