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LONG AGO AND FAR AWAY, across the Impassable Strait and over the great plains of the Lost Fields, two sisters ran for their lives, plunging into the shelter of the dark forest just beyond the trading town of Ingfell. Cora was the older of the two, and the only thing she wanted more than her freedom was to protect her little sister.
“Run, Elda,” Cora panted, putting her hands on the smaller girl's back, urging her to go faster. The hawk screeched overhead, the high-pitched battle cry twisting Cora's insides into knots. Elda picked up speed, leaping over a dry creek bed and scrambling up the other side on all fours. Cora followed, focusing on the back of her sister’s head and the wet, copper-colored strands of hair sticking to her neck.
The next cry seemed closer, and the green canopy of leaves rustled with what could have been an errant wind or the beating wings of their pursuer.
She told herself she wouldn't run, but every time he removed her slavers bands, her instincts took over at the sight of the world stretched out in front of her. How could she pass up a chance to escape the life of a slave? A chance to change her fate?
“Just make it to the Blatqnn,” Raenar had told her the first time, a maniacal smile on his face as he traced the sharply curved blade of the knife he'd named Hauknefr, or ‘hawknose’. The Blatqnn River ran the length of the Fields, flowing fierce and wild even through the dry lands, before emptying into the salt waste beyond Ingfell. It was the border between the living world and Malos, the Realm of the Dead, but it was also the line that marked her freedom. “Beat me there, cross the black water, and you're free.”
She had not known him then, or the true impossibility of the challenge.
Elda stopped and gasped. “I can't.”
Holding her sister's hand, she tugged her forward. “We're not far,” Cora said, not sure if it was true or not. They had never seen the black waters, having grown up on an island off the northwestern coast. They had not crossed the river when the slavers brought them to Ingfell, so that meant it lay even further east. The sun hung behind her, barely visible through the thick woods. All she had to do was keep it at her back and keep the canopy above her head.
But—Elda. It always came back to her, didn't it? Her sister dropped to her knees. Cora hesitated. The forest spread out in front of her, beckoning her onward. If you leave her, you might make it. Shaking her head, she turned around and knelt beside her heaving sister.
“Breathe,” Cora said, “slow and steady.” Cora’s hand rubbed circles on Elda's back as the girl struggled to catch a breath. Elda was prone to breathing attacks but whether it was panic or exertion that brought them on, neither of them was sure. The girl had always had a steady hand with a fishing spear or a hunting bow, but when it came to fighting or running, she was hopeless.
Cora closed her eyes, trying to quell her own dread since there was no one here to soothe her.
“I'm sorry,” Elda gasped. “Cora, I'm so sorry.”
“It's not your....” Her words came up short. She felt the hawk before she saw him and threw herself over Elda as he dove. As large as any man, his golden feathers cut like metal against her skin. Dagger-like talons scrabbled for her back, ripping her shirt and grazing the skin beneath as he rose again.
Cora tried to stand—the least she could do was drag Elda out of the way. But there wasn't time. The bird slammed into her, knocking her back to the ground. Her fingers groped for a rock or a stick, anything she could use as a weapon, and finally closed around the rough wood of a fallen branch. She swung the branch and it connected solidly with the bird's head, sending him sprawling backward against a tree with a heavy thunk.
In the time it took for the hawk to fall to the ground, it wasn't a hawk anymore but a boy her age. Raenar Hallowtide, Chief Ienar's oldest son, first in line, slumped against the tree. He had broad shoulders and blond hair pulled back in a tight braid. Dark tattoos swirled around his temples like a target, circling his ears and trailing down his neck. The golden-tipped whip with which Cora had become exceedingly familiar was coiled at his hip.
Worst of all, though, was his smile as he pushed himself upright and touched a finger to his bleeding lip. As satisfying as it was to draw his blood, she had never been able to cause him any more damage than a few bumps and bruises. He was invincible, unbeatable. He huffed appreciatively and then caught her under the weight of his gaze. His eyes belonged to the hawk—empty, golden-ringed pools.
One look was all it took to send her scrambling backwards. Raenar stood, brushing dry leaves from his pants, not even bothering to watch her retreat. Taking the whip from its place on his belt, he let it uncoil.
“Don't....” Cora tried to say.
“You,” Raenar said, signaling her with the whip's handle, “or her.” He shifted the whip to the left, pointing now at Elda who sat quiet and trembling, her legs pulled into her chest as if she could make herself smaller. Though still ragged, her breathing seemed to have regulated and for that Cora was relieved.
It was no choice, not really. Cora stood and lifted her tunic over her head, the homespun fabric landing in a heap at Elda's feet. Then she leaned forward, gripping the rough bark of an old oak. So many trees in this forest knew her shame. She dug in her nails, preparing herself. Screaming would only make it worse, so Cora bit her tongue until she tasted warm, salty blood and did not make a sound. The whip cut into her back, tearing open old scars and carving new ones. She retreated inside of herself, where a small part of her believed she deserved it.
She failed as she had always failed.
When the Fieldings had raided their small village on Ey Island eight years before, her mother had shoved Cora and Elda into the loft and told her to stay quiet and keep her little sister safe. Their mother, Skur Svanros, was a fierce sword-warrior, and ten-year-old Cora dutifully covered her sister's eyes while her mother took down one man after another until blood soaked the rushes that covered the dirt floor of their longhouse. But the reality of battle is that one woman cannot stand against an army, and so she had also watched while the raiders cut off Skur's fingers one by one. The woman had not screamed, and so Cora would not scream, in honor of her mother's memory.
The whip sang five more times, each strike harder than the last. Elda sobbed, Cora's shirt pressed against her mouth to muffle the sound. Just when Cora thought she could take no more, Raenar wound the whip around his wrist and approached her. He swiped a hand up her back, tracing a line of burning pain that made her flinch and grind her teeth together. When his fingers came away dripping red with her blood, he slid them down his face, leaving five red lines from his hairline to his chin. She spat in disgust, only just missing his boot, and he slapped her sharply across the face. It stung dully, and the salty taste of blood filled her mouth.
“I don't know why you continue to try,” he said to her, his breath hot against her ear. “You are mine as the whole territory will soon be mine, and everyone who lives within it will bow before me or face slavers bands around their own wrists. You must know by now that you will never be free again.”
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Cora dunked her hands into the tepid creek water and scrubbed the tunic she held against the rough rock. Three days had passed since the last chase and though the wounds itched and burned, Elda kept them slathered in pulp from the eir leaf and wrapped beneath a tight binding to ward off infection.
“How are you feeling?” her sister asked, taking the tunic from Cora and laying it flat on a dry rock where the sun beat down on it.
Cora wiped a wet hand across her forehead. “Fine,” she said. Across from them, on the opposite shore, two of the youngest Hallowtide children played with wooden swords.
“Don't be disappointed,” Elda said, her back to Cora. “We'll just... just have to try again.”
Cora didn’t want to talk about it. The smallest boy yelped after a particularly brutal blow, and dashed away, over a rise and out of sight. “Watch them, will you?” Cora instructed her sister, plucking the next tunic from the pile and dunking it beneath the clear water.
Elda disappeared behind the boys, hollering for them to not go too far, and Cora relaxed, sinking back onto her heels and closing her eyes. Her right hand drifted over her left wrist, her fingers tracing the smooth line of the golden slaver's band there. She would never admit it to her sister, but she wasn't sure she wanted to try again. They had been in Ingfell for eight years and it seemed like she would be here for the rest of her life. Was it worth it, the constant pain? All it seemed to be was a perpetual reminder of her failures. At the very least, she wouldn't have to decide again for a few weeks. Raenar had left Ingfell the morning after the chase, he and his father leading the clan warriors south to meet an opposing chieftain’s raiding party. If things went well for them, Raenar would return in high spirits with an envoy of new slaves to torture. If they went poorly, well...Cora didn’t want to think about it.
