Shadowshaper Legacy

by Daniel José Older

  A chorus of angry jeers rose up from the Bloodhaüs.

  “Invaded our privacy, kept us in check. Never offered to share the Deck. Even the House of Light, for all their treachery, gave other houses an opportunity to borrow the Deck when they became emergent. Do you people see this?”

  More jeering and hoots.

  “And now you want things to be fair? Ha. Should’ve thought of that when you were hunting us down and tormenting us. Now you’ll see what fair looks like.”

  “What’s your point, Dake?”

  “You already know what my point is, Sierra. You have two days. I’m sure you can only begin to imagine the disgusting dark corners of the Internet that I’m in touch with. I don’t have to dirty any of my own people’s hands with the blood of your loved ones. All I have to do is post their information in the right place and let the gritty underworld do its thing.”

  Sierra pushed back another round of shuddering nausea. He would pay, he would pay, he would pay … one way or another, somehow … that was all she could cling on to.

  “Oh, and you can have him back, now that I got your attention.” Dake signaled the two men holding Anthony, and they shoved him forward. “But don’t forget. Iron House is no more, of course.” The guy with the phone raised it, clicked a picture of Anthony as he walked across the dusty lot toward Sierra. “So he’s on the list too. Got it? Clear? Any questions?”

  Anthony reached her, and they exchanged the slightest of nods before he turned and faced the House of Blood and Iron beside her. She was glad he’d opted against any dramatics. They could have their soppiness later; right now, they were still mid-battle.

  Sierra slowed her breathing again. Narrowed her eyes. “You know what the other emergent house is, beside yours, right? The one you just brought one step closer to Dominance by eliminating the Iron House?”

  “Hm?”

  “Do you? Ah … you don’t. You don’t have the Almanac, do you? Well, I’ll tell you, before we leave. Consider it a gift, as Old Crane used to say. It’s not a house at all. It’s the Reaper. All five cards. The Reaper.”

  There it was. That tiny twitch on his face. That was all she needed. The day, the horrible, horrible day, hadn’t been a complete waste after all.

  Dake recovered quickly. “All that means is we’ll need to join together to face what comes next. So the sooner we get all this unpleasantness behind us and you hand over the Deck, the sooner we can see about fighting this common enemy that’s obviously coming to get us. See? I can play well with others.”

  “Go to hell, Dake.”

  Sierra and Anthony kept their eyes on Dake as they walked backward toward the stacks of ruined cars where their friends waited.

  Once, a long time ago, when we were all very young, and the echoes of this bombardment or that still echoed through the warm Caribbean breeze, a girl walked amidst the deep forest with Death at her side.

  Her name was Cantara Cebilín Colibrí (but most people just called her Cebi) and she did what she wanted, just like her mother, María Cantara. And one day, she would take on the title of Lucera, just like her mother.

  But until that day, she would wander, and the forest and the warriors and gardeners and healers and storytellers all around her would be her protectors and keep her safe. They would, and so would Death, of course.

  No one else could see Death, and that was just fine with Cebi. He would appear beside her as she hacked her way through the forest, a towering figure in a black robe, and he would move silently amongst the trees and flowers, and Cebi would tell him about her day, about her fears and doubts, about the world around her.

  There were so many spirits in El Yunque. They gathered around whenever Cebi and Death went off on their adventures. They followed behind in a shimmering parade — some were people once, some animals, some had been other kinds of creatures entirely. They hovered around the campsite, coming to visit on celebration nights, when people would play music or tell stories, and they would inhabit the melodies, bring the winding tales to life, dance around within the small stick-and-mud sculptures and beaded clothes.

  María Cantara had taught Cebi how to send the spirits streaming through her body and into whatever she wanted to bring to life, just as Death had taught María Cantara. This is our legacy, she said, smiling. This is our life.

  It was how they fought off the different armies that had threatened their forest sanctuary, how they’d beaten back the forces of La Contessa, Cebi’s abuela, who lived in a palace not far away and was constantly trying to destroy their small community.

  The spirits had always been Cebi’s friends, her protectors along with everyone else, and she welcomed the illuminated shadows whenever they showed up.

  Except now.

  Today, on this strange, breezy afternoon, as she traipsed along through the forest with Death at her side, a spirit she had never seen before appeared in the clearing ahead. He limped, flinching with each tiny movement, and Cebi could tell that something was wrong with his skin, even from far away. She hesitated, but Death was beside her, and she knew he would never let anything bad happen to her.

  Come, the spirit beckoned. I bring news from the palace.

  As she approached, she could see the man’s flesh was raw and exposed, the way her mother’s was on half of her face. Except it was like that everywhere: bristling pink and white and bloody. He wore only a torn loincloth, and he trembled with fever, even in death.

  A steadying skeletal hand landed on Cebi’s shoulder. She looked up at the towering form, then turned her attention back to the spirit.

  La Contessa, he wheezed, she builds a new army, a new … system … tried to make me a part of it, one of the five … I refused. I could never … you must warn the others … El Tuerco remains loyal … he sent me … he says you must … fight … The spirit stumbled, coughed. Cebi stepped forward, hands raised to help him, but he flinched away.

