World of Shadows

by Emily Rachelle

  “I must go now. Louna will need her breakfast.”

  I’m surprised at her brusque tone. “Adele, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

  I can feel the fleeting brush of her fingers against my cheek. “Hush. You’ll see. Soon, you’ll see.”

  The door opens. It closes swiftly behind her.

  I forgo my socializing-and-breakfast stop in the garden, opting to grab a pastry from the bakery instead, and make a beeline for the castle. When I get there, I decide to pass the library. Adele thinks I should camp out there, but I can go later today. Right now there’s a more important visit I have to make.

  Shadow rises when I open the doors. I smile and skip the hello, instead greeting him with, “Don’t you ever do anything?”

  “Excuse me?”

  I walk about halfway toward his chair and flop onto the floor, finding the way my skirts puff up when I sit rather amusing. “You’re always sitting in that chair. I appear here in a dream, there you sit. I come in the doors, there you sit. I spend all day here, and the entire time you sit in a chair. There’s not even any other furniture here. You have to eat, right? Everyone else does. And maybe change your clothes? I guess that’s technically unnecessary here, but it’s still a nice thing to do. Please tell me you at least hang out in the castle. Maybe spend a day in the library?”

  He laughs. Not chuckles like he usually does—no, an actual laugh. If it weren’t for his constant desire to stay hidden, I could see him throwing his head back. The sound echoes in the empty room, rough and deep and a little wild. It startles me; my heart skips a beat and my breath sticks in my throat.

  “You’ve always been frank and curious. Yes, I do eat, in the castle’s dining room. It is always prepared for me and the numerous guests I never have.” His voice quickly loses any laughter left in it. “In the past, I did spend a good deal of time within the castle, but as the years passed I lost interest in most things. Now I simply sit and think, much like the old man I truly am.”

  He’s back to his moody self. I’m not having it. “Age is one of many excuses people use for getting bored with life.”

  “Well, my life has become a bit more lively since your arrival.”

  I hop up and make an exaggerated curtsy. “I aim to please.” I shake my skirts out to get the dust off. “I want to go to the library today. Join me?”

  He stands much more gracefully than I did. He offers his arm, which I take.

  “Of course.”

  Today I’m a woman on a mission, but I choose not to tell Shadow. I’m sure he’d be encouraging and helpful, but I really don’t want to spoil our fun with any mention of the curse. Also, I have a feeling he might not approve of the villagers’ gathering last night. Even I know it was stupidly risky, and I don’t get nearly as fidgety about the nighttime dangers here as Shadow does. I’m still completely boggled when it comes to the griffin and Shadow’s arm and who he really is, but I know Shadow has my best interests at heart. The griffin is a dangerous creature; Shadow just wants to keep me and the villagers safe. I remember what Adele told me about Bellamy and shake my head to clear my thoughts.

  “Something the matter?”

  I glance at Shadow’s hood. “No.”

  He nods his head once and leads me into the library. This man has quite a fondness for nodding.

  I look through biographies and books on religion before finding books of history. Skimming the French titles, I come across one book that looks a bit strange—longer, thinner, and more ornate than the others. In a place as enchanted as this, something so clichéd might actually be what I’m looking for.

  When I pull it off the shelf, dust bursts around me. I squint and fan my hand around to clear the air, coughing a bit. The magic cleans and keeps up the entire tunnel world. Why is this book so dusty? Adele’s words from last night ring in my mind: “Our world is falling apart…”

  I push them away. Right now I’m doing exactly what she said, seeking truth in the library, and there’s nothing more I can do. I just hope I figure out how I’m supposed to save these people before they’re beyond saving.

  I run my hand along the heavy book’s faded cover and step back to stand in the light from the windows. My pulse picks up when I see the cover.

  “Shadow, look at this.” I look up to see that’s he not in this aisle. He walks softly and silently; it’s a little eerie. As I walk down toward the windows, I almost collide with him when he billows out of the aisle to the right.

  “Hey, look. There’s no title, but see the picture on the front. It’s the man from my necklace.” I hold out the book and he nods, not seeming surprised at all. I wait for him to say something.

  “Do you want to read it?”

  I look up at him. “Of course!” I hurry over to the closest window and fall back onto the seat, flipping through the book to get a glance at its contents.

  With a quick look up at Shadow, I ask, “What’s with that necklace, anyway? I mean, it’s only and always there when I dream. It’s got some mystery guy’s portrait in it. It looks handmade, although I suppose all jewelry in the Renaissance would have to be. Didn’t think of that one till just now. If it’s on the cover…is the necklace in this book, do you think?”

  “There’s only one way to find out.” He sits next to me and watches as I skim over the first few pages. I’m sure he knows the answers to my questions, but I’ve gotten used to a lack of answers.

  As I flip through pages of neat block type and elaborate illustrations, it takes me a minute to recognize the text. I look up at Shadow, surprised. “It’s in English.”

  He makes an odd noise in the back of his throat, acknowledging my comment without making a reply. I notice he scoots the slightest bit closer as his hood leans in to see the text. “Read it.”

