A Fragment in Silhouette
1. A Simple Purpose
A shadow is cast on the vault of heaven. For only a moment, it looms tall and wide, and the silhouettes of vast wings hide the stars themselves. It exults in that moment, before bright pinpricks of light sear through and it boils away. It was a challenge always doomed to fail.
It leaves you as small as ever, but now clinging to the dark of the vault. An ocean of soothing darkness, a home to countless lights but with endless distance to hide in between them. You feel as if you could melt away in it. It would take you, you think. It would take in everything. You can almost feel the cold hunger of a void; not voracious, but never sated. You want it to take you. To be this soothed forever, only one more little mote of dark swirling in the abyss. Where could a shadow be more at home? You almost try to sink into it.
But then you remember.
She won't let you go.
You place a hand to your head, and you have a hand, and a head. You blink open your eyes, spots of red sunset, and that's enough to peel yourself free from the clinging abyss. You're loathe to leave it, but you have to. You swim through the dark, and then into it, and then past it. The void parts around you and you find yourself on the surface of another vault: A dome of black marble, specked by brilliant white-gold and awash with cloudy whorls of color. Here, the night sky is only stone, and you are only flesh and blood. Your shadow clings tight to the smooth dome but you cannot, and you plummet.
Needless panic wells in your heart as you plunge towards more glimmering marble below. You straighten out your ungainly form and put your legs together. The marble rushes closer and closer and then it breaks beneath you, the reflection ruined as the water splashes out. Your skin stings with the impact until the cold water saps away the feeling in your frail flesh.
Such is the Lord of Twilight's welcome to shades in her House of Night.
You drag yourself to the walkway and shake off droplets of water. You vainly try to squeeze it out of the curls of your hair. At least none feels stuck in any of your ears, for once. The walkway is narrow and slick, and you briefly consider jumping back into the water and swimming the rest of the way. It would be so nice. The cold and wet are lovely when you're immersed, and so biting when you aren't. But then you would still have to wait to be dried, and with nothing to pass that time. The water is meant to cleanse you, you cannot skip the wait and step inside the House dripping.
You glance towards the far side of the dome, behind the silhouette of the House proper, at the stripe of vivid red and orange at the bottom. Just a sliver of dusk, but still dusk. The Lord of Twilight reigns here, and her majesty is overpowering. You cannot even take on your meager splendor in her domain without her leave. You may as well be mortal. You even look the part, in your fixed form.
You much prefer being out in the real sky, or even in that world below it, where you can be formless. It's good you like that; it makes you useful. Eager to run errands for your betters, even frivolous ones, like... like...
You glance down at your shadow, trailing diligently behind you. You reach down and it reaches up, and you take a pack from it. It wouldn't do to get that wet. You peer inside, and the sight of the prize you were sent to fetch jogs your memory. Such a peculiar thing to send you for. You wonder what worth it has. For a moment, it tempts you, but of course you don't indulge. It isn't for you. You only stole it for another.
You carefully lower it back into the pack and let your shadow take it once more. You loosen your belt and pull up more of your tunic to cinch. It's a bit strange to have so much bunched up at your chest, and this wet the fabric looks truly black, not merely a dark grey. It looks... nice.
But you're still on an errand, this is not your time to leisurely fritter away on appreciating your garments. The wet fabric is heavy, but now the hem of the tunic is above your knees, not at your ankles, and you can hurry toward that looming silhouette. You can't run or your feet would slip on the wet stone, but you can at least make some haste. If only you could let your shadow swallow your flesh and be you again, you could so quickly stretch yourself out to that far end, with little effort and only a little light.
By the other end of the walkway, you are mostly dry, though your tunic is still uncomfortably damp. The chill in the air kept you from getting too warm in the exertion. Still, you have to stop and catch your breath. How many times have you trekked this path? Yet ease and grace still elude you. A sign of your lowliness, you suppose. You don't gaze up to marvel at the sheer heights of the House from so close. You already feel small again, like you should. How did you get so carried away, before? Should there really be such exhilaration from simply stretching your proper shape? Your 'proper' shape. You sigh. You know you should be as you are now. This is what's proper, it's how you really are. It's just not what you want.