  I … cannot … I have done so much wrong in this world … I must … And without another word, he stumbled into the shadows of the trees.

  Cebi glanced up at Death and then hurried back to the campsite to warn her parents.

  There, amidst the small houses and bonfires, she found everyone already preparing for battle. All across the campsite, young and old alike squatted in front of each other, painting half skulls over their faces in honor of their leader, María Cantara.

  In the middle of it all, a group of gruff mountain men who Cebi had never seen before were arguing with her father, Barancoa. It wasn’t the kind of argument that ended in blows, but it wasn’t a diplomatic one either. All the men carried machetes; some had rifles too.

  You have allied with our enemy, Barancoa said solemnly. The same armies who slaughtered our people. We cannot fight by their side.

  Do you think we had a choice? their leader demanded. Our alliance is one made out of necessity. And we need your help. The Americans will rout us and destroy us all. If we defeat them, then we can band together and crush the Spanish and kick them out for good, eh?

  Barancoa had been just a boy when a Spanish noble had whisked him away from one of the few surviving Taíno townships and forced him to serve him hand and foot as he traveled across the island, brokering deals and signing treaties he would soon break. Barancoa had been eleven when their small caravan had stopped at a remote palace in El Yunque so the nobleman could make amends with a wicked and deranged sorceress. He had seen the whole world burst into flames as a young girl became an inferno.

  And he had fallen unstoppably in love.

  He had also never forgotten what the Spanish had done to his people. I’m sorry, he said. The shadowshapers have vowed never to assist the Spanish, and these are vows that cannot be broken. We are against all empires everywhere. Punto.

  You are against empires, and yet you just want to cower in your mountain hideaway while the rest of us do the hard work of actually fighting against those empires, another man spat, and Cantara Cebilín felt her fists clenching. She hated him for
speaking to her father that way, but she hated him even more because some part of her felt that he might have a point. What if the Americans did take over? Would they be any better than the Spanish? There was no way to know, not really, and there were no right answers.

  Basta, a voice said, and then María Cantara stepped from the shadows of the camp and all the mountain men froze. There were rumors about this woman with half a face, this powerful spirit worker with her crew of warriors and storytellers, but few had ever seen her. We sympathize with your struggle, she said, placing a hand on her husband’s shoulder. And we respect the road you have chosen, even if we cannot share it with you.

  But — their leader began. María Cantara silenced him with a glance.

  We can, however, distract and contain La Contessa for you. I have already ordered our forces to prepare for an all-out assault. The Americans, I understand, have been relying on her powers to some extent, and I know there have been reports of … unusual happenings out in the battlefield, hm?

  Yes! a man said from the back of the group. As we retreated from Coamo, I saw a terrible creature moving through the enemy forces — it walked like a man but taller and hunched over, with long hairy arms and great gnashing teeth.

  ¡Ay, boberias! cried another man. This is useless.

  It’s true, said a third. A man made completely of fire attacked our ranks at Mayagüez! There was no stopping that devil, and we barely made it out alive.

  The leader turned to María Cantara and Barancoa. Whatever the truth is — we are in retreat and heading for Asomante, where we will dig in and prepare for a final battle. He looked infinitely sad for a few seconds, like the whole terrible thrust of what was coming flashed before his weary eyes. Anything you can do to hold off La Contessa’s powers will help, I’m sure.

  I understand, María Cantara said. We will do what we can. She held Barancoa close as the soldiers turned and walked away through the trees.

  Cebi ran up to her parents, told them about the spirit she had met in the woods. The two exchanged a serious glance. We march at midnight, María Cantara said.

  Many years before you were born, I made a promise to Death, María Cantara told her daughter as she put the finishing touches of skull paint on her face. They had pushed through the forest up a steep mountainside toward the palace, and now waited, making final preparations as the rest of their troops caught up.

  Cebi glanced to her left, where she knew Death could be found at any given moment. He floated along beside her as always. Go on.

  I promised you to him, m’ija. La Contessa sent him to take my life, and I promised you to him instead. It was brash, and I was only a child at the time, even younger than you are today. Still. I should not have so quickly gambled away your life.

  Well, you didn’t really, did you?

  María Cantara smiled in her crooked way, and Cebi felt like there was no way she could love her mother any more. She wanted to be just like her when she got older. Even though the night seemed so terrible, and only danger lay ahead, here she was reminiscing and smiling.

  Correct. It’s just, when I say it out loud, to your face, m’ija … you know. When you were born, Death showed up, as if to collect you. I told him that I had made no promises about when he could take you.

  And Death comes for everyone, Cebi finished for her. Eventually.

  I like to think that Death knew what I was thinking, all those years ago, like it was a little joke we were both in on. But the truth is, I believe there is a greater importance to that promise than even I can fully understand. I tell you all this to say: There will be a day when Death comes for you, and when that day comes, you are to go lovingly, without a fight. But that’s only for Death, you understand? Until that day, you fight like hell.

  What if … what if Death has already come for me? He had, after all, been with her all along, for as far back as she could remember.