A joyous shriek rang out over the rise. Elda must have caught one of the boys. Cora was just about to resume her scrubbing when there was a noise behind her. A soft sigh, barely distinguishable from the sound a breeze might make as it weaved through the leaves. Turning, Cora hesitated at what she saw, then rose slowly to her feet. There at the edge of the path that led back to Ingfell stood a cloaked figure, its shoulders hunched forward. When it raised its arms to pull back its hood, Cora had the sudden urge to protest.
But she was too late. The hood fell back to reveal two empty eye sockets, the ancient skin around the holes puckered and gray. The sadj's lips were an unnatural black and his skin was folded in deep wrinkles.
“Cora Svanros,” he said, his voice deep and coarse. “I've come a long way to find you.”
“Me?” The sopping wet tunic she still held in her hand dripped onto her bare toes. She dropped it back onto the dirty pile and clasped her trembling hands in front of her.
She knew, of course, what a sadj was but had never come face to face with one. The blind seer, the wise fool. Most were nomadic—traveling from town to town, trading prophecy for food and a warm bench. It was not uncommon to find a sadj in Ingfell, but she had never sought one out. Not only did she have nothing to trade, she had also never given much thought to her future beyond the next day and surviving Raenar’s chases.
The sadj moved forward blindly, a strange mist following him. Cora was torn between rushing forward to help him as she would any elderly man, and turning to flee. Her indecision gave the sadj a chance to reach her and he trapped one of her wet hands between both of his, his skin cold and papery. “I see you.”
“Why me?” she choked out, turning her face from his stale breath. She had come upon a corpse in the field once, a man who had been cut down by a neighbor. It had been rotting in the sun for days, the carrion birds already working at his flesh. That was how the sadj smelled.
“I do not ask why,” he answered, his face aimed at her, his blind gaze uncannily accurate. She wasn't sure where to look—she didn't want to see any of it. “I am but a messenger of the gods.”
“I have nothing to give you.” She wanted to be clear on that point.
“I ask for nothing in return, only that you listen, if you wish. Once you know, you cannot forget.” There was a warning in his voice. A sadj’s visions could make or break even a chieftain. Did she really want to know what he had to say to her, to know her fate? Even if it meant seeing her death at Raenar’s hand, knowing that she would never succeed in escaping this place?
Yes, she did. Because it might mean a chance to change the outcome, to save her sister. Or maybe even to save herself. “I'm ready.”
The mist that had been lingering at the sadj’s feet crept up her legs, sending tingles along her spine. Soon it rose to wrap around them both, blocking out the light of the sun and the sounds of the river. It was so disorienting that Cora wasn't even sure she was still in Ingfell. When he spoke again, his voice was all around her though his black lips didn't move.
I see a golden bird wielding a whip. I see a knife in your heart and a crown of fire, seven drops of blood and new love's kiss. I see a river of shadows and three feathers, plucked from the beating heart of the Crow of Malos—one to cross the river, two to kill the hawk, and three to make a choice.
The sadj dropped Cora's hand, and just as quickly, the darkness and the mist dissipated and she was back on the bank of the creek.
“What does it mean?” Cora asked, working through the puzzle in her head. The golden bird had to be Raenar, and the river of shadows would be the Blatqnn with its black waters. The Blatqnn, the line between the living and the dead, between slavery and freedom. Did the key to killing the hawk lie across the river in the Realm of the Dead?
“I am but a messenger of the gods,” the sadj repeated.
“Cora!” Elda's voice rang out over the clearing. Cora turned; her sister stood at the top of the hill on the opposite bank, framed by the trees. Her cheeks were flushed and the two Hallowtide boys were tugging at her hands. “Are you okay?”
“Did you....” Cora turned back to the sadj, only to find that she was alone. A bird chirped in a low-hanging branch, and a squirrel scampered up a tree, but there was no sign of the old man.
“What?” Elda shouted back, laughter in her voice as she struggled against the boys. Cora forgot sometimes how young her sister was. How young they both were.
“Nothing!” Cora called back, but she couldn't shake the chill that had come with the sadj’s words.
There was only one way into Malos, and that way was death.
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“I'm not doing it.” Gone was the light-hearted tone in Elda's voice, replaced by something harder, something bordering on anger. Cora had never heard it from her before. Her sister was always able to see the sun behind any cloud.
“It has to be you,” Cora insisted. “I can't do it myself, and there's no one else I trust.” She lay on her stomach on the bench she shared with her sister in the barn. Elda spread pulp from the eir leaf on Cora's back and placed strips of clean, white cloth over the healing wounds.
“You don't have to do it at all,” Elda said.
Cora turned her head to look at her sister who knelt beside her, staring straight ahead, Cora's back forgotten. The barn was dark, illuminated only by the small lantern in their loft. There was the usual noise below, but she had grown used to the grunts and shuffles of sleeping animals. Even the scurry of rats over the barn floor was familiar now, and somehow comforting. In the dim light her sister's face was drawn, the hollows beneath her eyes and cheekbones cast in dark shadows.
Cora reached out a hand and placed it on her sister's arm, just above where one of her slaver's bands wrapped around her wrist. “I’m not afraid,” she said. “It is not goodbye.” Cora sounded surer than she felt. To a Fielding, death was simply the end of one life and the beginning of the next. It was the ultimate goal, to leave this world and go with the gods. But she didn't want to die. It wasn't that she was afraid of the pain; she was used to that. It was that she was scared for Elda, scared to leave her here alone. The thought made her stomach turn, her breathing shallow. What would Raenar do when he came home and found out that Elda had killed her? Unless Cora could return before he did, Elda would have to fight for her own life for the first time.
“But I can’t do it alone.” It wasn't easy for Cora to admit. She had tried to protect Elda for so long that she had grown accustomed to doing everything on her own. When she saw happiness on the girl's face, or heard the hope in her words, it made it all worth it. But this was not something she could do without her. She wouldn't do it, not if Elda didn't help her.
“A knife in your heart?” Elda asked, meeting Cora's eyes at last.
“That's what he said.”
“And you're sure this was real? What if... what if it was just...?”
“I know what I saw,” she said. “I know what he said. I have to go to Malos, and the only way there....” She didn't want to have to say it again.
“Is to die,” Elda finished for her.
“Yes,” Cora said.
“But one of the feathers....”
“Is to cross the river. It will bring me back.”
“And if it doesn't?”
Cora pushed herself to sitting, the strips of cloth on her back clinging to skin and pulling at the sensitive wounds. She winced, but didn't relent until she was looking her sister in her eyes. “It will be worth it,” she said, “to be rid of Raenar.” It wasn’t just for them. It was for everyone in the Lost Fields. To rid the world of Raenar would be to save hundreds, maybe even thousands, from death or slavery. He was a tyrant like his father before him, and tyranny would reign until they were stopped.
“One to kill the hawk.”
“One to kill him.” That was what would make this all worth it.
“What about the rest?” Elda asked. “The blood and the kiss?”
Cora shrugged. “I guess we'll know when the time comes.”
They both grew quiet, lost in their thoughts. If she said no, Cora wouldn't push her again.
“Okay,” Elda said. “I'll do it.”
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It seemed only right that Hauknefr would be the blade to take her life. Raenar had left his prized knife behind, as he always did, to not risk losing it on the battlefield. It hadn't been hard for Cora to take it from the longhouse the next morning when she had returned the clean clothes, and now she handed it over to her sister. Elda looked down at it and then slowly closed her fingers around the smooth hilt. The steel blade was wicked; Raenar sharpened it almost obsessively.
“What do you think it will be like?” Elda asked, her eyes on the blade. They were back in the loft after a long, listless day. They had both gone through their chores as if in a daze and had hardly eaten anything. Cora's stomach ached, though from nerves or hunger she couldn't say. Probably a combination of both.
