The Girl Who Lost Her Shadow

by Emily Ilett

  Kay had slipped the shell off her head and grinned. “Clean,” she’d said, as she helped Gail out of the water. She’d half-carried Gail back up the beach to keep the sand out of the cut, and Gail had hopped on her one good foot, the shell still clutched in her hand.

  For the rest of that day, Gail could feel the ghost of the pincers in her hands, like a haunting. It felt like this, the memory of something else in your body. Gail swallowed and stared at her hands. She was like a hermit crab now. A hermit crab without a shell: vulnerable and soft without her shadow.

  Gail thought of Kay today, in her bed, staring out the window. She saw the flatness of her dark eyes, the way they looked through her and past her. Then Gail’s breath caught in her throat. If other shadows could hold on to Gail, they could trap Kay as well. What if Kay had already been caught by one? Would she be able to remember who she was? Because she wasn’t herself any more. She hadn’t been for weeks.

  Gail struggled to her feet. She needed to keep going. Anything could be happening at home.

  “Wait up,” Mhirran called after her, but Gail barely heard her. She ran, feet dodging shadows and rocks, until she saw a sliver of light ahead. Squeezing through the narrow crack, she stepped out of a craggy rock face into a forest, Mhirran close behind.

  The ground was spongy with moss and rain. Clouds raced across the sky and the wind whipped at her cheeks, tugging at her hair.

  “See!” Mhirran grinned, holding out her arms and spinning. “No one knows the caves better than me!”

  Gail filled her lungs with a deep breath. It felt like breaking the surface of water. The air smelled of wood smoke and insect secrets. She put her hand to the bark of an old oak and felt the knots and gnarls of its trunk. In the silky light, Gail could see circles curling around a tree stump. She thought of the stalactites in the cave, and Francis. A bird’s shriek sliced the air above them and Gail tensed.

  Mhirran was already moving purposefully further into the forest. Her hands were splayed at her sides, fronds of fern and twigs handshaking her as she passed. Her orange hair felt too bright in the mossy green and her boots squeaked loudly as she walked. Gail stared after her. Something felt wrong.

  “Mhirran,” Gail called, running after her. “Wait. Where are we going?”

  Mhirran turned. She looked surprised. “To my uncle’s. We’ll get food. I’m hungry, aren’t you? It’s okay, Francis will still be in the tunnel.”

  “Wait, stop. I can’t just come to your uncle’s. I need to find Kay’s shadow.”

  Mhirran paused, her hand tightening around a fern. She looked around the forest uneasily. “Gail, we have to keep going. We’ll get food at my uncle’s, and maps, then we’ll look for Kay’s shadow.”

  “But you saw it, didn’t you, Mhirran? You saw it!” The words burst out of Gail. “I have to find it now. It’s getting further away all the time. You’ve got to try and remember. Did it go down this tunnel? Could it be out here in the woods?”

  Mhirran’s mouth curled in on itself, her gaze darting between Gail’s knees. And when she looked up, Gail saw the truth billowing painfully in her eyes like a jellyfish bloom.

  Chapter Seven

  The forest quietened around the two girls, standing face to face. A blackbird trilled a few notes then gave up. The sky lowered itself onto their backs. Gail’s eyes narrowed.

  “Where did it go, Mhirran? Where did my sister’s shadow go?”

  But she already knew the answer. She could feel it like a stone in her stomach. Mhirran had seen Kay’s shadow in the cavern. It must have gone right by her. “We weren’t following it in our tunnel, were we, Mhirran?” Gail’s jaw ached as she forced the words out. “Kay’s shadow went down the other one. Where Francis went.”

  Mhirran squeezed handfuls of ferns between her fists as Gail walked towards her. Now that they were further inside the forest, the canopy closed darkly above them and the trees leaned into each other, branches groaning in the wind.

  Gail frowned. It didn’t make sense. “But why take me the wrong way?”

  A sour taste prickled Gail’s tongue and she felt sick as she remembered Mhirran’s words to her brother. You’ll move quicker by yourself. You’re bound to catch up with it that way. Gail’s eyes widened in horror.

