Shadow Weaver Series, Book 1

by MarcyKate Connolly

  Then I shove off. At first, the slide down the hill is exhilarating with the wind rushing through my hair.

  “Dar! Look how fast we’re going!” She doesn’t answer, still sulking behind me.

  But when the shadow sled hits a rock and sends me careening into the path of a large tree, panic slides up my insides. Desperately I try to guide the sled away, but it sends me spinning instead.

  Without warning, I’m hurled into the air.

  Brief glimpses of the underbellies of ferns and crunching sticks and leaves are all I see as I tumble head over heels the rest of the way down the hill. I land on the grassy riverbank and manage to grab hold of a sapling’s trunk before I’m tossed into the water.

  Something whistles over my head, and I duck. Breathlessly, I gape as my sled hits the water and the shadows disintegrate into the waves.

  My stomach drops into my shoes. That might have been me had I not been thrown off first.

  The river roils around rocks that jut out from the water, spitting foam onto the bank. The grass here is green and cool, but that is the only thing calm about where I’ve landed.

  “Dar?” I say in a small voice, hugging my arms around my knees. “Please talk to me. I need you. Don’t leave me alone.”

  Shadow arms curl around my trembling form. It’s all right. You’re safe. Best not to try that again, I think.

  A strangled laugh escapes my throat. “No, I don’t think I will.” I sigh. “But I do need more water.” I’m rather proud that I managed to keep my flour sack the whole way down. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my food.

  I swallow the sand in my throat and pull out the water skein. I am only a few feet from the river’s edge, but it’s a roaring, churning thing. The most water I’ve ever seen at once is a pond out in the woods of my family’s estate, and that was as placid as a pane of glass.

  Every muscle tenses as I step closer, eying the rocks in the water warily.

  Be careful and stay low, Dar advises. There’s a tree a little ways down near the water. You can hold on to that to brace yourself.

  Relief begins to dull the needling fear. “Thank you,” I say. I missed Dar while she wasn’t speaking to me.

  I do as my shadow instructs, grasping the tree with one arm and reaching into the water with the other. When the skein is full, I skitter away from the edge, gulping water in so quickly my stomach begins to heave.

  Don’t drink too fast! Dar says. You’ll make yourself sick.

  I choke the water down, but this time I listen to her and drink more slowly. Then I repeat the process to refill the skein. I’ll need it again later, and I’m not keen on braving a hill like that a second time.

  “Where should we go?” I ask, pulling leaves from my hair. My dress is now caked in grass and mud from the wet dirt near the river. I can feel the hot blush of bruises forming on my limbs and the sting from scrapes scattered over my skin, but otherwise, I am unhurt.

  I ought to get back on my feet, but after all the walking I did this morning, it’s nice to sit here on the riverbank for a few moments.

  Anywhere we want.

  I frown at her form, now billowing in the breeze like the drawings I’ve seen of sails on ships. “But surely you had a destination in mind. Where must we go to get what we need to perform the ritual that will bring you fully back to life?”

  There is no one place we need to be, except away from Zinnia and those guards. My shadow’s edges glow red. Even the thought of Zinnia is enough to upset her.

  “But what do I have to do?” I ask.

  All in good time. We should get farther away first. Just to be safe.

  I can’t deny the sensibility in that. For all we know the guards are still running rampant through these woods. I’m sure they must have found a way across the gorge by now. In fact, they could be anywhere.

  A sickly sensation crawls across my skin, like I’m being watched. I seal the water skein and toss it in my sack.

  “Let’s go,” I say. Dar shivers, though whether it’s with fear of the soldiers or the excitement of her wish getting nearer to fulfillment, I cannot tell. We’re exposed on the bank of the river, and we stick close to the side of the hill and the cover of trees as much as possible. I use my shadowcraft to stretch the shadow of each tree as far as I can toward the next to lend us more cover.

  We make our way slowly, but steadily, creeping toward the safety of deeper forest. I only hope what waits there is not worse.

