Treasure Above All

Rastaban found a nest of furs close by, and he wriggled into it to lay down and be warm, safe.

“Is Dravi not good enough for you? Your own son?” the woman demanded. She sounded angry.

“Shruti, Dravi is a good boy, but you spoil him. My son must be a general in my stead, a warrior,” General Rami said. “You will not let him hunt or fight with the other boys, so I found a boy who will hunt and fight so Dravi will not be in danger.”

“But Dravi is your son. You must treasure him above all.”

Not Your Own

Dravi eyed Rastaban warily. “Will I have to share my food with him?”

“He will earn food of his own when you two play games,” General Rami said.

The woman stared down at Rastaban. “Will I have to care for him? As my own?”


“He’s not your own,” General Rami said, “and he will care for himself. Won’t you, Rastaban?”

Rastaban didn’t like the way Dravi was staring at him. But he nodded. “I will. Teach me, and I will take care of myself.”

General Rami looked pleased. “Good. Find a place to sleep. We will wake you at dawn.”

Playmate for Dravi

One woman pushed to the front of the crowd. Some women were crying, for their husbands had not come home, and other women were admiring the treasures their husbands had brought back for them.

The woman had a boy at her side, one a year or so older than Rastaban.

“Rami, welcome home.” Her smile was warm, and for a moment she reminded Rastaban of mother, but then she saw him, and her face turned cold. “What’s this?”

“I found a boy in the village. A playmate for Dravi.” General Rami smiled. “His name is Rastaban, and he is strong.”

Share in the Spoils

General Rami’s camp was far, far away from the village. Twice Rastaban fell asleep to the rhythmic pounding of hooves, and twice when he awoke the horses were still running. The third time he opened his eyes, he could see, in the distance, the glow of campfires, a cluster of tents and people moving.

A cheer rose up when General Rami called out, and soon they were riding into the middle of the camp. Men and women clustered on all sides to cheer for the general, to share in the spoils the soldiers had brought back.

Rastaban wanted some food.

General Rami

The man clapped Rastaban on the shoulder. “He’ll make a good soldier. Come along, boy. What’s your name?”

“Rastaban.”

“I am General Rami. You shall be my son.”

“Sir, you already have a son.”

“And my wife has given me no others.”

“You could have more than one wife, sir.”

“I will take this boy. He is strong.” General Rami rose up. Rastaban saw he had a sword gleaming at his hip. “Round up the men. Our time here is done.”

The soldiers nodded and hurried to do his bidding. To Rastaban, General Rami said.

“You shall ride with me.”

Not Even Crying

“Would you like to come with us, child?” The man ruffled Rastaban’s hair the same way mother did.

“Come where?”

“To our camp,” the man said. “We have food and water and a fire.”

“I want my mother to wake up,” Rastaban said.

The man knelt down, sighed. “She can’t wake up. If you stay here with her, you’ll fall asleep just like her and never wake up.”

Rastaban glanced over his shoulder at his mother, then up at the man. “You have food?” His village hadn’t had food for days.

One of the soldiers snorted. “He’s not even crying.”

Not Waking Up

“Commander, I’ll kill him.” Another soldier stepped forward.

The man shook his head and wrenched the knife out of Rastaban’s hand easily. He was still smiling. “Don’t. This child has spirit. One of the few of this village who genuinely fought back. He’s what - five, six years old?”

“Six,” Rastaban said indignantly, still trying to squirm free. “Wake up my mother! I want you to wake her up right now!”

The man scanned the hut and then said, “Your mother’s not waking up, child.”

“Why?”

“She’s dead, brat,” another soldier said.

The man frowned. “You can’t say it like that.”

Then He Smiled

A noise outside the hut startled him, but he didn’t go back to the furs. He scooped up his mother’s fallen knife and clutched it with both hands, stared at the doorway, waiting. He edged back into the shadows, listening to the guttural voices of the enemy soldiers. A shadow fell across the doorway, and Rastaban felt his heart begin to hammer in his chest. He clutched the knife so tight his knuckles were white, and when the soldier stepped into the room, he lunged.

The soldier cried out and dodged, caught Rastaban by the collar. And then he smiled.

Blood Remembered

Rastaban remembered blood. He saw it in his dreams, the same dreams where he heard his mother’s screaming. Soldiers had overrun their camp in the middle of the night, and he’d done as his mother ordered, squirmed under a pile of furs and did his best not to breathe until the noise stopped. But the noise didn’t stop. It got quieter, and there was less screaming, and so he poked his head out from under the furs. Mother was covered with blood and hadn’t screamed in a while, so Rastaban crawled over to her and tried to wake her up.

Interlude 2

He stood on the mountain and stared down at the world, at two armies springing to life in river valleys. Women rallied and danced, swords high in the air as they spun in perfect precision. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine the first clash, and it made him shiver.

The army in the Indus River valley was ragged with crooked lines, but the men there had spirit, and with the right leader would become fearsome indeed. He brushed a lock of colorless hair out of his eyes and smiled down at the armies with bright, momentarily- brown eyes.

She Had a Plan

Dakshana learned how to charm and flatter, lie and cheat, and she absorbed it all. And when she was done, Old Master took her back down the mountain with nothing but the clothes on her back, and it was time for her to put her training to use among the mortals. They met up with a band of traders heading for the summer steppes to trade with the mortals of other nations. It was Dakshana’s job to enter the clan and forge for herself an army of loyal followers. She had a plan - it would be an army of women.

They Didn't Sleep

Dakshana learned to dance, the proper way to tilt her head or cast her gaze or sway her hips so her audience would be distracted long enough for Old Master to slay a target. She learned to sew her own clothing and weave her own rope, to forge her own weapons and tools and how to improvise whatever she needed. Old Master made her learn the ways of armies, and they spent hours considering strategically placed stones in the snow until Dakshana could defeat Old Master with her army of rocks. They didn’t sleep and they only ate when necessary.

On the Rooftop of the World

On the rooftop of the world, Dakshana learned to fight with her bare hands, how to break a man’s arms in three places at once or snap his neck and render him lifeless in an instant. She learned to wield a sword, or two swords one in each hand. She earned accuracy with a dagger and a bow, finesse with a staff and a spear, the power behind a well-placed stone in a sling. She learned how to cook meals out of anything she could find, and she learned to make poisons and detect poisons in all her meals.