  “Your brother is trapping shadows,” she said, aghast. Seeing the truth in Mhirran’s half-step forward, her pleading eyes, Gail reeled backwards. “And you’re helping him,” she spat at the girl. “You kept me out of the way while he chased my sister’s shadow. He’s probably got her in his horrible mach—” Gail broke off, her fists pressed against her sides, eyes filled with the vampire squid funnel and tight rope of Francis’s contraption. She remembered the flicker she saw as Mhirran checked the second of the machines: a trapped shadow. Gail shuddered and moved forward so she was inches from Mhirran’s white face.

  “Tell me where he is.”

  Mhirran’s hair trembled and she backed away from Gail. “Wait, you’re wrong. You’ve got it wrong,” she stammered.

  “TELL ME WHERE HE IS!” Gail’s roar stretched around the forest, reverberating off trunks. Birds scattered from branches.

  Mhirran’s mouth opened and closed and her ears stood out painfully red. She looked younger than ever as she turned to walk away into the trees.

  Gail chased after her.

  “Answer me, Mhirran! What will he do with Kay’s shadow? Where will he take it?” Gasping for breath, Gail stopped, staring at Mhirran’s retreating back through narrow eyes. “Why would you help him?” she asked, bitterly.

  At that, Mhirran paused and turned, slowly. Her chin rose to meet Gail’s gaze, and although her mouth quivered, her eyes blazed.

  “Francis is my brother, Gail,” Mhirran said, and the words were hard and shining, like diamonds. “But I was trying to help you. Just like I said.”

  “By getting me out of the way so Francis could get my sister’s shadow?”

  “Yes. By getting you out of the way.” Mhirran’s voice shook. Her face contorted as if it was struggling with something. “I’ll help you get your sister’s shadow back, Gail. I promise.”

  “Just tell me where it went. Tell me why Francis wants it and tell me what he’s going to do with it.”

  “Gail, trust me—”

  The pufferfish inside Gail exploded into painful spikes.

  “Stop it!” Gail burst out. “Stop lying to me! How can I trust you after what you’ve done? Tell me where he went, Mhirran. You talk all the time, but you don’t ever say anything real. You talk about whistling and webs and stupid Morse code but you can’t even tell me the truth. I thought you were different to Francis. But you’re just like him.” Her voice cracked and her face was hot with fury as she kicked at a log on the ground, scattering damp chunks of wood.

  “I got us out of the tunnels, I’m trying to help you and I don’t lie,” Mhirran said, her hands balled into fists at her sides. “Yes, Francis collects shadows. But he also uses people who’ve lost their shadow. Like you, Gail. He wanted to use you. He was going after your sister’s shadow and there was nothing we could have done to stop him. But I got you out his way, Gail. I made sure you came with me. I got you out of there.”

  Gail’s mind whirled but somewhere deep down, she knew that what Mhirran was saying was true. Francis had been suddenly interested in her when he saw she had no shadow.

  “I could have stopped him, Mhirran,” she retorted, but doubt wobbled her voice. Francis was bigger than her, and he knew the tunnels. He’d have got her and Kay’s shadow.

  Mhirran shook her head and her voice grew stronger. “Do you remember when Francis said your name was strange for a girl without a shadow? You know why he said that, Gail? It’s because you’re not a gale, are you? You’re not a storm gale, or a fresh gale, or even a moderate gale. Gales are fierce and strong – they can whip up huge, huge waves in the sea and bring them crashing down on the shore. You’re angry but you’re not strong, because strong people don’t shout at people who try
to help them. You’re not a gale, you’re more like…” Mhirran blew a raspberry in the air. “Like a breeze, like nothing.” Her hands were shaking but her eyes still blazed. “People lose their shadows because they lose themselves. You’ve lost yourself, Gail. You can’t cast a shadow if you’re not really here.”

  Gail swallowed hard. Her hands shook and her head felt tight and dizzy, like she was somersaulting deeper and deeper underwater. She tried to breathe but Mhirran’s words spun through her lungs, catching at her breath. You’re not a gale… Gales are fierce and strong… You’re nothing… You’re not really here.

  In her mind, she saw again the birthday cake that her dad had sent, the GALE in wobbly blue sweets on top. On the night you were born, your screams were fiercer than the gale outside, so we called you Gail. We knew then that you were going to be braver than all of us. Gail bit her lip. She wasn’t brave or strong. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be home. She wanted everything to be normal. The pufferfish inside her stomach shrank into a dull ache, but everything still hurt.

