Wariness.
It was the bond. The link that she had used to kill was the same bond she had to the wolves—the same bond she had to Losna.
It’s not the way, the white wolf thought vaguely. Then it turned and slipped away, leaving her in silence. Alone.
She wanted her shadow.
The den was strangely muted, with only the sound of her heavy breathing and the scrape of dirt beneath her, as though the world beyond didn’t exist. How far she had run, she wasn’t sure, but she couldn’t feel Losna anymore, and the white wolf’s last thought left a pit in her heart.
Ahraia took a deep, unsettled breath.
Losna?
Her skin tingled, singed by the light she had suffered. The blood of the keress felt hot on her hands and haunting to her thoughts. She wanted to run. The threatening light at the entrance pinned her in the space, cramped and close, dangerously bright. She wanted to flee. Hayvon’s light veil pressed too tightly on her chin. She ripped it off, nearly mad from the closeness of it. She needed to escape: the den, her test, the horrible despair she felt, and, most of all, the disappointment she had felt in Losna. She felt sick. She felt like she was going to burst. It was bubbling up within her until it couldn’t be contained any longer.
Ahraia screamed in helplessness, the sound driving her mad even as the ground swallowed it. She beat at the earth in fury, overwhelmed as she thumped her fists inconsequentially against the walls of the den. She clawed at the ground, grabbing handfuls of loose dirt. When she stilled, she lay panting, crying and unable to flee, trapped in her own mind.
She lay curled away from the light for what seemed like an eternity, longer than any day she had ever lay awake, consumed by thoughts of her test and what would happen if she couldn’t manage the next task. The worry threatened to suffocate her, and the ache inside her pulsed with every heartbeat. Eventually, her thoughts passed into sleep, but her dreams were no better than her waking thoughts: filled with antlers and lifeless eyes, but the eyes were Losna’s eyes, and her shadow lay dead, held by the Ahraia’s own enchantment. She wished for death . . . for anything other than living without her shadow.
When she awoke, the den was dark, or at least dark enough that she was safe. But the closure was still brilliant, and there was no telling what time of day it was. She sensed something blocking the entrance, a comforting presence. She reached out and discovered that it was Losna, keeping watch.
Are you all right? Losna thought. Are you safe?
Yes, Ahraia answered. Having Losna close was soothing, like a cool stream passing over her light-scars. The quietness and emptiness that had lingered all morning were gone, and instead, Ahraia felt the first measure of peace. But Losna was anxious, and a sense of disappointment lay at the front of her mind.
Ahraia rolled over, risking exposure to the dim light that streamed in. What’s wrong?
Losna turned about in the entrance, trying to block as much of the brightness as she could. Then she put her head on her paws and peered down at Ahraia, her sharp ears forming a soft silhouette against the bright fire beyond.
“What’s wrong?” Ahraia asked again, terrified to know the answer. The fur above Losna’s nose furrowed.
This test. I don’t want to go through with it. She huffed loudly, as though it was Ahraia’s fault.
“Neither do I,” Ahraia said, raising up on her elbows. “I never did.”
Losna shifted to block the light better, but glared at her. Her nose flared, and dust rose as she huffed again.
I don’t want you making bindings anymore. Not when you’re hunting, she thought. The conviction of her emotions shone in her golden eyes.
“I don’t either—it’s not like I wanted to bind the Keress. We didn’t have a choice,” she said. “We agreed to that plan.”
You’re not listening to me. Losna raised her head off her paws. You can’t keep doing this. It changes you, every time. I can feel it! The second you killed that keress, it was agony, like a part of you was ripped away. And you didn’t even have it bound tightly.
“I know,” Ahraia said, startled by how angry her shadow was, “but—”
You don’t know! Losna growled. The rest of this test is only going to get worse. It’s like you can’t see what becomes of shades who go through with this. Look at Kren. She was our sister, our pack—now she doesn’t even recognize her own nit. Or if she does, she doesn’t care. She’s dead inside. That’s what this test does. It kills that lingering part of you that is alive. Wherever Flit is, I hope she never sees what her shade has become. It would break her if she did. And honestly, if that’s what becomes of you, I won’t want to see it either.
