Between the Shade and the Shadow

by Coleman Alexander

  What for?

  Tallin’s eyes narrowed. “The Astra is waiting for you. You were supposed to be at the dae grove before the light rise.”

  Ahraia’s heart beat faster. “The dae grove? Now?” she said, noting Tallin’s ears flickering for deference. What for? The dae grove was hardly ever used, but Ahraia suspected what it meant.

  A wicked smile spread across Tallin’s face. “Your shadow test begins tonight.”

  But we still have two nights until Bright Moon is full! Ahraia conveyed, suddenly panicked. Losna tensed, her tail stiff and straight and her fur standing on end.

  Tallin gestured for her to follow. “Hurry up. They’re waiting.”

  Ahraia hesitated, a sinking sensation spreading through her chest. She made to follow, with Losna close behind, but Tallin raised a hand and spoke again.

  “Just you. Leave your shadow here.”

  Ahraia stopped, suddenly terrified to be separated from Losna. “I get her for my test.”

  Tallin nodded but gestured for her to follow, nonetheless. Losna let out a whimper.

  Why doesn’t she get to come? Ahraia conveyed.

  “Because, you’re becoming a sprite, and sprites don’t have shadows.” Tallin turned towards the central hollow, and Ahraia had no choice but to follow, alone, without Losna.

  “This lightrise marks the beginning of your Shadow Test, Shade Ahraia. You’ve been summoned here with all the sprites of Daispar as witnesses.” Her father radiated pride, but his hidden thoughts were a stark contrast to his voice. Are you listening to me? he conveyed.

  Ahraia was listening only in the sense that she heard the words, but they were hollow. She felt naked without Losna, and her mind seemed strangely quiet. Every sprite in the darkening was gathered under the dae grove, and the silence in her mind set her worrying worse than ever about being separated.

  “Your Shadow Test will make you a sprite,” her father went on evenly. “The final step to joining a darkening.” And you will become a sprite, he conveyed angrily. Or I’ll see the Astra’s promise done.

  Ahraia felt a hot surge of blood through her cheeks.

  The Astra stood nearby, her ears quivering greedily. Next to her were the Masai and the sprites from Angolor. The Masai was watching the processions with the same bemused smile she had when she had found Ahraia enchanting Kren at the chasms.

  They were gathered in a dark hollow known as the dae grove, a dell covered by a dark swell of trees, circular and broad, with a certain staleness and formality to it. Although no true light entered the grove, a hundred eyes gleamed pale white all about Ahraia.

  “Our Masai has come for you,” her father said, bowing his head respectfully to the leader of the Silh. “But ultimately, our Masah will be the judge of you.” He used the true name of the Bright Moon and his pale eyes turned towards the west where it had just set. “You will be judged by her throughout, and so the test will span three turnings, recommencing each time she is full and in all of her forbidden splendor. At times, her sister’s will be watching as well. Let them whisper in your favor, dimming her anger and softening her edge, giving you blood and darkness both.”

  Ahraia noticed a pause and realized that the sprites were waiting for her response, listening eagerly.

  What must I do? she asked, feeling disconnected. Without her shadow, she was less than whole. Her father’s ears batted and he frowned at her dejection before carrying on.

  “There are three tasks—meant to ensure that you are ready for spritehood. Today, you will learn of the first . . . and tonight, you will begin.” Understood?

  Ahraia nodded.

  “If you fail any of your tasks, your shadow will be shown the light and you will be given to the Shad-Mon.” Understood?

  Ahraia nodded again, her eyes flickering towards the Astra who was watching the proceedings with an intense gaze.

  “The first task is the simplest. You must make a sacrifice of an innocent to the people of Daispar.”

  Ahraia hesitated, waiting for him to say more. With no explanation forthcoming, she asked, What do you mean, a sacrifice of an innocent?

  “You must make a kill for the darkness. A simple kill.”

  Of an innocent? As in game?

  Her father nodded. You must do this by binding, he conveyed, only letting her know his thoughts.

  She let out a sigh. She had always known that it would come to this.