  Chapter Eight

  We don’t encounter the Zinnian soldiers again until midafternoon. We stop to rest under the shade of an enormous gnarled oak tree when the sounds of metal armor clanking and hooves striking the forest floor send me scurrying into the branches of the tree. I climb as high as I dare, then huddle close to the trunk, wrapping the great tree’s shadow around me like a blanket.

  I hold my breath as the sounds get closer, hammering into my head. Soon their green cloaks come into view. One of them pauses not far from the tree and dismounts his horse, sending my pulse flying. He bends over and picks up something in the leaves.

  The apple core I tossed away mere minutes before we heard them. I was so startled I didn’t even think of it. Dar tenses behind me, her form reddening. This time I don’t dare to move and smooth the edges of her shape to calm her like I usually do.

  “Someone was here, and not long ago either,” says the guard. The man on the lead horse circles back, turning to his men. I’m startled to realize I recognize him as Tate’s nephew, Alden.

  “Hurry, the girl can’t be far now.” Alden turns his horse, and he and the rest of the guards trot away from where I hide in the tree.

  My breath releases from my body, and I slump against the trunk. My knees feel as weak as blades of grass.

  “That was much too close,” I whisper to Dar.

  We have the advantage now. They’re ahead of us. We know which way not to go.

  “Thank goodness for that.”

  I let a few more moments go by, not yet ready to risk the climb down with my hands still quivering. It is peaceful up here, and I can see an empty birds’ nest from where I sit. Did I frighten them, or was it the guards?

  Finally, I clamber down, scraping my arms on the way. The ground under my feet is a welcome relief. But from my hiding spot in the shadow of the great tree, a pleasing sound captures my attention.

  A voice singing somewhere in these woods.

  I peer around the tree. Up ahead, in the opposite direction from the path the guards took, the light seems to have grown brighter, as though the sun just decided to say hello and shined itself up for the day.

  The music comes from the same direction. Something about it is familiar, and it draws me in.

  After quickly checking that no wayward soldiers follow the others who passed moments ago, I hurry to the next tree. But it isn’t close enough. I must hear the music better. See for myself who or what is making it.

  I dodge from tree to tree up the hill, always careful to keep the shadows wrapped around me. Through the trees, I spy the edge of a field and flowers shining like gold in the afternoon light.

  Where are you going, Emmeline? Dar asks, a hint of irritation in her voice, but I ignore her for once. The pull of the music and light is too strong to resist.

  I pause by a tree at the edge of the field. Crouching close to the ground, I peer around the tree trunk and choke on my gasp.

  In the center of the field stands the source of the music—and the light: a boy, not much older than me, surrounded by knee-high strands of grass and white and yellow flowers that look like lace. His mouth is open and the melody that drew me here flows from it. Light swirls around his body, painting him in every possible shade of yellow and gold. The light isn’t just growing brighter, it’s moving in sparkling bands, circling his frame in time to the music. It forms a perfect orb around him. There
is something else in the air too. Something fizzy. Something I recognize.

  My breath stutters.

  He is using light in much the same way I use shadows. He has magic.

  I have never met anyone else with a talent before.

  My feet take me closer to the field.

  It could be a trap! Dar hisses in my ear.

  “No, I’m sure it’s not,” I say breathlessly. “He’s…he’s using magic. I recognize the way it feels.”

  Dar doesn’t say another word when I step into the field. The bands of light have expanded around the boy, his circle close enough that I could reach out and touch the gilded edges.

  “Isn’t it beautiful, Dar?” I whisper, but she makes no response.

  I pause, debating whether to take another step. The boy hasn’t seen me yet, but I can’t help wanting to know his name. To know what he calls his delightful sort of magic. Dar will be angry, but I can’t quell the sudden longing to know someone else who might understand me. Who might understand what it’s like to have magic and all that entails. And to actually talk to them, not just observe as I usually do.