You take a deep breath and a last step to the door. It isn't grand or decorated, it's small and almost blends into the wall. It's an entrance fit for you. You push it inwards annd slip past into the hallway. It's a tall space, and the walls and floor made of more black stone. Not marbled, just a stark black, looming all around you. It's comforting. But you still should hurry. Your footfalls echo around the hallway as you rush along to where you're needed. You know the way by heart, and can make up for some of the time you've wasted.
You come to the usual door. It's set out of the way, directly attached to the shades' passages. You quietly knock and immediately hear "Come in, Auvry." You wonder what she would say if it was another shade knocking. Aren't there others who run her errands? You push the door aside, and slink inside.
Diphda is shining at the back of the small room. She's lounging on the divan, casting it in an orange glow. Her eyes are on you, lancing spots of light almost fixing you in place, pinning your shadow on the wall, small and faint. But she's smiling. Hesitantly you take a step forward, and then you remember yourself. You reach backwards and your shadow places the pack in your hand. You reach into it and pull out what you were sent to gather, holding it out in front of you. Diphda smiles even wider.
"You certainly work fast, Auvry." Then she tilts her head. You feel your shadow shift behind you with the movement. "Here, do come over. There's certainly room on the divan. And I didn't send you to fetch that apple so I could admire it from afar, you know."
You step over towards her. Relief springs up in you, followed by embarrassment. Why were you fretting? You were only doing a task for a member of the House, as ever. You hand the apple to Diphda, and then she pats the mattress beside her with her other hand.
You sit a little bit away from where she patted, leaning your back against the cushion. The glow of light from her skin throws your shadow softly against the walls as she turns her gaze towards the apple. You wonder if she'll have another task for you when she's done, or perhaps wants to borrow your ears to tell another story.
She looks towards you again, grinning, and sets the apple down in her lap. You can't help but shrink a little under her gaze. "Oh, by the way, Auvry, that's a rather bold style." You blink in confusion, and then you look down at yourself. Your cheeks heat up at the sight of that messily-bunched fabric, not to mention the way your legs are still half-bare. You quickly undo your belt and sit up a little to pull your tunic down to properly cover you. There are still some wet spots on your front. "Awwww. It was rather fetching on you. One of the better statements you could make, with so little available to you."
Diphda is lying kindly, not mocking you, you think. Still, you sheepishly look away.
You don't understand Diphda. You don't know why she is so kind to you. You don't know why she spends so much time here, why she brought furniture to a little room only fit for shades to visit. Even if merely a star, she is a member of the House and could surely take better company in her own room. If she only wanted someone to run her little errands, she could ring the bell and summon a shade, not wait for you to stop by when you can. You appreciate it, that she is so often here to give you things to do and fritter away empty time, but you don't understand it. Though you suppose it's only natural the behaviors of your betters are beyond your grasp.
When you glance back to Diphda, she's turned her attention to the fruit in her hands. It's round, with mottled red patches on its yellow skin. It was the prettiest one you saw, so you picked it. You aren't sure how else to judge an apple, after all, and she only asked for a single one. She regards it for a few moments, and then bites it, with a crunch. Her eyes widen, and she laughs after she swallows the bite. "This really is nothing like a fig." You wouldn't know. She takes another bite. Little beads of liquid well up around where her teeth sink in.
You wonder what eating food is like. It looks a little violent. She seems to be enjoying it, though.
A metallic tone chimes, and you can feel it shudder through you. You start to your feet, and Diphda looks up in confusion. Of course, she couldn't hear it. You make a face and point to the door, and her eyes dim with understanding. "Ah well! Thank you again for the apple." You aren't sure if she says anything more, because when you open the door and your shadow stretches out into the hall, you step into it and whisk yourself away.
You're formless again, racing through the dark of the hallway with ease. You simply know the turns to take, and you're there before you can stop to realize where you are. You've never been here. It's much closer to the center of the House. Even the door from the shades' halls is adorned, with a pale silver curve set into it. You pry the door open slightly and pour in through the crack.
It's a massive chamber, a long rectangular hall. Up above the ceiling is more of that mottled marble, held up by slender columns of silver and wan gold. They're in two rows, with shallow oil lamps clustered around their bases. A long carpet runs up the middle of the room towards a raised platform, topped by a throne. You slip around the corner and stretch out arms and legs and head, and you kneel just before the carpet.