  Do I get a drain?

  He nodded, holding out a small knife, hardly big enough to gut a rabbit. It was a typical spritish drain, not much more than a hand-span long and woefully inadequate to make a kill. And your shadow can’t make the kill for you.

  She ignored his barb and took the drain, staring down at the useless blade. He kept his hand out, and she realized he meant to exchange the one she currently carried, which was twice as long. She handed it over reluctantly, though she had never even used it.

  When do I begin?

  “When the day is gone, the Bright Moon will be three nights from full. By the end of the third night, your kill must be made. As it was the Masai who chose you to enter your test, she will name the sacrifice to be made.”

  He stepped back and bowed. The Masai moved out of the circle of sprites, her tarry vine holding her hair elaborately above her head. Her posture was straight with ears to match. The other sprites drew back, the whole hollow seeming to flinch at her presence.

  She wore a black dress, deeper than the night, and the Astra seemed diminished next to her. She didn’t carry herself with any of the strange wariness that she had at the chasms, and instead, her face was still as a midnight pond. The darkness seemed to pool about her.

  “Shade Ahraia, do you fear your shadow test?”

  Ahraia gathered herself, preparing the lie.

  No, she conveyed. Fear wasn’t an acceptable trait to show, least of all to the leader of the Silh.

  The Masai face didn’t move. “You should.”

  A murmur of thought passed through the gathering. It was a strange thing to say. The Astra watched the Masai keenly. The Masai didn’t seem to notice.

  “It will turn you from a shade to a sprite. As a wolf-binder, your will alone is all that will see you through. Not drain, or shadow, or any other possession.” The Masai fixed Ahraia with a hard stare. “Do you fear the Shad-Mon?”

  All things but fools and the dead fear the Shad-Mon, Ahraia conveyed, reciting words she had heard a hundred times.

  The Masai frowned. “You shouldn’t. It is a weakness that will draw you to it, like the moons are drawn into the night after their long sleeps. The stronger you fear it, the more likely it will consume you.”

  Ahraia lowered her eyes and nodded, not knowing what to say. She wished she had Losna with her. The Masai went on.

  “As a wolf-binder, you are marked by the moons to lead. Your light-scars are deep.” The Masai walked closer, and Ahraia was reminded of how Losna sometimes stalked prey, moving slowly but purposefully, her body tense and ready for the chase. The Masai reached out and took Ahraia by the hand, looking at her wrists, turning her hands gently to reveal the pattern tracing up past her elbows.

  “I see the marks of the Blood Moon—red and lethal. I see the marks of her sister, the Dark Moon—shadowy and lurking. But more than anything—I see the marks of the Bright Moon—she who is strongest, swiftest of all— more dangerous than any. These are deep scars. The kind one gets from tarrying too foolishly beneath her light.” She reached up and pushed back Ahraia’s hair, looking at her neck and jawline where the markings tapered out. As threatening as the Masai was, there was tenderness to her touch. Her voice was quiet as she went on.

  “They will fade with time, as mine have. But the memory of your shadow will always be sharp,” she said, stepping back from Ahraia. “Like a knife that cuts at the slightest mishandling. And the memories will rise, just as the moons.” Her eyes had a strange glimmer to them—wolflike almost, golden and yet gleamless. Her voice grew stronger.

 
“If your will is strong, the cut will heal and scab enough times that it is only a scar by which to remember not what you are, but what you once were. This is a test I do not envy. But your shadow marks you as a leader, Ahraia, and that is why I have asked you to join me.”

  Ahraia’s mouth went dry again. She wasn’t a leader. She had no desire to even become a sprite. She wanted her shadow back and she wanted to run from Daispar, to flee from every darkening, from the whole Silh. The Astra was watching her sharply, as though she guessed Ahraia’s thoughts. The Masai went on.

  “The moons have marked you. And I have marked you. Should you pass your test, a day will come when you will lead the Silh. As such, you must be stronger, sharper, more willful, and wiser than all of us. Thus, your test will be a reflection of that.” You must be ruthless.

