“The human from your second task,” the Masai said.
Ahraia’s mouth was bone dry. “I killed him. In the human realm—outside one of their stone darkenings,” she said. She projected a memory of the stone walls and great bridge, having no difficulty conjuring the thought. More sprites were gathering. The hall was almost full by now. A small contingent from Daispar stood crowded around the Astra.
“Is that so?” the Masai said.
“Yes. It is,” Ahraia said, meeting the alp’s eyes.
“Please,” the alp said dismissively. “You didn’t kill this human.” Her voice, strange and demure as it was, hid unflinching violence.
The Astra, who hadn’t said a word, was nearly shaking with rage.
“What are you saying? What are you accusing my shade of doing?” She turned to the Masai with questioning eyes. “This is absurd. I won’t stand for it. What is she being accused of?”
“I’m saying that your shade didn’t kill this human,” the alp said. “I did. This was the Prince of Astenith, heir to their throne.”
The Astra’s markings flashed from red to moon-white in a heartbeat. She rounded on Ahraia, her face twisted in anger.
“What have you done!”
A buzz of conveyance flooded the hall, mixing with murmured voices and the grating caws of a raven. The Masai flickered her ears for conveyance, stopping Ahraia’s heart. She firmed her mind around the idea that she had killed the human, knowing condemnation was coming.
I killed him, she thought to the Astra, letting it drift far enough for other sprites to hear it too. I killed him and I brought him here.
The alp was shaking her head. Rough hands seized Ahraia’s arms as the Masai’s wards grabbed her.
Ahraia flushed. “You’re trusting her? She killed my brothers! She killed them at the Stone Tree. And now for some reason, she’s trying to condemn me—” Ahraia’s jaw clamped down under a heavy enchantment. She wrestled free of the spites that held her, only to feel more hands upon her, and more enchantment weighing her down. How could you trust her? She speaks through a light-laced tongue!
The Masai stood passively, watching on with steady eyes.
“She killed Kaval and Altah!” Ahraia spat, managing to break through the enchantments to hiss out a few words. How are you going to trust—
“Silence.” The Masai’s command snapped Ahraia’s thought in two. “She didn’t kill your brothers.”
Ahraia stopped struggling. The Astra’s eyes narrowed and her hand rested near her drain. Black fur wreathed the Masai. She stepped towards Ahraia wickedly.
“I did.”
The lifeless black eyes of the wolf stared at Ahraia and she understood. A binding emanated from the Masai, the same menace and power from the Stone Tree. It hadn’t been the alp. It had been the Masai all along. Ahraia would have screamed in fury, in wrath and outrage, but she couldn’t. The binding was too absolute.
The Astra’s ears batted once but remained straight. “I knew you did, I just never figured out how . . . or why. You couldn’t have wanted Ahraia in Angolor that much.” Her words surprised Ahraia almost as much as the Masai’s admission.
“I didn’t.”
The Astra furrowed her brow. “Beran and Gavea said you were in the south.”
The corners of the Masai’s lips turned devilishly upwards
“Gavea . . . precious Gavea. My niece was always loyal. And your faithful nitmate, Beran? Of course he said I was in the south. He had already betrayed his first Astra. Were you so foolish to believe he wouldn’t do the same to you?”
The Astra flushed. “At what price?” she asked, shaking.
“A place in my darkening . . .”
“And Gavea?”
“Daispar.” The Masai beamed. “But she’s dead now.”
The Astra looked stricken. Traitors. An echo of her thoughts escaped her. Her voice shook as she spoke. “This was never about Ahraia’s shadow test, was it? You were never going to give me the seeds.”
The Masai scoffed, her eyes cold and uncaring. “Seeds of a darkening tree . . . as though I would give them to an Astra like you. Your forests are light strewn and your darkenings are failing. The Gelesh is lost.”
“You made a deal.” The Astra spit at her feet.
“And your shade failed that deal.”
“This was never a fair test. You wanted her dead. First, you set her against that keress, and then you took her shadow. You don’t even have any evidence that she didn’t kill the human.”
