Shadowshaper

by Daniel José Older

  “What’s wrong with you, sis?” Juan panted as they dashed down a greasy alleyway and stopped to catch their breath.

  “That voice, calling my name,” Sierra said. She rubbed her eyes, trying to clear her head. The gravelly voice spoke her name like a native Spanish speaker would, a light roll of the Rs leading into the clipped A. It didn’t matter. The beast could be Puerto Rican all day long, it was still a horrible, lurking, festering …

  “What voice?”

  Footsteps clomped toward them. Terror exploded through Sierra. She couldn’t think straight, couldn’t slow her heart, could barely breathe. She closed her eyes.

  “They’re coming,” Juan whispered. “We gotta do something!”

  “How many?”

  “Two.”

  “The bigger one?”

  “No. They’re both skinny. Sierra, we need to —”

  “There’s … something else …” Waves of nausea crashed over her. She fumbled in her pockets, praying her fingers would miraculously close around some chalk that Robbie had snuck her when she wasn’t looking. Instead, she found the pen Juan had used to scribble the words of the song. It would have to do. Somewhere beyond it all, the ocean was still beckoning, a distant and urgent cry, but the terrible voice saying Sierra’s name drowned out almost everything else. The throng haint was getting closer. She knelt down.

  “What are you doing?” Juan demanded.

  “I’m … trying” — Sierra scratched furiously at the wooden boardwalk with the ballpoint pen, but only a few broken lines came out — “to make something I can shadowshape with.”

  In the corner of her eye, Sierra could see Juan pulling on his fingers and shaking his head at her. “Sierra, we ain’t got time for that right now. C’mon.”

  She finally put together some semblance of a figure and raised her left hand in the air, trying to ignore how much it was trembling.

  “Sierra!” Juan whispered.

  She touched the drawing and closed her eyes. Nothing happened. A few seconds passed. The footsteps came closer.

  “I gotta do something,” Juan said. “Can’t just wait here for them to come get us.” Before Sierra could stop him, he pulled out his pocket blade and ran onto the boardwalk.

  “No!” Sierra slammed her hand on the drawing and felt the jolt of spirit flood through her. The figure bolted from beneath her fingers and skittered out on the boardwalk.

  The whisper got louder. Sierra! Sierra! The throng haint was coming.

  On the boardwalk, two corpuscules barreled toward Juan. Sierra recognized one as the guy from outside Kalfour. The other she hadn’t seen before. Juan crouched, blade ready. Just before they reached him, Sierra’s shadowshaped figure slid across the planks and then up the first corpuscule’s pant leg. It etched itself like a sudden scar across its face. The corpuscule reared back, hands splayed, and Juan took the opportunity to shoulder-check it. It collapsed backward, but the second corpuscule lurched toward Juan.

  Juan stopped in his tracks. “Mr. Raconteur!” he gasped. “I … What are you … doing?”

  “No!” Sierra yelled. “Juan, it’s not him, it’s a corpuscule! Run!”

  Sierra. The throng haint’s voice sent spasms through her stomach. She looked up; the corpuscule swung at Juan. A flash of bright color splattered across its face. The corpuscule let out a guttural cry and toppled over, clawing at his eyes. The first corpuscule rose from where Juan had shoved it, just as Robbie stepped out from a pile of old boxes and raised one hand in front him, palm out.

  Juan looked stunned. “Robbie, what are you …?”

  Robbie yelled, and Sierra saw the tattoos surge forward along his arm and flash through the air. The corpuscule stumbled backward, waving his hands in front of his suddenly color-stained face, then fell to its knees, screaming. Robbie’s ancestors swirled viciously around the neck of Raconteur’s corpuscule. They were a colorful blur against the pale flesh, a raised ax, a swinging machete. The corpuscule scrambled to its feet, took two steps, and then dropped.

  SIERRA!

  Sierra almost collapsed from the sudden ferocity of the voice. The ocean, the perfect endless ocean, was her only hope. She didn’t understand that thought, couldn’t even think logically anymore. All she knew to do was get away from that horrible voice and make it to the water.

  The corpuscules lay still. Robbie turned around and smiled at Juan and Sierra.

  “Not bad,” Juan said.