  If her words were meant to make Ahraia feel more frightened, they most certainly did. She felt faint. Cold climbed down her spine. She wished she had never grown old enough to be chosen for this task. She wished her brothers were still sheltered under their nit tree; it was a guilty thought, one she wanted as much for herself and Losna as for them. Shame spread like clouds over her heart. The Masai went on, staring at her.

  “So when I choose your first task, understand, I choose it for you, not for anyone else. If you are not tested, then you are not fit to lead. If you are not the strongest of us all, then you will go to the Shad-Mon. You must be better than the rest. You must be like a Masai.”

  The air stilled, enough that the beat of wings or fidgeting of a shadow would have sounded like a thunderclap.

  “Because of this, I choose a keress as your sacrifice.”

  An audible murmur went through the sprites, and the air vibrated with conveyance.

  A keress? Ahraia thought blankly. The other sprites fell silent with a signal from the Masai.

  The Astra stood with her mouth open, shaking her head in disbelief. She started to laugh, a hollow and empty sound. “I should have known,” she said quietly, a sickened, joyless smile spreading across her face.

  A keress? Ahraia thought again in disbelief. The keress were the great elk of the plains, impossible to hunt.

  That’s like setting her after a Jontun or a mountain bear, her father conveyed, looking equally aghast. They are creatures of the plain. She might as well try hunting the Shad-Mon.

  Ahraia looked down at the drain in her hand. It was pitifully small. The Masai looked nonplussed by her father’s objections.

  “That is her task,” she said easily.

  Ahraia tried to imagine if she could kill a keress with a dozen sprites and a handful of arrows. The elk of the plains were three times as tall as even the tallest sprite, likely a dozen feet at the shoulder with antlers just as wide. They were mean, unpredictable—territorial and defensive. No one hunted them. Not alone. Not in a group. Not with all the luck in the world.

  17

  Running Shadows

  Losna got up, circled twice and lay back down, letting out a huff as she did. She glared at Ahraia. The day was gone, and evening was quickly descending outside the darkening, but neither of them had managed to sleep.

  Ahraia’s nerves were frayed. She turned the drain slowly in her hand. The blade was slight, sharp but not even a hand-span long—and her hands were small. It was likely stolen from the body of some lightwalker, and it stunk of iron. To a keress, it would be nothing, just a splinter.

  “How are we going to do this?” Ahraia muttered.

  We aren’t. Losna huffed again, putting her head on her paws.

  “We have to. I’ll make a binding and be done with it.”

  Losna looked up in agitation. Have you forgotten? You can’t make a kill by a binding.

  “You’re not helping,” Ahraia said sharply, stung by the echo of her own fears.

  Losna growled. Even if you could—even if you do—it’s poisoned. The last time you tried was a disaster and the time before that was even worse. It was just a hare and you were curled up for days. How are you suddenly planning on bringing down a keress?

  “I was bound to Gavea, wasn’t I? That didn’t ruin me.”

  Losna ignored her. My pack—my whole pack—wouldn’t hunt them. Not unless they were already half-dead or dying. They’re too aggressive. It’s madness to think you can suddenly manage that! And with nothing more than that tooth. She pulled her lips back at the drain.

  Ahraia’s skin was flushed, feeling the sharp and bitter sting of Losna’s barbs. “We don’t have a choice. And the only reason I can’t is because I’ve refused to—which ends tonight.”

  You’ve refused to because it destroys you. We’re not going to survive if you mean to bind it. And I don’t want you to, Losna thought stubbornly.

  “Well, then we are dead either way.”

  Losna growled at her. That’s my point. We should run.

  Ahraia didn’t answer.

  We have three whole nights, Losna thought. We could be halfway across the plains by then.

  “I’m not leaving Kyah and the Spritelings.” Drop it.

  Losna pinned back her ears, showing her teeth. Then take them with us! Why else did you spend all that time softening the wall?

  Ahraia didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Losna was right, and the worst part was that now they couldn’t run. Kyah and the spritelings had been ushered out of the nit, moved under the watchful eye of the Astra. The barest interaction was condemnable—and if Ahraia went looking for them, she might well as walk into the Shadow Woods voluntarily, with Kyah and the others with her.

