"Misty?"
A twig snapped. A damp chill surrounded Ennara, picking up goose bumps on her arms. The girl hugged herself and stomped her feet to fend off the cold. Why couldn't the cow make things easy for her tonight?
She took a tentative step between two wild rosebushes. The sun slowly sank toward the distant hills across Lake Coeur. If she hadn't stayed so late fishing at the docks with Kithe, she'd be home by now, cow tucked safely in the well-lit barn.
Ennara glanced around the gloomy forest. Long shadows stretched across the pasture between her and the farmhouse. She shivered. Her father, Lir, had warned her to bring Misty back before sunset. She wasn't afraid of the dark, but she didn't want to meet one of the monsters stalking around at night that Kithe told her about.
She heard the familiar clang of the cow's bell and called again, stepping near the sound. Trees blocked her view. She peered between them, trying to catch a glimpse of the exasperating bovine.
The life-filled woods departed as the last rays of light slipped behind the hills, leaving a hollow version of its higher self. The girl shivered a second time and rubbed her arms.
The bell sounded once more. Ennara jumped and spun around. She ran a few steps in the direction of the sound, further into the trees.
Through the approaching dusk, she caught a glimpse of metal. There it was-the cow's bell and collar hung on the limb of a young cottonwood. How had Misty managed to get it off? Confused, the girl stepped toward the bell.
Behind her, a twig snapped. She froze. She turned to see a tall shadow flitting among the trees. Her heart fluttered as she backed away.
"M ... misty?" she whispered.
A hiss and knocking replied. Was that a raven? No, the sound wasn't quite right.
She tripped on a branch and landed on something soft and wet. Ugh! It was just her luck to land in mud. She lifted her hand in the lingering daylight to see it dripping with a murky liquid. Her stomach knotted. What was it? Too runny to be mud. She grabbed for the offending stick and felt ... fur.
She stifled a scream and scrambled to her feet. A whimper escaped her lips.
Ennara squinted at the lumps on the ground. Was that a branch or a leg? Was that a boulder or the body of ... a cow?
"Misty?" the girl's voice quivered. Her eyes welled with tears. She'd brought the cow in for three years without a hitch. She remembered how hard she worked to convince her parents to let her bring Misty in by herself. And now her cow was ... dead? Her nose began to run. She sniffed and rubbed it on her sleeve.
She stumbled to the pasture. She had to get away from whatever was stalking through the forest and get back to the farm. The sun had fallen behind the hills. Light was fading into twilight.
The rasping-gurgling was right beside her now. She whirled, her jagged breath catching in her chest. The shadow darted. She ran for the open field where some twilight remained. Her legs wobbled with fear. She stumbled.
She looked up, and there it was before her. She froze. Crouching in the darkness of a great pine was the twisted shape of a man, like a broken shadow come alive. Red eyes blinked slowly at her. A mouth lined with pointed teeth curled into a smile. The demon opened its mouth wide and let out another gurgling hiss. Long, sharp claws grasped the earth as it crept toward her.
She screamed, scrambling backward. The creature cackled and licked its lips. It paused, sniffed the air, and swiped a bloody, black claw at a shrub. Was it taunting her? Her stomach sank. She somehow found her feet and lurched into a run.
The shadow darted to her side, making no effort to stay hidden. It felt like the trees were closing in around her. Her entire body shook. She tripped again. Could she make it to the farm?
The demon pounced, pushing the girl in the dirt. The sweat on her brow turned icy; the shadow creature drew all warmth out of the air. It pressed its claws into her leather vest. Jagged breaths came close as it breathed in her scent. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
"Ennara!" her father shouted.
"Daddy!" she screamed.
Glass and metal crashed over her head. Fire fell around her. A lantern lay broken at the base of the tree in front of her. The flames spread, hungrily devouring the oil mixed with tinder. The creature growled and clawed at her back before darting into the fleeting shadows.
Lir pulled her onto his horse. Her limbs tingled; the warmth of her father and his stallion was like a tonic. She collapsed in the saddle.
He spurred the steed to the pasture. A screech tore through the blackness behind them. Her muscles tensed again as they sped to the farm. She peered past her father through the lengthening dusk. A shadowy shape bound out of the woods and tore across the field after them. She squeezed the horse's neck and buried her face in his mane.
"Light the trench!" Lir shouted as they approached the farmhouse, "Aenor! A shadespawn comes! Light it now!"
In the twilight, Ennara could make out her mother on the porch. The woman, dressed in her familiar work wear, lit a lantern and ran to the edge of the dirt lane to the farm. She struck a flint on the earth. A dazzling wall of blue and lavender flame erupted, encircling the house, outbuildings, and barn. Her graceful features and long golden hair were lit brilliantly. She stepped away from the blaze and ran to the barn.