  I turn back to the first page and begin reading. It turns out to be nothing that I was expecting—not a biography or history I don’t think it even has anything to do with the tunnels. It looks like a sort of old fashioned story-book.

  Once upon a time, there lived a prince named Francis III. He was happy, wealthy, and well-liked. He loved his family and behaved as the heir to the throne was expected. In fact, his entire life went quite according to plan and followed the histories of his royal family and the princes before him.

  Then one day, while out in the woods in transport from one city to another, his carriage broke down. A small village was nearby, so he and his servants walked to town to seek a blacksmith. While his servants took the blacksmith to repair the carriage, Prince Francis visited with the villagers. He took a great interest in his citizens. He wasn’t much for talking but listened willingly.

  One family in particular caught his eye. The daughter was known as the town beauty. She and her parents and younger sister hosted the prince for lunch. This was a great honor for them, not soon forgotten. The prince spent the rest of the hour before his carriage was ready talking with this girl and her family.

  He rode away in his carriage. But several days later he returned to that little village, this time without a broken carriage. He visited many times, each visit sooner than the last, until finally the prince announced his betrothal to the village beauty. The town’s joy in the forthcoming wedding spread across the country. Though royal marriage to a village girl was unheard of, many of the prince’s citizens grew to love his sweetheart.

  But trouble was brewing for the young couple.

  While the crown prince was occupied falling in love, his country began falling apart. Tensions between Protestants and Catholics rose steadily. The prince’s engagement pushed the conflict over the edge. The village the prince’s fiancée hailed from was Protestant. To stop a Protestant from becoming their queen, the Catholics needed to do something, fast.

  Stories circulated about a woman of unusual power. Some said she had a gift from God. Others said she sold her soul to the devil. Her name was Pierrette, and she claimed to be a humble Catholic sent by God to purify the faith.
Many Catholics denounced this woman and her dangerous power, but many others were desperate to save their country. The most desperate of all sought out the woman to plead for her help, and she agreed to give it.

  Pierrette hid away in the royal city, waiting for the right moment to strike. However, before she could act, a servant girl who worked in the palace recognized the woman. The brave servant, Anne, set out to find the prince at once. Though the prince and his betrothed were skeptical, the servant convinced the couple of the impending danger and told them of a fairy who might help them. Anne led the village girl and the crown prince into the forest to find this fairy.

  It is said that, angry at having her scheme ruined, Pierrette carried out her plans that night. No one knows what those plans were. The only proof of her success is that the prince, the future queen, and the miracle woman were never seen again.

  The story ends sooner than I expected; the artistry of olden-day books took up a lot of page space. The book is written in a style true to its medieval time frame. The text is elaborate and detailed, and the first letter of each paragraph features its own miniature work of art, scrolled and covered with tiny vines and flowers. More than half the pages display full-page illustrations, very detailed and absolutely beautiful paintings.

  Francis is the blond, armored prince from the locket. Pierrette has more than one image: an old, gray-haired, hunchbacked woman complete with an army of wrinkles, and a young strawberry-blond maid with the lightest skin I’ve ever seen. Anne is beautiful. I think she’s my favorite from the illustrations. Her images have a sort of Audrey Hepburn look. I feel like I could step into the book and be her best friend in an instant. Honestly, her beautifully pinned, near-black curls and soulful dark eyes are much prettier than the unnamed main character’s wavy, plain brown hair and light eyes that almost seem to have no color.

  It occurs to me how odd it is that the main character has no name and much less detail or attention in the illustrations. Maybe the book was written a while after the events, and nobody knew as much about the mysterious missing queen-to-be as about everyone else.

  The illustrations show much more than the characters, of course. Little imagination is required to envision Shadow or Adele in some of these settings—a grand stone palace, with towers and banners and an actual moat. Or a forest full of vines and moss and ancient trees, or the town center full of bustling commoners and nobles’ carriages.

  My admiration of all the glorious paintings, full of life and color and movement, is broken when Shadow speaks. I’d actually forgotten him and the tunnel world around me for a moment.

  “What is it?”

  I look up at him, his hooded head still leaning over to glimpse the book in my lap. “What do you mean?”

  “The book. The story. What is it?”

  I slide the book over into his lap, a bit confused at the fact that he can’t see it from where he’s sitting. “Here, read it.”

  He chuckles and closes the book, handing it back to me. “I have.”

  Now I’m even more confused. “Well, then, why’d you ask me about it?”

  He stands up and ambles down an aisle. I fold the book in the crook of my elbow and follow him. “It’s not like the others.”

  Why is he always cryptic? “Not like what others? The other books?”

  “Mm-hmm.” He takes a book off a shelf and flips through the pages slowly, but I can tell he’s not really seeing them. It’s more of an idle movement while he talks.

  “How so?”

  “Like everything else here that’s different, odd, out of place, unusual. It’s magic.”

  I nod. “Okay, yeah, should’ve guessed that one. But the real question is, magic how?”

