Shadow Weaver Series, Book 1

by MarcyKate Connolly

  A twinge of worry presses on my chest, but I do my best to crush it down. I must do this—I want to do this—and I bite my tongue instead of objecting.

  The shadows follow us through the trees. It is slow going at first, but soon we reach the path through the woods. It is well hidden, but after Lucas and his family showed it to me, I find it again more easily than I expected.

  Though I doubt we’ll encounter anyone on the path this late at night, I play it safe and collect all the shadows that have been trailing us, wrapping them around me until I’m fully ensconced in darkness. Out in the forest, night sounds form a chorus of chirps, squeaks, and howls. I tremble, but I’m safe here where no one can see me.

  We walk for a long time before signs of civilization begin to appear. A house here, a tilled field there. Lucas and his family certainly do live as far from other people as they possibly can. I wonder if that has anything to do with the plans they mentioned? Though I had resolved not to pry into their secrets, my curiosity is an itch I cannot help but scratch.

  My feet begin to ache. I’ll have to walk all the way back to the cottage once this task is done, and I’m still tired from the day’s adventures.

  It isn’t far now, Dar says.

  I don’t reply. I’ve grown too sour to trust my words to come out in a way that won’t be taken badly.

  But then the forest thins, and newer, smaller trees come into view. Soon the gnarled forms of the apple trees surrounding the eastern perimeter of the village appear before me, their shadows long and twisted on the ground. Exhausted, I stop to rest for a moment beneath one, tracing the shadow’s strange form with my fingertip.

  “There are fallen apples all over the place here!” I pick one up. The apples on the ground have begun to rot; the villagers won’t miss this one at all.

  Dar sighs. That one isn’t good enough. Pick one from the branch, Emmeline. We need it to be fresh.

  I frown. “Let me see if I can find one on the ground that’s fresher—”

  No, it must be plucked directly from the tree for it to work.

  My heart sinks. How can I argue with her, when she knows the ins and outs of the ritual in a way I do not? I only wish stealing wasn’t a part of it.

  I reach up and grab an apple from the lowest branch, silently promising myself that when this is all done, I will come back and leave some coins under this tree to make up for it.

  A branch snaps behind me, and my heart leaps into my throat. Like a fool, I relaxed my grip on the shadows, but now I cocoon them around me and flatten myself against the apple tree.

  Stay very still… Dar warns.

  I peer into the darkness, and two new forms take shape. A man with his arm outstretched to grip the hand of a woman. They are trying to be quiet too, but the occasional giggle gives them away.

  Wait until they have their backs turned. I hold my breath, pulse throbbing in my ears. I can’t get caught. If I do, then Lucas’s family would send me back home for certain.

  I cannot risk that at any cost.

  The pair ducks behind one of the thickest-trunked apple trees, and as soon as they do, I make a break for it.

  “Who’s there?” the man yelps. The sound of my feet hitting the earth is not a thing I can hide with shadow, but even if he turns around, he won’t see me. I whisper to one of the sapling’s shadows making up my cocoon, “Go.”

  It wriggles free, and the hole it leaves in my defenses is quickly filled by another shadow spreading farther to cover the space. The loose shadow writhes through the orchard, dodging from tree to tree, giving the couple something else to focus on besides my retreating footsteps. A few yards after I hit the tree line, I release my hold on that shadow, and it flies free back to its rightful place in the forest.

  I run, clutching the stolen apple to my chest, despite the pain in my calves and the burning in my lungs. We are halfway to the cottage when my foot snags on a root and I tumble headlong to the ground.

  I lay there for a few moments, trying to calm my breath and flying pulse. I shift to a seated position, wincing at my skinned knee. Drat, I shall have to clean that when I get back to the cottage.

  And all without waking anyone up.

  Tears burn at the corners of my eyes. I can’t help wishing there was another way. Something that didn’t involve lying and stealing and concealing what I’m really doing. I have no idea what I’ll say if Miranda catches me washing up in the wee morning hours.

