Between the Shade and the Shadow

by Coleman Alexander

  Losna growled, a low, ominous sound that spoke for Ahraia. Her father’s ears flickered at her like Gavea’s, calling for silence.

  “Don’t presume you’re a sprite yet,” he said.

  Ahraia bit back her words, knowing full well the precarious nature of their situation. Her father’s warning and Gavea’s accusation both hung in the air, threatening condemnation with the slightest misstep.

  The skin of each sprite was splashed with light, but her father’s scars ran the deepest. His eyes shifted to Hayvon, who stared into the dark, shaking slightly.

  Ahraia could sense conveyance passing between the two and she was sure her father was interrogating him. Hayvon’s eyes and ears were down, and he was as pale as the Bright Moon. She wondered if his leg was injured worse than she had thought, but she guessed it had more to do with whatever was being conveyed. She strained to hear their conversation. Unexpectedly, she caught a sliver of her father’s conveyance, a faint and diminishing echo.

  . . . It’s your choice. But she’s your responsibility, and to the light . . .

  A shiver of fear ran through Ahraia, unsure of what she overheard and unsettled by the tone of it.

  What is he saying? Losna thought, sensing Ahraia’s unease.

  To the light turns the ward? I don’t know, I couldn’t hear it all. Ahraia formed a link to her brother. Hayvon, what’s happening? she conveyed, feeling the fear radiating off him. But before he had the chance to answer, Gavea spoke, her words startling Ahraia and causing Losna’s ears to turn.

  “Beran, you saw what I saw. She stood just as close to that human as I stand to you. Look at her scars. It looks as though she’s been walking in the day. You can’t just let her get away with it,” she said.

  “Nitesse Gavea,” her father said with exaggerated deference, “surely the shade who admits to being seen must be punished.”

  Gavea didn’t look mollified. “Perhaps. We’ll know once the human is caught.”

  Ahraia felt her scars flushing and her ears straighten. Her father’s face was placid as Gavea said this, but his eyes had turned a dangerous, golden yellow.

  “This is a matter for the Astra. The humans are blind as trees without their light—unreliable at best and plagues at the worst. Once we’re back in Daispar, judgment will be passed at her discretion.”

  Gavea pursed her lips.

  We should have killed the human when we had a chance, Losna thought. Ahraia swallowed nervously, realizing now the folly it had been to let the girl escape. Their only hope rested on her ending up dead before the wards caught her.

  “We had better get back to Daispar,” her father said dismissively, too obviously trying to move the conversation away from such dangerous territories. “The night is growing old and the company will have already arrived.”

  Gavea didn’t move, and Ahraia sensed that she wasn’t going to give up so easily. Her gaze traced between Hayvon and Ahraia.

  “I thought you two were supposed to be hunting in the north woods . . .” Her mouth turned down in a frown. Ahraia’s father froze.

  Vesta shuffled inside Hayvon’s pocket. Hayvon started to answer. We—

  Their father cut his conveyance short. “Not you—you lack wit, half-shade. Shade Ahraia . . .” He gestured for her to speak, flickering his ears to spare her from conveyance. Whatever you say, you had better not condemn yourself.

  Ahraia hesitated, for a moment having forgotten what had brought them back to the Stone Tree and unsure how much she should divulge. Every act was enough to condemn herself: failing the hunt, bonding the human singer, folding an underdae, letting herself be seen . . .

  “Last night—” Ahraia stopped, as Gavea signaled for conveyance, overriding her father’s permission. Ahraia took a steadying breath.

  Last night, we discovered a group of humans while we were hunting, she conveyed carefully, deciding the closer to the truth, the easier her lies would be. They were on the human road—on their dirt river that passes the Stone Tree—headed towards the underdae.

  “How could you know that?” Gavea interjected, obviously sensing Ahraia’s underlying fear for having bound the human singer.

  We have eyes, Ahraia thought loosely before she could stop herself. She hoped the mild insolence hid her guilt. They were headed south on the road . . .

  Gavea’s eyes narrowed and Ahraia’s father frowned but neither reprimanded her. She quickly went on.

