Between the Shade and the Shadow

by Coleman Alexander

  The girl stepped backwards, her knuckles tightening around the quiver.

  Ahraia took a settling breath, forcing calm over herself. She couldn’t let the chance slip. She peeked around the tree. Innocent, she thought, forcing the idea through the bond.

  The human stared at her, mouth hanging open in a nervous smile.

  “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you . . . are you a faerie?” the girl asked again. Ahraia stepped cautiously out of the woods, keenly aware of the cool starlight against her skin.

  A faerie?

  “No . . .” the human said. “You’re more like an elf, but your ears are longer. And your skin is so pale.”

  Not pale. Ashen, Ahraia thought, distracted.

  “Pale’s the wrong word,” the girl said slowly. “More like ash—brushed in moonlight.” From the girl’s tone, Ahraia could tell she didn’t expect to be understood.

  Ahraia stepped timidly closer, feigning that she was afraid of the girl. And curious. It was easy enough, as she was both.

  “I won’t hurt you,” the girl said again, completely still, as though worried Ahraia might startle. “Don’t be shy, little elf.”

  “Elf?” Ahraia asked, her curiosity getting the best of her. Her ears batted nervously, and she mirrored her next words. “What is an elf?”

  “You understand me?” the girl said in shock. Her eyes were as round as the moons. “Denali is an elf . . .” The girl gestured back through the wood.

  An alp, Ahraia realized.

  “But you’re not an elf . . . your skin is too light . . . and your ears are too long. What are you? Are you a mare of sorts?” The girl was getting worried.

  “I am a shade.”

  “A night elf?” The girl’s worry solidified, manifesting in the turn of her shoulders and the short, rapid rise in her chest.

  “A night elf?” Is that what humans call us?

  The girl nodded. Her emotions were terrifying. Her curiosity and fear were deep wells, threatening to drown Ahraia. The side of Ahraia that feared the kill was rising to the surface, taking control of her mind.

  “Is this your home?” the girl asked, gazing around them. “Are there others like you?”

  “No,” Ahraia said. “But it’s like my home.” The human was frighteningly familiar. Like a shade. Like herself. Like Losna. Ahraia shook her head, struggling to remember her purpose, struggling to remember she had already killed a dae-ward without harm. I need to make this kill. I need to get this over with.

  The girl shifted uncomfortably, words coming to her mouth as a sort of defense.

  “Denali thinks it might be an elvish village, but I didn’t think there are elves in the North Woods. He’s looking for them . . . he’s always been looking for them . . . I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I didn’t think they were out here. But you’re out here, so maybe there are elves too.”

  Ahraia shook her head, her enchantment slipping slightly. The girl’s rambling was overwhelming. Her pitter-patter thoughts were like Losna’s—rich and unchecked, tumbling out like an overflowing stream.

  “My brother thinks elves are dangerous. That’s why he doesn’t think I should be friends with Denali. He thinks that we should keep to our own kind. Which isn't hard. Denali is the only elf in Holbrook. He might be the only elf in all of Astenith . . .”

  Friends? The concept was like a light-burst of emotion within Ahraia. She had never heard the word, but she immediately thought of Hayvon and Kaval, and Losna. Or Kren before she had been condemned to her test. Only to this human, it meant something more, something beyond the nit, almost like a shadow. The thought of what Ahraia was about to do sickened her. The enchantment slipped even more.

  “I’m Merra.” The girl swallowed nervously. “Merra Avvington. If this isn’t your home, then what . . .”

  Shhhh, Ahraia conveyed, unable to take it anymore. She was so innocent—just a spriteling. Simple and naïve. Harmless. Hopeless.

  “Shhhh,” Ahraia said, recalling the word again. Friend. Her heart was going to burst. A noxious pain welled up inside her. She had to get it over quickly, before the girl’s madness seeped into her, before her own instincts corrupted her. She didn’t have time for the arrows. She pulled the drain from her waist.

  I don’t mean to hurt you, Ahraia conveyed, stepping forward.