And She Learned to Sing

Kneeling on the frozen stone and dirt, Dakshana learned to write her name in a dozen different languages. She learned to read and speak tongues she thought she’d only heard in dreams. In a frozen pool of water she discovered her own face, the color of her eyes and hair and learned that, in same places, she would be called beautiful. In other places, with her bright yellow eyes and curly black hair, she would be called a witch. She learned to use the runes Chadstone had taught her, to summon a wind or rain. And she learned to sing.

Taught Everything

Dakshana was faster and stronger than any mortal human could claim to be, but Old Master was faster and stronger still. By the time they made it to the top of the mountain, she was ten times as strong as she’d been in the cave. She could spot handholds and footholds in an instant and leap up the face of a mountain like a beetle or a lizard. When she was on the rooftop of the world, Old Master trained her to be fast, as fleeting as the wind and as quick-twisting as a stream. Old Master taught everything.

Mod Post

Finals for the next two weeks. Pretend I am dead.

Much to Learn

“We will pick a shorter name for you in time,” he said. “But perhaps it’s best if you keep that one for now - we will change it to suit the people we are among when the time comes.” He stood up.

Dakshana rose as well, reluctantly shedding the comfortable furs so she was standing in her plain shift. “When what time comes?”

“The time for change. Now come on - we have work to do. You’re stronger and faster now than you ever were as a mortal, but you clearly have much to learn. Up a mountain is best. Let’s go!”

Name Exchange

His brow furrowed, and he tapped his chin thoughtfully. “My name? I’ve used so many over the years that I cannot remember what I was called through mortality.” Then he grinned. “I shall just start with a new name. You may call me Old Master.”

“Old Master,” Dakshana echoed. It wasn’t a name so much as a title, but she’d been taught to respect her elders, and if that was what he wanted to be called, she would abide by it.


“What’s your name, then?”

“Dakshana.”

He mouthed her name silently to himself a few times. “That name’s too long.”

In The Meantime

He caught her wrist and wrenched, hard. She yelped and tried to squirm free, but then he had the knife and it was right at her throat, and she stopped breathing.

She gazed into his eyes and saw - shadows. The kind that had ringed the edges of Chadstone’s world. Her blood ran cold.

But then the old man sat back on his haunches and considered the knife. “Nope. You don’t know how to use one of these. We’ll start without weapons first, I think. In the meantime, eat up.”

Dakshana stared at him, confused. Finally she asked, “What’s your name?”

Immortal and Human

Dakshana felt something in her shift - and fall into place. She reached out and traced a fingertip across her thigh where the wound had been, but the skin there was flawless, untouched.

“It hurt,” she said. She was puzzled.

The old man looked at her a moment, then threw his head back and laughed, long and hard. “We’re immortal, but we’re not inhuman. We can still feel pain.”

“Oh.” Dakshana studied the knife intently, admiring the glitter of firelight off the metal.

“Do you know how to use one of those?” the old man asked.

Dakshana tried to stab him.

Watch the Close

“Earn the right? How?” Dakshana asked.

The old man held out the knife. “Trust me. And trust yourself.”

Dakshana stared at the shining metal blade. It wasn’t stone or obsidian like the elders used, but metal, like the knife Chadstone had.

“Do you trust me?”

She looked at him.

“Do you trust what you are?”

She took the knife from him, and stared at it a little longer. Then, quick as a snake striking, she drove the blade into her thigh. It hurt. It burned viciously, but she forced herself to pull the blade out. And watch the wound close.

Earn the Right

Dakshana paused. “I - but those shadows were -”

“An accident? A once-in-a-lifetime event? I assure you, child, they have been around for many lifetimes, more than I have lived.” The old man smiled. “With the power that shadow prince gave you, you could unlock the gates to worlds untold in order to shape this one.”

Dakshana sat back. “I - no. Even if I have this power, it was given to me as a trick. A fluke. I have no right to use it as you suggest.”

The old man hummed thoughtfully. “Perhaps you’re correct. Earn the right, child.”

All We Have

“How can we possibly change time?” Dakshana asked. “Time moves, even if we are as you say we are - immortal. It might move without us, and how could we possibly hope to change anything? Humans are humans. If you saw ten nations fall, was anything gained by it? Did humans learn anything?”

The old man leaned forward, brushed a curl off of her forehead. His touch was gentle. “Sweet child, you really are more fierce and bright than those foolish villagers ever knew. No wonder a prince of the shadow chose you. But who says humans are all we have?”

Change

Dakshana paused. “What sort of proposition?”

“Do you know how long this world has existed?”

“No.” She’d honestly never thought about it.

“Do you know how long it will continue to exist even after everyone you know has returned to mother earth?”

She hadn’t thought of that either.

“I don’t know, but I know this - in my time I have seen ten nations rise and fall, tribes and chiefs and petty warlords, and it has all been in vain. What if people like us, people who see time for what it is - what if we work together to change it?”

Proposition One

The soup tasted even more wonderful than it smelled. “But you have something to gain from being nice to me?”

“One should always be kind to one’s fellow beings whether or not one seeks gain,” the man said. “How is it?”

“It’s very good,” Dakshana admitted. She was still watching him with wary eyes. He looked old, and his voice creaked like winter winds, but the fire in his eyes was full of the vigor of youth.

“I’m glad my years of improving my cooking have finally paid off.” The man slid closer. “I have a proposition for you, actually.”

The Finer Things

“Soup?” Dakshana echoed. “If I’m immortal, do I need to eat?”

The man was already ladling something wonderful-smelling into a hollowed-out turtle shell. “No, but why waste the finer things in life if you can still enjoy them?” He handed her the bowl.

She accepted it from him and went to take a sip, then paused. “How do I know this isn’t poisoned?”

“Poison won’t kill you.”

“But it would hurt me.”

And another smile blossomed on the man’s face. “You have a very quick mind. It’s not poisoned. I have nothing to gain from hurting you, child.”

Then This is Not a Dream

Dakshana recoiled sharply. “No.” She shook her head. “No. This is just a dream. I collapsed and the Elders caught me and now I’m breathing in their noxious smoke and --”

The old man swung at her. Dakshana automatically brought an arm up to block. The impact of his wrist against hers jarred her all the way to the bone. She blinked at him in shock. She hadn’t thought so old a man could move so fast.

But he just smiled at her. “You have lovely reflexes. Did that hurt?”


“I -- yes.”

