There’s the second one, Losna thought with hackles raised. Ahraia glanced back and saw the second daemon midway between the trees, creeping closer.
Losna growled, a harrowing growl.
The type of growl a shadow made.
Ahraia smiled.
She raised her bow, taking aim. “Here we go . . .”
Epilogue
Ahraia dropped to the ground, never breaking stride. Losna bound a half a pace behind her. The roars were fading, swallowed by the fog, but still she kept her bow in her hand, her last arrow at the ready.
We lost them, Losna thought.
Ahraia laughed. Getting away the second time had been far easier than when she was condemned. Losna’s howls had driven the daemons mad, and Ahraia’s arrows had found their mark. Her blood surged through her chest as she sprang over the moss-covered ground. With every step that she ran, she felt the horrors of her people fading behind her. The choking grip of fear loosened for the first time in her life, and she kept laughing.
What do we do now? Losna thought.
Let’s start by getting out of these woods.
They moved quickly, leaping over slick logs and along narrow embankments between motionless pools. The pools were growing more frequent, one crowding next to another, separated by thin strips of woods with trees growing upward anywhere they wouldn’t drown.
They moved in silence, and Ahraia reached out with her mind, searching for the daemons. They were far behind her, but she stopped, sensing something else.
Losna sniffed at the air, and her hackles raised.
The fog shifted and Ahraia saw a figure on the far side of a pool. A sprite-like figure—hidden in the mist. Its ears twitched as it stooped to drink. A sharp sword hung at its side.
An alp, Losna thought.
The alp lowered his lips to the water.
“Stop,” Ahraia said instinctively. “Don’t touch the water.”
The alp leapt up, startled by their silent appearance. He drew his sword in a swift motion, holding it between them. They stood across the pool from each other standing perfectly still. A ripple moved away from where his lips had just touched the pool, disrupting the reflection on the perfect surface.
What is an alp doing in the shadow woods? Losna thought.
Neither the alp nor Ahraia spoke, but then she realized with a jolt that she recognized him. She had seen him before. He was the same alp she had hunted in the broken darkening, the same one whose arrow she had stolen.
I know him.
His brow furrowed as though he heard her thoughts.
“That’s my arrow,” he said in the human tongue, pointing his sword.
Ahraia raised the bow, the arrow coming to the string. She tried to remember what the human girl had called him. “What are you doing here?” she asked across the pool, mirroring her words. Losna growled nervously.
The alp was frowning. Something like hatred crossed his face. “Hiding from the Cirice.”
Ahraia cocked her head, unsure what he meant. “With who?”
“The Cirice. With the one they call Anasazi.” His mouth curled into a snarl. He paused, as though he realized he shouldn’t have spoken. “You’re with them aren’t you? You were there that night—in the woods of Holbrook—looking for me.”
The golden-haired alp. Ahraia shook her head. “Anasazi.” The name felt foul in Ahraia’s mouth. Then she thought how satisfying it would be to bind her with a tree as she had the Masai. “I’m not with—”
A distant roar reverberated through the woods, reminding her just where they were. The alp’s ears twitched fearfully.
“We have to get away from here,” Ahraia said, more to Losna than to him.
Just then there was movement behind the alp, and to Ahraia’s surprise, two humans—a boy and a girl—stepped from the woods. When they saw her, they froze. She recognized both of them.
That’s the human girl, Losna thought, the one we saved on the plains. The night we killed Gavea.
Ahraia couldn’t believe her eyes. The fiery-haired girl who had made flame from words was next to the alp. And following her was the same boy whose brother Ahraia had butchered for her second task. They all stood staring at her in the semi-dark of the deep fog.
Before Ahraia could think, the girl spoke.
“You’re the sprite who saved me,” she said in disbelief.
Ahraia ignored her. “You’d be wise not to linger here any longer. The Shad-Mon are coming.”
“The who?” the alp said, apparently not understanding. Another roar echoed through the forest, drawing closer. The humans and the alp huddled together, their eyes searching the woods. Terror clouded their faces.
“You need to get out of these woods,” Ahraia said. “The daemons will be here soon enough.” She began to move. She pushed past several low firs and Losna followed.
“Hey! Where are you going?” the fiery-haired girl said. To Ahraia’s surprise, she began to follow on the other side of the water’s edge.
“We’re headed to the mountains,” Ahraia said, firming her mind around the decision.
“Will you show us the way?” the girl asked. The alp sounded as though he wanted to protest, but another roar drifted through the woods, cutting off his words. The human girl leapt across a constriction in the pond, coming to rest just behind Losna. Ahraia stopped, looking at the ragged group. She eyed the boy, who looked the weakest of the bunch.
“Can you keep up with wolves?”
The fiery hair girl nodded. “We sure as hell can try.”
A great splintering noise rose, and it sounded like a tree had crashed to the ground.
“Don’t drink the water. Don’t touch the trees. Don’t make a sound. And whatever you do, don’t go looking for the heart of the forest.”
A roar echoed after her.
She broke into a run. She glanced behind to see the human girl was following, with the alp and the boy trailing after her.
What are we doing? Losna thought, unsure why their pack had suddenly grown.
A grin broke across Ahraia’s face. “We’re running. Just like we were made to. If they want to run with us, so be it.”
The End
Author’s Note
This story began as so little and turned into something entirely different—more complex and enlightening than I could have ever hoped. If you’ve read this far, all I can say is, thank you. If you want to help me gain traction as an author, writing a review or sharing this with friends and family is the highest compliment.
I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.
To tell you about the story, I should first explain that I’ve been writing in Ahraia’s world—the world that I hope will one day be better known as The Realmless—for almost fifteen years. I brushed against the end of her story some ten years back while writing my first book. That first book (which will someday soon see the light of day) was a total disaster, a twelve-hundred-page epic too big and too complex for me to finish, a twelve-year project that was a horrific muddle of junk. The writing wasn’t good. The characters were confused. The story was a jumble of yarn tied in a thousand knots.
I threw it in the recycle bin. I wasn’t ready to write an epic yet.
I was down. And I was tired. I couldn’t imagine sitting down at the computer anymore because it simply wasn’t going anywhere, so I stepped away.
But it didn’t last long. The story was still inside of me and clawing to get out. I still dreamed of the world of the Realmless. I still kept working on it in my head. And slowly it came back into focus.
And so I found the thread of Ahraia’s story—wondering about her origins. It was never intended to be the first tale to escape, but it just so happened that she was insistent and I was intrigued. And in truth, it was the story I needed to tell.
As you’ve likely guessed, Ahraia’s story continues, but not as a sequel or series. She is being swept into something much greater. This is the first novel in the world of the Realmless, and the
next won’t necessarily be recognizable in the characters it follows or the corner of the world it explores, but it will be related, in a sense. These stories are all part of a greater story, and one that I hope to tell in full. There will be small stories and large stories, some connected, and some which stand apart. But all them, I hope are an adventure—a chance to step away from our world, to visit somewhere different, with characters and places that you come to love as I have.
My Best,
Coleman Alexander — March 18th, 2018
Dedication
To my wife for all the lost mornings
And to my son, who hopefully conforms to his own story
BETWEEN THE SHADE AND THE SHADOW
Coleman Alexander
©2018 by The Realmless, LLC
All rights reserved
Cover art by Keira Nagali, 99 Designs
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.
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