Buckwheat screamed as Lir urged him through the burning wall. He swept his cloak over the silver quarter horse's back. The girl flinched as the steed leapt, anticipating searing heat, but it never came. Strange, she thought. The fire must have come from one of her aunt's alchemical mixtures, but Ennara hadn't seen it before.
In the barn, Aenor had lit three lanterns and had driven the hens inside before she returned to the house to light it as well. The confused birds huddled in a corner of their pen, clucking quietly and tucking their heads under their wings. Lir helped his shaking daughter off the horse. Her knees buckled when she hit the solidity of the earth. She grabbed for a railing on the horse's stall for support.
Her father cupped her chin. "Are you hurt?" he said in a shaky voice.
"No, I'm ... I'm okay."
"That creature ... the shadespawn ... it didn't touch you?"
"It ... it clawed at my vest-"
Lir turned her around. He ran his hands down tears in the thick leather. He exhaled, lifted his eyes, and hugged her. His warmth and strength loosed her nerves. A sob caught in her throat. He held her tighter and took a deep breath.
"We'd better get in the house before the lumos powder burns out. Stay close to me. The shadow creatures can't enter light."
They ran to the house, her father holding a lantern before them as they went. Every window was lit by lanterns and candles. Her mother waited for them at the door, her forehead crinkled in worry as she rushed to embrace her husband and daughter.
"My god, you're covered in blood ..." her words trembled as she pushed the bangs away from Ennara's face.
"It's Misty's ..."
Aenor embraced her. She ushered the girl upstairs to get out of the soiled clothing and wash. As Ennara soaked in a warm bath, her mind replayed her narrow escape from the shadespawn in the forest. She was glad to be home, safe.
###
Ennara studied herself with her mother's silver glass hand mirror. She hadn't slept well. Her eyes, normally hazel, looked gray. They were puffy and streaked with red. She couldn't get the image of the shadespawn out of her mind, imagining it stalking outside her bedroom, sifting through the cracks in the door, and creeping up to her bed. Her mother had left a lamp glowing in her room-in fact, the whole house was lit-for the remainder of the night. She kept her covers tucked up to her chin, peering into the shadows. Now that it was daylight she felt safer, but the shadespawn lingered in her thoughts.
She picked up a brush and tugged it through her short blonde hair. It didn't matter if she wore it long or short; it always flopped right in her face. She sighed and blew the wispy strands away.
She studied the visage-what was it that made her any different? Pink cheeks, small nose. She didn't look so different than other girls. But not when she was born. A tiny membrane covering her face-the caul-had marked her as someone different.
She gazed at the tattoo that marked her as a magic user. Orange and red flames reached to her fingertips, bursting from a green and gold dragon that gripped the back of her right hand and wrapped its tail around her wrist. The tattoo was meant to warn non-magic users of her supposed abilities, not that she had any; she'd merely studied the theories behind magic, never used it.
A sharp crack came from the window. She rose and looked outside; the lanky Kithe Fontaine squinted up at her with a handful of pebbles. Kithe was the only child in Hogin her age. They'd been friends for as long as she could remember.
Seeing the girl, he did a cartwheel and a jig. She winced. Kithe was clumsy. He stood a hand taller than her, and people always assumed he was older. Just a month older, she begrudgingly admitted. If he kept up his antics, he'd sprain an ankle or punch a hole through the chicken pen. She unlatched the window.
"Are you here for eggs?" she called to him. He often came by to buy eggs for his father's inn. He nodded. "I'll be right down!"
The boy did a roundhouse kick at the air and landed on his feet. He raised his arms in triumph and bowed to an imaginary audience. Ennara turned from the window and ran downstairs as her aunt arrived. The widow of her father's brother studied her, the woman's deep brown eyes bordered by worry lines.
"Hi, Aunt Marsaili!" she shouted as she ran through the kitchen to the back door. Her aunt waved her on.
She made the steps as Kithe hopped onto the fencepost next to the chickens. A hero in his own mind, the youth held a stick and fenced with an imaginary opponent.
"Kithe! Be careful!"
He glanced over, wobbled on his toes, and fell into the coop. With a surprised "Aaah!" he landed square in the birds' water trough, splashing its occupants. A cacophony of squawks, screeches, and feathers erupted from the pen.
His unruly black hair was plastered to his head, and his clothes were drenched. He looked like a troll soaked in mud with his face covered in seed and freckles. Ennara laughed. He had more freckles than anyone she knew. When they were younger, she would say they were fairy kisses, to which he vehemently objected.