  “And you know why I talk all the time, why I talk to you, Gail?” Mhirran was blinking hard. “Because I’m trying to get you back. I’m trying to reach the you that’s disappeared.”

  Gail stared at her shoes, her cheeks aflame.

  “But it’s fine,” Mhirran said quietly. “I’ll stop now.” And she turned away.

  Gail began to step forward, and her mouth opened in the hope that it would say something right, for once, but she couldn’t move. Her feet were stuck. She looked down and saw the dark, jagged shape of a tree’s shadow seeping thickly around her shoes. No. Please. Not now.

  Her throat constricted with fear. Mhirran was already moving out of sight.

  A thunderous rumble sounded in the distance. For a moment, Gail remembered the storm warnings, though this didn’t sound quite like a storm. Root shadows wound themselves tighter and tighter around her toes. Gail felt old, so old, and so tired. She pulled desperately at her feet, trying hard to think of herself, of who she was, but all she could see was Mhirran’s distant, retreating back.

  “Mhirran,” she croaked, and the word stumbled brokenly into the forest. “Mhirran,” she called louder. “Mhirran!”

  Mhirran turned back towards her. Gail saw her mouth move but she couldn’t hear what she said. The thunder was upon them. Only it wasn’t thunder at all. A herd of stampeding deer burst from between the trees. They smelled of salt and sweat and fur and their eyes were wide like rock pools in their faces. Gail took a quick sharp breath. Mhirran was right in the way as the deer hurtled towards them.

  Trapped in the tree’s shadow, unable to move, Gail shouted to the pale girl standing frozen in the deer’s path. But the strangled cry was numbed amid the beating hooves of the deer as they flew by. Gail searched for Mhirran through the blur of tawny fur, but her head spun and she could see nothing but the stream of the herd, pulsing forwards.

  And as the last of the animals hurtled past, Gail stared in horror at the empty space where Mhirran had been standing. A space that grew bigger and bigger as the forest noises settled and the tree’s shadow tightened around her.

  Chapter Eight

  A crow screeched far overhead, and the trees leaned towards each other, whispering. A sharp wind prowled the forest, musty leaves thrown like damp, dark confetti. Gail fell to her knees inside the tree’s shadow, her throat hoarse from yelling. She felt entirely and unmistakably like crying.

  Mhirran was right. She wasn’t a gale; she wasn’t even a light breeze. Her shadow had gone, Kay’s shadow had gone, and she’d turned against the one girl who’d said she wanted to help. Gail swallowed. Kay’s shadow hadn’t just gone. It had been taken. Trapped by a shadow collector.

  Panic bubbled inside her as Gail recalled the greed in Francis’s eyes, and she felt the tree’s shadow grow around her feet. Her ankles felt gnarled and itchy with insects. Her knees creaked, and she shuddered from the faint tickle of leaves in her ears. Taking deep breaths, she reached into her bag and found the picture of Kay.

  In the photo, her sister looked ridiculous. Paint was oozing in slimy green-and-yellow globs off her face, and she’d crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. Her tongue was sneeze-green with paint. Gail remembered that day. It was a Thursday afternoon and they should have been at school, but Angus had called Gail a fat fishface at lunchtime and Kay had found her, blotchy and beaten, crouched under the hand dryer in the girls’ toilets. Gail blushed at the memory. They’d gone home early and painted each other’s faces into fish (“This is more like a fishface,” Kay had said, grinning) and eaten a whole jar of peanut butter with their fingers.

  Gail ran a forefinger down the photo, following the curve of Kay’s cheek. Kay had always been the strong one, not her. She remembered the time when she’d broken her arm and Kay had drawn twenty-three octopi on her cast so that she had all the arms she needed, and when Kay had spent hours explaining the tides because Gail was afraid of not knowing when the ocean would shift or shrink. She remembered when her sister had taken the blame the day Gail had turned their mum’s umbrella into a jellyfish with pink tissue paper and superglue, and when she’d squeezed Gail’s hand and distracted her with stories of marine biologist Asha de Vos while Gail had her first terrifying injection.