The throne is almost a bowl, and a woman is lounging in it more than sitting. Her legs are dangling over one side, the skirt of her pale silver dress draping loosely off them. Her skin is a dark grey, without warmth or tint, and her short hair is jet black. It's only a stripe of faint gold through half her bangs that adds any semblance of color to her. Even the brass of the bell stands out against her as she idly plays with it in her slender fingers.
Her eyes land on you, and her expression doesn't change. She barely seems to acknowledge your existence. It's a few long moments before she says "Come closer."
Your legs melt back together, and you glide forward to wait at the foot of the steps to her throne. She shifts how she's seated, and you feel like she really looks at you for a moment. Then she huffs a sigh. "And go back to normal. You barely look like anything that way. Hardly presentable for an audience with me." Your eyes widen, and you bow your head to the floor before letting the shadow sink back down and leave your flesh and blood there kneeling. And then you feel your belt in your hand and hurry to tie it back under your chest. Hardly presentable. You are an idiot, and you've offended her, and she's important and—
She starts laughing, a rich sound that echoes around the room. The woman shifts in her bowl-seat, turning herself upright, with folded legs. "You wasted no time rushing here, did you? No wonder you wished to stay an ambling pile of darkness, for the sake of this chamber's dignity. What a fool I was." You put up your hands, and she just laughs again. "Don't fret. I owe you my apologies..." She stares at you. Her eyes don't shine like Diphda's. Dark grey but for one pale sliver each, bright enough to shimmer but not cast light. They feel enough to hold you in place all the same. Then she shrugs. "You know, I still can't tell what you are. Well, a bat, it seems. Though I suppose it's better that I don't call you 'sir' or 'madam'. You don't look like you could handle the joke."
You blink. You were not expecting that. You're glad she's not upset or being strict with you, but you have no idea what to make of it. The very idea of someone so high addressing you as a peer has you uneasy, even if it's only gentle mockery. And could she really not tell you were a man? Why do you feel pleased by that? And all that aside, what has she summoned you for? You haven't been called to serve anyone so important before. She's not a star.
She starts to frown. You raise your hands in hopeful placation, and she just frowns worse. "As amusing as this all is, it would be easier if you spoke, you know."
Oh. Of course. Your heart starts to beat faster, and you point to your lips and shake your head.
She looks confused for a second, and then her brows furrow. "Ah. Well, I'm terribly sorry to whoever ordered you to silence, for whatever reason, but you have my permission to speak in my presence. Surely it wasn't Lord Layla herself who ordered you quiet."
You swallow, and shake your head harder. You point again at your lips, and then your throat, and then mime a chop. That seems to make her understand, although she doesn't seem mollified, as she glowers at you.
"What? Did you lose your tongue?" You just open your mouth to answer that. Her eyes widen, and then she looks angry. You quickly shut your mouth. That was insolent, you...
"Who did that to you?" She looks angry, terribly upset, but it's... for you, not at you. You throw up your hands, placatingly. You aren't worth her anger, and besides... She sighs. "Of course you can't tell me."
You shake your head. You can try to tell her, if she wants to know. There simply isn't anything to tell. You reach towards your shadow and pull out your spear, and put your hand just under the head. For a moment, you gaze at the sunset burned into the metal. The mark of your station, lowly as it is. You set your spear on the floor in front of you, point to the blade, and then shake your head. Your shadow rises up behind you, and you shape it into a figure of someone else reaching hands towards you. You shake your head and cross your arms. Then you brush the shadow away with your arm, leaving it all to collapse back down to the floor. You hold your hand to your throat, and then shrug your shoulders. No one did this to you. You've simply always been this way. It isn't just your missing tongue, you can't even make the sounds, even if you could shape them.
The lady takes a moment, and then slowly nods her head. "I see. So were you simply made incomplete, is that it?" You nod back. You don't think of yourself as incomplete, but you suppose you are. Broken, perhaps. You don't think of yourself as made, either, but you must be. A shred of essence and wisp of darkness fashioned into a servant, that's what a shade is.
"I suppose you aren't the Lord of Twilight's work, then. Or maybe you were an experiment? But even with speech you shades are hardly insolent. This is really quite needlessly drastic. Ah, well. So long as nobody has been maiming the House's property, I suppose. Here, you slink off, poor thing, I'll summon a whole one." She rings her bell again, and you feel something inside you shiver in tune with it.
