Page 5 of Darkness and Deceit
“Fine,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “Let’s start the performance from the top.”
Neither of them so much as blinks. Of course not.
“Summoning my Shadow hasn’t been easy,” I begin, trying not to sound as tired as I feel. “But I guess you already know that.”
Neither responds. Don’t know why I thought they would.
“My fox came first. During my Shadowing. And while I was trying to do what we were taught, trying to focus, the forest didn’t feel normal. It felt wrong. Like something was watching me. The next thing I knew, I was running. That’s when the fox appeared. It didn’t come because I called it—it came because I needed it.”
I glance up, but their expressions don’t shift.
“That was the start. After that, I kept seeing darkness… in dreams, in reflections, even when I wasn’t sure I was awake. It didn’t feel like a part of me. More like… a warning. A ghost I couldn’t shake.”
I shift again, trying to find some relief from the chair digging into my spine.
“The second time was later. A few weeks, maybe. I went back into the forest with Simon. That’s when things got worse. There was something in the woods. Not a person. Not a Shadow. Something else. A presence, maybe.”
I pause, swallowing the tightness building in my throat.
“I panicked. I reached for my magic again and something answered. My deer. But when it touched me, it was like my body couldn’t hold the weight of it. I blacked out. And when I woke up, days had passed.”
I pull my shirt up, revealing the scar on my side just below my ribs.
“My magic doesn’t respond to me. It chooses. When to come. When to vanish. Like it’s its own creature. And I’ve got two.”
A beat of silence.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I add, softer now. “I didn’t go looking for power. But it keeps finding me anyway.”
I stare down at the scar on my ribs for another second before tugging my shirt back into place. Then I repeat the rest of the events that took place between then and now.
Afterward, the Keepers let silence take root. I can’t tell if they’re displeased or just recalibrating their approach. Maybe they’re hoping I’ll fill the space with more secrets if they hang me up on this hook long enough. I fight the urge to squirm, to demand why my suffering needs a fucking encore.
The younger Keeper stands so abruptly his chair shrieks against the floor. He moves with the certainty of someone who’s never been questioned, not even in his own head.
In one stride, he closes the gap between us and I lean back out of instinct.
“Wait—”
He doesn’t. Doesn’t ask. Doesn’t warn. He plants his hands on either side of my skull and my pulse skyrockets.
Pain explodes through my skull.
My vision goes white, then black, then white again. I try to scream but I don’t know if any sound comes out. It’s as if I’m being unzipped from the inside out, my thoughts ransacked for anything of value. The Keeper is not careful. He tears through my memories as if flipping pages in a book, indifferent to what he shreds in the process.
I can’t breathe, can’t think past the agony.
My mind fractures and memories fly loose: Simon’s laughter, Kai’s hands, Vaughn’s snark. The taste of rain and blood, thefeeling of running for my life. I try to hold on, but every memory is shredded into ribbons and flung into a void. I sink through layer after layer of myself, losing track of what’s real and what’s just pain.
It lasts forever. Or maybe only a few seconds. Who knows.
When the Keeper lets go, I slump forward like a puppet with its strings cut.
“She is telling the truth,” he says, like he’s reporting on the weather. He smooths the front of his immaculate dark blue robes and sits back down. His hands are steady as he picks up his quill and writes his findings. “There is no deceit.”
I want to spit at them, but my mouth is too dry. I settle for glaring, though tears prick at my eyes and my face burns with humiliation. I hate that they know exactly what I’m thinking. I hate that I can’t stop them.
“Truth is only a comfort when it lasts,” the older one finally replies.