“Then this is not a dream. Have some soup.”

Closing Wounds

Dakshana pushed herself up onto her elbows. “Immortal?” He must have been mad.

His smile turned enigmatic, and she saw him reach for something at his belt. A knife. She recoiled sharply, one hand out to shield herself, ready with a rune. She could only watch in stark horror as he drew the blade across his forearm, drawing blood in a smooth line. He was mad.

“Sir - you’ll hurt yourself - let me -” A binding rune would help, wouldn’t it?

And then, before her eyes, the wound began to close.

He kept smiling. “You see? Immortal. Would you like to try?”

Another Immortal

Dakshana lay there, pinned by his gaze. “Who are you?”

“I’ve been alive so long I hardly remember my name,” he said. “He told me I’d find you.”

“He who?” Dakshana felt - lethargic. Hungry. Thirsty. But certainly not as if she’d been dead.

“Don’t know. Skittish fellow in white robes. Bleeding from a shoulder wound but didn’t seem much harmed for it. He said I wouldn’t be the only one of my kind for long - that I’d find another.”

“Another what?” Dakshana sensed he was a man to be feared, but he meant her no harm.

He smiled. “Another immortal.”

First Time Dying

“So that was your first time dying. Pretty dramatic, don’t you think?”

Dakshana opened her eyes.

She was - alive. Lying on a nest of furs. In a cave while a fire crackled in the background. But there was no hum of magic, and no otherworldly-beautiful boy gazing at her with broken-hearted eyes.

An old man huddled beside the fire. His hair was white, long, tied back neatly out of his wrinkled face. His smile might have seemed facile, but his black eyes were sharp, missed nothing.

He leaned over her and said, “You really did die, you know.”

Interlude 1

He stood over her and watched the blood pour out of her, stain the ground. Then he knelt and pressed cool fingers to her throat. She had to die all the way before he could know, so all he could do was watch and wait.

He ran a hand through hair bleached-white from the sun, colorless in a colorful world. The wounds at his shoulder - seven slashes, as from a seven-clawed beast - bled sluggishly. Gingerly he tugged his sleeve up to cover the wounds and waited for her to die. For one moment, his colorless eyes were blue.

Warm Welcome

The sun was high in the sky, bleaching the world white and free of shadows. The plains were dead, the grass scorched beneath her numb feet. She hadn’t seen the village over her shoulder in hours. She was finally free. Free to close her eyes and imagine a darkness that was warm and welcoming, without shadows and hissing eyes and a broken promise to love forever.

Or maybe it was the ground that was warm, and the darkness that closed over her when she could no longer stand. The hot stickiness of her own blood welcomed her, and she died.

Human and Frail

Dakshana had abandoned the fur cloak long ago, and her bare feet were raw, sore, from the walking, but she had to keep going. She could see the glow of the village fires on the hill over her shoulder; she had to walk until she couldn’t see them any longer. Why was she still walking? She’d deserved to die. She was weak and human, had been a mere doll in the web of ancient shadows, creatures without souls. One of them - the youngest, weakest, most foolish - had claimed he loved her.

But she was human and frail, a toy.

Human.

Get There First

It was the whispering that drove her from sleep. The chanting had stopped, and the elders were asleep on the floor around her. Her hand burned, but her mind was clear, and she knew there was only one answer. Chadstone had failed her, had tried to save her, but damned her to the cruelty of mortality. All it took was a whisper and a rune and the cords fell away, and then she had the crystal shard cradled in her palm as she crept across the floor.

The elders wanted to kill her. They would fail.

She’d get there first.

Close Your Eyes...

They wouldn’t let her have it. She didn’t know if it was days or weeks that they kept her here, only letting her up to wash and occasionally eat thin soup. But there was always smoke, always chanting, and the elders constantly telling her that she was tainted, that she was evil, and they had to cleanse her. The smoke made her coughing worse, and the wound on her hand refused to heal.

When she closed her eyes and surrendered to the darkness, she remembered Chadstone’s eyes, and his hands on her skin, and the way he whispered her name.

The Answer

One of the elders pointed a trembling hand. Someone had placed the crystal in a woven cage in the corner; it still gleamed.

“The thing is evil and will not be destroyed. Touching it will only taint you more,” the elder said.

Dakshana closed her eyes and remembered the swift lines on the crystal, how they twisted and turned and lived, and she remembered the pulse of a heartbeat against hers when she wore the crystal around her neck. The crystal was the answer.

“It’s not tainted,” she said. “What’s tainted is your selfishness and ignorance. Let me have it.”

Screaming In Your Sleep

“See? She is mad!” an elder crowed.

“Dakshana, stop this,” Minka said. She lowered her voice and whispered in Dakshana’s ear. “We told the elders we were merely lost in the woods, that the dire wolf killed the hunter who courted you. They believe you mad. You’ve been screaming in your sleep about shadows and other worlds, about Chadstone.”

Dakshana’s eyes blazed with fury. “They know I’m not mad - they just don’t want to admit what they’ve done. What did you do with his name?”

Minka’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Chadstone’s name. Where is it?”

“She means the crystal,” Srina said.

Possession

The world swayed, and then went black.

When Dakshana awoke, her hand burned with fierce pain, as if the wound was infected. She coughed. Her house was filled with smoke. She tried to scream - her house was on fire! But then she realized it was heavier smoke than fire, as if someone were burning herbs. Spices.

A holy fire. The damned elders were cleansing her.

Dakshana struggled to sit up, and two people immediately leapt on her, pressed her back down. Srina and Minka. Traitors. Dakshana thrashed.

“She is possessed by demon spirits!” one of the elders cried.

Dakshana shrieked.

Stay Back

Dakshana hadn’t realized the crystal cut her, was mingling rainbow-iridescent blood with her own. Her head was dizzy and she was feeling faint, and she began to sway on her feet. Minka took another step forward.

“You’re hurt. Let us help you -”

“Like you helped my parents?” Dakshana asked.

One of the elders frowned. “What about your parents?”

“You set them on fire!” Dakshana waved the crystal shard warningly. “You killed them because you were afraid of them because Ashoken lied to you! I know what you’ll do to me. Stay back.”

Minka shook her head. “Dakshana, you’re ill --”

All of Them

“Dakshana, please,” Minka said. She approached cautiously, hands held out, as if to placate a wild animal.