She notices your reaction and sighs. "Right then. I suppose you'll have to do. If you can't speak, can you at least write?" You shake your head. You haven't been taught, as obviously helpful as that would be. She clicks her tongue and furrows her brow. "Then just how do you communicate?" The question confuses you. You've been doing it. You hold up your right hand and point to it with your left. She nods, slowly. "Of course that's all you can do." She glances away, up towards the ceiling. "Only a dumb shade to answer my call. Oh, Layla, am I really disfavored so?"
You have never heard someone say the Lord of Twilight's name without any hint of her title. It makes you uneasy. She doesn't seem to notice.
When she looks back at you, her expression seems almost pitying. "Can you follow complex directions?" You nod. A small frown makes it onto your face, despite knowing better. Being unable to speak doesn't make you unable to listen. You have four perfectly good ears. And you're not stupid, you can understand it. You want to show that, but you can't. What could pointing and play-acting prove? And it would hardly be your place to try. You try to relax your face. If she noticed your upset, she has more control of her expression than you. You can't tell what she's been thinking as you dwelled on frustration. Then she nods. "I suppose this is better for me, anyways. A little secrecy has never hurt."
She rises, and you aren't sure how she so fluidly steps out of her strange seat even as you watch her do it. She strides down the steps and stops right in front of you. She would be towering over you even if you weren't kneeling. Her hand touches your shoulder, just barely, and she's staring into your eyes. She grins, and suddenly you can feel cold menace in those glinting slivers. "I am Layla Zira, the Waning Crescent Moon. And you, little shade, have much to do." Her hand on your shoulder squeezes tighter for a moment, and then she takes it away with a laugh. "You'll likely want that spear."
As soon as she says it, your hand lands on the haft and clutches it tight. Foolish to have just left it there. You stare at the dark brown wood, so plain and so important. You've never had to use your spear before. A part of you wants to beg her to find another shade, to let you run back to simple errands that don't even use the bell. But how would you even ask that? What would she do about such insubordination? And she already failed to dismiss you once when she wanted to.
You take a deep breath. You'll do as you're asked, whatever it is. That's your proper place. This is all you really are. What does it matter if it's what you want?
The woman, Zira, walks past you. You turn your head to follow as she stretches her arms up towards that marbled ceiling. "I'll need you to visit that world below for me. There's a few things I'd like you to come back with, and something I need you to do." A little relief wells up in your chest. Maybe she was only teasing you about your weapon. She turns, spinning on one heel and sending her dress swirling around. "There's a mortal affair you absolutely must make sure doesn't come to pass. Listen carefully, now."
You nod. She stares at you for a moment before continuing.
"First of all, I need you to bring me haoma. As much as you can find. Within a reasonable time." She makes a face. "You do know what haoma is, yes?" You nod. If this is just fetching more plants... "Good, then. But that's secondary. First, you are to ensure a particular mortal line ends. There's only a girl left. Moskhion, due to be wed. I'm sure you can see what's to be done."
You don't hesitate to nod your head. You understand. It's surprising, worrying, disquieting, but you keep that off your face.
"Good. Now..."
She has many instructions for you. She's quite thorough in describing just where it is you have to go and how you'll know this Moskhion. Needlessly so. You have a suspicion she thinks you might not have understood with anything less.
Yet for all the detail, she doesn't tell you why. Of course, you needn't know. Such matters are above one of your station. You know all you need to do what she's asked. But you can't help but wonder regardless. What should the world below matter to those in the sky above at all? Why was the Waning Crescent Moon concerning herself with a single living line? How did some mortal in that world below even earn her attention, much less her ire? You don't need to know, it doesn't matter, but it still nags at you.
When she's finally done, she waves you off. You step towards one of the pillars and lean over the little oil lamps. All the burning wicks throw unfocused shadows, but they still reach tall, and you sink into one. You find yourself clinging to the top of the wall. You reach towards that marble ceiling, and pull yourself into the dark. For at least a moment, you can put thoughts of your destination aside and just enjoy the darkness surrounding you on all sides. All the lights are so far away. The void almost beckons you to linger, to dive in deeper, to sink into its endless depths.
It's over all too soon.
