Fighting Shadows

Scydelle

 For those who listen, it calls in the night.

Those who straddle the edge between child and adult risk disappearing forever if they answer the call. The legends say walking in the orchards at night is to court a fate worse than death. The legends speak of a dagger hidden deep in the orchard valley; the dagger sends its siren's call out to draw in prey with mystery and glory. But it is a betrayer. The adolescent that yields to the dagger disappears into the abyss, into the moonlight shadows, and is never seen again.

It calls to Jalen.

Jalen knows the rules. She knows the legends. Still she tosses back and forth as the moon rises silently higher. Kids her age are not allowed out after dark. They are not allowed to walk beneath the olive branches and through the moonlight dappled grass. They can only listen to the midnight wind, not feel it on their face. The weak drafts that puff her curtains tease her skin.

Why do the evening shadows call my name?

The moon rises beautifully, silently, callously, higher.

Annoyance and anger blend in Jalen's chest as she tosses her covers off and sits up to look out her window. The moonlight is beautiful. It obscures some things and silvers others. The branches and leaves of the olive orchard blend together as if a painter hastily swiped their colors together. In the open rows, moonlight glints off blades of grass and turns them to proud sentinels, standing tall against the encroaching dark, though they will be trampled by the daylight. Jalen smiles; the moonlight reverses the importance of things. The proud, producing olive trees become the backdrop to the empty, open, glittering spaces.

As she watches the moonlight in wonder, Jalen swears a shadow detaches from the orchard and slinks towards the estate. It does not move like a stalking animal, more like a drop of water that flows, swirls, and crashes into the wall. Wisps of smoke or steam flow from the shadow, up to the window, and through. Jalen shakes her head, surely she is dreaming now. Then the screaming starts.

Terror tears through Jalen like a wild animal, and she pops up to her feet, leaping atop her bed next to the window. "Jalen let us help!" She clutches her head, never has the blade sounded sentient before. Never has it been so insistent. "At least don't die in there tonight! Quick! Flee to the orchard." Without thinking, Jalen climbs out her window and races away from the screams and shadows that overrun her family's estate.

At the edge of the orchard, she pauses. What if these shadows were from the dagger? What if the horrible, legendary fate was whatever that shadow had been? The screams grow louder, closer, and Jalen's fear of the infiltrating shadows overrides her fear of the dagger. She plunges beneath the branches and follows the dagger's call as fast as she can run.

The adrenaline fueled dash ends when exhaustion claims her and she falls to her knees in a clearing, panting. She fears for her family and friends back at the estate. She fears for herself. Terror frays the edges of her mind. A tear falls as she looks around. She is exposed in the bright moonlight and open space, but does not dare the shadowy shelter of the trees. Shadows are dangerous tonight.

The dagger glints silver in the moonlight on the ground before her. She jerks back.

"Jalen, let us help." again the voice of the dagger calls her.

"Leave me alone," she whimpers. This is the first time she has replied. After hearing it for so long, replying felt odd. Like talking to a mirror image, or a memory at the grave. Real, but not.

"We can help," pleads the dagger. "We are here. Wield us and your family may live to see the dawn."

"But I will not." Jalen states plainly.