Chapter 1 #3
At last, the family’s feet carried them onto the first stretch of road.
Lanterns hung from each house along their route, because a shadow could not be formed, and therefore found, without light to cast it.
Other families came as well, dressed in black suits with black cloaks to mimic a shadow or pale gowns to mimic the light.
Elana didn’t believe that the shadow had to be male, or the light had to be female.
But somehow, over the years, that was how the festival had characterized them.
Dancing with a dark stranger was like poking a wasp nest only to run away; one did it for the exhilaration, for the rush.
The village folk feared shadows, so the men emulated them, and the women faced them, conquered them.
The temple encouraged this theatre of bravery, for if the people of the village were bold enough to act the part of facing the shadows, so too could the priestesses be brave enough to face them for real.
Elana knew it for what it was, though: a farce. A play. It was in human nature to play-act at things that frightened them. She didn’t need to look any further than her young brothers, swinging swords at imaginary shadow monsters. Elana wasn’t sure she wanted any part of the game.
Or maybe she was just looking for any excuse not to partake in the dancing. Her insides roiled, the constant struggle between doing what was expected of her and doing what she wanted making nausea claw through her stomach.
She was so tired.
The road drew closer to the center square of town, and the glow from the distant bonfire seemed to grow with each step until at last the Allards were standing close enough to the flames to feel the waves of heat crashing from them.
Papa took Mama’s arm and swung her into a merry dance, as Luc gagged at the romance between his parents and Josephine sighed prettily.
“Watch the boys, Elana,” cried her mother as Papa swung her around the fire, her skirts billowing in the heat.
Elana caught sight of a man slouched at the edge of the fire, foam from his ale wetting his mustache.
He was so drunk he was barely awake, but through the slits of his eyes, he greedily watched the young girls dancing.
Alderic Aubert, his wife long dead, was infamous among the young women of town for his reaching hands.
Elana craned her neck, trying to catch sight of Josie, to make sure she was safe from his wandering touch.
A sinister chill ran over the back of Elana’s neck as more thunder grumbled in the distance.
“I know how you feel,” she muttered at the sky.
Keep Josie safe from the horrid creep, watch the boys, mend the dresses.
Families always took the eldest daughter for granted, always depended on her without ever checking if that was all right with her.
If that was what she wanted.
Michel and Edward took one look at each other, one look at Elana, and bolted.
With a world-weary sigh she trudged after them, leaving the older Allard children to find honey mead or romance.
The boys wound their way through the crowd, using their swords to whack at knees and shins and bottoms so people would move out of the way.
Elana followed in their chaotic wake as closely as she could and it wasn’t long before they found themselves in front of the puppet play they had been so excited to watch.
On stage, a barricade stood waist high, behind which the puppet actors knelt or sat, invisible to the crowd.
Their puppets were made of sticks and string and paper, with black fabric behind them to mimic the effect of a shadow.
The actors’ voices carried loud and clear despite their position behind the barricade.
“A hundred years ago,” cried a male voice, “a dangerous monster swept through our valley, devouring every shadow it encountered.”
The puppets shivered as a large black piece of cloth fell from the ceiling of the theater, suspended on ropes.
It must have been operated by many actors up in the beams, because it wove and undulated like a serpent, and as it flowed past the other puppets, their shadowy parts disappeared behind the barricade, showing how the shadows had been consumed.
In front of Elana, several children shivered with frightened delight.
A new voice added to the play. “At first it was simply a curiosity, a small amusement, to stand in the light of the setting sun, watching your shadow grow long, and marvel at the wisps of darkness that gathered, amassing into a void so black it seemed almost to take the light with it as well.” Clever lantern work at the sides of the theater mimicked the light of the setting sun, and the shadows of the puppets stretched, the shape of their fabric changing as the skilled actors maneuvered it.
But before they could fully extend, the shadow monster puppet fell from above, and the crowd gasped as the puppets’ shadows disappeared, several shrieks piercing through the crowd.
