SHADOWLAND

by Valerie Hunter

Cavan walks carefully around the Pollaxes' property, the first time he's left the house alone. The sun is bright, which makes it easier, but he's still hesitant. He hates his lack of confidence, the strangeness of it all.

Though he has to admit it's pretty. He's at the edge of the Pollaxes' orchard, and the colors are brighter than in Zyss, the shadows softer. It smells prettier, sounds prettier, even feels prettier, as though beauty is a blanket wrapped around his skin.

It isn't home, though.

He sweeps this thought aside, squinting at the shadow ahead. A whirling purple shadow with what appears to be a sword.

It pauses mid-parry. "Aren't you the Pollaxes' foster? How do you move around so well?"

The voice is a little deep for a girl's, but melodious like some kind of horn. Cavan has been introduced to many people over the past four days, but he's sure he's never been introduced to this voice.

"Who are you?" he asks.

"Tirene. I live on the next estate. Answer my question."

Lady Pollax has bragged that the king's counsellor is their neighbor. If Tirene is his daughter, it explains why she knows about him. "I can see a little," he says, deciding not to mention how many times he's stumbled in the past few days. "What are you doing with that sword?"

"Practicing," she says like he's a dunce. "I'll be seventeen soon. They're letting girls into the Border Guard now, did you know?"

Father had spoken of it once, a diatribe about the downfall of the kingdom. "I heard," he says.

"I think I'll get in. I practice here every day."

"I'll leave you to it," he says, backing away.

"You can stay if you want." She goes back to parrying and thrusting. "There's a bench in front of you."

He only sees it because she mentions it. He hesitates, and then sits, watching her. She's fast. Her form is unconventional, too many unnecessary flourishes and swoops, but the more he watches, the more he realizes this will make her a formidable opponent. She's unpredictable, a lightning bolt with a sword. He gets caught up in watching her swooping shadow, pretending he's her opponent and planning his next move.

She pauses again mid-swing, and he can hear the scowl in her voice. "Who are you?"

A voice from behind Cavan says, "Begging your pardon. The Pollaxes' tutor, m'lady."

Cavan has met the Pollaxes' tutor, an older man with a reedy voice. The voice behind him now is deep and young. "You're not the tutor," he says, turning.

"I'm his son, Enver. I help tutor the daughters. You're the foster, aren't you?"

Cavan nods while Tirene says, "What are you doing here?"

"Just looking for a pleasant spot to read, m'lady."

"Never mind 'm'lady.' It's Tirene. What book is that?"

"A story about the Battle of Jullenna."

"Well, go on and read it," she says, flopping to the ground in a way Cavan finds amusing compared to her graceful swordsmanship.

"Aloud?" Enver asks.

"Read," Tirene commands, like she's the queen.

Enver has a pleasant voice, and it brings just the right excitement to the story. Cavan listens to the tale of a young soldier proving himself in battle, and he watches Tirene fidget in the grass as though she's fighting the battle herself.

When Enver finishes, Tirene springs up again. "You have any more stories like that?"

"The whole book is tales from the war."

"Read another," Tirene says and gets up, fighting the air again.

The next story is about a foster who chooses to fight alongside the son of his foster family. Cavan does not think he will ever want to do anything with the young Pollax boys, who spent their first meeting waving their fists toward his face in an attempt to see how blind he was while their mother silently attempted to stop them.

"I've never understood fostering," Enver says when the story ends. "I mean, I see the general idea — trading children to foster peace amongst the provinces — but it seems like there should be an easier way. One that doesn't involve sending your children to be raised by strangers. The Pollaxes' second son got fostered out at five!"

Cavan doesn't attempt to explain. How noble families are willing to sacrifice a son or two if it means an improvement in fortune, an alliance through marriage down the road, or simply a place to dump an unwanted child. Until recently, he hadn't understood it himself. In truth he still doesn't, though he knows all about it now. It's not something he wants to talk about.

So he says, "It's just the way of things," and leaves it at that.

They are a trio after that, gathering each day in the late afternoon at the edge of the orchard, Tirene with her sword, Enver with a book, Cavan just himself. Useless. Worthless.

Still, it's his favorite part of the day. Most of Enver's stories are about war and battles, and their predictability is soothing. The young soldier triumphs and is rewarded, or the old one fights his last battle bravely, sacrificing himself for comrades or kingdom.

One day, however, Enver reads a story of a young soldier who, faced with impossible odds and a terrible wound, quietly travels to another realm, one full of inhabitants who couldn't quite find their way in the kingdom. It is called the Shadowland, and Cavan perks his ears because isn't that where he lives, surrounded by shadows?

It ends with the young man uncertain whether he'll return to his kingdom now that he is healed. Tirene puts her sword down and complains, "I don't understand. Was he dead?" "Maybe," Enver says.

Cavan thinks the Shadowland is not death but keeps his mouth shut, because who is he to say?

"It's too confusing," Tirene says.

Now Cavan speaks. "Every story can't be heroic sacrifices or miraculous wins. You know battle is probably nothing like the stories, right?"

"Maybe," Tirene says.

Enver laughs. "I know the difference between stories and reality, I just prefer the former."

So does Cavan, frankly, but he can't imagine a story that he will ever be the hero of.

When Enver speaks again, his tone is grave. "My whole life hasn't been books and stories. I've only been a tutor this past year."

"And before that?" Cavan finally asks, because Enver's pause is begging him to.

"I was training to be a healer at the Restorative Core. It was a great honor. My father arranged it."

"But it wasn't what you wanted?" Cavan asks. Tirene has gone back to fighting, but Cavan knows she's listening, the same way she always...