  Robbie nodded, and then his eyes met Sierra’s. “Sierra, what’s wrong?”

  SIERRRRAAA!!

  The throng haint was upon her. About to pounce.

  Sierra broke into a run and burst across the boardwalk, out onto the milky darkness of the beach.

  Sierra’s feet pounded over the sand. The crashing waves grew closer, and yet the throng haint stayed tight behind her. She could hear its heavy footfall and ragged breath, even more real now than it had been that night in Flatbush. It was a hulking monster and it was only a few feet away. Her own breath came shorter and shorter, a knot tightening inside her chest.

  “Sierra! Sierra, it’s me!”

  She would keep running, into the ocean if necessary. She thought maybe, just maybe, she had gained some distance on it.

  “It’s Manny, Sierra! Wait!”

  Sierra stopped, the crashing waves only a few feet away. She turned around. Manny the Domino King stood about ten feet away, panting. He looked like hell — his mouth half open as he gasped for air; dark, yellowish splotches beneath his eyes; and a few days’ worth of stubble crescenting the lower half of his face. Worse, his normally brown skin had faded to dull gray, like he’d been underground for months. Sierra shuddered.

  Manny took a step toward her, and she took a step back. “Sierra.” He looked hurt. “It’s me! Don’t … Just calm down, please.”

  Sierra shook her head. Tears poured out of her eyes before she could stop them. “I know what you are, Manny. I know that thing is inside you.”

  “I know, Sierra. Just give me a chance to explain, please.” Another step forward. Sierra held still, narrowing her eyes. “I’ll explain everything.”

  Everything. Just the idea of someone explaining everything made her slightly delirious with hope. If someone could explain everything, that meant that everything actually had an explanation. Even if the answers came from a creepy, corpselike version of her friend. “What do you know?”

  “There’s so much, Sierra. Your family, old Lázaro …”

  “Now you wanna talk, Manny? After everything?”

  “He … was a powerful sorcerer, Sierra.”

  “Stay back!”

  Suddenly, Manny was much closer to her than she had realized. It hadn’t even seemed like he was moving. “And you’ve led us right to Lucera, haven’t you?” His voice was different now, all hints of Spanish gone. Sierra realized something was dancing in Manny’s eyes besides his usual mischievous charm. Something …

  “Such a shame,” many voices sobbed mockingly from Manny’s bluish lips. His thick fingers wrapped around her left wrist, pulling her forward. “You’ll have to join the rest of them.” Tiny screaming mouths erupted along his gray flesh like welts.

  Sierra’s breath caught in her throat. Nausea flooded up inside her, and then the pain, the searing burn that shredded up and down her body that she remembered from Flatbush. Everything started moving slowly. She was vaguely aware of swinging her right fist at Manny’s face as she wrenched her other arm free. Her punch found its mark but barely seemed to daze him. His skin was cool and rough to the touch.

  There was no plan, just sheer terror. The only thing left was the ocean. The crashing waves were only a few feet away. Sierra threw her body to the side just as Manny lurched toward her. She almost fell, put one hand on the beach to steady herself, and then sprinted forward.

  With her first stride, she felt the spirits surround her. Her second stride seemed longer; she hovered in the air for a split second before landing and then hurtling toward the sea
. Tall, long-armed shadows sprinted alongside her in a thick, humming crowd — the same spirits from the park the night before. Their song rose and fell in gentle crescendos that matched the waves lashing along the sand.

  Ooooooooooooooooooohhhhh!!

  Sierra became acutely aware of a gentle harmony rising among her racing heart, her footsteps thumping along the beach, the swirling tide, the chorus of spirits, the moon … A whole symphony of escape took shape in the night.

  Okay, she thought. I know what I have to do.

  As if in response, a surge of energy welled up inside of her. She imagined a bright light flashing from some hidden chamber of her heart, pulsing in time with the spirits’ lights. Without thinking about it, she pivoted off her left foot and threw herself out over the water.