“But when the monster departed, without fail, the place where a person’s shadow should have fallen was bright and empty.” The lanterns shone a spotlight where the puppets’ shadows should be. The puppets lifted their hands to their faces, pretending at astonishment.
The crowd laughed, and Elana winced.
“A generation passed, not a shadow to be seen in our valley. Our crops grew fat on unimpeded sunshine, and our home grew safer as there were no shadows within which to perform dastardly deeds.” A puppet attempted to creep across the stage, gripping a bag of stolen goods.
But the lanterns turned to face him, and there was nowhere for him to hide. He was swiftly arrested.
“And when the monster returned, searching for a meal, we hated the darkness it brought.” The fabric shadow monster descended again, and the puppets screamed in fear, fleeing before its undulating form. The ones who remained threw things at it, yelling and cursing their hatred of the darkness.
Then slowly, all the puppets backed away, and the fabric expanded until it filled most of the stage. It seemed to expand and contract as though with breath. A hush fell upon the crowd.
“I could do it, you know.” The hairs on the back of Elana’s neck stood at attention. The monster’s words were many-voiced, spoken in unison by actors all around the theater so that the words seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. “I could be the monster you think me.”
From the edges of the stage, the puppets spewed more hatred, directing their ire at the darkness.
The fabric monster reacted to their blows, shrinking in on itself.
Then with a roar, it assumed a sinewy shape once more.
As the puppets threatened and swung at the darkness, the shadow fought back, and curtains of blood red fabric billowed from the puppets’ chests as one by one, they fell.
The monster had massacred a dozen people before fleeing to the shelter of the Somberweald.
There was some twisted part of Elana’s heart that understood, though; the townsfolk had spent so long hating the darkness the monster brought that the monster, too, had felt hated.
And now that hatred had been a part of their culture for so long, it was ingrained in them, as much a part of what this town was as the festival itself.
Elana thought of the other people who were drawn to the well, and how the townsfolk treated them with a similar kind of hatred, bordering on revulsion. The only reason she wasn’t a victim of that hatred was that her family had been keeping her secret.
She understood the desire to make that hatred go away, and perhaps that made her monstrous as well. Chewing her lip, she cast her eyes down and then to the sides, trying to shake off these dark thoughts and focus on keeping an eye on her brothers.
The announcer’s voice grew stronger, more certain. “Enough was enough!” she cried. “The townsfolk would no longer tolerate the fear and wrath brought forth by the monster!”
More puppets came on stage and from below the barricade rose the figure of a well.
Elana knew that well with an intimate familiarity.
She’d been there, frequently, her secret desire tugging her feet in that direction from the time she could walk, the pull growing stronger every year.
Almost every night, she sleepwalked, and always in the direction of the well.
One night she’d gone there in her sleep and only awakened when she had broken all her fingernails on the wooden cover of the well, splinters in her fingertips and blood smeared on her nightgown.
Her family, fed up with her nightly journeys and fearful for her safety, but not willing to turn her over to the temple priestesses, resorted to tying her foot to her bedpost each night to keep her from wandering there.
When the ropes started to rub her ankle raw, Marcus and Father had devised the leather cuffs she wore now, in secret, tucked beneath the long folds of her gown.
Of course, they were not just worried for her safety, Elana knew.
They were worried what others would think.
What the priestesses of the temple would do and how they would treat Elana.
It was her greatest secret, that she was relentlessly drawn to the place where the monster was said to be trapped.
Her greatest guilt, that she’d escaped the cruel fate of those like her who had been turned over to the temple.
Her greatest fear, that there was some darkness inside her that she simply could not shake.
Those same healers and witches, priestesses and medics, who tried each year to discover a means to remove shadows, had tried to cure these nightly urges in others.
But when they failed, and their families abandoned them, they were doomed to live with the priestesses, whose ties were not as soft and comfortable as Elana’s.
There was no cure for the force that drew her toward the well. Toward the monster.