Ahraia fell silent, feeling even more helpless than before. Losna stood up again, putting her back to Ahraia and closing her thoughts. Ahraia opened her mouth but knew there was no point arguing—there was no argument to be had.
She turned back over, wishing she could run, wishing she could hide from her shame. The weight of the test was too much. Becoming a sprite was the only choice for her—it was that or die. But what did living matter, if she lived without the truest part of herself? What did it matter if she had to ravage herself to belong? She pressed her eyes closed, her ears tucking back so tightly that they ached. She took a shuddering breath, feeling as though she was suffocating. The earthen tomb seemed to steal any calm she could grasp and she sobbed silently. A terrible thought rose in her, knowing she was too weak to finish the test: Could she ask Losna to go back to her pack? Would her shadow spare her seeing the test to the end?
Losna lifted her head, sensing the blackening of her mind.
What? she thought, still angry.
Ahraia shook her head, unwilling to voice such a hideous thought. She curled tighter, hiding herself, feeling guilty for being so weak, guilty for being so frightened. Guilty for even thinking of separating herself from Losna.
She lay with the ache of the binding pulsing at her mind. Losna didn’t press her, and Ahraia let her mind drift into nothingness.
She slept again, a feverish sleep, and when she woke, the haunting fear remained. Her heart was tormented by what Losna wanted of her. To run. To flee. To leave Daispar and the darkness forever.
“It would mean I’d have to walk in the light,” she said aloud, not sure if Losna would even care. She heard her shadow shift in the entrance, still blocking Ahraia’s conveyance.
“We’d have no choice but to leave the Gelesh. We’d have to find a way to get the spritelings and Kyah, and convince them it’s for the best.” Her jaw clenched. The prospect was daunting. Getting the spritelings and Kyah would be difficult. And getting away from Daispar would be even harder. Impossible. They would have to run beyond the edges of where any of them had ever run, into the unknown—into the light.
Losna turned in the tunnel, her muzzle pressed against Ahraia’s back. Her warm tongue ran roughly against her neck, not forgiving, but comforting.
“And we would be hunted.” Ahraia stared blankly at the wall before her. The Astra would send wards. And what would she and Losna do if they were caught, or if the spritelings couldn’t keep up? What would Losna do?
Ahraia lay paralyzed by fear, turning over every horror they would face: light, wards, lightwalkers, the edge of the forest, the end of the Endless Plains. At some point, her daze of worry must have turned once more to sleep, and when she awoke, she was alone.
The Dae-Mon had drifted and her shadow was gone. Panic rose in her heart, an emptiness that brought tears brimming to her eyes.
“Losna?”
A scratching sound penetrated from outside, then the dim thoughts of her shadow followed.
“There you are.” Ahraia exhaled, relief easing the tightness in her chest. The clammy sweat on her brow was coarse with dust and dirt.
It’s getting too bright. Losna dragged a great branch across the opening, scooting her hindquarters halfway down the tunnel into the den. She looked over her shoulder in the tight quarters to make sure no light sift
ed past her. Then she fixed her golden eyes on Ahraia.
What were you thinking earlier? When you were thinking of the pack?
The den felt hot and close, and Ahraia had the urge to feel fresh air on her face.
“What time is it? Is it almost dusk?”
Losna’s eyes shifted and an ear turned about, but otherwise, she didn’t move. She stubbornly ignored Ahraia, waiting for an answer to her question. Ahraia took a shuddering breath, feeling as though she were about to plunge into a frigid pool.
“Those wolves?” she started, “Are they your pack?”
Losna’s eyes were fierce. You are my pack.
“You know what I mean. Are they your family?”
Yes.
Ahraia’s words felt sour on her tongue and a great fear clutched her heart. She swallowed. “Do you miss them ever?”
Losna didn’t answer at first. Ahraia wondered if it was a thought her shadow didn’t understand, or worse, that she understood perfectly well. But Losna breathed out and settled her chin on her paws.
At times, she thought.