  I only know it can’t be the truth.

  Dar wraps around my knee, cooling the hot scrape like a cold compress. I’ll help you, you know I will. But we’d best be moving.

  I stumble to my feet and head into the darkness, my guilty conscience following at the heels of my faltering footsteps.

  • • •

  By the time I reach the cottage, I am exhausted. My feet drag, but Dar spurs me onward with whispered words of encouragement. My knee throbs something awful, pain shooting through my leg with every step.

  I cling to the hope that no one is awake. I’m not sure I have the strength to hide myself and be as silent as I usually am.

  When I reach the cottage door, I brace myself against it, taking a deep breath. Then I crack it open a hair and listen. Only when I’m satisfied no one is moving about do I step inside.

  I must bandage up my knee. Otherwise I’ll never be able to sleep. Dar’s cool form wrapped around it has helped, but not enough. In the kitchen, I hunt for Miranda’s bowls and bandages and poultices that I saw the day I arrived. I find a few of the things I need, then give up on the rest. After I fill a bowl with water from the basin, I settle onto a chair.

  Exhaustion crawls over me. I never want to get up. I don’t even want to lift my fingers so much as to clean the wound.

  Let me help you, Dar says. Her shape writhes and contracts, settling over me in a shape and size identical to mine. When my hand reaches for a cloth, she reaches with me. Because of my magic, she bears a small amount of the burden too.

  It isn’t much, but at least it’s something. And I’m grateful for that.

  Wincing at the touch of the wet cloth to my knee, we keep at it until the dirt and grime are gone. As quickly as I can, I bind it up with a bandage. When I’m satisfied with my work, I rinse out the bowl, then dry it carefully and put it back where I found it.

  With any luck, Miranda will never know the difference.

  • • •

  Morning wakes me with sleepy bands of light peeking between the curtains of the guest room. I yawn and stretch and swing my legs over the edge of the bed.

  My breath hisses between my teeth.

  I’d forgotten all about my knee. My discarded clothes are in a pile on the floor where I threw them last night. They’re stained with mud. A trail of dirt tracks in from the door.

  Heat flashes over my face. If Lucas or his parents see this, they’ll know I left the house last night.

  We can’t risk that, Dar says.

  “No, we definitely cannot.”

  Hurriedly, I shove the dirty clothes under my bed. I’ll have to figure out a way to wash them later. I won’t be getting my new dress until tomorrow. I grab a towel from the closet to clean my face in the wash basin then begin scrubbing the floor. Only when the last trace of mud has been removed do I breathe easier again.

  I put on a clean but too-large dress, and head for the kitchen. My stomach rumbles. All that walking last night has made me frightfully hungry this morning. The smell of perfectly golden biscuits and scrambled eggs greets me from down the hall, and my feet follow my nose right to it.

  The family gathers around the table, but they are oddly silent today. I sit in my chair and reach for a biscuit, only realizing that they all stare at me when it plops on my plate. A cold, hard knot tightens in my gut. Dar hisses in my ear.

  “What—what’s wrong?” I ask. A wave of dizzine
ss hits me and I’m grateful to be sitting down. My fingernails dig into my knees.

  Lucas’s parents exchange an unreadable glance. Not angry, but…curious? Annoyed? My pulse spikes.

  “Emmeline,” Miranda says carefully. “Have you—did you, by any chance, go outside last night?”

  I pause midbite.

  You mustn’t tell them a thing. Pretend you know nothing about it. They must not know about the ritual.

  I am sure my face betrays me, but I frown. “No. Why?” I swallow the biscuit, and its buttery flavor curdles in my mouth.

  Another hesitant exchange of looks.

  They suspect, Dar whispers. Tell them you sleepwalk. If someone saw you it’s the perfect excuse.

  I glance down at my plate, unable to meet their eyes. “At least, not that I know of. I have been known to sleepwalk sometimes.”

