Her Shadow

“For the storyteller, for the arrow maker, language does indeed represent the only chance for survival.”

~ N. Scott Momaday, Kiowa Tribe

Against the radiating colors of a sunset, stone buildings had been gathered into a nesting ground of false protection. Dirt and pebble paths led from one abode to the next, art intricately carved into each wooden door. A village full of life, a trick of the eye.

A stone well stood tall at the center of it all, accompanied by a large and ancient willow tree. They sat in a unique balance of impending chaos, the roots just barely brushing past the stone within the ground. One wrong turn and all would be lost. The well could be rendered useless by what it had deemed a companion for so long.

Surrounded by wildflowers and playing children dressed in homemade garments, this place was home to many. A peaceful scene as the air gently brushed past people old and young. They enjoyed the start of spring, the suns kiss and the skies blessings. Women and men alike stood about trading fruits for cloths, whittling wooden charms, making routine repairs to their homes, and tending to the community garden.

The birds were just as happy, singing their songs as they danced along branches overhead. People might take such a thing for granted if given the luxury of living every day in such happiness. For many, they did just that.

One child, however, knew better. Sitting inside her house, the little girl watched out of a window as her neighbors enjoyed their existence in an almost carefree bubble of bliss. Situated too close to the woods for most, her family were outsiders in some ways. Everyone knew each other and for the most part there were no secrets kept between them, yet her family was different. It was one of the many reasons she didn’t play outside like the other kids.

An old, wrinkled woman with long white hair tied back in a braid took a seat at the child’s side. Her grandmother. A woman of poise, soft of voice, and wise of mind with light brown eyes that held stardust. She never spoke a word that didn’t capture her granddaughter’s full attention. A woman seen as far more kind than most would expect, given her backstory.

“What is on your mind, child?”

The young girl scrunched up her nose and looked away from the fun being had just out of her reach. What did she care what those kids were doing? They would grow up to be mirror images of their parents. Why would she want that? Why would she care to dirty her hands planting seeds or skin animals for their hide? No, she wanted more for herself. She didn’t care about laughing over nonsense or …

“My lovely little lamb.”

Her grandmother’s soft hands wrapped her in a warm embrace against her colorful shawl. She patted her granddaughter's back as the little girl sniffled. The sweet old woman didn’t say a word. Instead, she hummed a tune that had calmed the child since infancy. The girl wanted to hate the song in that moment, her emotions strong and angry. Her stubborn headed attitude poked its head out to play, but she would never dare to hurt her grandma in such a thoughtless way.

She wouldn’t say a thing within the grasp of her aching heart, those thorn covered words unnecessary. The old woman understood the child without spoken communication. They shared a soul, in some ways. Two paths in life paved side by side, at least for the time being.

When the child had calmed some, her grandmother wiped her face clean and made her a cup of tea. As the sun disappeared under the horizon they got to work, opening a hatch in the floor that was normally hidden under a woven rug. Down a dusty pair of rickety steps they climbed, stopping at the bottom to step down into dirt and darkness. Her grandmother lit two candles, handing the child one before they moved into the cobwebbed basement.

Shelves stood from floor to ceiling on every wall, a few in the middle of the room looked as if they were supporting the ceiling above them. Books, scrolls, jars full of animal bits and bugs, bags full of things she couldn’t even guess, and so much more wonder left her speechless with every visit. She had turned ten this year, and now she was allowed to accompany her grandmother down into the candlelit library of sorts.

“You are to read this one today, yes?”

The child watched as the old woman lifted a large book from a high shelf and turned to hand it to her. It was plastered with dust, making her wonder if it had sat alone for a century before this moment. She nodded, thanking her grandma and heading over to a chair positioned awkwardly into a corner. Its red velvet cushions and dark, almost burnt looking, wood felt out of place in their village. She had always wondered where it came from, but never spoke a word of her curiosity to her family.

With the candle in one hand and the book now opened in her lap she began her decent into yet another bundle of literature she may not understand. These novels were nothing like the tales from her childhood, yet eerily familiar nonetheless. When she stumbled over a word over and over again, she finally looked up with her brow scrunched together.

“Grandmama?”

The woman was holding an opened scroll, but she looked up as if she had been waiting for the child to talk this whole time.

“Yes, my lovely lamb?”

“I don’t know this word.”

The girl pointed to the page she was on, prompting the elder to move to her side in order to inspect the issue at hand. Pointing to the page to confirm what word the girl needed help with, and waiting as the child nodded, she spoke in a whisper that stayed with the girl for the rest of her life.

“Tariaksuq, Shadow People. It is one of many names for this creature, Una.”

The child said the word over and over again, thanked her grandma for the help, and then dived deeper into the book. To her dismay there wasn't much to learn about the Tariaksuq, the pages thin and sparce. For as cool as their name sounded, they didn't seem that legendary. It quickly moved on to other creatures, scary things with gaunt faces.

Before she knew it the moon was high above their home and footsteps were warning her of a newcomer. When had she blinked last? Thinking of the lack of moisture had her closing and rubbing her eyes to wipe away the impending desire to sleep.

“Una? Mom?”

Una looked up to smile at her mother, her eyes feeling heavier than they had just a moment before. Surely it wasn’t too late. How long had she been consumed by the stories within her hands? Looking through these tomes of information felt like falling into another world, their mysteries never ending.

The woman, standing tall with long brown hair like cocoa colored silk, placed stern hands on her wide hips. Her dark brown eyes narrowed on the elder woman organizing scrolls, then softened as she looked over to her daughter. The change in expression was quick, but the little girl caught it nonetheless.

“It is late baby girl, head upstairs for momma, ok?”

The girl nodded, closing the book and handing it to her grandma as she passed by. Giving the woman hugs she said goodnight before making her way to her mother. Hugs were exchanged again, and she was softly patted on the head before she went upstairs. Instead of heading to her room, like many times before, she lifted and dropped her feet in a play of pretend walking that got quieter to insinuate distance.

“I told you to stop keeping her up so late momma, it’s not good for her.”

Una had been listening in on her mother and grandmother’s conversations more and more it seemed, but not because she wanted to be nosy. No, it was because it was about her. They were hiding something, and it was starting to break their relationship. It made the girl worry for her family.

“She has to study. You know this. You know it can’t be done under the view of the sun; it has to be at night.”

A moment of silence was met with a sigh. The young girl wondered why there were rules for day and night. What difference did the time make?

“Momma, we don’t know that she’ll need any of this. She may not be chosen. What if we just let her play, like the other children? It would do her good to make some friends.”

Her mother sounded exhausted, almost like she was trying to convince herself more than the older woman.

“Mitena, my child, you know my visions never lie. She needs to ready herself for the inevitable. We are doing this in a safe manner, easing her into the knowledge of it before the physicality. She will be much stronger for it, I promise.”

Movement was heard, then whimpers. Her mother was crying.

“I don’t think I can do it. I can’t let it happen, not to my baby.”

The pain filled words clawed at Una’s heart. She had no understanding of what was going on, yet she knew it was a dark foreshadowing of her future. Her grandmother’s visions were known by all in the village. If she saw something it was set in stone, and that scared many away from talking to them at all. Ignorance, it is bliss to most.

“Shhh, it will be ok. We will ready her for anything. She will be strong, smart, and she will survive.”

The shuffling of feet made Una weary, causing her to quietly skitter off to bed so as not to be caught. Once under her covers she tossed and turned, her mind filled with images from old dusty books. Creatures with grotesque forms and faces, mouths full of fangs and multiple rows of teeth. They haunted her under the moon's watchful eye.