“What? To stab me?”
“No,” Elda said quickly, shutting her eyes against the idea. “Malos.”
Malos. The Realm of the Dead. The Land of Shadows. The stories did not have much good to say about it. Its counterpart, Elanos, the Realm of Warriors, was where most Fieldings strived to end up. There, her mother and other warriors feasted with Lumos, the god of light and life, for all eternity. Malos was governed by Lumos's brother, Valdos, god of darkness and death. A monster, it was said, with eyes as black as his soul.
“Dark,” Cora said quietly.
“Peaceful, maybe,” Elda said.
“Terrifying,” Cora added.
“Perhaps Valdos will be kind. Maybe if you tell him that the sadj sent you....”
Cora huffed a small laugh. “You can't help it, can you? Everything just has to be good for you.” Even though the words came out harsh, she hadn't meant it as a bad thing. It was what she loved about her sister. “Let's just get this over with,” she said, to avoid having to look at Elda's face.
Cora lay on the bench, her arms at her side. She exhaled a quick breath and stared up at the ceiling. Elda leaned over, her red hair a curtain around them.
“Cora.”
“You have to do it....”
“No, that's not what I wanted to say. I know that you... just, thank you.”
Unbidden tears sprouted in the corners of Cora's eyes and a lump formed in her throat. “Anything for you.” Silence stretched between them until Cora couldn’t stand it. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, hopefully just a few days, before Raenar returns.” Unable to say anything else for fear of losing her composure, she lifted a hand and tapped herself on the chest, just over her left breast. That was the spot. A knife in your heart.
Elda positioned the blade there, two hands on the hilt, just like Cora had shown her. Cora’s heart pulsed against the sharpened tip, racing with wing-like flutters against the inside of her skin. She could still stop it. All it would take— No. She closed her eyes, gripped the edge of the bench and ground her teeth together.
And then there was pain, a great ripping sensation that rocketed from her heart to all of her limbs, like she was being torn into a thousand tiny pieces. Her eyes flew open. She wanted to bring her hands to her chest, to cover the hilt of the knife buried there, but she had lost control of her arms. She blinked and coughed, something wet spewing out of her mouth. Elda was sobbing, her hands holding the knife in place. Her heart; oh, she felt as if she had betrayed her own heart as it sputtered against the intruder.
“Elda,” Cora whispered, not sure if she had truly spoken, and then she was outside of her body, looking down at the scene in the loft. Her corpse, broken and bloody; Elda kneeling over her, hands still on the weapon. “You can let go now.”
Her little sister jerked her head up, tear-filled eyes wide as she looked around the loft. Her gaze passed right over where Cora, or what was left of her, now stood, but it was obvious that the girl couldn't see her. Then Elda removed her hands from the hilt of the knife, leaving it inside Cora's chest, and brought a thick woolen blanket to cover her face.
There was a tugging in Cora’s gut, right behind her belly button, that led her through the barn door and into the darkness of the night. The sutvithr tree that sat before the longhouse, with its weeping branches brushing the ground, whispered in the gentle breeze but Cora couldn't feel it. She couldn't feel the ground beneath her feet, or smell the smoldering embers of the hearth fires. A few yards away, a cat leapt from a roof and landed on the path. It looked at her, reflective green eyes flashing, then fled.
Her feet moved her forward almost against her will. It was instinctual; she didn't know where she was going but she knew she had to go. Soon she was in the woods, surrounded only by darkness. The trees that had sheltered her in her flight from Ingfell loomed threateningly overhead like giants ready to consume her. She had once liked the way that night blurred the lines, made her feel invisible, but this felt different. This felt like she was suffocating.
She moved fast without even meaning to, faster than she had ever run in her life. The tugging in her belly grew stronger, pulling her forward with more and more momentum. Cora felt like she had forgotten something, like someone she had always known was on the other end. What was there, waiting for her in Malos?
Dark and terrifying, she remembered telling Elda.
Peaceful and kind had been Elda's response.
Finally, the deathly silence was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of rushing water. When she had lived on Ey Island, their home had been just a short walk from the shore. She had grown up listening to the crashing waves, but this was nothing like their soothing hush. This was the sound of water that was in a hurry, water that had cut a path through the land for thousands of years and would still be here long after everyone had left this place. She emerged into a small clearing and there it was. The Blatqnn, the river that had eluded her for eight years. Standing in the middle of it, in water up to his knees, was a man. He held a hand out to her and, without thinking twice, she plunged into the raging waters.
Though the river thundered against her and should have swept her away, Cora kept her footing. She powered forward against the current and she saw why people described the river as black. Dark shapes swirled beneath the surface, shadows hinting at greater terrors. As she drew nearer, she saw that the man was not wet. He was somehow serene, unbothered by his surroundings. He seemed young, maybe a few years older than Cora, and was taller than any man she had ever seen, with long black hair pulled back in a series of knots and a rough beard hiding his mouth. His attractiveness was tempered by his eyes, which were two black orbs like bottomless pits set into his face.
He reached for her and her hand found his. Soon he was hauling her forward, guiding her through the water to the opposite bank. She scrambled up the small rise behind him, then stopped when he turned to look at her. Something drove her to her knees; not something outside of her, but the same sensation that had drawn her to the Blatqnn. So she knelt, bowing her head and not understanding why, only knowing that she had no choice.
To her surprise, the man's handsome face appeared before hers as he also knelt. This close, she saw that the black cloak he wore was not fur but feathers, as black as the night sky. With one meaty hand, he tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. Then he pressed that same hand to her chest, just above her heart. When she looked down, she was surprised to see the jagged wound that Hauknefr had made. There was no blood or pain; it was just a part of her now.
“Welcome to Malos,” the man said. “I am Valdos. I have come to take you home.”
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When she emerged from the forest behind Valdos, Cora was surprised to find them looking down on a town. Just below where they stood was the great hall, ten times larger than the longhouse in Ingfell, and the homes stretched out from there, curving around a black coastline. There must have been hundreds of small homes with thatched roofs pointing toward the black sky. Jetties dotted the coast, long wooden fingers sticking out into the water.
But as they approached, Cora felt more than saw that it was different from any town she had ever known. The darkness was another resident, slinking around corners and filling in the empty spaces. The people they passed were both there and not there—insubstantial, like shadows in the night that she could only see out of the corners of her eyes. She trailed behind Valdos, whose long strides kept him several feet ahead of her. As they approached a market, he finally stopped and looked back at her.
“What do you think?” he asked, a smile tilting his cheeks. He was proud. This was the monster that governed this realm? Cora had expected a beast not a man, and especially not a man that looked like he did. She tore her eyes from him and scanned the market.
Dozens of figures milled about and smoke rose from as many roofs. The stalls were arranged in rows, with vendors selling meat and fish, swaths of cloth, homespun clothes, butter, vegetables—anything that a person, or a spirit, could want. Cora turned to Valdos, her brow furrowing.
“Do the dead eat?” she asked.
He laughed, a strand of inky black hair dropping across his face. “The dead must live too,” he said, grinning as he tucked the hair back behind his ear. She felt as if she were the victim of some joke that she hadn't yet begun to understand. He clapped a heavy hand on her shoulder and steered her toward one of the stands displaying silver fish on crates of ice.
Behind the booth stood a young woman about Cora's age. The iron slaver's bands on her wrists betrayed her station as a thrall in life, and the gash across her throat revealed the manner of her death.
“Hirasil,” Valdos boomed at her.
“Good morning, Val,” she responded.
Morning? Cora's eyes wandered to the black sky. If this was morning, where was the sun? There was not a hint of light on the horizon. In fact, the moon was just overhead, full and shining white.
“How was today's catch?” he asked. He picked up a fish and sniffed it, bouncing it in his hand as if its weight would tell him something.