  Maybe he has, María Cantara said with a wink. He certainly never came back to visit me after that day. But I know he watches over our family, over all of us. We wield his powers, after all. There is a part of him in all we do.

  Cebi again peeked over at Death, who glided along silently, empty eyes on the dark forest ahead.

  A smash of thunder echoed across the sky, and then the sound of laughter erupted all around them. A woman’s voice, shrill and unkind. María Cantara turned quickly, grabbing her daughter by the shoulders and crouching down. A small tear glimmered at the edge of her one good eye. The ruined half of her face shone in the moonlight, tight scar tissue and glints of bone. Cebi loved that her mother never covered up the scar tissue, never acted ashamed or afraid of what others would think.

  M’ija, she said in a choked whisper. It is worse out there than we had thought and … Her voice trailed off.

  Maybe Cebi should never have told her what the flayed ghost had said. Then they could’ve just gone along like they would’ve, and maybe they wouldn’t be where they were, with whatever was about to happen being about to happen.

  Mami, she said, barely concealing the sob.

  I’m so sorry that there wasn’t more time for me to teach you what all this means. I pray that future generations who carry on our legacy always take the time to pass on our teachings. For now, I must leave you with only this parting gift until I see you again.

  She placed her hand on her daughter’s head. Close your eyes, my love. And whatever you do, don’t follow me. Live a long and beautiful life, m’ija. This is all I ask.

  What? Mami, I don’t under —

  Close your eyes. There isn’t much time.

  Cebi did as she was told. Her mom’s palm was warm on her forehead. And then light erupted through her, a glorious, overpowering burst of unstoppable illumination that seemed to cleanse away every shadow and doubt.

  Ven a los cuatro caminos, a los cuatro caminos ven, her mother sang softly, and Cantara Cebilín smelled fresh soil and garlic cooking not far away, and her whole body burned with the power of her mother’s light, which was now her own light, which was the light of the whole world.

  Lucera, her mother said. My parting gift is a name, and a legacy. I love you. She kissed Cebi’s face, and then she turned and walked away, through the clearing and directly toward the portico of the palace up ahead, which was now illuminated with torchlights from a bustling horde.

  Mami, Cebi whispered.

  Her father broke from the trees and ran up to his wife. She paused; they embraced. More cackling shattered the thick summer night around them.

  Stop her, Cebi demanded, grabbing Death by his robes. They’ll kill her. Death did not move, though.

  Alone once more, María Cantara marched right up to the waiting group of figures. An ancient woman in a ball gown stood on the balcony of the palace, watching. La Contessa. She nodded at someone in the crowd below. There was a sudden motion, the crack of a rifle, and María Cantara collapsed. Cantara Cebilín opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. A shimmering figure now moved among the torchlit masses. María Cantara’s ghost. She marched straight through them and vanished into the palace.

  Finally, the shriek erupted out of Cantara Cebilín’s throat. It felt like a snake was trying to free itself from inside her, like the scream would tear her in half, like the whole world had ended as her mother’s body hit the earth. Around her, the shadowshaper army advanced through the trees, closing in on the bristling hordes.

  The old woman had disappeared from the balcony, but now three figures burned like human torches in the midst of the palace horde. The Sorrows. They surged forward, scattering even their own troops to either side, and blasted head-on into the approaching shadowshapers. An explosion burst from the balcony where La Contessa had been standing, then something shrieked through the sky toward Cebi, and the trees nearby burst into flames.

  Artillery fire. A young man in an American military uniform now stood where La Contessa had been. He grinned, surveying the dark forest to see if he could make out the damage his weapons had ca
used.

  The shadowshapers surged forward, cutting to either side of the burning golden light of the Sorrows.

  Lucera.

  Cantara Cebilín had lost her mom and gained a new name in a matter of moments. New powers came with that name, powers she barely understood. But she knew there was a rage in her heart that wouldn’t be calmed, and there was one power she did understand.

  Come, she said without even so much as a glance at the towering figure beside her. Tonight you feast.

  Interesting, Cantara Cebilín thought, walking amongst the shattered bodies at the foot of the ruined palace as the sun rose over the mountains. Some of these men resisted Death’s grasp like champions, while most merely crumbled as she smashed through their lines. What was it that had given certain members of La Contessa’s band of mercenaries that extra strength?

  The American on the balcony had been one who resisted. He’d turned out to be crudely fused to his artillery unit somehow, an appalling kind of sorcery. He had died screaming for his parents, his superiors, his silly god, and none had come to save him, and finally, Cebi had ’shaped Death into the very contraption that the American was part of, and the thing had devoured him whole, reducing them both to a charred catastrophe of burnt flesh and collapsed metal.

  Lucera, a man’s voice said, and Cantara Cebilín turned, felt the sun on her face, the light within her churn. It was not who she had expected. Her shadowshapers still skirted along the edges of the battlefield, hunting for survivors. This was someone different: a tall stranger of indeterminate age with broad shoulders and a white beard. A weird light glinted in his eyes that she couldn’t name but somehow recognized.