Ahraia’s next words caught in her throat, not wanting to come out. “Would you go back to them?”
My place is with you. You are my shade.
“What if it meant living? What if something happened to me?”
Losna furrowed her brow, not bothering to answer.
Ahraia nodded understanding, glad that Losna felt that way. She raised an eyebrow. “What if I made you?”
Losna’s throat rumbled challengingly. You couldn’t.
Ahraia smiled, and turned back away from the light. But her eyes were open now. Her shadow’s feelings had confirmed something that she had been wrestling with all morning, even in sleep. Killing the keress had taken another piece of herself—and Losna was right, more bindings would only make it worse.
Her shadow let out a huff, her own anxiety resting at the tip of her thoughts. Ahraia was terrified for what she was about to say. Her whole life had been pointed towards this moment, from the day she had bound Losna. She thought of her mother, of the words she had left Ahraia with even as she was condemned.
“Breaking the bond is what makes us sprites. If, when the time comes, you cannot live with that void . . . then it will be you walking across this bridge.”
Ahraia let out a shuddering breath. And she knew in her heart the fate she was choosing. She had always known, like the first time she had ever stepped on the Endless Plains.
She couldn’t become a sprite.
Her breath felt too shallow. The den felt like it was constricting. The realization was paralyzing. But it was the truth.
“I can’t do it. I can’t become a sprite. I can’t go on with this test.”
Relief like Ahraia had never known flowed across their link, and she sensed Losna turn towards her. Ahraia stared at the earthen wall in front of her, realizing her life would never be as she had imagined it. No darkening. No shade tree. No nit or spritelings. She would be forced to forge darkness on her own. And it wouldn’t be easy: they would be outcasts. And she would have to look after Thelon, Alua, and Kyah as well. She swallowed guiltily. She was making the choice for her siblings as well, one that they had no say in. It wasn’t fair, but it was the only way. She couldn’t go on destroying herself to become a sprite.
She exhaled, actually feeling relief pass through her. Admitting it lifted a weight that had been laying on her mind for half of her life, and for the first time in years, she realized the strain it had been.
She felt the brush of Losna’s tongue across the back of her hair, roughly dragging across half of her head in her excitement.
“Stop that,” Ahraia laughed, turning about. She wrestled her shadow off. Losna nipped and embraced her, easily overpowering her. Ahraia tried to cuff her ears, but Losna pinned her to the ground heavily, twisting her sideways into the dirt.
“You know I’d win if we weren’t in this accursed den.”
Losna was panting, a smile spread across her face. This den is all that is keeping you alive. Where will we go? Plain Dark?
“No, they’ll expect us there. We’ll have to go farther. Much farther.”
Ahraia was thinking about Kyah and the spritelings. They wouldn’t be able to run like Ahraia and Losna—and the Astra would likely set both sprites and dae-wards to hunt them.
Across the Endless Plains?
Ahraia doubted even the unhindered Dae-Mon would stop the Astra’s wards, but she nodded.
“Maybe. I would ask if we could go to your pack, but they are creatures of the light . . .”
They will help us, Losna thought eagerly. I will make them dig dens if they must.
The thought seemed horrid, but it was better than going through with the test. She nodded, her mind made up.
“Tonight, we’ll go back to Daispar. We’ll find a way to get the spritelings and make a run for it.”
“An impressive kill,” the Masai said, gazing at the antlers of the mighty keress. They spread before her, thick as her arms, sharp as her drain, the blood still coating the burr where they had been cut from the beast’s head. The Astra stood smugly to the side, her lips curled upward, apparently pleased with Ahraia’s feat.
Ahraia stood blankly in front of them both, trying not to look at the gruesome reminders of her act. Her eyes saw but she was far away, wondering how soon she and Losna could reach the southern mountains and whether they might find shelter beneath them. It would be a difficult journey. And it wouldn’t be easy persuading the spritelings to leave Daispar.
“A keress? I’ve never seen such a kill,” the Astra said. She ran her hands from one tine to the next, a crazed gleam in her eyes, as though she already held the darkening seeds.