Dakshana brandished the crystal. “No. Stay back. I won’t let any of you touch me. You did this to me!” All of them had done it - Ashoken’s widow, the elders, letting him experiment with the shadow-beings, letting him kill her parents. And then they’d just stood by and watched her struggle to survive alone. If they’d watched, if they’d cared - she wouldn’t have been tainted with this magic, with the runes dancing up her spine, in her blood.

Her blood. Dripping. Dripping.

Thrice Dead

The elders stared at her, horrified. Some of the women and children were screaming and crying. They’d seen what she’d done, what magic she’d wrought. Minka and Srina broke from the crowd. Srina was crying and went to throw her arms around Dakshana, but - what if it was another trick.

Dakshana stepped back, bringing the crystal shard up like a knife. In the real world, it only gleamed dully, the runes dead, the name dead, the man - dead.

“Stay back!”

“Dakshana,” Minka began.

And then the elders spoke.

“She has been tainted! We must purify her!”

Dakshana shrieked, “Stay back!”

Binding

Dakshana spun, clutching the crystal shard as if her life depended on it, and felt it slice into her palm. That creature stretched a spidery limb through the portal, grasping for her. Fury and terror and hatred rose in Dakshana, and she responded the only way she knew how. She slashed the air with bloody fingertips, painting a narrow, lopsided cross, and screamed the name of the rune.

Binding.

The creature let out a howl. The gate slammed shut with a thunderclap. Liquid shadows spattered Dakshana’s face, and then she turned to face the rest of her village.

And wept.

Gate Ripping

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, added, “thank you.” She dragged the shard down Chadstone’s forearm, and blood flowed. It wasn’t human blood, and it wasn’t black like shadows, like she’d feared it would be - it was bright. Iridescent. All colors and none at all. Dakshana dipped her fingers into the blood and began to draw, lines, runes, a spell.

The force of a gate ripping into the fabric of the shadow world’s existence knocked the creature back. Through the shimmering gap, Dakshana could see the world, her world, the real world, with genuine sunlight.

She stepped through.

Something tried to follow.

Sound of Breaking

A knife glittered into the creature’s hands. It slashed downward onto the slab of crystal. The sound of breaking rang in the air. A shard of crystal chipped off the slab. Chadstone’s body jerked upward, spine arching, and Dakshana felt something rip out of him.

She screamed. “No!”

The creature advanced. Across the cave, a shard of crystal glittered. Dakshana lunged across the floor on all fours, scooped it up. It was intact, engraved with runes. A word. A name. His name.

Dakshana crawled back over to Chadstone’s body. The creature raised its knife once more. Dakshana brandished her shard.

Erase and Rewind

“Chadstone, no!” What had she done? She’d flung the crystal - she’d known it would hurt him, but she hadn’t thought it would --

“You did what you had to do,” he said. His smile was faint, tired.

The creature uncoiled and reared up. In one of its spidery hands it clutched a sheet of crystal that glittered with runes, runes bright as rainbows and shifting, alive. “We can erase you!”

Chadstone’s eyes slipped closed. He said, “I hope all memories of me are erased.” His head tipped back, and Dakshana watched the last breath slip past his lips.

The creature roared.

Unmade

Time froze. For an eternity, Chadstone was suspended mid-air, blue eyes wide, lips parted, gaze skyward, as if he were looking into the heavens. Then he crumpled to the ground.

One of the others let out a shriek.

Dakshana dropped to her knees, crawled over to him. “Chadstone?” She brushed a lock of pale hair out of his eyes with shaking hands. His breath was light, shallow.

He was smiling. “You did it.”

“What have you done?” the creature shrieked.

“She unmade me,” Chadstone said. “You have your life.” He turned to Dakshana. “Thank you.”

She shook her head.

Answer All Along

Dakshana felt another heartbeat alongside her own, one just as erratic and afraid. And suddenly she realized she’d known the answer all along.


“A life for a life,” she said. She slipped the cord over her head, pressed her lips to the shard of crystal, and then threw it as hard as she could.


The sound of crystal shattering was stark in the air. Dakshana hadn’t thought she’d see horror in those ancient eyes, but it was there. Chadstone made a soft sound, like a sharply in-drawn breath, body arched as if he’d been struck hard across his back.

One Utterly Soulless

Chadstone faced his elders, cold realization settling into the pit of his stomach. It came with a sense of serenity he’d never known, a calmness and unity of purpose that he hadn’t thought possible for one utterly soulless. There was only one solution to this problem. They’d created him for the sole purpose of playing a game, made him the most ingenious and capricious shadow possible - and they’d made him well.

He lowered his gaze, as if regretful he was losing his game piece, and watched Dakshana from beneath his lashes one last time.

“She knows what she must do.”

Life In Return

“She will give you two lives,” Chadstone said. “She knows what she must do.” He wasn’t looking at her, but his voice pulled at her.

A thousand years of ancient eyes turned their gazes on her, and she felt her heartbeat begin to stutter. What would they do to her if she didn’t give them a life?

Chadstone’s voice was smooth, almost hypnotic, and Dakshana felt her eyes slip closed.

“You have given her magic, and she must give you a life in return. And she will give it. Won’t she?”

Dakshana felt a single tear slip down her face.

Two Lives

Dakshana cast a wild glance at Chadstone, but he looked utterly unmoved by what he saw. So that’s what the soul of a shadow-being looked like, if it had a soul at all? Dakshana wondered what it had done, that it had gone from looking like Chadstone to looking like...that.

“You know the rules, young one,” the creature said, and oh, but its voice was still as lovely as a single star in an empty sky. “Life for life.”

“I do know the rules,” Chadstone agreed quietly.

“We gave her two lives, and she must give us one.”

But For The Eyes

The creature eased forward into the flickering glow of the blue flames from the torches that appeared in the walls with a blossoming of rune-magic. Dakshana watched those eyes - golden, ancient, knowing - come closer and closer. And then she saw the creature’s face.

She’d assumed it would look beautiful as Chadstone, for they were the same race, but he had said they wouldn’t look the same as him. She’d thought they’d at least look vaguely human.

What stood before her might have been humanoid once, but it had been bent and melted, twisted beyond recognition. But for the eyes.

Ever So Lovely

There came a rattling sound, like bone on bone - or, Dakshana realized, applause. Those creatures were mocking her.