  She didn’t realize her eyes were squeezed shut until she opened them. Then there she was, gliding along three feet above the ocean, spirits all around her. She opened her mouth and screamed as loud as she could, releasing the great wave of joy and exultation that was bursting inside of her, but the wind swallowed up her voice. The spirits’ song had become laughter, or some joyful hymn, and the shadows swooped and dove along beside her. Some of them sped across the waters like rain clouds on the way to work. Others were taller and human-shaped; their long arms swayed to either side of them as their legs shot out in fast arcs over the waves. Each pulsed with the same glowing light that they had in the park. The lights grew brighter as they sped away from the shore.

  Up ahead, the moonlit patch of water seemed to froth with anticipation. Sierra could almost hear it calling as they raced along. Then, all of a sudden, they were hovering over the shimmering moon’s reflection, waves thundering around them. The shadow procession formed a wide circle around Sierra, their dark faces turned expectantly toward her.

  “Lucera!” Sierra called into the water. “I’ve come for you! I need your help!”

  Some seagulls flew past, cawing in the dark sky above them. The ocean thundered on, oblivious to Sierra’s plea.

  “Lucera!” she called again, her voice barely audible in the wind.

  The water might have been getting brighter; it was hard to tell. Sierra squinted into the shifting luminescence of the moon’s reflection, trying to adjust her eyes, and then she was sure of it: A glow was rising beneath her. “Lucera.” This time, she said it quietly.

  A bright circle of light beamed out of the ocean, filling her with warmth and energy. Still hovering over the crashing waves, Sierra reached down toward the water. All around, the spirits hummed their harmonious spirituals and murmured quietly to one another, their glow pulsing in time with the shimmer growing in the dark waters.

  When a sparkling hand emerged from the ocean, Sierra nearly toppled over with surprise. The hand surged upward, finding Sierra’s, and wrapped around it. It was warm to the touch and seemed to buzz with a gentle electrical charge. Sierra pulled. The light grew stronger and then erupted in a bright flash.

  Sierra felt her body fly upward. She heard herself scream, and then that was drowned out by the shriek of the wind as she soared even higher. Something very warm was pressed up against her back, a golden glow wrapped tightly around her waist. She closed her eyes as they slowed.

  “Open your eyes.” Lucera’s voice was warm and scratchy, as if she was smiling.

  Sierra shook her head. “I’m good.”

  “Sierra.”

  She cracked one lid open. Darkness and a few sprinkles of light. She opened both eyes all the way.

  Sierra gasped. Brooklyn stretched out before her in blinking avenues and cross streets, interrupted by the thorough emptiness of the East River and then the New York Bay. Whatever spirit magic had heightened her senses in the park the night before must’ve been in full throttle now: To her left, Manhattan was a mess of rising and falling towers, crisscrossing spotlights, traffic signals, and blinking advertisements. Farther up, the Bronx and Queens dwindled into the northern suburbs. Coney Island twinkled beneath them, and behind them, the Atlantic Ocean reached its vast darkness into the night.

  They spun in slow circles, giving Sierra the full panorama.

  “Look at me, m’ija.”

  M’ija? Sierra turned and gazed up at Lucera.

  “Mama Carmen?” she said. The skin around the old spirit’s eyes creased as she blinked away sparkling tears. Lucera was, without a doubt, Sierra’s grandmother. “You … you’re …”

  They began descending in a slow spin toward the shore, the shadow spirits forming a graceful entourage. Sierra opened her mouth but nothing came out. All her questions, all her hopes and fears — they were all gone, scattered in the salty night air. For a few seconds, the two just stared at each other as the shadows danced around them.

  “Sierra …” Carmen said it slowly, as if she didn’t want the name to crumble on her lips. “Sierra María Santiago.”

  Sierra nodded.

  “You have come. I knew you would.”

  “Abuela.”

  Mama Carmen’s face opened into a stunning smile. It burned out at Sierra through a golden haze of light.

  “You’re Lucera.”

  The old woman nodded; shiny tears streamed along the lines of her face.

  “All this time and … all my life …” Sierra’s voice trembled. She felt her own tears coming and forced them back.

  Carmen raised one of her hands, gliding toward Sierra. “Let me see your left hand, m’ija.”

  “No!” Sierra drew back. The spirits stopped their circles and watched.

