Chapter 5 Summer Once More #2
“No, we have not. And that’s why the festival continues; we will continue our research and development, fueled by the funds from this celebration.”
A ripple of relief wrung through the crowd. This, at least, was familiar. This was the dance they knew. This was the lie that had guided their lives for a century.
“So without further ado, let the festivities commence!”
On the stage, the familiar puppet play began, the drapes of black fabric mimicking shadows.
Mimicking Nessa.
Elana almost choked on a laugh. That shadowy glide of black fabric was nothing at all like Nessa. Nobody here understood her, not like Elana did.
When the puppets slammed the boulder over the well, Elana felt it in her chest, an aching sadness. How would the valley ever understand the shadows they’d lost to the monster if it was trapped in the well? The townsfolk didn’t understand shadows—or Nessa—at all.
And maybe that meant they didn’t understand Elana either.
“Come, sister,” said Marcus, distracting her from her rumination, “you’re too old for puppet plays, and besides I’m guessing you know all there is to know about the monster and its history.” He grabbed Elana’s elbow and guided her through the crowd to where the bonfire lay in the center of town.
The mead still buzzed in Elana’s veins, but she saw where Marcus was shoving her; toward a man, tall and broad, wearing a black cloth over his eyes, and black pants and boots, and a black tunic top, with a mug in his hand.
When he saw Marcus coming, he stood straighter, his masked gaze flashing between him and Elana. “Is this your sister?” he asked Marcus.
“Monsiuer Aubert,” said Marcus, with a dip of his head, “Yes, this is my sister Elana. I’ve told her much about you.”
Elana swallowed a scoff at this outright lie. He hadn’t needed to tell her a thing, for Monsieur Aubert’s reputation preceded him.
But Elana thought about the deal she had made with herself; she had chased Nessa away to keep her safe, and now she needed to upkeep the other end of the bargain, which was to try and live the life expected of her.
Granted, Alderic Aubert hadn’t been part of that deal, but if Elana at least showed she was trying maybe Marcus would release her from her bed.
Maybe he wouldn’t turn her in to the temple priestesses with their sleeping smoke and mouths full of lies.
Alderic downed the rest of his mug and passed the empty to Marcus, who took it without question, and then he bowed before Elana, wobbling the slightest bit.
She sucked in a breath as he stood, staggered, snatched up her hand. She bid herself not to pull it back, licking her lips and bending her knees in a curtsy nearly as wobbly as his bow.
Hers, however, was not thanks to drunkenness. Despite her earlier indulgence, Elana was clearheaded for the first time in months, fear drawing everything sharply into focus.
Alderic pressed his lips to her fingers. They were too soft, warm and wet, his mustache smearing the remaining ale from his lips onto her skin, and when he released her hand it took everything in her not to wipe it on her gown.
Elana swallowed thickly and let him lead her into the circle of firelight, next to the popping, snapping bonfire that sent sparks into the sky.
Partners danced and whirled around it, each pair dark and light in turn, mirroring each other’s movements.
Stringed instruments and makeshift drums beat out a merry tune against the night.
Alderic led Elana into the flow of the dance, his meaty hand in hers and the other slung low on her waist, gripping and possessive.
He guided her clunkily through the steps of the dance, and Elana tried to lose herself in the movement, in the play of light and dark, in the heat of the fire and the rhythm of the music.
But always, his body was there. His hands, his breath, his height. Elana’s palms were sweating, whether from the heat of the fire or the nearness of him, she didn’t know.
He pulled her close, the press of his belly against her body sending a wave of nausea roiling through her. He was easily twice her size, his hands thick and gnarled. Nothing about him was pleasing to her.
He was terrifying.
She was panicking.
She preemptively moved on to the next phase of the dance, where the partners twirled apart and then together, if only to have a moment’s reprieve from his presence, but it threw the entire circle out of time.
Alderic spun, confusion clear on his face.
He knew the steps and could follow them even in his drunkenness, so he knew it was she who had made the mistake.
His feet, however, had not gotten the message, and his left crossed over his right.
He stumbled, falling to the ground with a mighty crash and a volley of curse words aimed at Elana.
“You stupid girl!” he howled, his embarrassment only serving to stoke his rage.
“No wonder your brother is trying to foist you off on me!”