“Except for the word of Anasazi, Lord of the Cirice with nothing to gain . . . or your shade who’s set to run from these woods this very evening.”
Anasazi watched on easily. The Astra looked light-sick.
“Nothing to gain? I’m sure you have some arrangement. Some alliance to her Cirice. And my shade would never dare run.” The Astra shot an angry glance at Ahraia.
Ahraia couldn’t respond. The enchantments holding her were absolute.
The Masai smiled.
“Your shade is set to run. You can ask her. She has her bow tucked away in a nice fir tree. Quite a hiding place really—my sprites haven’t managed to reach it. She’s already sent half a dozen messages to a sister of hers. Kyah, I believe,” the Masai said, her eyes glinting.
A wave of panic rippled through Ahraia’s chest. She struggled against the binding.
“They’re quite impressive really. Detailed, right down to the underdaes Ahraia made for them.” An image of Plain Dark formed in Ahraia’s mind.
Ahraia struggled against the enchantments, sensing what was to come.
“You’re lying,” the Astra said, but her voice trembled with doubt.
“I’ll show you . . .” The Masai’s gaze rose to the shadowy ceiling of the outer halls. Come down here, she conveyed for all to hear. A small robin, one of the first birds Ahraia had enchanted, flitted down from the understory of the hall. It had seemed so eager and honored to carry her message. The little bird landed on the Astra’s hand, stoic and beady-eyed. Ahraia wished she had sent it to Losna instead.
“Bond it,” the Masai instructed the Astra, her eyebrows raised.
The Astra hardly moved as she unraveled the message. Slowly, her eyes shifted from the Masai to Ahraia, her ears laying flatter and flatter, until they were tucked back tight against her head. When she finished, she tossed the bird into the air. It twittered angrily away and filled the darkening with beating wings.
“I have more if you would like,” the Masai said. The air was suddenly full of Ahraia’s other messengers: the common owl, the black-beaked owl, another sparrow. Ahraia’s face flushed. The Masai’s lips uncurled in a sneer.
“Your shade seemed to forget that these are my woods—and nothing goes on without my knowing.”
The Astra walked to Ahraia, grabbing her by the face and squeezing her nails into her cheeks. She leaned in close so that when she spoke, no one else could hear.
“I’ll have you know that your sister and your precious little spritelings are already dead.” The Astra’s lips flared, showing her teeth. “I had your father kill them the second you left. Your nit has been nothing but trouble for me.” She pushed Ahraia’s face away, wrenching her neck back.
Rage and grief blinded Ahraia. The enchantments seemed to wither away from her, and she lunged forward, trying to get at the Astra with her bare hands.
“I’ll kill you!” she managed before a fresh barrage of bindings swarmed her. She fell forward, writhing in the dirt, wishing nothing more than to have a chance to enchant the Astra, to bind her and end her.
“She’s a fighter,” the Masai said, sounding pleased.
The Astra turned back to the Masai, furious. Her ears batted and her voice quivered as she spoke.
“You were just waiting for her to run. This was what you wanted from the beginning; this was never about her shadow test—or the seeds.”
“No, this was never about her shadow test.” This was about her being dead. “A wolf-b
inder . . . in my realm?” The Masai shook her head. “My shades know better than to bind a wolf. When word of this spreads, so will the rest of the Silh. But I am impressed. I didn’t expect her to get this far.”
“I want what I came for,” the Astra said. “I want my darkening seeds.”
“You can’t possibly expect me to give them to you.”
“You got what you wanted. She’s dead. I want what we traded for.”
“Or else what?” The Masai let a devious smile run across her face.
The Astra’s eyes glanced around the darkening. Her hand rested on her drain. Ahraia knew she was thinking of rebellion from the Gelesh.
The Masai sensed it too.
“The Gelesh is too small and too divided. Too many darkenings have already failed, and the rest are failing. Do you think they’ll go to war when I’ve already offered each my protection?”
Ahraia could see the Astra’s threat fizzling out. But a maddened gleam had taken her eyes, like a beast cornered and already knowing she would die.
“Then I want this darkening. I want the Silh.”