  They relax, and Miranda even lets out a low chuckle. “Well, that would explain it. You do look very tired and pale for so early in the day. It seems you went somewhere quite muddy last night. The kitchen floor was covered in it when I woke up, and dirty footprints led right up to your door.”

  My mind races, and I gape at the floor. It is pristine now, and I don’t recall seeing any footprints in the hall.

  She pats my arm. “Don’t worry, I cleaned it up already.”

  “I helped too,” Lucas says. “Where do you think you went?”

  I do my best to shrug it off, but an undercurrent of fear pins me to my chair. “Oh, I don’t know. If I was muddy, maybe I went to the river.”

  Alfred’s head jerks up, alarm written on his face. “Do you sleepwalk often?”

  I shake my head, not wanting to make things worse. “No. I’m sorry. I must have been more restless than I realized last night after the excitement at the market.”

  “Are you sure? We can take precautions, you know, put a few more locks on the doors. Maybe some bells to make it more likely you’ll wake up before you get outside.”

  The knot in my stomach tightens further. “No please, don’t trouble yourselves. I’m sure it was just a one-time thing.” The last thing I need is to set off a string of bells while I sneak out in the middle of the night.

  Alfred doesn’t seem fully satisfied with this answer, but Miranda piles more eggs onto his plate, and he lets it go.

  I push my food around with a fork, my appetite waning. I have spent so much time with Dar and her suspicions that it seems incredible Lucas and his parents believe my lie. They are so trusting and open, so different from what I’m used to. They live in the light, while all I’ve ever known is shadows.

  I will have to be more cautious and secretive than ever now so I don’t lose that trust.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After two recent encounters with the guards, Alfred and Miranda have instructed us to stay close and not venture out to the field where I first glimpsed Lucas. They aren’t even letting us fetch water alone. Lucas assures me this is temporary, that they get like this every once in a while, but I can’t dispel the lingering sense of guilt that the guards are here for me. Dar’s suspicions about their reasons have nearly reached a fever pitch, and I find myself tuning out her remarks more often than not over the course of the morning. It is so much easier to be around Lucas and his light these days than Dar and her dark suggestions.

  After Lucas and I finish our chores around the house, we’re allowed to go out into the backyard and play. We have both been dying to practice our talents.

  We run out into the open yard, the trees standing guard around us and swaying in the breeze. Lucas doesn’t even hesitate; he sings forth his light and begins to shape it. His hands move with the beams as he sings, changing their shape and making them dance across the yard like sparks skittering over the grass. Meanwhile, I pull my shadows close and mold them into a frame over our heads that resembles the gazebos we had on my estate. I take a seat in the shadow swing and kick my legs, the better to watch Lucas’s fireworks.

  Lucas stops what he is doing and stares at me, slack-jawed.

  “How did you do that?” he asks, wonder written on his face. I blush, surprised by his question.

  “What do you mean?”

  “How did you make your shadows into something tangible like that?”

  “You mean you can’t do that with your light?” It never occurred to me that this might be unusual. But hidden away as I was in a mansion without so much as chores to keep me busy, I suppose I have had a lot more time to practice my craft than most talented people.

  “No,” he says, walking around the smoky gazebo to admire my work. “That’s amazing.” He pokes at the shadows, and his hand springs back.

  Now it is my turn to be surprised.

  “You can touch it too?” While I have made many things out of shadow, I don’t believe anyone else has ever tried to touch them. I assumed only I could.

  Lucas laughs. “I guess I can.”

  “Maybe it only works like that for talented people like us,” I say, marveling.

  “Will you show me how to do it with my light?” Lucas asks. “Please?”

  Must he know all your secrets? Dar whines. Next thing you know, you’ll be telling him about me, and he’ll think you’re crazy like everyone else back on the estate.

  A tiny hint of worry wheedles its way into my brain, but I push it down. Helping Lucas work on his magic is not the same as telling him about Dar. I fear she is beginning to get a little jealous of the time I spend with other people, but there’s no help for it. I live in their house, and there is little opportunity to be alone except at night. And I enjoy my time with Lucas too—I won’t let Dar dampen the happiness of it.