  I knew Kaval and Altah were here, waiting at the Stone Tree for some emissary. I had no choice but to warn them the humans were coming. We hurried south, but when we got there, they . . . she trailed off, having no trouble inflecting her emotions to the conveyance, remembering her brothers’ lifeless figures. They’re . . .

  “They’re dead,” her father said. “We know.”

  Ahraia looked at him in surprise. How could you know that?

  “That’s why we’re here.” His face turned dark. “A scout of Angolor passed through here two nights ago, ahead of their company, and found the shades with their shadows killed.”

  A scout? From Angolor? Ahraia’s mind was racing. What do you mean “a scout”? Where is this scout? Her mind grappled around the memory of the shadowy figure in the innards of the Stone Tree, wondering if it could have been a sprite. The black fur and lifeless eyes didn’t fit, but the binding did.

  “It must have been them!” she blurted out. “The scout must have killed them—”

  Gavea’s ears flickered a warning and her father spoke over her.

  “Ahraia, that’s absurd.”

  “—or the emissary. It could have been either. Where are they? I want to see them!” Ahraia shook with anger, surprised she hadn’t put together the thought before. She remembered the touch of the shadowy figure’s mind, hidden just behind the screen of darkness. She wanted to see them. She wanted to bind them—to recognize the foul touch of their mind—then she would return their knife by way of a swift and silent death.

  “Ahraia, the scout didn’t kill them. It was just a shadow.”

  Ahraia cut her father off. “I know it was a shadow! I saw it! It was a wraith. And I felt its enchantment. It killed Kaval and Altah.”

  “Stop!” Her father commanded, his enchantment clapping down so forcefully that Ahraia bit her tongue. She tasted blood. “The scout was a shadow to a shade, like Losna to you,” he said pausing, pointing to Losna and letting the words sink in. “It was just a moon raven, a shadow kept by their wards as a scout.”

  Ahraia was having trouble thinking straight, she was so upset. She heard her father’s words, though she couldn’t make sense of them. “The scout was a moon raven?” she asked, breathing hard. The other sprites seemed perturbed by her outburst, and she tried to calm herself. Gavea shook her head in disgust.

  Her father nodded. “The wards from Angolor use shadows as scouts. When the raven found the underdae, it found our shades dead. The company sent word to the Astra and came by way of the Deep Brook instead.”

  Ahraia was shaking in anger. They must have killed them. They killed Kaval. They killed Altah.

  Gavea stared at her. “They didn’t.”

  Losna, surprisingly enough, agreed with her father and the nitesse. Ahraia, that was no mere shadow. That was something worse . . .

  Ahraia’s emotions were unraveling though. “Then who did this?—”

  “Ahraia—”

  “—then who killed them?”

  Shades of charcoal filtered across her father’s eyes, his ears tucked back and he stepped towards her. “It must have been the humans. In fact, I’m sure it was.”

  No. Ahraia shook her head adamantly. “That was no human. It was something worse. I know.” It bound me. “And besides . . . the humans weren’t even here yet. They couldn’t have killed them. Hayvon can tell you, they were still miles and miles away. It doesn’t matter though. They’re dead too,” Ahraia said. “Their whole company is dead. Whoever killed Kaval and Altah must have killed them too.”

  Hayvon eyes
paled. The humans are dead?

  Gavea sneered. Except for the one your sister just let get away, she conveyed loosely.

  Ahraia’s ears batted in irritation.

  “Ahraia, you’re wrong,” her father said dismissively, ignoring Gavea. Beneath his words, however, he berated Ahraia with a seething tirade of conveyance. How could you let yourself be seen? How foolish could you be? Do you have any idea the danger you’re in? You should have killed the human and been done with it.

  Ahraia ignored his undertones. Something scraped at her side, and she remembered the knife she had found in the meadow. The wraith’s blade.

  “No, I’m not. Look,” she said pulling out the drain. “Does this look like something a human would carry?”

  That looks like a drain, Hayvon conveyed.

  Daemon’s bone, Levath, one of the remaining sprites thought loosely. Both Gavea and Ahraia’s father both glared at them, then stared at the blackened blade.

