Chapter 25

Epilogue: Sarralyn

I scatter grass seeds on the trail.

I do it perversely; I do not want to be found, but why not scatter seeds? At the end of the day, the grass will grow whether I help it or not.

Usually I don't even think about it. But today, watching the seeds drifting slowly from my fingertips and settling on the ground, I realise that the wind that bears them also carries a memory. I look around, smelling the sharpness of leaf-mould and the softness of past-rain in the air, and think back to the day that my new life started. I suppose it must be two years ago now that I ran away from mama, and another year at least since I arrived here. At first I was as frightened of being discovered as mama must have been for all those years. But now, with the gentle scent of autumn calling to my thoughts, I wonder if I truly mind any more.

Gregory told me about this place. I could not have planned everything on my own. Even now, I wonder that my childish plans worked. There are so many things that could have gone wrong. Both of my parents would have stopped me, if they could, and it was only coincidence that gave me any power at all. I still get cold chills when I think about the last night I spent in the palace. A girl alone- even the daughter of the king's justice- could not have taken a criminal from the dungeons. But with the help of a trainee knight, and a guilt-ridden soldier, she might make an entourage that looks just official enough to fool the guards. A spell is no less effective for being cast in haste.

I asked Sefan not to tell me the new rules. I do not want to know how I am going to die. I refuse to spend my whole life trying to run away from my death. The priest nodded, and smiled – almost a genuine smile, and the last gesture between us before he faded away into the trees. I have not heard that he has been caught. Now that he does not have to watch my shadow, he can go home. I know nothing about him, or his life, and in turn I told him nothing of my own plans. We will remain strangers.

The land that feeds and hides me is on Gregory's land, but I do not see my friend, either. I live alone, and I have done for many months now. It suits me. I do not have to try to think my way around other people's stories and whims. And there are many things that I need to find out about myself. Of course, I talk to the shadow as much as it speaks to me. I barely realised that I was alone until the wind brought that memory back to me, and I realised that I wasn't just alone... I was lonely.

Sadness? The shadow speaks in emotions, not words, but I can understand it. The emotion has a question behind it. It is odd that every feeling I have in my heart is clear to it, but it cannot read the words in my mind.

I miss my family. I tell it, finding the special place in my mind where I can speak to it. It was hard to do, at first, but now I don't even have to meditate to reach that stillness. The demon doesn't answer me, but for a moment I feel the shared warmth of its own emotions as it tries to comfort me. I smile and pick it up, knowing how hard it has to concentrate to make such a gesture. It was so used to hating that it had forgotten how to love. It has taken a year for it to grow warm in my arms, but now it cuddles closer to me, shaping its dark hide into the softness of fur.

I could shapeshift too, now, if I wanted to. Sometimes the creature is bad-tempered, or weary, and does not let me. But often it will sit on my shoulder, or crawl like a mouse into my pocket, and with it that close to me I can use my magic. When I shapeshift it mimics me, truly my shadow as we hunt together as falcons, or run through the woods together as wolves. Even when I feed it my blood it does not feel so strange. I believe that the shadow is a part of me, torn away from me as a baby, made bitter and cruel by the rules it was forced to follow and my mother's terror of it.

I could be wrong, of course. Like so many things, there's no way to get the true answer. But I am content with that explanation, and the shadow never argued against it.

We round a corner, grass-seeds scattered, and see our home. It is always a welcome sight; a small house made from slate and rocks. It's not much more than a room with a fireplace, made by some farmer for when lambing season would keep him in these remote hills. Gregory said that he used to hide here when he was a child, after he had stumbled across it quite by accident. No-one else knew it was here. Perhaps some people do now, though. I'm sure they talk about me, even in a market as tiny as the one I visit. I sell dried meat and herbs – things I can forage for in the mountains. They have me labelled as a recluse, or an eccentric, but they do not bother me. They do not know my real name, after all, and I can shapeshift my face enough to make it look quite wrinkled and old.

The house always looks welcoming when we return, with the slow coil of smoke from the stove and the inviting smell of drying meat greeting us. I banked the fire before I left, but I'm quite surprised to see it still burning. We've been gone most of the day, hunting for truffles, and the scars on my hands are stiff and ache from digging through the cold soil. I'm glad to see the smoke and I start walking faster, eager to be warm again.