  “What are you doing?” Haunting fear reflected back through the link, showing in every crease and corner of the girl’s face and body. “You’re scaring me.”

  I’m sorry. Ahraia firmly took hold of the girl’s mind, trying to focus on the fact that Losna would be saved, trying to remember that it was all for her shadow.

  “Please. Don’t hurt me.”

  Hold still. The less you fight, the less troubling it will be.

  “Please,” the girl managed to exhale, stricken with panic. “I have a brother. He’s only eight. He won’t understand.”

  “I don’t want this, either,” Ahraia whispered. She tried to tighten her will about the girl. The innocent girl. Tears welled in her eyes. She didn’t want this burden. The girl’s mind wasn’t even scratching or clawing to break free.

  Ahraia stepped forward, having no choice but to finish it. The girl went blank with fear, no longer seeing or feeling, just trapped by the paralysis Ahraia was inflicting.

  Ahraia heard howling, not in the night, but inside. Some part of her, the part who knew Losna through and through, the part of her that had wanted to run, had wanted to be done with the test, was howling in anguish. It didn’t want her to carry through with it.

  I’m no better than the wraith . . .

  The howling intensified, driving her mad.

  “I can’t do this. This isn’t me,” she whispered. She lowered the drain, unable to go through with the kill.

  She felt tears brimming beneath her eyes, disgusted that she had even thought to do it, knowing how Losna would have hated her. The girl’s lip quivered. Ahraia looked at the human and saw before her a scared and broken child. She peeled her mind away, ashamed and took a step back.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw movement and she glanced toward the woods just as the alp emerged, his sword glinting in the light of the stars.

  “Get away from her,” he said in the human tongue. The blade moved easily in his hand.

  Ahraia reached out to enchant him, to slow him, and found a raw and ragged courage brimming up in him. She sensed him on the verge of leaping at her. His ears turned downward, spritishly.

  She seized the clutch of arrows, trying to wrest them free from the girl who mindlessly clung to them.

  The alp lunged forward, his sword singing through the air. The girl let go and Ahraia stumbled back, the quiver rattling with arrows. The alp shouted. Ahraia leapt aside, tumbling across the overgrown green, no longer thinking of the kill, thinking only of escape.

  She grabbed the quiver and ran.

  25

  Severed

  The next several nights passed in a haze. Ahraia kept as close to the human realm as she dared, even walking down the center of their great flat roads. But at night, the roads were empty—as empty as spritish paths were by day.

  She passed houses with golden lights, but she skirted far beyond them, not wanting any more trouble with humans and their nits. The mountains soared towards the stars, their white flanks reflecting light even in the dead of night. She came upon a whole darkening of lights, hundreds of bright points scattered across a great bowl of a valley. The sight made her stomach tighten in a hard knot. She heard bleating animals, and smelled the steady stench of humans mingling with wood smoke. She stayed well away from the light, and only ever saw humans from afar. In a way, she was glad. She had already resigned to the fact that running was her only hope. She had to find Losna and she would have to send a message to Kyah to flee. If the spritelings headed south, towards the mountains, and if she could free Losna, maybe they could all escape their fates . . .

  Still, she hesitated to sent her message to Kyah. Finding
the right bird to carry the message would be difficult, and holding an enchantment over that distance . . . she wasn’t even sure if it was possible.

  It was with these thoughts that Ahraia found herself facing a monstrous stone bridge. Below, a river frothed in the moonlight, filling the night with an ever-churning roar. It was too wide and too angry for any spring branch, and swimming was out of the question. Golan’s guidance had shown her this bridge, and she knew that her way forward lay across it.

  And they say lightwalkers are graceless, she thought, staring at the unbreakable stone. How it came to be, or how it could stand unending, with the waters ripping at its feet below was beyond her.

  She slunk back into the forest, too terrified to cross the bridge. The Bright Moon was low in the west, radiant beyond a thin veil of fog, bathing the stone in cloudy white. The Blood Moon was watching from above, slower than her bright sister. Ahraia searched far along the deep canyon for a place to cross but none showed itself. By the time she returned to the bridge, a storm was moving in.