“This is our finest challenge yet.” The voice was gentle, lulling - like the eyes of a snake lulling its victim into stillness. “Such a lovely soul, drawn in by the truest shadow we have made to date. She will taste ever so lovely.”

Dakshana wondered which rune would ruin the creature best.

Chadstone’s words confused her. “I don’t think she will.”

“Oh? And why not?” That mocking tone was dangerous.

“Because you will not taste her at all.”

Those words were dangerous.

What It Takes

"You have what it takes."

Dakshana couldn't stop shaking. Chadstone's voice made it worse.

That damnable stone chamber coalesced around her. She wanted to see some gods-forsaken sunlight.

Chadstone said, "You know what you must do."

He sounded calm, but the crystal at her throat pulse erratically, like someone's frightened heartbeat.

Dakshana climbed to her feet, still shaking. "I do."

A chorus of hisses, whispers, rose along the edges of the chamber.

After a moment Dakshana could see hundreds of pairs of eyes, jewel-bright and death-shadowed, ancient, hungry, cruel.

She said, louder, "I have what it takes."

Hazy

What came next was - hazy. Hazy with heat waves slithering up from the ground where dozens and dozens of bodies lay dead, bleeding, burnt or both. Dakshana reeled from the stench of charred human flesh, and she fell to her knees, staring at her own hands. Hands she’d used to kill these men.

The world around her shimmered out of being, and she didn’t know when he’d died, when he’d been struck in her sudden lunge into mass slaughter. Dakshana bowed her head and wept softly. She’d killed them the way Ashoken had killed her parents.

She was a monster.

True Warmth

Dakshana was frozen. This was it, this was the end. Those other creatures - they had won. They’d trapped her in their game and now she was going to die here. Die in a world without true sunlight, without true warmth.

True warmth.

And suddenly she remembered fingertips ghosting up her spine. All it took was a little twitch of her finger, and suddenly Chadstone reeled back with a cry. His arm was on fire. He reacted quickly, hit the ground rolling to put it out, but by then Dakshana had a weapon, and the other soldiers were afraid of her.

Bare Hands

He bore no weapon, merely wore a pair of black silk trousers and delicate little slippers. His hair was long, white, tied back in a long braid.

Blood still dripped from a the gash on Dakshana’s face.

Chadstone bowed to her, expression serene, blue eyes hooded, almost sleepy. And then he drew one fist back for a strike.


What happened next was beyond comprehension. One moment Dakshana was on her feet, the next she was face-down on the ground, arm twisted up behind her back, disarmed. He’d done it all with lightning speed, with bare hands.

It was over.

Agincourt and the Forbidden City

More armor this time, standing in mud and listening to the twang of arrows through the air. Men drew bows as long as themselves and arrows punched through the shining metal armor. Astride a giant white horse, Chadstone looked like a sky-god. He wielded his sword like a demon. Dakshana screamed in fury when his blade opened a gash on her face, and she loosed an arrow.

Another battle, standing on the red pointed roof of a forbidden palace while men in furs and leather poured over the walls, arrows flying. Red pennants waved, and white-haired figure emerged.

Spin of the Universe

Her lips had barely brushed his before she thrust the sword through his chest, and she stepped back before the world around her dissolved and reformed once more.

What followed next was a dizzying array of battles. She was clad in golden armor that glittered like fish scales, standing outside a white city, and Chadstone, clad in silver armor, stood atop its walls, pennant raised high.

A cry rang behind her.

“Allah wills it!”

All it took to kill Chadstone was a single arrow through the throat. Then came another spin of the universe, and another battle shimmered into being.

For This

Dakshana knew it was all over when Chadstone turned toward her. He approached with measured steps, blood dripping from his brow, his cheekbone, down the front of his tunic. The rest of his men still chanted, eager, waiting.


Dakshana brought up her sword. What was she supposed to do?

“Are you ready, mighty Valkyrie?” he asked.

“Ready for what?” Dakshana asked.

“To face your death.”

Dakshana had been ready for that since the beginning. But she smiled and twirled her sword. “Are you ready?”

“For what?”

“For this.” Dakshana stepped forward, lowered her sword, and pulled him into a kiss.

Berserker

He was a vision in white leather, a white fur cloak pinned at his shoulders. His smile was bright like the edge of a bone knife, and he carried the most massive sword Dakshana had ever seen. And it was engraved with runes, runes she could not read but that must have offered the strongest magic.

Then he whirled into the battle, swung his sword, took a man’s head, another’s arm, and was utterly unfazed by the splatter of blood and flesh marring his pristine whiteness.

His men cheered and gave a rousing cry, a word Dakshana didn’t know:

“Berserker!”

Sea of White

Dakshana was clad in furs and carried a metal sword, a small round shield. She followed the other men as they leapt off their long boat, charged up the pebble beach - and into a sea of white-haired men and boys who wielded their sword with deadly accuracy. Dakshana could smell the foul scent of strong wine on the men around her, and it made her dizzy.

Everything was white, the stones beneath her feet, the sky, the furs the enemies wore - how would she find him?

And there he was, on the edge of the battlefield, clad in white.

Fine Red Mist

She turned to the man beside her and plucked his spear from him. Angry cries rose up around her in a harsh, guttural tongue. She drew back, aimed, and threw as hard as she could. The metal spike at the end of the spear lodged itself firmly in Chadstone’s throat. Blood sprayed, hung mid-air in fine red mist, rained down on the men below.

Chadstone’s eyes were victorious, and the world dissolved again.


Re-formed in a northern land. Land met sky and all was white, cold, even beneath furs.

Dakshana’s leader was massive and had a red beard.

Blood Hungry

She saw Chadstone straight away, perched atop the biggest beast Dakshana had ever seen. It was larger even than a dire wolf, the color of stone, with ears like rugs and a nose like a snake. And the sound it made when it tossed its head -- Dakshana ducked instinctively.


The men around her held their line, and Chadstone remained atop his fearsome beast, long-haired and foreign, arrogant and coldly beautiful. The men gathered around his beast were a wild rabble in ragged armor, but they gazed at Dakshana’s troops eagerly, blood-hungry.

But Dakshana knew what she must do.

Broke the Sky

The world reassembled itself in a field of long, tall grass. Dakshana was clad in more leather, a kilt to protect her legs, a sturdy breastplate studded with metal. And she carried a metal sword, short, but vicious. Her helmet was stuffy and hot, but the men around her didn’t seem to mind. And they had large feather plumes bursting from their helmets.