  Ahraia’s father hesitated. “I have no idea what kind of blade a human carries but that’s not a drain. Ahraia, why are you insisting on this? You’re not making any sense. You think—”

  “Not making any sense? Of course I’m making sense! You can’t think it’s coincidence that Kaval and Altah are killed and then, the very next night a company of humans is massacred in the same meadow. How—”

  A weak binding sprang over her, cast by her father, trying to silence her.

  “—could you possibly be so light headed—” she pushed through the enchantment, too angry to be bound in silence. “It was not the humans! I was here. I saw it.” The tighter the enchantment fell, the angrier she got. “So, what? You think the humans killed Kaval and Altah, and then . . . and then what? And then they killed themselves? Is that what you think? That is so—”

  “Ahraia, Stop!” Her father mixed a full binding with his words, forcing quiet over her. She flushed, feeling her whole body bound as she had the night before. But it wasn’t half as potent as what she had felt in the Stone Tree. She wriggled against the enchantment.

  Her father was glaring at her with a murderous stare.

  “The humans didn’t kill themselves,” he said. “We did.”

  Ahraia stopped struggling. What do you mean you “did’? she conveyed, unable to speak aloud. You killed them?

  “Of course we killed them,” he said dismissively. “They killed the shades—something had to be done. Daispar isn’t going to stand aside and let lightwalkers murder our shades. Every day they creep closer to our darkening. The forest grows smaller with every passing night.”

  Why would you kill them? The humans had nothing to do with Kaval and Altah. They were innocent! Ahraia was overwhelmed with the injustice of it. She thought of the vile shadow in the Stone Tree: the pure, overpowering evil with the repulsive intent to kill.

  Ahraia, calm down, Hayvon conveyed. You’re going to get yourself in even more trouble.

  Ahraia ignored him, feeling the filaments of her father’s binding holding her in place. The enchantment was lessening; he either assumed she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—resist. She hardened her will against him and felt the brittle nature of the fading enchantment. She focused her mind and broke the remaining link.

  “How could you be so stupid! They didn’t do it,” Ahraia said, protectively walling off her mind to prevent her father from binding her again. “If that was a human that killed them, then I was seen!” Ahraia spat. “Because I was there in the Stone Tree with it.”

  Gavea and the other sprites looked taken aback by her words, but her father stepped forward angrily.

  “Enough!” He scowled at Ahraia. His next conveyance was directed only to her. Don’t say one more word—not about the humans, not about anything! He turned and walked back through the forest. “The Astra will sort this out when we get back to Daispar.”

  “What about Kaval and Altah? What about whatever killed them?” Ahraia said stubbornly, not caring about his warning.

  He didn’t bother to turn about. “We already gave them darkness.”

  “Not that they deserved any,” Gavea added.

  Ahraia stared after him dumbfounded. Losna’s ears tucked back in anger.

  “Now, where are my shades?” he asked.

  Ahraia pointed, too angry to form words or thoughts.

  Why isn’t he listening to me? she conveyed to Losna. She turned to Hayvon. What did father convey to you? What did you say to him?

  Hayvon was staring after their father, his eyes distant, and his jaw clenched firmly down. Just keep your head down. You can’t let yourself be condemned.

  Ahraia hesitated, not wanting to leave Hayvon or leave the mystery of her brothers unsolved.

  Her father’s voice drifted back through the sweeping rain. “Hurry up. We’ll want to be back if the company has already arrived.”

  “What does it matter,” she said stubbornly. “Why is the company from Angolor even here?” she called out after him.

  Her father turned back to her, his eyes gleaming through the woods.

  “Didn’t you hear? The Masai has come to Daispar.”

  10

  Worries in the Night

  “The Masai?” Ahraia said, certain she had misheard her father. “The Masai of the whole spritedom is coming here?”

  To Daispar? Losna thought.

  Hayvon stared after their father, but his eyes were distant and unseeing. Ahraia turned back and found that Gavea stood right before her, pressed close by the dripping forest. The nitesse spoke quietly, her voice hidden from Ahraia’s father as he headed away through the woods.