  First came the wind, setting the treetops swaying loudly. Next, a bank of great clouds moved in from the south, bringing with them a fitful darkness that came and went with unnatural suddenness. A bank of fog followed, crawling up the valley until it engulfed the bridge. Ahraia cursed herself for hesitating. She reached out with her mind for any humans who might be watching.

  The night felt empty. She smelled human horses, but it was a stale smell, pressed into the stone, and without other choice, she moved out on to the stone column.

  Look away. Nothing but night here, she projected. Her feet whispered against the stone, but a growing sense of dread came with each step. In no time at all, she was out over the river, the waters rushing below. The wind pulled at her hair. The trees on the far bank suddenly emerged ahead, like the Shad-Mon stepping from the fog. Ahraia, stopped, overwhelmed by fear.

  She took refuge in a small nook made by a knot in the bridge from which the pillars extended downward. She was almost across, but couldn’t bring herself to move.

  Suddenly, the forest ahead erupted with noise. A terrible trumpeting rose, like the call of some enormous, unknown beast.

  Ahraia threw herself to the ground, recoiling in panic. The moons were covered by black clouds, and in the darkness, she heard the shouts and screams of humans.

  Wild, preposterous thoughts came to her. Could they have been hunting me all this time? Did they alert the entire realm? Trapped, she waited for humans to charge the bridge.

  But nothing came.

  The horns called again, and she heard distant noises. Metal clanged against metal, and the screams grew more wild and terrified.

  Look away. Look away. Look away, she projected blindly, hoping she hadn’t been seen.

  Suddenly, she heard footsteps. A human sprinted onto the bridge, a sword in hand. Ahraia pulled the bow from her shoulder, reaching in panic for an arrow. A great clattering sounded, and she froze. Hooves echoed against stone, and she saw a beastly silhouette charging behind the human. Ahraia pressed herself into the small corner, her heart hammering. Before she got the arrow to her bowstring, the figure ran straight past her and a moment later, the beast charged past as well. It was a horse, and astride it rode a hooded human who didn’t even glance at her.

  The first human ran screaming into the fog. The rider stormed to the far side of the bridge and Ahraia heard a howl of fear suddenly cut short. It was difficult to see, but the rider stopped, and his horse turned, wreathed in fog. She heard the canter of hooves coming back towards her.

  Ahraia didn’t wait to see what had happened. She stood and sprinted off the bridge. She thought about the kill, about trying to bring a human down, but the woods were echoing with shouts and clashing metal. She had no idea how many of them there were, and no idea if a horse would attack—maybe it was like a shadow or a keress. Either way, she didn’t want to find out. She couldn’t imagine what could cause such a cacophony of noise, and wished only to be away from it.

  She scrambled into the woods where the sounds were growing more and more unpredictable and strange. The forest was a medley of noise and wind, of dark and light.

  She found a dark patch of trees and slithered between them. Her breaths came rapidly. Scared and unsure, she bound a tree and let it spring her into the higher branches. She climbed higher and stopped only when she was sure no human could reach her.

  She took a steadying breath, but held it as she heard movement below. The wind stilled, swelling away over ridges, distant and haunting. Leaves rustled and she heard grunts and crashing through the underbrush. She looked and saw a human tumble down a hillside. He rose over a log and collapse behind it.

  Don’t look. Don’t look, Ahraia projected, scared that he might call more humans to him. He didn’t, and instead lay on the ground panting hoarsely.

  Slowly, he settled, as did the sounds in the forest. There were no more trumpeting calls. But the storm remained, passing through the trees in great swells and fits. Ahraia thought she smelled blood on the wind. She definitely smelled the reek of humans. There were more about in the woods, she was sure of it. But this one was alone. And she had the alp’s arrows . . .

  Her test, already abandoned, suddenly seemed possible. She hadn’t bound him yet—she could hardly even see him—and if she got a clean shot, it wouldn’t hurt her. She could claim his head and be gone.

  Her heart thrummed with hope.