What was going on?

The commanders rallied their cries. “They come! Ready for battle!”

And there was a thunderstorm of footsteps as the men around Dakshana formed neat ranks, shields high.

A war-cry broke the sky.

What Must Be Done

The boy with the spear in his chest remained suspended in the shadows of the dim cave, his expression frozen in one of horror.

But he wasn’t Chadstone, who had stepped out from behind the boy, still clad in enemy armor.

The spear slipped from Dakshana’s hands. Chadstone’s gaze was unreadable.

“I managed to buy us time between challenges,” he said, “but just this once. You know what must be done now, don’t you? What you must do to defeat the others.”

The boy with the spear in his chest was still bleeding.

Before Dakshana could speak, the world dissolved.

So This

So this was betrayal. Dakshana let loose a battle cry and spun her spear forward. With a flick of her wrist, it was ready to throw, and she loosed it with all her might.

It pierced Chadstone’s heart with unerring accuracy, and Dakshana felt a vicious surge of victory.

“It was your trick after all, wasn’t it?” she shouted.

Chadstone stared down at the spear in his chest, at the bright red blood that spilled from the wound, and he looked genuinely surprised. “What -- what have you done? Dakshana --”

And the yellow sands around them dissolved.

Chadstone said, “You learned.”

Driving the Point Home

“Chadstone!” Dakshana cried. “What --?”

“Survive!” he shouted at her. He swung again. The force of his blows was breathtaking. Did none of his dark-haired army notice the white-haired demon in their midst?

“Why are you --”

He locked spears with her, and he was so much stronger - he would prevail. Their faces were almost inches apart, and for one moment Dakshana was sure he was going to kiss her.

He whispered, “Survive,” and drove the spear home.

Dakashana broke free and stepped aside, but she felt the rush of air in the spear’s wake. He’d tried to kill her.

Start Trying

“For Pharaoh!” someone yelled, and Dakshana’s fellow soldiers gave a rallying cry in return. Who was Pharaoh? Some sort of ruler or -- Chadstone nearly took her head off.

“Chadstone, what are you doing? We’re supposed to be helping each other - we must --”

His hand snaked out, caught her by the collar of her breastplate, dragged her forward.

“Survive, I know,” he hissed in her ear, and then he shoved her back. 
The light in his eyes was unholy. “So start trying to survive.” And he swung at her.

She blocked with the stave of her spear, but he pressed forward.

Battle on the Sands

The men surged forward, and Dakshana was carried along with them. The horses plunged into the thick of humans. Sand flew, stinging her eyes, making her choke. And then there were voices, foreign voices, and she realized that there were men in the horse-drawn buckets, men with swords and spears who were - killing the men around her.

She brought her spear up to fend off an attack - and came face-to-face with Chadstone, clad in enemy armor. But he didn’t recognize her, pressed viciously with his spear.

“Chadstone - what are you doing?”

His answer was in another tongue.

Survive

“So, what’s the plan?” Dakshana asked. She tested the weight of her spear in her hand.

“Survive,” Chadstone said, and the cave around them dissolved.

The world that emerged was - sand. Yellow sand as far as the eye could see. Dakshana was - armed with her spear, clad in leather armor, and standing in ranks alongside men. Men who were also armed with spears and metal blades like Chadstones and didn’t seem to realize she was a woman.

Men fixed on the gaze of - things thundering toward them. Massive buckets that rolled forward, smooth, on wheels - and drawn by horses.

“Attack!”

Another Curse

“How do we know they can’t hear every word we’re saying?” Dakshana asked.

“They can hear it - this is their world,” Chadstone said. His blue eyes were unfathomable. “They can hear what we say - but they cannot hear what we think. That is another curse beyond even the grasp of shadows.”

He was trying to tell her something, but Dakshana didn’t know what it was. She’d gone from wanting him to hating him to pitying him to -- what, exactly? She’d just shoved aside his confession in favor of daylight, and now what?


She had to trust him with her life.

Self-Trust

Dakshana’s eyes flashed. “They’re going to lose this time.”

Chadstone smiled. “Yes, they are. But first, we must play along. The answer will come in its own time.”

“How do you know?”

“I am one of them, youngest though I may be. They cannot help but leave the answer in the game and then laugh, cackle at how stupid the mortals are, that they cannot see the key to their own salvation. Whatever happens from here, Dakshana, watch for the answer. It will be the one you despise the most. But you’ll have to trust your instincts.”

“Trust myself?”

“Yes.”

Replica

“You’re not human,” Dakshana said. “You told me so.”

Chadstone cast a wary glance at their surroundings, and Dakshana did the same, switching her spear to her throwing hand.

Chadstone sketched a rune in the air, and for the first time, his magic felt -- nice. Dakshana’s eyes slipped closed, and she wanted to sway with the gentle thrumming the magic brought, but a cool hand on her chin brought her back to her senses, and she opened her eyes.

“I’m not human, but I’m the best replica they’ve managed. This is their favorite game, and it’s one they’ve never lost.”

Completely Inhuman

“Not playing your game?” Her gaze was still burning with fury, but her grip on her spear loosened.

“We were never playing my game,” Chadstone said. It still burned in his chest, the fury, the blow to his pride, but this wasn’t about him, had never been about him.

“What do you mean?”

“Did it never strike you as strange, that I’m the only one of my kind who still looks human?” He tilted his head to the side, smiling, amused.

“All I’ve seen of the rest of your kind are their vicious eyes,” Dakshana spat.

“Because they’re completely inhuman.”

No Longer

Dakshana’s scream caught in her throat, and she drove her spear forward. Chadstone sidestepped her neatly, and then everything -- dissolved. Minka’s scream cut off, and she began to waver before Dakshana’s eyes, like heat off a dry rock. The other villagers began to waver and fade, like dying flames. The world around Dakshana dissolved, and she was left standing, spear in hand, in a massive stone cavern. Chadstone tossed his head, and he was dressed in soft leather breaches, a metal blade at his side.

“What happened?” Dakshsana demanded.

Chadstone stepped closer to her. “We’re no longer playing my game.”

Wasn't My Trick

“If I truly were a demon, and it was that easy, your world would have been rid of shadows long ago,” Chadstone said.

Dakshana took a deep breath and stepped out of her hut, spear in hand. “So it was a trick, you letting me go?”