Chaos ensued around the fire, musicians missing their timing, dancers stopping midstep, unable to follow along. And from his place on the ground, Alderic Aubert looked up at Elana, and froze.
His gaze wasn’t pinned to her at all, though. It seemed focused on something above her, over her shoulder, and his eyes rounded, widening with what was unmistakably fear.
“Shadow,” he murmured. He clambered up to his knees, and Elana looked over her shoulder.
The white walls of the buildings of the town square were the perfect backdrop to the firelight, and there, behind Elana, was her fully grown shadow.
“She has a shadow,” bellowed Alderic. “Marcus Allard, you told me your sister was shadowless since birth! You lying filth!”
From the edge of the firelight Marcus emerged, still holding Alderic’s empty mug. “She is,” he said, certainty crisping his words.
“And how do you explain that, then?” howled Alderic, waving his arms at the full-fledged shadow behind Elana.
She backed away, arms wide, and her shadow shifted and changed against the whitewashed walls. Marcus sucked in a breath at the proof his sister had changed in more ways than he understood.
Alderic staggered to his feet, grasping Marcus by the collar. “Your sister is a freak, Allard. She should be taken to the research block and sliced open. No shadowed bitch will mother my children.” He shoved Marcus away and staggered off into the festival, off to bother some other woman.
Elana deflated with relief, but it was temporary.
Her brother grabbed her roughly by the upper arm. “He’s right. You have a shadow? You belong in the research block at festival time.” And without so much as a backward glance, he shoved her toward the temple.
Terror gripped Elana’s chest. She had seen how those with shadows were treated; the letting of their blood, starving them, feeding them until they could eat no more, shining bright lights in their faces for hours and hours at a time.
All in the name of destroying every hint of a shadow in the valley.
She wanted no part of it. She tried to fight Marcus off, but his grip on her arm was absolute, and she was weak with having eaten nearly nothing for the past several days.
She shrieked, trying to peel at his fingers, but her nails were already chewed down to the quick, and he was undeterred.
“Marcus!” A familiar voice shouted out from amongst the townsfolk. It was her mother, and Elana reached for her, screaming for her.
Mama didn’t reach back. “What are you doing?” she shouted, crossing the square and facing Marcus.
“Your daughter has a shadow now,” Marcus announced.
Mama reeled back. “What?” She snapped her gaze to Elana. “How?”
“Exactly my question. If she can regrow her shadow, the temple has to know.”
“Elana,” her mother began, reaching for her daughter’s face. “This could change everything. You could change it all. Imagine what they might learn from you! Go with Marcus.”
Not even her mother would save her now.
There was nobody left who understood her. The only person who’d ever accepted her for who she was, strangeness, darkness and all, was Nessa. Nessa with her silky hair and smooth touch. Nessa with her warm mouth and soft kisses.
Nessa whom she had sent away.
What was there left for Elana in this village? Her family who had all but forsaken her? Even when they spoke their support in hushed whispers like Josephine, they would not stand against Marcus’s hatred.
If she could get away now, she decided, she would run. Damn the mountain passes and damn any connection to this forsaken place. She would leave the valley or die trying to.
She struggled against Marcus’s hold again, her strength renewed. She would run home, gather supplies, and leave. Maybe she would find Nessa.
But just because she had made her decision didn’t mean Marcus was ready to let go.
He wrestled her at the edge of the bonfire, having dragged her not even a street away.
Elana fought like a wild cat, hissing and spitting, tears of rage burning her cheeks.
The firelight spun into sparkling fractals thanks to her damp eyes.
Marcus hauled her several more yards, Elana’s muscles screaming with the effort of her escape attempt. If she couldn’t do this, then she would never be free.
But she wished she didn’t have to do it alone. With a great heaving sob, she opened her mouth and screamed. “Nessa!”
She imagined her mouth could unhinge and open as wide as Nessa’s could when she took that first mouthful of shadows. She threw her head back and let out another guttural shriek. “Nessa!”
Through the town square, an icy breeze picked up.
Though it was the height of summer and the heat lay over the square like a blanket, the wind was cold as the depths of winter, and Elana gasped with the temperature drop as goosebumps tightened her skin.
The gale wound through her hair and teased at the shadow crown atop her head.
With her free hand, she palmed the crown, holding it in place.