  In an instant, Ahraia made her decision, pulling an arrow from her clutch. With the breeze and distance, the shot wouldn’t be easy. Impossible, really. Thick tree trunks hid the human. She thought about moving, but just then the wind died, leaving her in total silence. The leaves trapped her where she stood.

  But the human began to move. He crawled across the ground, his breaths coming in sobs. With all the noise he made, Ahraia wondered if his eyes were closed, but he was crawling closer.

  Keep coming, she thought to herself, not daring to reach out with her mind.

  She balanced on a slender branch, drawing an arrow to her bow. The alp’s arrow was perfectly straight, heavily weighted by the sharp point and balanced by the feathers.

  One more step. A clean shot was all she needed.

  The branches swayed with a gust of wind, then settled. She bound them, holding them out of her way. The human stood just behind a tall pine. Ahraia’s breaths were steady, one eye closed as she sighted down the shaft. If he so much as leaned forward, he would be her’s.

  Something grunted off through the woods. Something moved beneath her. Slowly. Quietly.

  She froze.

  The human—a boy—didn’t move. He had heard it too. Hooves stepped quietly over dry leaves, like a keress stalking beneath her in the woods. Ahraia stepped silently closer to the tree, the moment for her shot having passed. She sniffed.

  A horse.

  The human slunk out of view, hiding in the underbrush.

  Ahraia waited as the sounds that had burst through the forest earlier slowed and disappeared. The moons drifted between the clouds. Then she saw a figure away through the woods.

  More humans.

  The trunks were too thick to get any sense of them, but a moment later, she heard something rushing through the underbrush, running down the hillside.

  A shout rose through the air. Ahraia flinched, instinctively shielding her mind, even from mirroring. She hugged the trunk of the tree, pressing her body against it so as not to be seen. There was more yelling—a tense voice. And then silence.

  Don’t see me. Don’t look up. There is nothing in these woods. You are alone . . . she projected, hoping the open enchantment would keep prying eyes away. She couldn't afford a true binding. If there was any chance for a kill, she couldn’t let that weak part of her rise up. She held perfectly still. Through the woods, she heard more humans, their voices muted, too dim to hear. The boy was cowering in the brush.

  Ahraia nearly fell from the tree when a horn suddenly trumpeted through the night. She hea
rd a horse snort and then hoof beats and the group of humans was moving off through the woods. A moment later, the boy was out of hiding and running after them. Ahraia thought she saw a glimmer of a sword.

  Hardly thinking, she formed a shift and stepped into the air, her bow still in hand. She swung down to a lower branch that delivered her to the ground in a single motion, dropping her the last two feet with her heart thudding heavily in her chest. She landed on the ground as the boy passed out of sight.

  Tonight, I become a daemon, she thought, sprinting after him.

  Ahraia stared through the dense trees, struggling to understand what she was seeing. An alp stood in the woods. Along with a sprite. And a human. And before them all, another human knelt on the ground, breathing shallowly, with three arrows sticking from his chest.

  What made it stranger was that it was the same golden haired alp that had been conspiring with the Astra, the same one who had killed her brothers.

  Ahraia’s neck hairs stood on end, remembering how the alp had sensed her before, when she had been searching out her father. She quickly formed a barrier to any thoughts, dimming her mind in hopes of staying hidden.

  No one’s out here. You are alone. Nothing but night and woods, she thought repeatedly, until she almost believed it. But beneath those thoughts, she wondered what she was seeing. She had never seen anything like this. Sprites, hooded and pale, stood next to alps, tall and deadly, with humans among them too. Some were afoot and some on horse. Some were veiled and others not. The boy she had followed was hiding in the trees ahead of her, legs shaking as he watched on.

  She watched the alp with the golden hair, still projecting her thoughts nervously. Don’t look. Don’t see. Don’t hear, she thought, concentrating on being indistinguishable from the night.

  The alp was speaking to the injured human in front of her. Ahraia couldn’t hear their voices, but the human looked like he was on the brink of death. He was bleeding, laboring in his movement. The boy in front of Ahraia was quivering, almost leaning forward as though held back by invisible bindings.