“Yes, it was a trick,” Chadstone said.

Dakshana’s grip on the spear tightened. “What will stop us all from killing you?”

“The fact that it wasn’t my trick,” he said, and threw.

Dakshana stared at the red stain that blossomed across the front of Minka’s dress, spreading outward from the spear in her chest.

A Bit of Spirit

Dakshana heard Minka’s voice, the whistle of a spear, and then she was on her feet, out the door.

Chadstone had caught the spear and he twirled it absently, tracing a complicated pattern in the air. The Elders looked shocked and awed at his skill. His smile was amused, and the way his gaze was dark, hooded was dangerous.


“So hostile, sweet girl. I do enjoy someone with a bit of spirit, if you’d like to try me on for size --”

“Away, demon!” Minka cried, and her wand wove the sign against evil.

Chadstone laughed, the sound musical and heartbreaking.

Seek Elsewhere

Chadstone had an obsidian-tipped spear at hand; the villagers would be suspicious of a metal blade.

“My village is in the mountains in the far north,” he said. The Elders hovered around him, obsequious. He could see more than a few curious maidens peering out of doorways at him, and some mothers watching him anxiously as well.

“What brings you here?” an Elder asked.

“My village traditions are different from those in the sunlit lands, and we send our hunters on quests to seek wives alone.”

A spear whistled through the air at him. Minka said, “Seek elsewhere, stranger.”

Never Too Cautious

Dakshana huddled deeper beneath her furs - they weren’t nearly as soft as the furs Chadstone had wrapped her in, as he brought her back from the dead - and tried to ignore the growing noise outside. She reached for the spear she’d set beside her bed just in case, but it didn’t sound like an angry mob, and there was no sign of fire, but she couldn’t be too cautious.

When she saw shadows pass her windows, she rolled up into a crouch and scooped up her spear.

The Elders were outside. One of them said,

“What village are you from?”

As He Pleased

Once the sun was down, Chadstone could do as he pleased. It was easy to close his eyes, toss his head, and shimmer into being dressed in the simple furs of a hunter. If he chose he could cloak himself in the mortals’ dull blacks and browns, but he was born of stone and shining whites and blues, and he didn’t care if the mortals stared. None of them would understand what he was until it was too late. Maybe Minka and Srina had told, but no one would believe Srina and Minka was too smart for that. He smiled.

As If

All day Dakshana worked, and in the evening she shared her meal-fire with Minka and Srina. She could feel eyes on her whenever she was outside of Srina’s house, but she didn’t care.

When all the work was done, she lay in the darkness of her own home and stared up at the ceiling. It was if she had never been gone at all, but for the more intense staring. Minka and Srina said nothing of what had happened to them, and Dakshana wondered how much the Elders were behind it, determined to stamp out any hints of magic.

Very Faraway

Chadstone wished Dakshana could make that promise, but she wouldn’t; she was too practical for that.

Dakshana patted Srina’s back awkwardly. “I’m home, all right? Your weaving will improve now that I’m here to wind your shuttles. Now come on - back to work. You want hunters to see your work, right? So you can marry?”

Srina asked, “Will you find a hunter?”

“I think I’ll spend time as a Storyteller,” Dakshana said.

Minka nodded. “You could find a hunter from a faraway tribe.”

“A very faraway tribe,” Dakshana said, and cast her glance toward shadows.

Chadstone wished she saw him.

What Will Be

Once the shamans were done, Chadstone sketched a spell in the air to follow them, then turned to seek Dakshana once more. He was alarmed at the way Srina cried so easily and was glad, momentarily, that he’d let her escape early.

Dakshana looked equally alarmed, but hugged Srina warily. “He didn’t hurt me,” she said, and Chadstone felt something strange, warm spread through his limbs.

“But he wanted to,” Srina wailed into Dakshana’s shoulder.

Minka glared at the wall, then rolled her eyes. “Stop making a scene and start weaving. Dakshana’s back, and now everything will be fine.”

“Promise?”

Inexplicable

More than one girl had stopped by Srina’s weaving loom to show off her bracelet or necklace as a token from the hunter who had chosen her. Dakshana ignored the sneers on their faces and continued winding flax for her friend. In the corner, Minka watched the other girls with stormy eyes, daring them to utter an unkind word.


The first who did was chased out by a flung spool of flax. Dakshana was horrified. Minka laughed.

After an inexplicable moment, Srina began to cry. “Dakshana!” she cried. “You’re safe! I was worried about you! I thought he hurt you --”

One Thing He Could Handle

Chadstone could feel the magic the shamans wielded as they muttered and let their eyes water in scented smoke. It was tainted magic they used. As dark and craven as shadows might have been, their magic was - natural. Part of the order of the world. The power bartered for by souls and blood was unnatural.

What of the magic Dakshana had received from the Ancients?

Chadstone could hear their hatred in their spells, and he knew the danger was imminent, though from which plane he could not begin to tell. One thing he could handle was mortals. He was ready.

Watching

Dakshana could feel the villagers watching her as she headed down to the river with Minka and Srina to help them wash their bowls. She was going to treat this as any other day - she would help Srina with weaving, Minka with her daily allotment of chores. The villagers had stared her entire life. She’d thought she could ignore it, but now that she knew - it made her so angry. They’d let the elders murder her parents and then spent the rest of her life condemning her.

She shook her head. They didn’t matter. They weren’t as dangerous as shadows.

So Many Others

Chadstone could see the mortal shamans of Dakshana’s clan hovered outside of the hut where she’d lived all her life. The other villagers watched and waited as well, and Chadstone could see the avarice on their faces. They’d hoped her dead, to pick over what little she had left in the world.

It made him smile, ache to see his crystal at her throat when she stepped into the sunlight.

He watched those shamans, because he knew their greed, their craven souls. So many others had come to the Shadows before, wanting gifts and securing purchases instead.

So many others.

Something Bigger

Minka and Srina hovered beside her while she scooped rice and lentils out of a bowl with a crooked spoon. Dakshana closed her eyes and savored the flavor, the texture of the food. She drank water like a boy and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and how had she gone without this?

“Are you all right?” Minka asked softly. “Did he - hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” Dakshana said. “I --” She couldn’t say she escaped - he’d let her go. What had gone on? There had been something going on, something bigger than Chadstone’s game.

But she was free.

