A Shadow Darkly
The light was fading, but not in any hurry. We’d finished the day’s work and all the customers were gone, some more satisfied than others. A lithe woman with a slight harelip got quite upset that Enache hadn’t brought her any lye powder for her face. Her name was Ancuţa, and she threatened to return next month with a pitchfork. I liked her.
Sweat clung in a layer between my body and my shift. Orange clay powder rose easily with every footstep, and I wouldn’t have been surprised to find it under my dress and in my drawers. We put away some leftover merchandise and a lot of trade goods from the town, and Enache seemed pleased.
They had brought him beautifully painted wooden toys, intricately woven baskets, and incredibly detailed lace. There were jars of ale and barm, hardy tooled leather pouches, and hundreds of curious trinkets I’d never seen before. Every item he traded for was obviously of great value, and he looked every bit like the cat that got the cream, so I took advantage of that moment to press him for more answers about the unusual town.
“Look, missy. I won’t lie to you. This place unsettles me. But have I ever seen or heard anything that proves anything? No. It could all very well be a case of the heebie-jeebies, combined with too many cousins marrying cousins. Actually, for sure, that last part is true.”
“Then tell me the stories, at least.”
“I don’t know much. Strangers go in and never come out, people supposedly vanish in the woods. They say you either leave by sundown or not at all. The merchants that came before me never went farther than this post, and they never stayed overnight, and so I don’t, either. Townsfolk never leave. Some folks say they’re a cult. Children go missing, most of the animals are dead. In a place like this, that’s often just called winter.”
“But you think there’s some truth to it.”
“Some, but who knows how much? There are a hundred different tales of what’s out there. The Devil, a witch, a giant man-eating elk, the ghosts of dead children. It’s also possible that all of those are nothing more than rumors.”
I knew firsthand how unfounded rumors began from fear and shadows and phenomena people couldn’t quite explain. I’d dedicated my time to studying nature, and people, and medicine, so I could help dispel those shadows – and folklore when all else failed, to better understand them. There was almost never anything to fear aside from people themselves. And yet, a chill went down my spine. I stood in silence for a moment, watching him fiddle with the bridle on one of his horses, fumbling about to tighten it with great haste.
“Is that why you’re in such a hurry to leave?”
He caught himself and reddened a little. “If you’re told that a particular patch of forest may or may not have ornery black bears, and you have no business going into that forest, wouldn’t you make every effort to never find out the truth?”
“I like the truth.”
He harrumphed and perched on his little driving seat, the sky turning pink behind him. With one hand, he reached into a coin purse tied to his belt, counted off without looking, and pulled out some coppers for me; more than I would have guessed.
“For a day’s work.”
“A bit much for a day’s work, Enache.”
“My day’s work in a town that only sees one merchant a month is worth quite a bit more than standard. Besides, you look like you urgently need a meal and a good night of sleep.”
I chose to ignore that jab. “Thank you.”
He squeezed my hand and set off with some haste, his final warning to me tossed over one shoulder. “If you change your mind, you can still get out before the sun is down!”
Shadows gathered at the edges of the horizon and clung under tall pines. They chased his cart as he sped off, but I knew he’d feel better and slow down as soon as he was over the bridge again. Shame I was left with only the shadows for company.
The coppers clinked nicely when they joined the few others I had in their secret pocket in my satchel. I kept a silver coin in my boot, one in my apron, one in my corset. Grandmother taught me to do it for good luck. I figured out when I grew up that the good luck was not losing all your money in one go when you got robbed.
The other coins I had were gold, and those weighed heavy on my conscience. They didn’t truly belong to me; I only stole them before running away that spring as a sort of safety net against the world. I hadn’t touched them, hadn’t even counted them, didn’t want to look at them. I wanted nothing to do with them, or the man they truly belonged to, but I couldn’t just leave them at the side of the road. Could I?
By the time I stood in the town square, the sun was already halfway below the earth. Crimson water stared up at me from inside a neat stone fountain, and I reached into my pocket for a copper. It somersaulted and joined others on the bottom with a splash as I made my usual wishes – safety and answers, in that order – and I felt eyes watching me watch it. Would the townsfolk like that I paid a little tribute, or judge me for mimicking their customs? Only time would tell.
Across the dusty road sat a massive slab of building with a large wooden door set in a dark gray granite wall. The colors of the woven tapestry above the lintel were faded, but patterns still clearly evoked their meaning: a blue owl with starry yellow eyes perched over a bed, a spoon and fork on either side of a wooden platter, parchment and quill, a set of scales. The doorjamb was completely covered in symmetrical angular carvings that made up intricate patterns, and dried herbs hung above it. I smelled basil and other earthy things I couldn’t identify.
It was certainly the reasonable first stop for any weary traveler.
And it would certainly be the guesthouse run by my dear acquaintance, Miss Crosman, but I was far too tired to bear the thought of her. What I needed was a place to spend the night that was out of the way, maybe even a little distance into the woods. Then, in the morning, I could figure out where to go.