  “What is it? I want to see …”

  “No,” Sierra said again, quieter this time. She stared into her abuela’s ancient face. “You’re no better than Lázaro. You … just left me out in the world with no idea about all … all this. All my life … I have to get back. I have to help my friends.”

  Mama Carmen nodded, her face tightening into that stern glare Sierra remembered so well. She turned to the retinue of shadows around them. “A la playa,” she said softly. They descended faster now, the wind wailing around them. The spirits all pulsed in time with the same glowing rhythm. It surrounded Sierra, lit up the entire night. Mama Carmen was literally the beating heart of the shadowshaper world. A few shadows flitted ahead toward the shore.

  “I’ll get you to your friends,” Mama Carmen said. “But the spirits will get there first, to help them. Now, Sierra, m’ija, please. Let me see your hand.”

  Sierra shook her head. “Why didn’t you ever tell me about the shadowshapers? And then you just disappeared — you abandoned us. All of us.”

  Carmen sighed. “No, m’ija. I wanted so badly to … You don’t understand.”

  “You’re right. I don’t understand. Not at all. And no one seems to want to tell me, Abuela … Lucera.”

  “You can call me Abuela. I’m still your abuela, Sierra.”

  “And I’m out here and I have no idea how to help my friends or myself or anyone else. Because you never told me! You just got mad at Abuelo because he initiated Wick, right? And then you took off?”

  Carmen closed her eyes and lowered her head. “No.”

  Sierra tried to hold her face tight, but tears kept teasing the edges of her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “The fight wasn’t over Wick. Of course, I was furious that he’d done it, especially after I’d told him again and again not to trust that man. But that wasn’t why I left. That fight was over you.”

  “Me?”

  “Of course, m’ija. I wanted to bring you into the fold as soon as you were born, but Láz refused.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’d already tried once with someone else and it hadn’t gone well …”

  For a few seconds, all Sierra heard was the wind whipping around them as they slid gracefully through the sky. She closed her eyes. “Mami.”

  “Yes, your mother.” Carmen shook her head. “Maybe I started her too young, who knows? She was fourteen. We stood on that very shore, all the spirits of our ancestors danc
ing around us like they are now. I know she saw them — I watched her eyes chart their dancing paths over the water. But she turned her back on me. She called me crazy, said she never wanted to hear about it again. You know how folks just want to fit in, to be normal. I think she held me and Láz at a distance ever since that day.”

  “No wonder she gets so tense when I bring up shadowshaping.”

  Mama Carmen sighed. “I can only imagine. And Rosa was even worse — we didn’t even bother trying.”

  “Good,” Sierra growled.

  “When you were born, I … Of course María wouldn’t hear of me bringing you into it, and Lázaro was dead set against it too; by that time he was convinced shadowshaping was for men. Never mind that he was saying that to me, of all people.”

  “So what happened?”

  “After Láz brought in Wick against my advice, I was through with all of it. He was more than ready to initiate this stranger and keep his own granddaughter in the dark about our family legacy. This was after my physical body had already passed, mind you. So I went into your room late one night, and while you slept, I gifted you the power to shadowshape, m’ija.”

  Sierra couldn’t stop the tears flowing down her face. She nodded slowly, felt her abuela’s words seep inside her, settle in her bones. Finally, the truth. “And Abuelo found out?”

  “Found out? Ha! I told him. He was beside himself with rage, and he banished me.” Carmen rolled her eyes.

  “Banished? But … you’re more powerful than he is, how could he …?”

  “Ah, Sierra. You can’t heal someone who doesn’t want to be healed. Maybe I should’ve stayed and fought, but … it would’ve been terrible. Imagine a shadowshaper civil war with a husband and wife heading up each side.” She shook her head. “The tradition never would’ve survived. He grew so stubborn in his old age, your abuelo. So hardened. So I came here; the ocean is a sanctuary for all ancestral spirits.”

  “Where lonely women go to dance.”

  Carmen smiled the saddest smile Sierra had ever seen. “I used to sing your mother to sleep with that every night when she was a child, just like my mother, your great-grandmother, Cantara Cebilín Colibrí, used to sing to me, and her mother, María, whom your mom was named after, sang to her. It’s an old shadowshaper prayer. The details change from generation to generation, across time and place, but its deeper secret stays the same.”