  The loathing plain upon her face, she began, “You think you’re the moons’ gift to the night. You think you’re entitled to wander these woods unafraid—that somehow you’re impervious to the rules. Well, you’re not. You’re just a shade, and a pitiful one at that. Never hunting, never making kills—just a spoiled spriteling with a shadow far more menacing than she is fierce. In all my years, I’ve never seen a shade and shadow so smitten with each other—so prideful and foolish.”

  “You haven’t?” Ahraia said coldly. She spoke aloud, well aware it irritated Gavea to no end.

  The nitesse smirked. “So naïve . . . you think your father is going to get you out of this,” she said quietly. “Just like every other time you’ve overstepped your bounds—running the plains, folding underdaes, being seen by a human.” Gavea ears twitched. “You should have had your meeting with the Shad-Mon a dozen times over.”

  Ahraia clenched her teeth but didn’t respond. Levath and Tallin, Gavea’s sisters, watched on idly. Gavea leaned forward, disgust pressed into every crease and line of her face as her whispered words fell amongst the scattered raindrops.

  “Your reckoning is coming.”

  “Is that right?” Ahraia said. Her heartbeat pounded all the way to the tips of her ears. A storm raged inside her chest, echoing out as a growl from Losna. A contemptuous smile spread across Gavea’s face.

  “I can’t wait for you to find out how dark the night truly is.” She pushed past Ahraia, leading her sisters back towards Daispar. Losna bared her teeth and Ahraia barely held back the urge to lunge after the nitesse. She bit back a tirade of thought.

  I could end her, Losna thought eagerly, on the verge of leaping after Gavea.

  “Don’t,” Ahraia said, barely managing to suppress her shadow’s instincts. She took a settling breath, stilling the urge to fight, and turned to Hayvon, whose face was still awash with a vacant look. His cloak’s folds shifted. Vesta turned about within his pocket, and though Ahraia only saw her ears and whiskers, she could hear her chittering loudly.

  “What did father convey to you?” Ahraia asked. “I heard him say, “to the light turns the ward.”’

  Hayvon didn’t answer. Vesta scrambled out of his pocket and onto the ground, bobbing up and down, in obvious distress. Losna, who normally teased Vesta every time she touched the ground, watched nervously.

  “The human got away,” Hayvon sai
d emotionlessly.

  A horrible, sinking guilt cut through Ahraia’s thoughts. I know . . . I should have killed her. I just . . . she trailed off, unable to finish the thought aloud or within, aware it was far worse than being unable to bind the stag.

  “She has the orb,” Hayvon said absently. “The nit tree isn’t going to last.” Ahraia grimaced. She hadn’t thought her guilt could worsen, but it did. Hayvon was the oldest now, the orb was his responsibility, and she had let it slip away. The shame overwhelmed her, like a binding too difficult to keep, threatening to tear her apart. She clenched her jaw tightly.

  “Hayvon? What did father say? If we’re going to be condemned, I need to know.”

  “We aren’t going to be condemned,” he said without inflection. But Vesta chittered even louder.

  Something’s wrong, Losna thought.

  We aren’t going to be condemned, Hayvon conveyed evenly, as though he sensed Ahraia’s doubt. The thought came too easily to be a lie.

  “What did father say?”

  “Nothing of any importance,” Hayvon said, shifting his weight cautiously and grimacing as he grabbed his leg.

  “Hurry up,” Gavea called out impatiently. Their father echoed the nitesse.

  Ahraia ignored them both, frowning at Hayvon. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ll be there in a moment,” he insisted, meeting her eye. He looked ghostly but resolute, his silence scaring Ahraia far more than Gavea or her father.

  Ahraia paused, considering a bonding but decided against it. “You’re not thinking of running, are you?”

  Hayvon knelt down in front of Vesta, grimacing and clutching at where the arrow had struck him. His hand came away smeared with blood. Vesta balanced on her hind legs facing him, finally quiet, though her whiskers bristled nervously.

  “Do you really think I could run? Besides, I’m as curious as you are to see the Masai. I want to know why she would bother coming to Daispar.” Maybe the Astra has it coming, he conveyed, the corner of his mouth turning up. “Now go on, I’ll catch up.”

  Ahraia reluctantly turned back to follow her father, glancing one more time towards Hayvon as he held out his hand to Vesta, who tentatively bobbed towards him.