“Oh, it will do, I suppose,” Hirasil answered, then lowered her voice, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Old Vause tried to trade one bushel of potatoes for an entire crate of fish. I told him what he could do with his potatoes.” The two laughed and Cora tried to make sense of everything. Then, Hirasil turned her gaze on Cora. “Who's this?”
“Hirasil, meet Cora, our newest arrival.” Val stepped back, urging Cora forward with a sweep of his hand.
“Hello, Cora,” the girl said, her voice high and lilting. She seemed to shift appearance as she spoke—her eyes going from green to blue, her jawline changing from round to sharp. Cora blinked and she solidified, becoming a girl with long, dark hair, big ears, and a small nose that tapered to a point in the middle of her dainty face.
“Come,” Valdos said, turning away, beckoning to Cora. He reminded her of the Hallowtide children—bouncing from one thing to the next. “There's more to see.”
Cora nodded a hasty goodbye to Hirasil but as she turned, a cold hand gripped her arm and turned her back. “You aren't like us,” Hirasil said, pulling her hand away.
“What do you mean?” Cora asked.
“You're too alive.”
Cora backed away, feeling afraid without Valdos at her side. Turning, she ran after him. The market faded behind them, almost as if without them there it didn't exist at all.
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In the longhouse, Valdos handed her a mug filled with what appeared to be steaming hot cider but she was surprised to realize she wasn't thirsty, in spite of her journey. The hearth beside the table roared with an orange fire, but she didn't feel its heat. She barely tasted the cider, not sure if the lingering spice on her tongue was its flavor or simply the idea of what she expected it to taste like. Valdos sat across the table from her and watched her drink.
“Do I still have to eat and drink?” she asked when she tired of his stare.
He placed his hands flat on the table and looked at them while he spoke. “The dead subsist on memory.” A black shadow, like the ones she had seen beneath the Blatqnn, curled around his wrist and snaked along his hand. Cora's breath caught in her throat and she leaned backward as it began to move across the table toward her. Valdos flicked his arm and the shadow turned away, though Cora could see reluctance in its slow movements. “Without memory, they become something else. Something...dark.” He flicked his wrists, then raised his hands, flipping them back and forth so she could see that the shadow had gone.
“They become the darkness?” she asked, remembering how it had felt like another presence.
Valdos nodded. “Eating. Working. Sleeping. It will keep you in your human form. I will always call you by your name, so you will remember.”
“Will it happen to me?” she asked. It had been so disconcerting the way Hirasil had shifted in and out of focus, like she was trying to choose what she looked like, how she wanted to appear to Cora. But could Cora choose, if she wanted? Could she heal the scars on her back? Close the wound on her chest? Free herself from the slaver's bands?
He reached across the table and put a hand on her arm, just above the golden cuff. “It happens to us all. You'll start to forget and it will hurt, but then it won't be so hard anymore.”
She couldn't forget, but when she looked into Valdos's bottomless black eyes it seemed like it would be the easiest thing in the world to do. Let go of the living world, settle into the darkness. Dropping her gaze, she stared into her cup and forced herself to recall their faces. Elda. Raenar. The sadj and his words that had started this whole thing. As always, so much depended on her and she hoped that she would not fail this time.
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There were no birds in Malos. Seven days passed without so much as a sighting. Or at least Cora was calling them days. Time seemed to pass in a cycle of eating, working and sleeping, and so she began to grow accustomed to not having the sun to guide her through the hours. She lived with Hirasil and the fisherwomen in one of the small houses near the beach but spent her nights alone on her bench, thinking about Elda.
Valdos had been right; it was harder to remember her, and sometimes Cora would wake up and not remember anything about the life she had, that she had to get back to. But in the quiet of the night, she could bring Elda's face into her mind. After years of protecting her, she had left her little sister alone for the first time. Whenever Cora thought about it, even though her heart no longer beat in her chest it would contract like a giant hand squeezed it.
New souls came frequently into Malos, always guided by Valdos whose shadows wrapped around his limbs like possessive pets.
He introduced her to them, his eyes on her until she had to look away. “This is Cora Svanros.” She liked the way he said her name—like it was a title, something to be given honor and attention.
One morning, she finally asked Hirasil, “Where are all the birds?” They were reeling in a net full of the same silver fish that Hirasil had been selling at the market. They were far from shore, but not so far that they couldn't see Malos looming in the distance. Other boats dotted the harbor as the fisherwomen collected the day's catch.
Hirasil tossed the net into the boat and looked up at Cora. Her eyes shifted from gray to green, and then settled on a light brown. “There are none this side of the Blatqnn.”
“You've never seen a crow here?” Cora asked as she picked up the oars and began to pull them through the water. Hirasil worked to untangle the net, extracting the fish and dropping them into the wicker basket between the girls.
“No,” Hirasil answered without hesitating. “Of course not.”
Cora brought their boat easily to the dock and lifted the heavy basket up to Hirasil. They walked side by side down the planks to the shore, the basket slung between them, and loaded it onto the waiting cart. Relieved of their burden, Hirasil turned toward town, but Cora hung back.
“Coming?” Hirasil called over her shoulder. Cora knew what waited for them in town... a dinner from the day’s catch, gossip about the new arrivals. And Val’s company if he wasn’t traveling. He had eaten with them once or twice, but his presence was unnerving. He was too bright and too solid in a place that was constantly shifting. She only noticed it in his absence, when the darkness felt more absolute.
“You go ahead,” she said with a wave. She didn’t feel up for any of it.
Turning left, she walked along the beach as the dark sand turned into pebbles and eventually the gently sloping shore dropped sharply into rocky cliffs. The waves beat against the narrow beach so she turned inland and found fields of tall grasses unbent by breezes or storms sprouting from the sandy soil.
The more distance she put between herself and Malos, the more she felt the darkness like it was walking beside her. Shadows pressed against her, weaving themselves around her limbs, pushing her forward. Dry grasses scratched her legs and grabbed at the hem of her dress as if to hold her back.
“Cora.” The sound of her name reached her ears like a whisper at first, hesitant and almost inaudible. She froze. “Cora!” It came again, this time louder. Her mother’s voice, strong and commanding. Cora began to run.
Soft sand sank beneath her feet, sending her stumbling as she plowed forward. “Mom!” she called out in response, using her hands to right herself.
“Hide, Cora.” She knew these words, had re-lived them hundreds of times in her nightmares.
“Mom, I’m coming!” Cora didn’t know if her mother could hear her, didn’t know what she was doing here. She burst unexpectedly into a clearing, and suddenly the voice was all around her.
“Cora, Elda, hide,” it echoed, ringing in her ears.
At Cora’s feet was a pool of water that shone icy blue even in the dark. Floating in the middle was her mother’s face, the white scar across her eyebrow, her pale hair floating around her head. “Go to the loft, take your sister. Keep her safe. Quiet now, hurry.”
Then there was Elda’s five-year-old face, not so different from the face she had left behind. Wide, green eyes and a smattering of freckles across her dainty nose and rosy cheeks. Cora reached for her instinctively, sinking to her knees at the edge of the pool. “Cora, I’m scared,” Elda said, but her voice was not a young child’s voice. It was the older, scared voice of the sister she had left behind in Ingfell.
Keep your sister safe. Don’t make a sound.
“No,” Cora said. “I don’t want to see this.” But she couldn’t look away. Was her mother still there just beyond her line of sight? Could she see her, help her, save her, if she could just reach her? The water was around her knees now. Her hands scrabbled through the pond, searching, reaching. Sucking in a deep breath, she let herself sink beneath the surface, keeping her eyes open against the glow of the water. There they were, two little girls hiding in a loft. If she could just—
A hand wrapped around the back of her tunic and suddenly she was pulled out of the pool and thrown unceremoniously to the grass at its edge. She rolled once and then lay completely still, her hands feeling as if they were bound to her sides. For a moment, she couldn’t remember who or where she was. There was only the endless black sky, the suffocating darkness.