Night unfolded around them, but Ahraia’s markings throbbed painfully, and though her decision to flee brought overwhelming relief, the rest of her day had not been pleasant. Late afternoon had brought the Dae-Mon streaming through the entrance of the burrow, scorching her directly where she had lain. It had been hot, and entirely too bright. She had curled up in the deepest corner of the den, using Hayvon’s light-veil to cover her face. Losna had gathered loose branches to screen the entrance until Ahraia had been forced to stop her for fear of suffocating.
The keress had still been standing when they had returned from the den, held rigid by its antlers, kept upright by the trees. An enormous pool of blood had drained down its beard to its hooves, and its eyes stared forward like black pits, haunting Ahraia. When the sprites had finally arrived, Losna’s pack was long gone. The sprites had stood about in awe, whispering in disbelief and moving warily about the kill.
Now, Ahraia’s scars showed under the moonlight like beacons of her tribulations. Her shoulder pulsed with every heartbeat, so tender that each breath sent shivers of pain through her entire side. A cut stung at her cheek, probably from a stray branch, and Losna’s fur was stained with blood where she had been caught by an antler in the chaos of the fight.
“A truly impressive kill,” the Astra said, echoing the Masai.
The bony nubs of the antlers were stained with blood. Ahraia could still smell that same blood on her hands, shuddering when she remembered the way the great beast had resigned itself to death. She hated the Astra for forcing her into this. She despised the Masai for her part as well. Ahraia couldn’t bear to even find out what the second task entailed. If everything went as planned, she would never have to.
The Masai was watching her intently, and for a moment, Ahraia worried that she could sense her thoughts.
“It is a magnificent kill. And yet, it makes me wonder . . . In the quiet hours before dawn, there were many voices on the wind—the voices of wolves.”
Ahraia’s breath caught. She looked at the Masai with as little emotion as she could muster, trying to keep her mind blank. She kept her ears straight, hoping the strain didn’t show.
“How did you enchant the beast?” the Masai asked. Her tone was unassuming, but Ahraia could sense the trap bein
g set. Sure enough, the Masai flickered her ears for conveyance.
Ahraia set her mind upon the most appealing version of what had happened.
I bound it from its herd, at the edge of the plain, she conveyed truthfully, remembering her binding of the bull before it had charged. Then I—
The Masai cut through her thoughts, holding up a hand.
“On the plain? Walking unabashed under the moonlight?” She frowned, her eyes brushing over Ahraia’s angry scars. The Astra glared at Ahraia. Light filtered through the forest was one thing, but admitting to walking openly beneath the Bright Moon was just short of proclaiming allegiance to the Dae-Mon. It wasn’t condemnable, but it was close.
Ahraia shook her head, keenly aware that her markings betrayed the truth: They held the color of the Bright Moon, the stars, and the Dae-Mon.
I bound it from the safety of the woods. But the herd was on the plains.
“Then what?” the Masai pressed.
Losna scared the rest of the herd away from it. It was her howls you likely heard.
There were many more than one—there was a pack, the Masai conveyed loosely.
Ahraia kept her mind as blank as she could. The sprites about her tensed. The accusation was clear and dangerous. The Astra’s ears stiffened, unfurling to their full length.
“What are you accusing her of?”
“Nothing, sister. I simply want the story,” the Masai said evenly, holding idly at an antler of the keress. She turned to Ahraia, fixing her with a piercing stare. “Do you deny there were more voices than one?”
There were . . . Ahraia conveyed, her mind racing to twist the conveyance into truth. But that was later, near dawn. They called in answer when Losna howled. It was a call of triumph and Losna’s kind celebrated with us.
The Masai turned to Losna as though she could hear the thoughts running through her mind.
Meat, Losna thought, sniffing towards the keress.
“I see,” the Masai said at last. “I wonder then, how did you enchant the keress as you did? How did you trap it here?”
The Astra and her father watched on intently. I lulled it into the forest, and when I found this place, I enchanted it to be angry at me, Ahraia answered, searching for the half-truths of the binding. It certainly wasn’t what the Masai had intended.
Between the Shade and the Shadow Page 25