The shadow shifts abruptly in my arms and jumps to the ground. Before I can ask it what's wrong, it snaps into the shape of a large wolf and runs into the house, snarling. My blood runs cold when I see what angered it: the door is open, and the light from the fire which streams out is too bright to be banked. Someone is in our home. I draw my dagger without a moment's thought and run after the demon, feeling its anger in my own mind.

I see the shape standing by the fire at the same time that the shadow leaps for it.

"No!" I cry. The shadow snarls as I order it back to me. I have summoned it too violently; it hurts both of us when the link between us snaps closed. The wolf turns on me and knocks me to the ground, not understanding, wanting to strike out and protect me and hating me for stopping it. I wrap my arms around it even as I see the stranger calling a handful of magic.

"Don't, father!" I gasp, trying to calm down the shadow and Numair even though my own heart races. The shadow writhes in my grip and claws at me, but I keep my grip on its pelt and force myself to be still. When it is calmer I stroke its face, soothing it, letting it feel all the love I have for it, and thinking, Safe, Safe, Safe over and over again, until it relaxes and I can let it go. I keep a hand on its head, reassuring it, and don't look up when I speak.

"You scared us. You shouldn't be here."

"Neither should you." His voice sounds clipped; I guess the shadow scared him. I look up sharply.

"This is my home. I have every right to be here."

"Well, we'll leave that argument aside for now." He smiles shakily and scratches his nose. "I didn't come here to fight with you. Or... that." He looks distastefully at the shadow, which snaps at him. I sigh and speak to the creature silently. It whines in irritation, but obeys me and shrinks down into a mouse shape. I tuck it into my pocket, ignoring it when it petulantly plants its claws into my hip. Father watches the exchange in silence, a small line appearing between his eyes when he sees the shadow, but he doesn't say anything. Perhaps he expects me to speak first, but I won't. The silence stretches between us awkwardly until I just have to break it, or I'll go mad.

"How did you find me?" I blurt out, rounding on my father. He grins, and I find myself smiling back. Some of the tension in the air fades away.

"I've had lots of practice." He says, his voice flippant as he makes a dismissive gesture. "Besides, I've known where you are for a few months now."

I blink at him, not believing. "Liar. You'd've come right away."

"Well, I was tempted," He admits, and leans against the fireplace. "But by all reports you were healthy, and happy, and... well, you know your own mind. There was nothing stopping you, so if you wanted to come home, you would have. I thought it best to give you some breathing space."

"Nothing stopping me?" I can hardly believe my ears! "I helped a criminal escape from jail! I... I tricked you, and mama, and the guards and... and everybody! You would have been furious! You... you've ignored me for over a year- I know it took you that long to calm down, and you're probably still angry with me! Why else would you let me stay away so long?"

He frowns and kneels down to build up the fire."It seems we're at cross-purposes here, Sarralyn. I've been ill. I swear it's no reflection on either your actions or my feelings for you that I didn't hike up however-many mountain trails to speak to you before this. By the time I woke up from you undoing the barrier, you'd already been gone four months."

I blink. I hadn't imagined he'd been that hurt. "You slept for four months?"

"Well, perhaps sleep is the wrong word for it." He smiles slightly, looking almost embarrassed. "I'm told that at one point my skin started glowing, like a candle flame. The academy mages wanted to study me, since no-one's ever given up that much magic and lived before, but unfortunately Daine chased them away. She told the priestesses that the goddess had ordered her to care for me, which is why she left the temple."

"She came back?" I grin despite myself and unwrap my scarf from around my neck. Numair nods, hesitates, and then explaines the reason why she'd left in the first place: to hunt down Jak. He starts by telling me that she'd found him and... well, he sketches over exactly what she did to the murdering cockroach... but that doesn't stop my blood from running cold.

We still don't talk about the spell, not really. I suppose he wants me to tell him what I did, but I keep my silence. I still don't trust him not to try to destroy my shadow. I ask him what had happened when he woke up, instead. He raises an eyebrow, but answers me.

"Well, after your mother cared for me through that, I had to look after her. So you see, it was a long time before either of us could even think about looking for you, past asking our friends to keep an eye on you. If you'd needed our help, of course, it would have been different."

I think about that for a moment, but can't get my mind to focus. He doesn't seem to be blaming me yet. Another thought leaps forward to terrify me. Mama needed caring for... and she isn't here? The shadow shifts uneasily in my pocket, feeling my fear, and asks if I need defending again. Refusing it gives me a vital few seconds to think.

"Is mama sick?" I ask, my voice cracking. Father smiled and took my hand. The gesture makes me blink; no-one has really touched me in a year, and the gesture feels less reassuring than... strange.