  My decision is inevitable. I step farther into the field, letting the boy’s music and light wrap around me like the warmth of a blazing fire. I glance down at my feet and the sight steals my breath away.

  My shadow has vanished. Her voice, my constant comfort, is silent. In fact, the field is so full of brilliant light that it is completely devoid of shadows. A chill prickles over my arms, but my feet do not falter.

  I am halfway across the field when he sees me. His voice cuts off, and the music and light vanish.

  I halt, frozen in his gaze. How silly must I appear, with a flour sack over my shoulder, gaping at him.

  He pales and takes a step back.

  “Hello?” I call. “I’m sorry, I just—I heard you singing, and it was lovely.”

  The boy glances around warily, and I realize his hair and skin isn’t as golden as they first appeared. It was an effect of the light. His skin is pale, and his hair is a dirty blond. His eyes are the brightest green I’ve ever seen in my life.

  “I just wanted to say hello.” My hands fiddle with the flour sack, wishing I had a better explanation to offer.

  The boy relaxes a little. “It’s all right. You just surprised me. I never see anyone this deep into the hills.”

  I frown. “What are you doing all the way out here, anyway? Is a village nearby?”

  “I could ask the same of you.” He shakes his head and walks a little closer. “I don’t live in a village. I live here.”

  “In the woods?”

  “Yes.”

  We move toward each other in a halting dance, a few steps for him, a few for me, until mere feet separate us. “All alone?” I ask.

  He laughs, and it reminds me of his song, sharp and clear. “My parents have a cottage nearby.” He snaps his mouth shut, as if he regrets his words.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. You have a wonderful voice.”

  Red blotches form on his cheeks, and he glances down at his feet. “Thanks.” He scuffs a toe against a wayward rock. “What are you doing out here?”

  It is my turn to hedge.

  Lie, Dar insists, back at my side so suddenly that I wonder if I just imagined she had vanished. You must lie to him. It is the only way to remain safe. We know no one outside the estate, and we must be cautious.

  The thought of lying to the first person I’ve ever met who has a talent turns my stomach, but it is more sensible than telling everyone what I am. Especially when the guards are still out there hunting me. Now that I’ve come to see what people really think of my shadowcraft, I must know him a little better first. I don’t know that I could bear yet another person being frightened of me just because of my shadow weaving. Or worse, thinking I’m crazy because I talk to my shadow too.

  “I—I worked at an estate east of here. My mistress was cruel and…and I suppose I’m hiding from her. At least until I can find another household,” I say, surprised at how easily the lie rolls off my tongue.

  The boy considers me quietly for a moment.

  Show him your bruises, Dar whispers. That ought to convince him.

  I was so taken with this boy’s light magic that I almost forgot about my adventure this morning that left my legs and arms scattered with cuts and bruises. They have ached the whole way here.

  “She wasn’t a kind mistress.” I roll up my sleeves, unable to meet the boy’s eyes. There are more cuts than I recall, and they sting as the fabric brushes over them. He sucks his breath in sharply, and his expression softens.

  “You need to clean those scrapes,” he says. “And a poultice would help with the bruises.” He gives me one more long look before holding out his hand across the space between us. “I’m Lucas.”

  I take his hand and shake it. “Emmeline.”

  “If you want, I can bring you to my house, and my mother can patch you up.”

  I smile. “Thank you, that’s very kind.”

  I follow him, and Dar sighs, but I can’t ask her why without attracting attention. He leads me into the woods on the other side of the field and onto a path half-hidden by the undergrowth. I am dying to ask him about his magic, but given his reaction to being caught using it, I fear that might shatter the fragile trust we’ve forged. I decide to wait until we’ve known each other for more than a few fleeting moments.

  “We don’t see many people out here,” Lucas says. “Travelers sometimes but never people my age and definitely never alone.”

  “Are you sure your parents won’t mind you bringing me into your home?”