Conveyance startled the air like a flock of angry birds taking flight. Ahraia heard echoes of a dozen conveyances.
A Posturant?
What a fool . . .
Impossible—
The smile fell from the Masai’s face, and silence crashed over the hall.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I want what I came for,” the Astra said heavily. “I’m not leaving without the seeds.”
“Then you’re leaving dead.”
The Astra drew the drain from her hip and held it out straight, as far from herself as she could. Cold determination played at her eyes, and though the other sprites from Angolor murmured in dissent, she stood untarnished by fear. Held down by enchantment, Ahraia could hardly see, but she remembered the last time a challenge like this had been ushered—it had been the night her mother had been given to the Shad-Mon.
The Masai shook her head.
“You’re making a mistake. I don’t want this.”
“Then you shouldn’t have meddled with my dark.”
The Masai’s face was placid.
“All this for darkness? When you could fold it yourself?” she said.
“You think you’re invincible.” You’ve crossed the wrong sprite.
The Masai shrugged, pulling her drain from her hip without flourish. Ahraia recognized the black blade at once—it was the same blade she had taken from the Stone Tree. The Masai had stolen it back. She extended it easily, a wolfish grin playing at her lips.
“So be it.”
Ahraia wasn’t sure which sprite she wanted to win. She hoped they both died.
The Masai nodded to the sprites about her and they formed a clean circle. The alp was watching with the keenest interest. Ahraia was dragged by her hair out of the way.
“Ready?” the Masai said.
The Astra nodded.
The enchantments took the air like a sudden wind. Neither sprite moved, but Ahraia knew they had bound each other and were trying to force the others’ own knife against themselves. The Masai concentrated intensely, and the Astra’s hand was shaking, her knuckles white around the handle of her drain.
Ahraia’s mind was a haze. She knew what was happening, but it was distant, hidden beneath the layers of enchantment lying over her. The struggle went on, in absolute silence, undisturbed by even a breath of conveyance.
The Masai grimaced. The calm of her face clouded. Her ears turned down in effort. Her arm bent slightly.
The Astra’s eyes gleamed triumphantly.
But then a smile spread across the Masai’s face. The Astra’s hand twitched. The knife moved. Her elbow bent and the drain turned back towards herself. Her arm shook violently, and still the drain came closer, until her arm was entirely bent and the blade pressed into her cheek. A drop of blood formed at the tip. The conflict writhed upon the Astra’s face; the pain was overwhelming her, but she was unwilling to give in and had no control of her hand or body.
And then the knife started to cut, deep and steady, her face twisting in agony. Blood ran freely over the blade of the knife. Suddenly, the Astra screamed and the knife sliced across her cheek. She threw it to the ground as though it had burnt her.
Blood dripped down her face.
The Masai’s smile spread.
“It seems you both have a meeting with the Shad-Mon.”
30
Hunted by Darkness
Ahraia’s mind was numb, blinded by anger and repressed by bindings. She only had the cloudiest sense of what was happening beneath the fog of enchantment.
Condemned, she thought dimly, trying to remember herself. My sisters. My brothers. All murdered . . . by the Astra, by the Masai. All of them. I have no nit left.
Then something stirred within her, a memory of connection. Losna. My shadow! Ahraia’s heart surged and she rose faintly out of the haze.
Two wards grabbed her by her arms, jerking her towards a rapidly forming closure in the darkening wall. Her body was stilled, limp; her feet dragged over stone and root alike. Sprites all around her jeered and called as they passed towards the river.
“And the Dae-Mon’s risen!” one of the wards said with particular delight.
The fog glowed dangerously and shafts of light pierced the woods above. But the outer halls held shadows right to the river’s edge, where the eaves leaned out over the frothing water.
Dim as her thoughts were, her hatred of the Masai and the Astra kept her aware of what was happening. She tried to break free, to even squirm or wrestle, but too many sprites bound her. She couldn’t speak or scream. She could hardly think.
Every one of her siblings was dead. And the Masai was going to kill Losna.
Let me go! she thought violently.