“Stay with me, Cora Svanros,” Valdos said. She hadn’t even noticed the shadows attached to her arms and legs that had been drawing her forward. He knelt over her and ripped them off, his cold hands brushing against her bare skin. His touch sent shockwaves through her whole body, and the darkness reluctantly relinquished her, slinking back into the pond, leaving her blinking and breathless.
When he was satisfied that they were all gone, Valdos pulled her to a sitting position and then dropped down beside her to stare intently into her face. He was making sure, she realized, that a part of her hadn’t disappeared.
“You found the Memory Pool,” he finally said, his face relaxing into a relieved half-smile. They both kept their backs to the bright water. Its glow cast their shadows far out in front of them across the field.
“I guess I did,” she said. “But I thought memories were what kept us here. That was... that was something different.”
He looked sideways at her. “It’s a tight line to walk, to remember who you were but to still look forward to the future. There is nothing for you back there.”
She looked away from him, unable to hold his dark gaze. “I saw...”
“Your defining moment,” he finished for her when he realized she would not be able to put it into words. When she remained silent, he asked, “Do you want to know what I see?”
She hesitated, then nodded, looking down at her hands.
“I see my father’s face the moment he threw me from Elanos with my brother, Lumos. We fell for seven days and fought the whole way down. I landed on this side of the Blatqnn, and Lumos on the other. We made of our lives what we could with what we had been given—the betrayal of a parent who hated us.”
“My mother loved us. She died to protect me and my sister,” Cora told him. “It doesn’t make it any easier.”
“Of course not,” he said. Reaching a hand out almost hesitantly, he brushed strands of wet bangs from her face with a small smile. “I thought I had lost you, and just as I was getting to know you.”
He was so close and so solid beside her, and she was so tired that when he put an arm around her shoulders, she leaned into him and let her head drop down to rest in the crook of his neck. She felt the call of the Memory Pool behind her, the shame of her greatest failure, her mother’s disappointed eyes on her back. And even though she desperately wanted to turn around, Valdos’s grip kept her facing forward. The closer she moved to him, the further away the memories felt. He had said there was nothing for her back there, and a small part of her was beginning to believe it.
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That night, Cora couldn't sleep. She lifted herself onto her arms and looked around. The other girls were still on their benches, their furs bunched around gray faces that flickered eerily in sleep as their dreams changed their memories of themselves. At least, that's what Cora assumed happened. Sometimes the girls would wake up looking like someone completely different, only to resolve back into themselves by the time they left for work.
Slipping out from beneath the furs on her bench, she went outside. Only a few yards away, gentle waves lapped against the shore beside the jetty where the fishing boats were docked. It reminded her of the black waters of the Blatqnn and, just beyond it, the town of Ingfell, where her sister lived in constant fear of the hawk's cry.
Cora had dared to hope, dared to believe that there was a way out; a way to defeat Raenar. There was no crow; all she was doing was wasting time and putting Elda at risk. And the worst part of all was the way she had felt sitting beside Val... safe, comfortable, happy. Who was she to deserve that, knowing what she had left behind? Knowing that in Ingfell and all the Hallowtide territories, families were torn apart. Women were abused and children were sold. How strange that the Realm of the Dead would feel like a safer place to be. The stories painted Val as a monster, but he was infinitely kinder than Raenar had ever been.
She hadn’t just failed Elda; she had doomed all of them to another lifetime of slavery. The guilt ate away at her like the waves clawing at the beach. She wasn't doing this anymore. She couldn’t stay here and be safe and happy while Elda suffered. This wasn’t where she belonged.
She turned back to the town and the quiet houses stared back at her. Only the darkness swirled, creeping from door to door. If she was going to go, it would have to be now.
It wasn't hard to find the well-traveled path through the woods. She had watched Valdos emerge from that spot countless times over the past week. The silence of the trees was just as disconcerting as it had been the first time she came through here but she pushed herself forward, feet flying along the path. Make it to the Blatqnn, and you'll be free. How many times had she heard that over the past eight years? She knew now that she would never be free. No one would.
The black waters came into view after what felt like mere minutes, the water's roar almost deafening in the silence. She couldn't stop, couldn't hesitate... afraid she might change her mind, or worse, forget why she had come here at all. The first time she crossed, it had felt as though her feet were anchored with stones; she had been immovable. Valdos had been there to guide her, his hand cold in hers but steady and strong.
Now she was alone and as she lunged into the river, the water whipped against her legs, sweeping them out from beneath her. She flipped head over feet, twisting and trying to regain her footing. She broke the surface once but was quickly pulled back under. Something grabbed her ankle, tugging her backwards. Something else brushed against her cheek. She screamed as the black shadows converged on her, wrapping around her body, consuming her.
No. No! Her feet touched something solid and she pushed off of it, her head slicing through the rough waters until she emerged back into the open air. She had grown up swimming in the salt waste off the coast of Ey Island; she knew what to do. Turning in the direction of the current, she gave a strong kick, using her arms to paddle and pull her forward.
The shadows caught her anyway. The souls of the dead who had forgotten and been forgotten. They dragged her backward, erasing any progress she made. This wasn’t the benevolent curiosity of the Memory Pool or the eager enthusiasm of the spirits that haunted Malos. This was different, dangerous, angry. She clawed at them, but her fingers passed right through the inky blackness. Valdos had touched them, controlled them, but he was their king. Who was she? She was nobody.
Just before her head submerged again, she heard something she had longed to hear ever since coming to Malos—the warbled call of a crow. And then she was beneath the surface, her body now almost completely wrapped in black tendrils. How long would Elda wait for her before giving up? Before losing the hope that made her the way she was? How long before Elda was ruined by Cora's failure?
The shadows crept up her neck, slipping over her chin. Her arms were suspended at her sides, her yellow hair a ring around her head. She kept her eyes turned upward so that she could see the moon, a distant white pinprick of light, until even it was extinguished by a dark figure.
A figure that was crashing through the water, reaching for her. Black claws wrapped around her shoulders and she was jerked upwards, the darkness slinking away, melting off her. It pulled her out of the water and she gasped for breath that she didn't need. Wind buffeted her as she was slung through the air in the grip of some kind of monster.
The flight only lasted moments, barely long enough for her to be afraid, and soon solid ground was beneath her once more. On her hands and knees, she panted and heaved, though of course nothing came up, not even a drop of water.
“Caw!”
Slowly, she lifted her eyes. The crow was massive, its black beak as long as her arm. Falling back, she scrambled away from the bird; all she could think of was Raenar, the golden hawk, the cruelty that she had endured for so many years.
Three feathers, plucked from the Crow of Malos. This was what she had come here for. She couldn't be afraid. It had saved her, taken her from the Blatqnn and dropped her back on land. Yes, she was still in Malos on the eastern shore, but with its feathers—one to cross the river—she would be able to go home, to finish what she had started. The crow cocked its head to the side, training one beady black eye on her. Without taking her eyes from it, she pushed herself to standing.
“Hi there,” she choked out. The bird extended its wings. “No, no,” Cora begged, holding a hand out. “Don't go.”
The crow flapped its wings and Cora squinted against the wind that beat her. Once, twice, and then the bird began to change, like the form had just been a mantle, a disguise, and suddenly Valdos was standing in front of her, his feather cloak tucked tight around his shoulders, his black hair loose around his face.
Cora gasped, jerking her hand back and feeling frozen in place, her mind reeling. “I don't understand,” she said.
He cocked his head and in that movement she saw that he had always been the crow and the man, and she just had not known which one to bring into focus. “I thought,” he said, his voice low and humorless, “that you of all people might, Cora Svanros.”
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Cora couldn't bring herself to look at him. She sat across from him at the same table they had talked over when she first arrived. The smell of hot cider wafted up to her nose from the mug below, but she didn't move to drink it. She was ashamed and scared. He had been so kind to her. And all along he had been keeping this from her, the fact that he was the same as her tormentor. She was doomed to an eternity of remembering.