  And she remembered one day after Kay had started sinking, when she had turned to Gail in the sticky silence, and said softly, “Do you remember the time we went swimming last October? We stayed in for ages and when we came out our lips and fingers were blue. You squeezed my hand and I couldn’t feel anything at all.” Gail had nodded and Kay stared at her own hand, flexing her fingers. “I feel like that now, Gail. Everything is numb. It’s like I’ve been swimming for hours. But I don’t know how to get out. I can’t get out.”

  Gail had stiffened at Kay’s words then. Kay was the strong one. She needed Kay to be the strong one. And so she had tightened her mouth and tapped at the window and shrugged and said nothing at all.

  Twigs broke behind her. They crunched in a creature-like way. Gail held her breath; she slipped the photo back in her bag and tried once more to wrestle her feet from the tree’s shadow. It was beginning to convince her that there were leaves growing from her nostrils and in between her teeth: Gail had to touch her face to check that there weren’t. She tugged her hair behind her ears, and shifted her rucksack higher on her back.

  Leaves crackled to her right, followed by the scuttling of insects disturbed.

  “Hello?” Gail whispered. “Who’s there?”

  For the first time, she wondered why the deer had been running so fast. Perhaps something had spooked them in the forest…

  Gail shrank her head into her jumper. She had to get out of the tree’s shadow. Who am I? Remember who I am. But all she could see was Mhirran’s pale face, and Kay, flexing her fingers sadly on her bed.

  Caww. A crow burst upwards, startled into flight: something was moving in the forest. Gail froze. She could smell animal: damp fur and hunger. Every part of her body tensed. She squeezed her eyes shut, frantically racing through all the defences she knew: the octopus’s spray of ink, the eel’s organ regurgitation, the slime of the hagfish. She thought of the leafy seadragon’s camouflage and the jellyfish’s sting. And then she thought of Kay and the way she stared everybody down without any other kind of weapon at all. So Gail opened her eyes.

  The eyes staring back at her were full of wilderness. Of hunts and hiding. Of exile and territory. They were full of night secrets and independence. They were coral-proud and luminous. They shone.

  Gail’s mouth opened and closed like a stranded fish. The cat was only an arm’s length away. It stared at Gail, its thick, black-tipped tail twitching.

  Once upon a time, Rin said that Miss said that someone famous once said that to see yourself in the reflection of an animal’s eye is to see yourself properly for the first time. Gail and Kay had spent that evening circling the goldfish bowl where Spot and Spots deftly avoided their eyes.
They’d prodded the hamster awake and squinted and squashed their faces next to his, but his round black eyes showed nothing but shiny indifference. They’d used binoculars to stare at Mr Chopra’s yellow-eyed cat, but it showed them its tail instead. And so they’d given up, deciding that Rin and Miss and the famous someone knew nothing about it at all.

  But here in the forest, a tree’s shadow curled around her feet and sunlight trickling through the leaves, Gail could see herself in the cat’s eyes. She could see Kay in the shape of her own jaw and the curl of her hair but Gail’s nose was smaller than Kay’s, and her eyebrows were straighter and her cheeks twitched in different ways. She looked small and lost but distinctly like herself. Her seal-brown eyes stared back at her and her uncertain mouth straightened.

  And as she stared at her own reflection, Gail felt something shift below her. The tree’s shadow was loosening, each root rolling away. Gail’s heartbeat thumped in her ears as the cat slowly blinked her reflection back again. In the cat’s eyes, Gail looked braver than she felt. Her fringe spun above her forehead in dark coils and her nose was clustered with determined freckles.

  She wiggled her cramped feet gently and flexed her fingers, while the cat casually yawned and licked a paw. Gail attempted a smile. She felt more solid somehow, like she knew where her edges were. And she knew what she had to do. She had to find Mhirran. Francis had caught Kay’s shadow – the pufferfish in Gail’s stomach prickled her ribs – and Mhirran would know where to find him. Gail took a deep breath.

  Think.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, recalling the pulsing beat of the herd flooding through the forest. Like a tidal wave, Gail thought. A deep-sea current. Gail blinked, her eyes tracing patterns in the muddy ground. No one can fight a current. You just have to swim with it.