Down the main road, houses huddled in comfortable intimacy. There were so many more rows of them than I’d have guessed, and many narrow side streets branching off them. I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that this little town in fact held four hundred families or more. In the gathering gloom, oil lamps flickered to life and the smell of food wafted out of the houses. Suppertime.
A soft scraping to my left drew my attention, but there was nothing there.
I stepped a little more quietly, just in case, and slowed my breathing. It looked like Whisperwood had all of the markings of a bustling community, dark stores and workshops lining the main street that stretched between the town square and a mill in the distance. The streets were empty, but I could hear healthy, happy noises from inside houses. Laughter and cutlery and crackling fires reassured me that this was, in fact, a living, breathing town. Only the curious bundles of herbs and carved doll-like trinkets hung with red-and-white string from the jambs suggested stranger dealings.
That noise again. I froze for a moment and held my breath. Still nothing there. It had sounded like big footsteps crunching pebbles underfoot. There couldn’t have been anything. The road was only a few steps wide, I would have seen—
A crunch again. Something behind me. I didn’t break into a run. I didn’t want to make that much noise, nor turn my back to whatever it was. I faced the area where the sound came from and crabbed my way sideways back toward the guesthouse. Quietly, gently, my heart racing a thousand beats per minute.
Another. Closer this time. I thought I saw the little pebbles shift a few steps back, near a wall. I couldn’t help but wonder if it knew I was aware of it, whatever it was.
I sped up, gathered my skirt in one hand, turned a little more. The guesthouse wasn’t far now, but there was a large patch of darkness between me and that massive wooden door. There were no lit windows there.
My body fought me every step of the way, begging to break into a run I refused to concede. I needed to be quiet enough to hear it. No way I’d let it get—
Closer.
I ran. My head turned almost involuntarily to check behind me, and I had a glimpse of a shadow I couldn’t begin to describe. It was larger than I, and there were definitely eyes. It reached for me. It might have had horns.
A few more steps landed me on the guesthouse threshold, but the next crunch was so close behind me I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t my own.
My hand reached out long before it made sense to do so. I dropped my skirt and almost tripped, but there was hard breathing behind me and no time. The door handle was cold, but the breath on the hairs on the back of my neck was colder and filled with malice. The door wouldn’t open, and I wanted to cry. It scraped across the floor as I threw my whole weight on it, probably shouting. Whining, for sure. It was dark inside, but I didn’t care.
Something grabbed at the back of my dress, picked at my apron strings. Something else grabbed at the front of my shoulders. I was pulled inside, and someone pushed the door shut behind me. I leaned back against it with my whole body, trembling, hoping it would be enough.
A light flickered on nearby.
A young girl with wispy charcoal hair stood before me holding a lit oil lamp. She seemed so frail, and her face was fraught with worry. I didn’t know what to say to her. I wanted to comfort her somehow.
“I think we’re safe now.” My voice was a ragged whisper.
She looked at me, mouth open, her trembling hand giving the lamplight a dizzying, nauseating effect. She tried to spit in her collar, but missed, and hastily wiped her hand on her maid’s apron.
From the top of the stairs came a loud, angry slam followed by great resounding footsteps.
“What devilry is this, Greta?” Miss Crosman glared down at the both of us.
A pertinent question. What had it been? And, more importantly, had I brought it there?
“I don’t know, maestress. The young woman was wailing at our door. I let her in. She seems upset.”
The ursine woman stomped down the stairs, gathering her shawl about her. She grabbed the lamp and held it steady in front of my face.
“It’s you. Trouble. Well, that doesn’t surprise me in the least. What do you want?”
“There was something outside.”
She hushed me.
The young maid pulled the door open a finger’s width and peered outside. “The herbs are still there, spitblood.”
Miss Crosman pointed a fat finger at my face. “It was a wolf. Spitblood you escaped.”
“A wolf?” I didn’t believe it for a second, but didn’t dare argue. It wasn’t like I had any alternative explanation I’d have cared to share.
“If not a wolf, then your imagination. Be quiet.” They exchanged a wary glance. She chewed on her plump bottom lip and considered me for a second. “Well, what’ll it be? In, or out?”
I didn’t think I’d ever in my life wanted to sleep in the woods any less than I did that night. “Miss Crosman, I believe I would like to rent a bed now, please.”
Her clever black eyes shone in the steady light. “I see. Well then, my dear. I hope you won’t mind a few easy rules.”
“I’m not a foe to rules.”
“No visitors, no pets. For as long as you’re boarding in my care, you’re bound to help and obey me. You’ll sign a contract to that effect.”
“A contract?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary, never you mind. Finally, this: you don’t talk about anything you don’t understand. Not under my roof. Are we clear?”
Behind her, the young maid’s head bobbed up and down with greater energy than I thought her capable of.
I couldn’t say that I understood much of anything in that place, so I nodded along. “That won’t leave me with much to say.”
“Good. Come along, then.”
I followed her into her office.