“When my brother and I fell, my father gave us each the gift of flight to save our lives. Your tormentor must be descended from him to have the gift. Lumos was never particularly careful in that regard.”
Cora scoffed, still not looking at Val. The gift. What could have gone so wrong inside of Raenar that he used his gift as a weapon? Was he angry at the gods, at his father, for leaving him behind? Was it that he wanted to be the center of attention, the one receiving sacrifices? Or was it that he, like Cora, was never quite good enough, strong enough, fast enough? Lumos had left him with the humans, and the only way Raenar could forget his own failure was to make Cora fail again and again. Was to hold others captive so that they could never leave him as his father had.
“I would never hurt you,” Valdos said, coming around the table to sit beside her. His presence was all-consuming, like the shadows that had held her under the water.
“I want to believe you,” she admitted. She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, to trust him. But she couldn’t help feeling betrayed. She had let him wrap his arm around her and give her comfort all while he was the same as Raenar. He had made a mockery of her feelings. She didn’t think she would ever feel safe again. “Why didn't you tell me?”
He turned to face her, legs straddling the bench. His eyes were swirling black orbs, just like the crow's. How had she not figured it out before? “Because I didn't want you to have to be afraid anymore. I know what he did to you.” His hand on her back was as solid as a block of ice.
She had never seen her back, but knew from what Elda told her that it was a mess of white and pink scars, the skin raised in some places. Neither of them looked away as his hand slid beneath the bottom of her shirt and grazed against the folds and lines that Raenar had left there. She shivered as he ran a finger down a ridge that crossed from her shoulder to her hip.
“You can fix this,” he said, his voice low, his head tilted toward hers. “It's up to you to make it go away.”
Could she do that? Could she forget? Hadn't she fought for long enough? He was so close, and his eyes were so dark that she thought she could fall into them and just get lost. She held her breath, ready to dive into their depths. His hand pressed firmly against her back, moving her towards him until their lips met. She raised a hand to his shoulder, but did not push him away. Instead, she let his heart beat against her chest, a steady pulsing that she hadn't felt since coming to Malos. He tilted her head back and she opened herself to him, moving her hands to his face, then his hair, wrapping them around his neck to pull him closer. His beard scratched her chin and the memory of her heart fluttered wildly, warmth like blood raced in her veins, coloring her cheeks.
He pulled away, leaving her gasping, pressing his face to hers. With his breath tickling her ear and his solid chest pressed against her, she didn't know if she had ever felt more alive.
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Behind the fish stall, Cora stood with a smile on her lips, the secret of what had happened between her and Valdos rolling around inside of her. The market was bustling with noise as the residents of Malos wove in and out of the crowd and hollered back and forth to each other. The moon was, as always, bright overhead, chasing away the lurking shadows in this part of town.
“You seem different,” Hirasil said as she wrapped two silver fish for a bearded man. His appearance was startling—he was almost completely gray, as if the color had been leached out of him. Had this man been blind to colors, or was this how he had seen himself in life?
“I feel different,” Cora said, and it was true. She felt lighter, like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, though she couldn't remember what it was. She was happy now as she had never been in life.
“Your bands are gone,” Hirasil said as the gray man walked away.
“Bands?” Cora looked down at the smaller girl.
“Your bands,” Hirasil repeated, holding her wrists up to show Cora the two thin, iron bands there and the chafed skin underneath. “I've never been able to forget that part.”
Cora dropped her eyes to her wrists, the fingers of her right hand tracing a circle around her left arm. What was she forgetting? It was there, in the back of her mind, like a dimly glowing ember.
“Cora Svanros.”
She would know that voice anywhere. Her wrists forgotten, Cora looked up into the dark eyes of Valdos, expecting to see a smile on his face and instead finding his lips pressed into a stern line. “Val?” she asked.
“I'm so sorry,” he said, and he stepped aside.
A small girl stood behind him in bare feet and a white smock dress. She had red hair, freckles across her cheeks, and brown eyes so light they were almost gold. But the strangest part of all was the smoke wafting from her, and the crown of fire crackling around her head. The look in the new arrival's eyes caused the ember of memory to ignite, and it all came rushing back to Cora.
“Elda,” Cora said, her voice small and pitiful. This couldn't be happening. This... this wasn't how it was supposed to end.
She thought of the hawk screeching above her, its talons digging into her arms, the whip across her back. You will never be free. Something warm trickled down her stomach and she looked down at the red stain blooming on the front of her shirt. Cora touched her chest, her fingers coming away sticky and stained red. The blood poured faster and she fell to her knees, her head spinning. Valdos and Hirasil stood over her, but she couldn't hear what they were saying. She saw instead her mother’s silent suffering, her own hand covering Elda’s mouth. She saw the Fielding slave driver marching them forward, always forward. A race through the trees, her little sister panting and heaving. And always blood, so much blood.
There was a hand around Cora’s upper arm and it hauled her to her feet. Elda stood there, her grip tight, an unfamiliar look of stoic determination on her face. “It’s okay,” her little sister said to her, drawing her into a hug. “You can let go now.”
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In the quiet warmth of the longhouse, Elda sat just where Cora had yesterday when Valdos had kissed her. Now Cora—having pulled herself together—paced back and forth while Valdos warmed a kettle over the hearth, stirring its contents with a large wooden ladle. She was not surprised to see that with the arrival of Elda, the golden slaver's bands had reappeared on her wrists.
“He tried to get me to run,” Elda was saying, her eyes straight ahead, a crease marring her brow.
“Did you?” Cora asked.
“I never would have made it.”
How could Cora have forgotten? How could she have been so foolish? Raenar had returned the day before, blood-thirsty and angry after a disastrous raid. His father, Chief Ienar Hallowtide, had died in the battle, and the raiders had escaped. Raenar had come home full of pent up frustration, only to find his favorite target dead. The fire sizzled around her sister's head. Cora was afraid to hear the rest of the story.
“He built a pyre,” Elda said. “There was a ceremony. I was... an offering.”
Cora stopped pacing. She wanted to go to Elda, to comfort her, but when she looked at her, there were no tears. There was a hardness to the girl's face that Cora had never known before. Valdos brought Elda a mug, but she didn't touch it.
“I want to kill him,” Elda said. “I don't care what happens to me, but I want him dead before he can do this to anyone else. He has to be stopped. If it’s not us, it will be someone else. Someone else’s daughter or sister or friend. This has to end.”
The words rang true to Cora, as true as the ones that the sadj had told her. It felt like a hundred years ago. Three feathers, plucked from the beating heart of the Crow of Malos—one to cross the river, two to kill the hawk, and three to make a choice.
Cora turned to where Valdos now stood beside Elda, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His cloak hung by the door, and he wore only a loose undershirt and linen trousers. He saw her looking and offered her a tentative smile which she didn't return. She couldn't let him look at her like that, not with what she had to do next.
“I need your feathers,” Cora said to him.
His brow furrowed over his black eyes. “My what?”
“His what?” Elda chimed in from her spot on the bench.
“Three feathers, plucked from the beating heart of the Crow of Malos,” Cora intoned. “That's how we kill Raenar.”
“He has the crow?” Elda asked.
“He is the crow,” Cora replied, not taking her eyes from Valdos. She was angry with herself for forgetting and with him for letting her forget.
“Cora Svanros,” Valdos said, looking as uncomfortable as she had ever seen him, “I think we should talk.”
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Leaving Elda behind with Hirasil, Cora and Valdos walked through town, past the vendors stalls where Val bought her a ripe red fruit, cracking it open so she could eat the sweet seeds hidden within. Following a beaten path up a small rise, they emerged into a clearing dotted with tall grasses and wilting wildflowers. At the edge of the meadow was a cliff. Waves beat against the rocks below. She and Val sat side by side on the edge of the world, legs dangling over the abyss.