  “I can certainly try,” I say, grinning back at Lucas.

  He moves to stand in front of me with an eager gleam in his eyes. “All right, where do I start?”

  How do I make the shadows tangible enough to hold my weight? I wave a hand and the shadow gazebo dissolves, but I keep the shadows close at hand to use again.

  “Let me see…” I weave the shadows together into something simple. A length of rope. I notice that in the back of my head, I am thinking about it becoming solid. I’ve done this for so long without realizing it that it has become second nature to me. “First, call your light to you. Then as you mold it, focus on increasing its mass. I tend to think of my shadows as tacky usually, but I’ve made rope that has held my weight before. It’s how I escaped from my parents’ estate.”

  Lucas looks at me with a sort of awe that forces my eyes to the ground. I don’t know how to respond to someone regarding me in such a way, especially after babbling on about my shadow weaving.

  “Go ahead,” I say, not yet looking up. “You try it.”

  He begins to sing and his light responds. He tries to twist it into bands first, but they remain as ephemeral as before. His hand passes right through them, and his song cuts off.

  “Maybe it would help to try something that would normally be solid? Like a rope?”

  Lucas’s face, discouraged moments before, brightens. “Of course, that makes sense.”

  “And be sure to keep thinking about how solid it is as you shape it.” Hopefully my advice will help and not discourage him further.

  He makes another attempt, and another, but he seems to have trouble molding the light into a specific object. I’ve only seen him turn it into bands or orbs or a diffuse cloud so far.

  After the third attempt, Lucas sinks onto the grass, frustrated, and begins to yank up the green blades fistfuls at a time. The light that usually animates him seems to fade. I want to help him bring it back.

  “Why don’t you try closing your eyes while you do it? And picture the light turning into pieces of twine? Start small. Just a little bit of light at first, then build from there.”

  Maybe he just isn’t as good as you, Emmeline, Dar says with a yawn. I can te
ll she is getting bored already. I’ll have to practice more of my own craft soon so she’ll have a chance to play too.

  “Is that how you do it?” he asks. “Visualize like that?”

  “Yes, I think so. I barely remember when I began to make my shadows have more heft to them, but visualizing should help.”

  “All right, fine. I’ll try one more time,” Lucas says. He gets to his feet again, dusting off his trousers and brushing the dirt from his hands.

  This time when he sings, he closes his eyes, and his entire face is filled with light. It dances over his cheeks and eyelashes like gold dust sparkling in the sun. Next to him, Dar creeps along the ground to tangle with his shadow. All I had before meeting Lucas and his family was darkness; I never knew how much I also craved the light. It gives a sharper shape to my shadows. I need them both.

  Shadows alone are no longer enough.

  I watch Lucas’s light shift from the usual band into something different this time: a thin golden coil of rope, twisting in the air before us. I clap my hands, and he opens his eyes wide.

  “I did it!” he says, laughing. When he reaches out, the rope gives resistance, and he lets out a whoop. He grabs my hand and swings me around in a circle, the rope dangling in the air between us. I throw my head back and laugh with him, filled with light and shadow and hope.

  Now that Lucas’s attention has strayed, his rope doesn’t last for long, dissolving into the sunbeams. But it’s a start. A very good start indeed.

  • • •

  We spend most of the afternoon working on our talents together, and Lucas makes great progress in making his light more tangible. The sun is almost all the way across the sky when Miranda ventures out to pick vegetables for dinner. She smiles when she sees us using our talents together. I’ve remade my shadow gazebo from earlier, and Lucas has draped gleaming ropes of light around the edges.

  “I see you two are getting along quite famously,” she says. “At least some of us are having a good day. Your father has spent the whole afternoon wearing out the floorboards in his study.”

  She kneels by the garden and sighs, bracing herself momentarily on one of the planks edging the vegetable patch. Lucas hurries over.