“Don’t drink the water! Don’t touch the trees! Don’t break the silence!” sprites called from all around her.
An Astra and a wolf-binder! Another thought. The air bristled with the like. The Astra was ahead of Ahraia, hanging just as limp, blood dripping freely from her cheek. Ahraia wished it was from her throat.
You murdered my sisters. You murdered Thelon! she conveyed in fury, unsure if her thoughts escaped at all. The woods swelled with sprites, emerging from their shade trees and nits and pulling their hoods close, their collective thoughts rising into a swarm of excitement.
“Your shadow’s going to the light,” a ward jeered.
Spit foamed from Ahraia’s mouth, but no words came. She conveyed a steady stream of curses at her captors, but they ignored her, gloating as the light grew and the roar swelled.
The river was close now. She could see the fog boiling over the water and felt the mist brush cold against her cheeks.
The Masai stepped in front of her, the black cloak of the wolf grinning horribly over her brow. An equally dreadful smile spread wide across the Masai’s face.
“Bring down the tree,” she called, her eyes locked on Ahraia.
The bridging tree’s crooked trunk whined, unbending. The leaves rustled, shifting as though a gusting wind was suddenly running up the river.
“Bring it down!” the Masai shouted.
More sprites hurried forward, their focus turning from the Astra and Ahraia to the tree. The trunk’s resistance folded. It groaned against dozens of enchantments, leaning out over the water with branches quivering and leaves coming to rest: first in fog, then in water, and finally on the far bank, in the Shadow Woods.
The enchantment on Ahraia grew lighter, enough so she could think again.
“Shade Ahraia.” The Masai nodded to her path. “You’re first.”
Ahraia glared at her, a fire burning hot within her chest.
“My shadow’s done nothing,” she said, fighting through the oppressive layers of enchantment. “Give her back to the woods.”
The Masai’s eyes gleamed with white light. The black fur wreathed her gaunt eyes as she stepped closer to Ahraia, looking
more lifeless than she ever had. “Tonight I’ll be wearing your shadow as a cloak. Her blood will stain me like the light. And no shade will ever think of binding a wolf again.”
A hundred eyes glowed beneath hoods and veils, beneath white hair, translucent like the fog. But not a single face showed disgust. The Masai’s voice had carried to every turning ear, and none of them challenged her.
Ahraia shook with fury.
“I’ll kill you. I swear it on the Bright Moon and the Dae-Mon both. Your nights are numbered. I promise you this.”
The Masai smiled. “No one comes back from the Shadow Woods.”
“I will,” Ahraia said through gritted teeth.
Wicked laughter broke out all around her.
The enchantments redoubled around Ahraia, joined now by an unbreakable thread: the same thread of binding she had felt at Stone Tree. The Masai’s binding. Ahraia recognized the taint of it, the impossible strength of it as it pushed her feet, one after another, towards her own death. She crossed stones to dirt, dirt to roots and roots to bark. The tree quivered beneath her toes, shaking against the raging river. For a brief moment, she wondered if she should leap, and let the river decide her fate. It would be certain death, one of dark water and monstrous stones, but it wouldn’t be fair to Losna, chained and alone on the hilltop, waiting for night.
The enchantment loosened, until she was walking by her own will. Fog billowed all about her. The water churned below, raging and swift. She had never known hatred or hopelessness like she knew now. She tried to turn back, but a new wave of binding forced her forward, slipping past branches that jutted skyward like spears. She reached the far bank and leapt down, sinking into a cushion of soft moss.
The Shadow Woods.
It wasn’t the mist that sent shivers down Ahraia’s spine—it was the waking nightmare she had lived a thousand times. A moment later, the Astra leapt down beside her, holding a hand over her face, trying to stem the flow of blood and trying to shield herself from the fog-dimmed light.
“This is your fault,” she hissed.
Whoosh!
The bridging tree soared suddenly skyward, spraying heavy drops of water across the bank. The wind pulled Ahraia’s hood from her head, and the mist billowed after the tree, as though nothing could escape the Shadow Woods without chase.
Between the Shade and the Shadow Page 38