“Tell me what the sadj told you,” he finally said.
And so she did, word for word. He listened without looking at her, his eyes cast out over the dark ocean. He reached behind her to pluck a flower and began ripping the black petals off one by one, letting them float away into the air around them. Cora was reminded of the childhood game that girls played to trick themselves into believing in love. He loves me, she counted. He loves me not.
“I will not survive,” he said. “Malos exists on a delicate balance. If you take those feathers from me, I will become like the shadows, the lost souls. Malos will become more like the horror that it is in the stories your people tell. But I won’t be the monster. Memories will.”
She watched one petal catch a breeze and flutter beyond the others. It hung suspended for a moment before tumbling out of sight. What could she say to that? Could she ask him to sacrifice himself to save so many others? She and her sister were already gone from that world. Couldn’t they just leave it behind?
But then she remembered the ferocity in Elda’s eyes. Raenar had ruined her. He had stolen the hope that had colored all of her words, extinguished the blazing light that had once defined her. Cora had worked so hard and given so much of herself to make sure that Elda was safe. This was the only way to get her back.
She took a black flower from his fingers, and, at her touch, the blossom turned a bright orange-red, the color of Elda’s hair. Val’s laugh was unexpected but surprisingly sweet as he took the flower from her and tucked it behind her ear. He leaned forward and kissed her at the corner of her jaw.
“I will give them to you,” he said, “if you ask. I will sacrifice my dead for your living. He must be stopped, and I believe that you can be the one to do it.”
“Why?” she whispered. “I am nobody.”
“You are Cora Svanros.”
“Stop saying that like it means something.”
He smiled, pulling her to him. “Stop acting like it doesn’t.”
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The waters of the Blatqnn did not appear so tumultuous as before. The whole realm of Malos seemed to be holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
“What if it doesn't work?” Elda asked. She and Cora stood side by side, looking to the western bank, towards Ingfell.
“That doesn't sound like you,” Cora said, nudging Elda with her elbow. The bow and quiver fit perfectly across her little sister's back. Valdos had insisted they take it. One of the arrows had an empty loop in its fletching, where they would string the feather meant to kill the hawk.
“Caw!”
Cora turned as the black crow landed behind them, tucking its wings into its body and ruffling the feathers at its neck. Elda had been warned, but she still took several steps away from the bird. Cora did the opposite, stepping forward so that she was only a few inches away. She wasn't afraid, not anymore.
His feathers were smooth and slick beneath her fingers. She moved her hand until she felt the pulsing of his heart beneath it.
“You don't have to do this,” she whispered. Of course the bird didn't respond, or even move except to turn its head so that she was staring into one black eye. The conversation was already had—she and Elda needed this closure, and the world needed to be rid of Raenar. Cora would never see Valdos again, but it was just one more sacrifice in a whole line of them.
Her fingers found the pulse and she gripped the stems of three feathers, wrapping them in a fist.
“Thank you,” Elda's voice came from just behind her. “Valdos, thank you.”
Cora yanked, and three feathers as long as her arm came free. The animal that was somehow also a man staggered, flapping its wings for balance. Its black beak gaped open as if in surprise. Cora slapped a hand to her mouth to hold back the sob but it came anyway, tears spilling out of her eyes.
“We have to go,” Elda said, pulling her sister from the crow's side.
“Caw!” Valdos cried. Go! She thought he was saying.
Cora tucked two of the feathers inside the cloak that she had borrowed from Hirasil, and then held the other one out to her sister. Elda gripped the stem and Cora the softer tip, and together they stepped into the roiling black waters. Cora fought the urge to look back, Valdos’s own voice ringing in her head. You must always look forward.
This time, the shadows parted for them as they crossed.
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The sky was so dark, Cora was not entirely sure the crossing had worked until she looked to her sister and saw that the flames had been extinguished. Examining her own chest, she found that the wound had disappeared. There was not even a scar. The feather that they had held between them crumbled into ash and was carried away on the wind.
For the first time ever, Elda led the way back to Ingfell. They no longer had the speed of spirits, so they walked through the entire day without seeing another living soul. It had been so long since Cora had seen the sun that as it rose, she rushed up one of the hills, coming out into the open to watch the sky change from pink to orange to cloudless blue. Standing there, she thought of Valdos and that she would have liked for him to see this. As proud as he had been of his shadow world, there was something about a sunrise that made her heart leap, even knowing what she had done and what she had to do.
The sun was already dipping low again by the time they reached the wheat fields outside Ingfell. While still under the cover of the trees, they stopped and tied the crow's feather to the fletching of one of Valdos's arrows. Before that morning, it had been years since either of the girls had shot an arrow. When Valdos found this small bow in one of his houses, he had set up a target for them to practice on. They were surprised to find that Elda was the better of the two. After so long protecting her sister from Raenar, Elda would be the one who got to kill him.
By the time they passed through the town’s gate, night had fallen again. It seemed only fitting; this was an act meant for the darkness.
“Wait here,” Cora instructed her sister, hiding her behind the barn where they had slept for the past eight years. Elda obliged, sinking back into the shadows and pulling the bow from her shoulder.
The sutvithr tree in front of the longhouse was still lush with green leaves. Several branches were weighed down with forms that became clear only as she drew nearer. There were nine bodies hanging from the tree—nine males of different species, but the one closest to her was human. Raenar had been asking the gods for favors. Had his father heard him? Fear pulsed through her, her blood running cold in her veins.
“Cora,” came a voice, and a figure stepped out from around the dead man's dangling body. In just a few weeks she had forgotten how big Raenar was, how imposing he could be. And he imposed upon her now, coming closer. She took a step back, then another, hating herself for it but unable to stop. “I hadn't thought to see you again, but it seems the gods have granted me at least this.” Something gleamed in his hand—Hauknefr, his prized knife, the one that had taken her first life. He dug beneath his fingernails with it, seeming casual, but she could feel the tension beneath his skin, coiling in his muscles. She knew him by now. After all these years as his slave, as his plaything, as his victim.
“I've come back for you,” she said.
Raenar’s face twisted into that spiteful smirk he used only when he was gloating. He held his arms out wide, the movement setting the dead man's body to swinging. The branch upon which it hung creaking loudly in the quiet night. “Here I am.”
Here you are. Taking hold of her rage, she threw herself at Raenar, hitting him in the middle and knocking him back into the hanging man. They connected with a sickening thud, the knife flying out of his hands and into the darkness. Raenar pushed her off him and she rolled to the side, beneath the dead man's dangling toes, and stood, only to find herself looking into a goat's bulging eyes.
He lunged at her and she danced away, circling the tree, using the bodies as a shield. His knife was gone; all he had were his fists unless he became the hawk. As awful as it would be to face the bird again, it was what they needed so that Elda could strike.
There was a horse's body hanging nearby, the throat slit, flies buzzing on its glassy eyes. She darted behind it. When Raenar lunged at her, she dug her fingers into the cold flesh and pushed it at him with shaking arms. He leapt backward out of its way. It stayed between them, the rope overhead twisting around itself, the branch creaking.
“Always hiding,” Raenar said, that hateful laughter evident in his voice. “Always running.”
Behind him, Cora saw movement in the shadows—Elda. She held the bow, the string pulled tight. Cora almost cried out to tell her to wait, but when she loosed an arrow and it flew at the rope holding the horse's body, Cora understood. It sliced cleanly through the rope, the heavy corpse crumpling to the ground. Cora and Raenar both dove in opposite directions, but Raenar's leg became stuck beneath the horse's rump. He hollered, struggling to free his trapped leg.
Then it wasn't a man there anymore, but a bird, the hawk limping away from the horse's body. It screamed, and the sound was even worse than Cora remembered. It spoke of anger and pain and death, and it was all directed at Elda instead of Cora. This was not part of the plan.
