Rise of the Shadow

It had been three days since the labour began. Her sister had already suggested going to the convent, since the baby refused to come and hospitals were out of the question. But Niviana knew better. The woman at the slopes had insisted that the child must not be known to outsiders at birth—if what she said and how she said it could even be called pleading. Of course, her sister had pleaded with her too: to leave Tikky alone. She remembered that day as if it were yesterday. She skirted the outskirts of Ittoqqortoormiit, a small town where everyone knew everyone else’s secrets. Though she was tired, there was no better place to gather ingredients for broth soup than Valleymount. She would reach it by midmorning and be back by early afternoon. Carefully, she made her way across the rocky terrain, dodging tree roots and stumps, supported by a thick branch she had fashioned into a staff. She called it Gremory. Oddly, she often found herself talking to it as if it were alive. “Don’t worry, Gremory, we’re almost there,” she whispered. For reasons she didn’t quite understand, she always imagined it was Gremory’s backside that hit the ground whenever she dropped the staff. “Valleymount is the best place to pick dried leaves and onion bulbs. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered you, Gremory.” She stepped carefully over a branch lying across the narrow path that wound its way up the mount. She knew exactly where to find the ingredients and moved toward the spot, circling a tree, then walking in a straight line with light, deliberate steps. It wasn’t that she was afraid but ever since childhood, everyone had been warned to keep quiet in Valleymount because of Kilik, a shadow that consumed. Of course, it was just a tale told to frighten children at night. But somehow, it lingered in the minds of every inhabitant of Ittoqqortoormiit. Oh, how she longed to sing in these forests. Not that she was any good—but the idea of hitting a note high enough to send birds flapping into the sky thrilled her. People often said she was mischievous. They had no idea she hadn’t even done half of what she wanted to do. The label wasn’t comforting it was frustrating. People also didn’t like how close she had grown to Tikky. Many women had come to the house she shared with her sister, warning that Tikilaraq would bring her no good. She often asked them, Who then will do me good? But she never got an answer. Just the night before, she had noticed how Tikky’s green eyes with that tiny black iris centered perfectly in the pupil—looked like a vast, healthy farmland protecting a black pearl. A pearl that, she dared to believe, could save the world from something like Kilik. She hated to admit it, but his eyes were beautiful. His hair too smooth and soft to the touch, despite looking spiky. She wondered how it would look flattened under a generous amount of jet cream. And then there was his oval mouth, warm breath wafting from it, drawing her in. She had kissed every corner of those lips—sucked them softly, losing herself… Blushing furiously, she shook the memory away. She gently laid her basket down and reached for the first two onion bulbs she could find. She had always wondered why onions wouldn’t grow at home like carrots or cabbages. Finding two together felt like a small miracle. She bent closer to the ground to look for more, but seeing none, she stood to scan a wider area. That was when she saw her-resting against a tree trunk. Panic prickled her skin. What would an old woman be doing in Valleymount? She approached cautiously. Niviana studied the woman’s clothing: a fine green wool gown with a thin yellow strip around the neckline. It was cut low though not enough to show cleavage. Why would anyone design an old woman’s gown that way? she wondered. The dress hung loose all the way down, and her gray hair was tied back, with black strands here and there escaping. Her cloak was thin and hung open. It wouldn’t protect against any cold. Compared to Niviana’s thick, double-layered cloak, this woman would have died of frostbite had the snow lasted three days longer. Yet despite her age and frail coverings, Niviana thought she was beautiful ageless in some strange way. She bent to check if the woman was breathing. Just then, the woman’s hands shot up and gripped both of Niviana’s. Her eyes opened yellow, glowing faintly, the irises fixed against the whites. Niviana felt rooted to the ground. All fear evaporated. Then the woman spoke: “You are with child. Not to be corrupted by the world. Not to be known by any. Not to be written by none. For in the time of the Earth’s great wickedness, When the world shall be wiped out by Aharu, In his weakest moment, Help will come from the farthest spans of the world. This prophecy I give.” If Niviana’s fear had vanished, it returned now like a flood. The woman had slipped back into her sleeping, or perhaps lifeless, state. Then Niviana heard the crunch of footsteps nearby. Snatching up her basket with the only two onion bulbs she had gathered, she pressed her hat down tightly on her head, grabbed Gremory from where she had dropped it, and cast one last glance at the woman. Then she ran faster than ever without looking back. Not even when she heard the second set of footsteps behind her.