  He shakes his head, and the sunlight tangles in his hair. “Mum will love having a girl in the house.” He grins over his shoulder. “I think sometimes she gets a bit tired of just me and Pa hanging around.”

  I laugh unexpectedly. It is difficult for me to fathom any mother being happy to have me in her house.

  The trees break ahead to reveal a clearing. At the center is a quaint cottage painted white with green shutters. In the front yard is a little garden of wildflowers and along the side, a huge vegetable patch. A little barn peeks out from behind the vegetable patch. It is simple and lovely and everything my own home was not.

  “Are you coming?” Lucas frowns at me from a few feet away, and only then do I realize that I have stopped.

  “Yes, of course.” I hurry after him, and he leads me up the walk and right through his front door. My heart jumps into my throat for a brief moment, as my imagination half expects the guards to be lying in wait for me here. But there is only a gaily painted interior flooded with the warm, welcoming smells of vegetable soup and baking bread. I pause to breathe it in, and that warmth fills me too.

  Be careful, Dar warns. I open my eyes and find Lucas staring at me again.

  I cover my foolishness with a smile. “It smells wonderful here!”

  He breaks into a grin. “That’s my mum. She’s the best cook. And she’s pretty handy with poultices and bandages too.” He gestures to my arms. “I should know; she uses them on me often enough.”

  “Lucas?” a woman’s voice calls from the kitchen. “Who are you talking to—” His mother appears in the doorway and stops short. Her hair is dark, and pieces float around her head, escaping the braid she’s pulled it into. “Lucas, who is this?” Her voice is careful and studied, like she has an inherent mistrust of strangers. Her keen dark eyes narrow, but nothing can hide their warmth.

  “Mum, this is Emmeline. I met her in the woods. She was a servant, but her mistress used her ill. She’s off to find a new household.”

  His mother crosses her arms over her chest. “She’s a runaway?”

  Careful, Dar says. Too many people haven’t appreciated you and your talent. She might try to send you back where you came from.

  My heart spee
ds up. That would be disastrous. We’ve come too far for it to all be for nothing.

  “I don’t wish to impose. I’ll just be on my way…” Before I can move to go, Lucas grabs my hand and holds out my arm.

  “Mum, she needs our help. Show her, Emmeline.”

  I duck my head and pull up my sleeve, feeling a twinge of guilt at the deception. Lies, however well-intentioned, do not sit well with me.

  His mother’s face softens when she sees the cuts and bruises lining my arms. “Well, that just won’t do. Those fancy folk have no right to treat others like that. You can call me Miranda. Come on.” She puts an arm around my shoulder and leads me into the kitchen. I shiver at the touch. I have faint memories of my mother embracing me when I was little, but it has been so long. The only one to hug me recently is Dar, and Miranda’s touch is much more solid.

  She brings me into the kitchen, Lucas trailing after us, and sits me down in a chair by the table. Dar is directly under my feet, and I can tell she is brimming with worry.

  Be very careful, Emmeline, Dar warns. These people are not like you and me. You’ll need to be more careful about how you talk and act if you want them to believe you’re really a servant.

  My pulse skitters. I hadn’t even thought of that.

  “Roll up your sleeves, dear,” Miranda says, then begins to put herbs into a mortar and pestle. “Lucas, go get some fresh clean water, please.”

  He flashes a quick grin at me, then dashes off to do her bidding. I watch his mother mash the herbs, then transfer them to a bowl and mix them with clay and salt and a few other substances I cannot name. She takes a kettle off the stove, pours a bit of hot water over the mixture, and stirs. Then she lays out a folded cloth and spoons the concoction into it. By the time Lucas reappears, she is wrapping it up.

  “Put some in a clean bowl, please,” she says. Lucas does and sets the bowl on the table next to me. “Now, Emmeline, hold this over each bruise for a few minutes at a time while I clean up these cuts.” She tsks. “It’s a good thing Lucas found you. With all this dirt, you’re well on your way to an infection.”