Elda froze, still not having re-strung the bow. She took a step backwards and tripped over an exposed root, going down hard, the contents of the quiver spilling out beside her. She raised the bow to simply try to protect her face. The hawk leapt, flapping once before it was on her.
“No!” Cora shouted, throwing herself at the bird without hesitation, knocking him sideways. She rolled to her back to face him and something sharp dug into her shoulder. Her fingers searched the dirt and wrapped around Hauknefr's smooth wooden handle just before the hawk attacked again. She thrust it in a sideways arc and it screamed as the blade slashed across its eyes. The bird fell on her, writhing and beating its giant wings, slicing a gash across her face. Pushing it away, she scrambled backward just as she heard the twang of a bow and a second later, an arrow with a black feather in its fletching pierced its heart.
As the life left his body, he changed back into the man, the one she had thought to be unbeatable. But now she knew what unbeatable truly was—it wasn't about who was the strongest or the fiercest. It was about perseverance and hope. There was an angry red gash across his eyes, and the arrow protruded grotesquely from his chest, buried almost until the fletching. There, Valdos's feather disintegrated, its magic gone.
“What did you do?” Raenar asked, his words muffled by the blood that leaked from his lips, his blind eyes searching for her.
To Cora's surprise, Elda spoke. “I made a choice,” she said, “to not be afraid anymore. To believe in more than you.”
Three to make a choice. Though it had been ripped in the fight with Raenar, her cloak was still secure around her shoulders. She reached inside its pocket and felt for the final feather. There it was, waiting for her to choose.
Elda reached down and yanked out the arrow. Blood pulsed from the wound, the color draining from Raenar's face. He looked like he had more to say, but it was only fair that death stole his chance.
A crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle, murmuring amongst themselves now that it was over. The oldest surviving Hallowtide son, Dyri, was the first to step forward from the crowd. Dyri was as big as Raenar, but he was even-keeled and gentle. He moved as if in a daze, his eyes on his brother’s body. There would be no anger there, Cora knew. Raenar had tormented everybody, and with him out of the way, Dyri would be free to claim the territory for his own, and change what needed to be changed.
Before he could approach them, Cora turned to her sister, grasping her hands. “I have to go,” she said.
“What?” Elda asked, tearing her eyes from Raenar's body. She still held the arrow, blood dripping onto the ground between them.
“You made your choice, and now I have to make mine.”
“You know what it means?” Elda asked. They had puzzled over that piece of the sadj's prophecy for the duration of the walk to Ingfell, but had not been able to put anything together. The last feather—to make a choice. And then the rest—I see seven drops of blood and new love's kiss. She would never know if she didn't try.
Realization dawned on Elda's face, softening the lines that had hardened there since she watched Raenar die. “Go to him.”
Cora hugged her sister close, tears springing into her eyes.
“It’s not goodbye,” Elda reminded her, holding her at arm’s length.
Cora nodded, wiping her eyes. She smiled wryly at her little sister who was not so little anymore, and then turned to run, cutting sideways into the crowd until she was out of sight.
ффф
The black waters did not scare her anymore. Though, from here, she couldn't see anyone on the other shore, she knew he was there. He had to be. It was only the third day—surely the darkness had not taken him already.
She held the black feather tight in her fist and stepped into the river. It was harder this time, without Valdos or Elda, but the shadows didn't bother her and when she crawled up the opposite bank, the feather fell from her hand into a pile of dust. And there, just as she had suspected, was Valdos's fading body.
Shadows crept up his legs, but he wasn’t gone yet. As exhausted as she was, she forced herself to run the last few yards, dropping to her knees at his side. She leaned over to touch his face. His eyes fluttered open.
“Cora Svanros,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Why...?”
“I've come back for you,” she said. His eyes closed again. “Val?”
No response. From inside another pocket of her cloak, she pulled out Hauknefr. She had brought the blade all the way from Ingfell. It had helped her defeat Raenar; now it would help her bring back Valdos.
Using the pointed tip, she dug into a blue vein on the underside of her arm. As soon as blood began to well there, she held her arm over Valdos's mouth. A drop fell, sliding along his red lips and disappearing into his mouth. He still didn't respond. Two drops, four, then six. Finally, the seventh drop fell and she pulled her arm back, holding a finger over the puncture wound.
“Val?” she asked. That had to be it. She had made her choice. She had returned to Malos to save him, knowing that she wouldn't be able to go back to Ingfell again. She had given him seven drops of blood, and—
New love's kiss. She had nearly forgotten.
Leaning forward, she brushed her lips against his—warm to cold, living to dead. When his hand snaked through her hair, she nearly choked on her relief.
“Val,” she sobbed. He pushed her away, staring up at her, his black eyes searching hers.
“What have you done?” he asked.
She sat back on her heels, letting him push himself up to sitting. “I still had the last feather and a choice to make, and here I am.”
“Yes,” Val said, shaking the shadows from his limbs and pulling them both to their feet. “Here you are.”
ффф
Cora paced the bank of the Blatqnn. Surely she hadn't miscalculated. Yes, it was hard to judge the passing of time when the sun did not mark the days, but she had been meticulous with her counting. Even Val had woken her up that morning with the words she longed to hear: “Are you going to see Elda today?”
There was one day each year when the two realms almost intersected, when the night was longer than the day and Malos was visible across the Blatqnn. Every year the sisters met there, staying on their opposite banks. Cora had remained the same, a benefit of living in the realm of the never-changing dead, but she had watched her sister grow and mature into a strong woman. Elda had married Chief Dyri Hallowtide after he had abolished the practice of slavery in all Hallowtide territories at her council, and given him three sons. Last year she had been with child again, convinced it was a girl. Cora longed to see her new niece, even if it was at such a great distance.
“Will you be coming with me today?” Cora had asked Val before setting off to the river.
“No,” Val had answered, kissing her on the cheek and fastening her cloak. “There's work to do. Souls to escort.” Cora helped him most days, but not this day. This day was for Elda.
So now she waited alone on the eastern bank, her eyes scanning the darkness, her fingers tracing the smooth edge of the golden band around her wrist. She would never forget, but she didn’t want to anymore. It was a sign of power now, a symbol of her freedom. Below her, shadows slipped in and out of the current. Raenar was down there somewhere, banished by Valdos to the depths of the river, his soul unworthy of a second life.
Finally, three towheaded boys burst from the tree line, wooden swords clacking as they swung at each other.
“Boys!” Cora shouted, tears springing to her eyes. They were so big, so different every year. They paused only briefly to wave at her before continuing their chase through the clearing and along the rise of the bank.
Then Elda emerged, a bundle strapped to her chest with a strip of white cloth. The two waved at each other, grins stretching their mouths. Cora hated the distance and the water that separated them, but it was better than not seeing her at all. Elda unwound the cloth and presented a redheaded baby in a long gown. A girl.
“What's her name?” Cora called to her sister over the rushing waters of the Blatqnn, the barrier that would stand between them until the natural end of her sister's life.
Elda held a free hand to the side of her mouth to help her words carry. “Hope!” she shouted back. “Her name is Hope!”
The years stretched out before Cora, an endless march of the dead and dying. But there, just across the river, a little girl smiled in her sister’s arms. A little girl who would only wear bands if she chose to, who would be free to choose her own fate, who would grow up safe and loved. Cora felt something swell inside of her. Her name was Hope.
Of course it was.
It never could have been anything else.
Cassidy Taylor is a fantasy author who studied English and Creative Writing at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. It was there that she found her niche in children’s literature, and won the Bill Hooks Award for Young Adult Fiction in 2007. Her first novel, When Rains Fall, is forthcoming in 2017. She lives in beautiful North Carolina with her husband, two kids, two dogs, and one cat who thinks he’s a dog.