"She's fine, sweetheart. That's why I'm here. You have two little sisters, you see. We want you to meet them."

I gape at him. I'd wondered about mama, of course, but I never imagined… "Twins?"

He nods, halfway between happiness and mocking disbelief. "Yes- and shapeshifters, both! It seems your mother got her magic returned to her at a rather inopportune time, and she didn't have an easy time of it. Consequently I am somewhat in disgrace, and was not allowed to come and fetch you until they were both sleeping through the night."

I laugh despite myself and gesture to the fire. "Father, I don't have any chairs, but if you'd like to sit by the fire I can make some food for us."

The shadow flinches and jabs sharpened claws into my skin. It doesn't want Numair anywhere near it. I ignore it, and if father noticed my sudden wince he doesn't comment on it. He accepts my invitation easily, and before I've even started the water boiling he's helping bring in more firewood and stacking it by the range.

I concentrate on preparing food. I found this rabbit in one of my traps on the way back. Although I could hunt them easily, I can't help crying when I hear the creatures begging me to stop following them, or crying when I accidentally don't make a clean kill. The shadow streams ahead, snapping maliciously at them, and it's hard to aim true when they're running around in such a blind panic. At least with the traps they die quietly, although in truth I've been eating meat less and less.

No matter. Father can have the rabbit; I have some horse-chestnuts I can cook. I'm so intent on scattering the nuts on the hot hearth stones to split their skins in the heat that I don't notice that father has finished his task. I only realise he's there when he suddenly grabs my wrist, the action almost violent.

"This- did that creature do this?" He demands, black eyes glaring at me as if I'm at fault. I frantically wonder what he's talking about, and then look down at my hand. The light from the fire licks over the scars, making them look twisted and ugly in the warm light. I automatically try to pull my hand away – a reaction from the market, where people's eyes widen at the jagged marks- but father holds my wrist stubbornly, demanding an answer.

Fine. If he wants to know that badly I'll damn well tell him. "You told me that the backlash from the barrier would kill you." I say. I refuse to sound cowed by his anger; my voice sounds too harsh. "So I took it into myself, instead."

He flinches and drops my hand so quickly I can feel the blood rushing back into my fingertips. He struggles for something to say for a moment, but when he does actually speak the word confuses me. "Why?"

"Why?" I parrot the word back at him. "You're alive, aren't you?"

"But… you…" he doesn't finish his sentence, but his eyes describe his thoughts clearly- they flick to the walls of my tiny home, to my hand, to the shape the shadow makes in my pocket, and back to me. He sees only the bad things. I could explain to him… how much I love my little house, even when icicles grow inside the windows; how the shadow sometimes sings to me when I can't sleep at night. I don't think he'd listen. He sees everything in my life as ugly, as warped and scarred as the palms of my hands.

The only life he would accept for me, I think, is the one he could give me. Anything other than that will always look bad to him, scarred by the same events which broke my flesh. And I think that, and I feel the familiar bile rising in my throat. I won't yell at him. I'll dismiss him from my home in two brief words: Go away, and he'll have to leave. It's my home; I have authority here. I have proven I'm not a child. If I ask… order… him to leave, then he will.

And that would be the end of our story.

Because... lurking beneath our conversation is a tense undercurrent; a last chance for both of us. Stay, or come home. Be sensible, or foolish. Rich, or poor. Lonely, or with your family. Stay a child, or grow up. He looks at me and sees a poor, foolish, lonely child. In two words, I could show him that I'm an independent adult, as stubborn as he is. The shadow agrees with me, and I can feel its emotion whispering in my mind. We don't want to be owned or controlled, whether it's by a spell or by a parent. We've had enough of that. Yes, the shadow hisses at me, yes. Send him away.

And strangely…

…for the first time…

…a moment of calm, like the sun shining through rainclouds. A cliché image, true, but fitting. Like the glacial current flowing down the middle of a sun-warmed stream, a single calm thought drifted through the bile, and I listened.

I've been running away all my life. It's an instinct, trained into me by my mother, provoked by the shade of a vengeful father, and second nature to my shadow-self. A story will always end by the hero leaving something behind. At the end of the day they will die, or lose the war, or be tricked from their dreams, or go on a journey. My tales are nothing more than a horde of fantastical characters fleeing from their lives. That's how all stories end.

But this story has never been about the end of my life. This story is all about how it began.

Two words…

"Sit down," I say.

And I smile.