  She stared down at the blade. The markings on her hands had faded, leaving nothing more than faint spotting at her wrists and forearms.

  “We’re going to have to find a way,” she said at last. “If we can get past this first test, that will give us a whole turning to plan if we need to run.” That will give me enough time to make sure we can find darkness . . .

  Losna growled, not needing to make her thoughts known.

  “Ahraia?” A voice called from outside. Losna let out a woof and got to her feet.

  Ahraia bonded the shade tree and pulled back its branches.

  Her father was outside, standing just beyond the nit tree, looking gaunt and pale.

  “It’s time.”

  Broken clouds drifted over the plains, speared by moonlight that blazed across the grasses below.

  “It’s getting late,” Ahraia murmured, standing right at the edge of the forest. Two nights had already passed and her scars had emerged in full again, ashen-gray instead of fire-red. She was becoming accustomed to it. Too accustomed.

  The eyes of the keress shone like a line of twinkling stars, glinting when they stepped and then stopped, disappearing as they lowered their heads to eat and then shining back to life. Losna sniffed at the wind, watching the sprawling herd as they stomped and called, spreading and constricting like the clouds above.

  Which one are you thinking? Not that bull in the back . . .

  No. The one just ahead of him. The smaller one, Ahraia conveyed. The night was woefully quiet and unbearably bright. She sniffed at the barren breeze as it ruffled through the grasses.

  Losna’s tail hung low and still. This isn’t possible. They’re too big.

  Ahraia moved several paces through the forest, stalking along with the movement of the massive herd. The river formed a black line through the moonlit fields, funneling the herd past the forest. The males called in trumpeting voices and the calves squealed softly.

  We’ll be fine, Ahraia thought, more to herself than to Losna. At this point, they didn’t have a choice. They had spent the first night finding and tracking the herd, and the second just watching them on the open plains, trying to find a weakness in their movements. Twice Ahraia had tried to bond a cow, and once a calf, but each time the males that patrolled the edges turned back her quarry.

  Tonight was the last chance to make the kill.

  Let’s go over it again, Losna thought. You bind the smaller one, the one ahead of t
he big bull. Right?

  Ahraia nodded. The males roved the borders, closer to the eaves of the forest, protecting the females and calves.

  Then you draw it into the woods.

  Ahraia nodded. If she could kill it outright with a binding, she would. If not, she was going to use the closeness of the forest to overwhelm it.

  Losna glared at Ahraia. And then you kill it with your spare tooth, ripping yourself apart in the process. Her hackles were raised, but her tail swished back and forth with feigned acceptance.

  Ahraia swallowed. “The drain isn’t that small.”

  And if that doesn’t work—Losna went on, her eyes glowing yellow—then I’ll just run into the middle of the herd, incite fear into the wolf-trampling, sprite-skewering beasts and hope that they accidentally trample one of their own, or one drowns in the river that they cross like a crick . . .

  Ahraia frowned at her shadow. “If it comes to that, I’ll make the kill on the plains,” she said, unable to convey the thought with any sincerity. She turned back to the keress.

  The males roving towards the forest were enormous. The largest bull roamed in the rear, shepherding the herd, constantly calling and posturing, directing the other males. Its antlers stretched more than a dozen feet across and its great beard hung half that distance above the ground, waggling each time it bellowed.

  “It’s now or never,” Ahraia said. “Are you ready?”

  No, Losna thought. But she was poised, with ears turned forward and tail back. Ahraia ran her fingers through Losna’s coarse fur one last time, wondering if they would survive the night.

  “Go.”

  With a nip at her arm, Losna loped off through the woods, downwind of the herd. With a last bounce, her tail disappeared beyond a pine thicket. Their link stretched thin, until it was so faint it almost wasn’t there. Ahraia waited, gathering herself until she was sure Losna was in position.

  The Bright Moon, which had been hiding behind a cloud, emerged as though it knew her task was at hand. She was alone in the sky.