  He puts his book back on the shelf and holds his hand out. I pass the magic book to him. He opens and starts turning pages slowly, skimming each page. “I’ve read this enough times to last me another five hundred years—probably longer, honestly, but that’s another matter. The point is, I have read it more times than I recall, and yet I have very little idea what you see when you read it. It’s different for every reader. I see French; you read English. The story I read is one I am familiar with, but you will see only what will not endanger the magic of this world. Do you understand?”

  I nod, finally grasping what he’s getting at. “The story I read is different from the one you do.” I pause. “What story does the book tell you?”

  He shakes his head. “Best not risk anything. You tell me what you saw.” He gives the book to me again.

  I open it and sigh. “It was worth asking,” I mumble.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Okay, how about this? I’ll just read it to you.” I look up from the book at him. “Then I won’t miss anything, and you’ll know exactly what I see.”

  “A wonderful plan.” It sounds like he’s smiling. He gestures back at the window seat. “Your seat, my lady.” I take his extended arm and smile.

  “Why thank you, kind sir.”

  We sit and I read the story to him, stopping to point where I can see illustrations and describing them in detail. After the first two paintings, I forget about the curse and the tunnels again and just enjoy admiring the paintings out loud, often going on with unrelated discussions with Shadow. The sunlight from the window behind us has dimmed tremendously by the time I reach the final illustration, of Anne and Francis leaving the cave. There aren’t any illustrations from inside the cave, unfortunately. I haven’t even started on my description of the last image when Shadow takes my elbow and stands, pulling me up with him.

  “We’ve run out of time. You need to go.”

  I don’t protest; I know what he means. Nightfall. I consider taking the book to my room with me, but with the magic’s tendency for organization, I’m not sure how well that would work. I leave the book on the window seat. “Good night, Shadow.”

  He nods. “Good evening, Beila.”

  He remains standing by the window in the library as I walk away. When I reach the marble hall, I think I can hear one of the doors to his room just barely thud as it falls shut.

  I’ve started to get used to the cries at night—at least, as much as I can. They’re still terrible, gut-wrenching sounds, though and I mostly try to pretend I can’t hear them.

  I fall into a peaceful blackness, a dreamless sleep that’s interrupted by a pounding sound. It takes me a few moments to fully wake up and realize someone’s knocking on my door. I pull back the covers and stumble over to crack the door open.

  “Yes? What is it?”

  Blinking away my blurry post-sleep vision, I realize it’s Louna staring back at me. I pull the door open all the way and reach out to pull her inside.

  “Come in, sweetheart; it’s still dangerous out.”

  She resists me, however, and instead starts pulling me. After a moment I give in and step outside, closing the door behind me. The minute it slides shut, Louna’s grip tightens almost painfully and she breaks into a run, nearly causing me to fall.

  “Slow down, Louna!” I hiss at her, afraid of an echo. How well can griffins hear?

  Her pace barely slows, but I manage not to trip. I’m a bit out of breath when we reach her home, where she pulls me inside.

  This is all wrong.

  Adele lies on their mattress. I stop the moment I enter the room, frozen between rushing to help and turning away. Louna tries to pull me with her, but my arm falls limp by my side and she gives up. My stomach turns inside out at the sight and smell, and I honestly wonder if I’m having a nightmare.

  The mattress is covered in blood.

  Adele’s blood.

  A woman kneels next to the mattress, cleaning and wrapping the wounds, sopping up blood. A large pot of water stands next to her, as well as a mortar and pestle with an assortment of herbs. She has a lot of brown hair twisted up tightly to keep it out of the way. Her skin sags; she looks older than Adele. When Louna and I enter the room, Louna kneels next t
o the woman and takes her mother’s hand. The woman stands and passes me to close the door swiftly, which snaps me back into focus. I slowly walk forward toward the scene, although everything in me screams to get away, get away.

  “What happened?”

  The woman answers without pausing, without stopping her awful, wonderful healing work or looking at me. “The griffin.”

  Her voice is familiar. After a few minutes, I think I know why. “Sophie?”

  She nods curtly, still moving her hands and the cloths swiftly with expert motions. I pull Louna up into my lap and sit next to her.

  “What…can…is there anything I can do to help?”

  This time she glances at me briefly, then at Louna, before returning her sharp eyes to her work. “Do you have any skills in medicine or healing?”

  I shake my head. “No,” I whisper.

  “Very well. There’s not much more to be done as it is. I have the best healing skills in the village. Can you care for the child?”

  I nod. “Of course.” Every time I look at Adele, an enormous wave of worry and pain and even guilt washes over me and the stench and bile in my throat make me gag. Instead I look down at Louna and tilt my head to see the side of her face.

  “Let’s leave Sophie to her work. She knows what she’s doing. She’ll help your mother.”

  I stand, pulling Louna up with me, and pray that’s true.

  I don’t know how long it’s been. The small fireplace in the room has grown slowly lighter since I arrived, so it’s been an hour or two at least. Sophie’s finished with the cleaning and bandaging and has taken to singing to Adele while dabbing at her forehead with a wet cloth. She doesn’t seem to have a particularly good or bad voice, and Adele hasn’t changed, but if Sophie’s been the medical expert in this village for any considerable part of five hundred years, I believe she knows what she’s doing.