Mottled Spots of Nothingness

Chadstone slid through the shadows on the edge of the trees. He chose a wrong path and crossed beneath a gap in the bows. Sunlight dappled between the leaves and left mottled spots of nothingness where his skin used to be. Sunlight didn’t kill shadows; in the sun, shadows merely vanished.

Chadstone drew his hand back from the light - he could feel it, in the sunlight, knew it was there, but he just couldn’t see it. He smiled sadly at his own form and then continued along the edge of the trees - he wouldn’t leave Dakshana alone in the village.

What Counts

Dakshana looked down at the crystal in the woman’s hand. Chadstone’s crystal. Even in the harshness of human daylight it shimmered with ancient magic and runes. She shook her head - it wasn’t evil, but it was alive. It pulsed, like the beating of a heart.

“My husband died because he had one of these!” the old woman cried. “You’ll die too - and everyone who touches you!”

“Then you’d better let her go,” Minka said firmly.

The villagers recoiled.

“When was the last time you ate?” Minka asked. She guided Dakshana up the hill.

“I don’t think it counts,” Dakshana said.

Spilling Visions

“I’ll find her,” Chadstone said. He reached up and curled a fist at his throat, but it was an empty gesture, because his crystal was gone. Dakshana wouldn’t understand its significance, but he would always be able to find her.

The Ancient tipped the bowl over, spilling visions across the stone floor, and the rest of the shadows faded into the darkness.

Chadstone waited until they were gone before he dismantled his dimension. Then he set about casting a traveling circle. He could survive in the mortal realms a little longer, watching, waiting. He’d watched for a long, long time.

Crystal Evil

Dakshana held her chin high. “I survived because I was a child - it was Ashoken who made a pact with the dark gods and was punished for it.”

The villagers’ whispers rose to an angry hiss.

An old woman lunged out of the crowd with a shriek. “You! Cease your evil words!”


After a moment, Dakshana recognized her as Ashoken’s widow.

“Please,” Srina said, tugging on Dakshana’s arm.

“You’re the evil one!” the widow cried. She reached out and caught Dakshana by the throat, tried to drag her forward. “See? She wears a sign of evil!”

Evil was a crystal.

No Mortal Heart

Chadstone stood tall and allowed the Ancients’ their scrutiny. The realization of what he was - a creation for one of their games, part of a lifelong elaborate entertainment - would have stopped a mortal’s heart, but he was no mortal and had no heart. They might have created him as a piece in their game, but he’d been created by the laws of the shadows and he knew those rules as innately as they did. If they thought they could outsmart him, they were wrong.

He’d already outsmarted them.

“Perhaps, boy, you should see about getting your prey back,” one said.

Think It Strange

The elders exchanged looks, and some of the villagers began whispering among each other.

“Dakshana,” Srina began, but Dakshana shrugged her off and stepped forward.

“Why would that matter?” Dakshana asked. “Or are you just looking for an excuse to burn me to death the same way you did my parents?”

The elders looked affronted. One of them stepped into Dakshana’s space. “How dare you, after we kept you --”


“Did none of you think it strange, that Ashoken was so eager to burn them, and then he vanished in a magic circle?”

“You survived the deaths,” the elder said. “You.”

Cardinal Rules

The memory struck him suddenly and fiercely, of stumbling upon a just-finished ceremony, of finding a mortal child’s toy.

The Ancient’s smile was cruel and amused, and Chadstone felt a sudden tightening at his throat, as if a noose had just been pulled closed over his existence.

“She is part of your game, then,” he said slowly, deliberately, while his mind raced. And suddenly he understood. It was a cardinal rule, that two games could not have the same prey.

Games could, however, have more than one soul for prey. Only Chadstone didn’t have a soul.

“I understand now.”

Ghost of Fingertips

“Safe,” Dakshana echoed. She cast a glance around the forest - it was night, and the moon above cast menacing shadows along the ground. “Let’s just go back to the village, please.”

“Wait,” one of the elders said. “We must perform a ritual - ensure you have not been tainted.”

Dakshana’s eyes narrowed. “If Minka and Srina were unharmed, it should stand to reason that I, too, am unharmed.”

“Yes,” the elder hedged, “but you were gone much longer.”

Dakshana drew herself up straighter. She could feel the tingle of magic up her spine, the ghost of Chadstone’s fingertips. “Does that matter?”

First

“There are rules,” Chadstone said, voice cold and soft, dangerous. Whatever vulnerability he’d felt with Dakshana in his arms is gone. He wasn’t human, and he wouldn’t buckle because they’d been in existence longer than him.

“The rules dictate that she is mine. I caught her in my web.”

He was unmoved by their laughter.

“On the contrary, Little One - we caught her in our web first.”

A bowl appeared in mid-air, filled itself with water, mirrored over to offer a vision. Chadstone stared at the little girl in the middle of a summoning circle, clutching a straw doll.

Home

Dakshana batted their hands away and pushed herself to her feet.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry - I’m fine.” She turned and saw Minka, watching her intently, tears in her eyes, her expression stubbornly unmoved. “Are you all right?”

“Minka’s been home for a week,” Srina said.

“A week?” Dakshana echoed.

Minka wrapped a fur cloak around Dakshana’s shoulders and led her out of the cave. “Come on - let’s get you home.”

The rest of the villagers parted their ranks, watching Dakshana warily. One of them made the sign against evil, and Minka hissed at them.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Srina said.

Collection

Chadstone turned to face his elders. They arrived in shadows and mist, rolling around the edges of the dimension he’d created to keep Dakshana from their prying eyes for a little longer.

“Well?” Chadstone lifted his head and met their gazes, every inch the arrogant and proud personification.

“You know, then,” the Ancient said. His eyes gleamed, crocodile-hungry.

Chadstone didn’t know at all, but he nodded once, sharply.

“We gave her her life in exchange for the mortal man’s,” the Ancient said, “and we gave her the magic as a gift. We’re just here to collect on our investment.”

Escaped

For a split second, Dakshana was suspended, hanging in mid-air between worlds, her feet on clouds or mist or soft fur, vines tangled at her wrists and tugging gently. Voices swirled around her, singing, calling.

And then she was standing on dirt and rock. A cave. And there were hands at her wrists dragging her forward, almost tugging her arms out of her sockets. There were voices around her, crying, shouting.

Arms were flung around her from both sides, and she was smothered in the scent of human and girl and then Srina said,

“You’re safe now. You escaped!”