He hopped out of the pen and sat on the ground to empty his boots of water and seed. Ennara picked up a basket, delicately entered the coop, and gathered a dozen eggs, cooing at the hens to calm them.
"Thanks," he said, blushing as she handed the basket to him. He drew a dripping silver coin from his pocket and handed it to her.
"I have something to tell you," she said, lowering her voice. "But first we need to find out what my parents are discussing with Aunt Marsaili."
She held a finger to her lips and motioned him to follow her up the outer staircase to her parents' chamber. The shadespawn story would have to wait.
She slowly opened the patio door and tiptoed down the hall to the staircase above the front room and kitchen. From there, they could hear the conversation below while staying hidden.
Lir and Aenor sat at the table while her aunt paced the floor. The woman, who was a few years younger than her mother, was usually calm, filled with a kind of quiet confidence. But right now her tutor was clearly worried. She crossed the room and peered out the window at the chicken coop and garden. After seeming to confirm nothing appeared amiss, she straightened and took a deep breath.
"They are here," Lir said. Aunt Marsaili's response was muffled.
Kithe elbowed Ennara. "What did she say?" he whispered.
She frowned and elbowed him back. "I don't know. Shhh!"
"Okay, sheesh!" the boy said.
"The rumors are correct," her aunt said after a pause. "The innkeeper at the Dancing Bear in Dordonne confirmed it. There've been scattered encounters throughout the district, on roads and farmland. Presumably the attacks started closer to the Gods' Ascent. But this is the first so close to a village."
Lir cleared his throat. Ennara thought she heard her mother stifle a whimper.
"Then Paytrek ..." Aenor said.
"We knew he wasn't the only one, Aenor," Lir said. "But we had to stop his transformation. There was nothing else we could do."
Ennara remembered her Uncle Paytrek. She was eight when he died, but her memories of him were vivid. He was strong, clever, and liked to give her riddles to solve. He and her aunt often hunted and gathered herbs in the Gods' Ascent, the great mountains spanning the entire southern portion of the continent of Estlan. When they returned, he'd tell her their adventures, describing encounters with giant trolls or bands of gnomes trying to steal their tools. She remembered the last time they returned from the Gods' Ascent. The last time she saw her uncle.
Her aunt had come to their house one night, a week before they were expected to return from their latest excursion. Her mother woke her, bundled her up in blankets, and carried her to their wagon. "We need to go take care of Uncle Paytrek," she said to the sleepy girl. "He is very ill."
Outside, the rain was hitting the ground so hard it bounced. Father drove the horses hard to the couple's cottage on the outskirts of Hogin. The younger woman clung to Aenor as they rode, her face pale. "It was just a scratch," she had said. "I've treated it with everything, but he only continues to get worse."
She had curled up in blankets before the hearth while her mother labored in the kitchen, making salves and potions. Aunt Marsaili would enter the room, take a remedy, and instruct Aenor on the next step of the potion she was preparing. Then she'd disappear into the chamber where her father and uncle remained.
Ennara didn't sleep well amidst the hurried instructions and the screams coming from the other room. Her father came out of the bedroom once. "I've had to restrain him," he told her mother. "Prepare a sedative."
In the hours before dawn, the noises sounded less like her uncle. The speech was garbled and sounded deeper, less human. There was an argument between her father and her aunt.
"I can't, Lir!" the woman cried.
"We've tried everything, Marsaili. He is turning. There's nothing else we can do."
Her aunt buried her face in her hands. Sobs shook her thin frame.
"We must," he continued, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You know what he'll become if we don't!"
The strange voice shrieked.
Her father entered the kitchen and drew a dagger from his travelling cloak. His hand shook as he handed the blade to her aunt. Her face was red and streaked with tears. She drew a vial of silvery liquid from the cupboard and poured it on the knife. Then, ashen, she and her father closed the chamber door behind them.
The screaming had risen to a manic howl. Then it fell silent. When her aunt left the room, her shoulders were slumped. Gray rings circled her eyes. She had changed that day and was never the same.
Now they were saying her uncle's death had something to do with the shadespawn.
Aunt Marsaili blew her nose, then coughed. "Lir and I weren't able to track and kill the fiend that attacked him."
"So there could be more, now," Aenor said.
"Likely there are," Lir agreed. "But it'll be okay. Marsaili has a poison that can kill them."
"If there are many, we may not be able to fight them all off," Aunt Marsaili said. "The ingredients for quicksilver poison are difficult to come by. I must travel to the Gods' Ascent to get more quicksilver ore. And it is essential that we find another way to dispatch them."
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