Page 17 of Where Darkness Dwells

The beast’s words linger in the air, growing weightier by the second. The people are too terrified to speak. Even my father remains uncharacteristically silent, his large hands wrapped tightly around the spear-like implement. The tension bears down on me, drawing my shoulders slowly upward. What does it mean, the dark must remain?

But no explanation is offered, and time passes by in uneasy silence until a sudden and violent gale picks up around the clearing. It courses like a cyclone, faster and faster, whipping shawls and beaded necklaces painfully at unprotected faces and eyes. The women cry out and draw their children into the safety of their bosoms, bewildered and afraid. I wrestle with my own bead-adorned wardrobe, which the tempest has made deadly. I try to pin it to my body, but the heavy thing lashes wickedly, threatening to strangle me with the strength of a hurricane. The wind is impossibly fast, flinging debris and knocking people down as it tears around the stone firepit. The men join in, shouting their disbelief, endeavoring to protect their loved ones. I look around desperately, seeing nothing but shadows penetrated by darting trails of light cast by flying bits of sola bone.

The ténesomni must remain . . .

I clutch at my chest, feeling the cool, luminescent beads under my fingers.

. . . Unbroken . . .

Their strength is feeble, but still, they shine.

“The sola brossa,” I yell through the tumult. No one hears.

Throwing myself into the vortex, I lurch toward my father. The formidable man clings to his spear like the mast of a ship. When I am near enough to cut through the screaming winds, I try again. “The bones, Father—we must hide them.”

Father gapes at me in confusion, but when I rip off my robe and begin to ball it up, inside out so the offending sola brossa are concealed, he clues in. Frantically, he follows suit, tearing the breastplate from his chest and throwing the fur cloak over top. The gale’s force lessens almost imperceptibly. He grabs my shoulders, his eyes wide.

“Spread the word,” he says, then shoves me as he turns and dashes into the crowd.

I waste no time, narrowly escaping a flying tree branch as I dive back into the midst of the people. The instruction is difficult to communicate at first, but as more people catch on and more sola bones are obscured from sight, the fury of the Shrouded begins to be assuaged.

The message spreads rapidly, and in short order the ten thousand valefolk stand in an oddly quiet, oppressively black night with heavy breaths and heaving shoulders.

A few flames still flicker in the last lanterns that lie unbroken on the ground, but the ténesomni has rendered them almost as useless as the bolétis. The kaligorven don’t seem to care about ignati.

My legs tremble beneath me as I struggle to catch my breath. There isn’t so much as a breeze, but I shiver. A few nervous laughs crackle the silence.

But the relief will soon snap when the valefolk realize that we have been condemned under an order of complete darkness—and we have no idea how long it will last.

I fumble along with my useless lantern held out before me, carving a path through the blackness for my family, when the aroma of home cooking hits me like a warm swell.

Right. The feast.

We are expected to celebrate after Kuvror Erovantus. I doubt anyone will participate in the festivities now. I know I can’t stomach it.

The moment she steps through the door, Mother drapes herself across the fur-upholstered couch. An arm anchored with jewels presses dramatically across her forehead.

“I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life,” she says into her sleeve while I begin to chase down the sola brossa strewn on every surface in our house. I turn away to hide my rolling eyes. What happened back there had nothing to do with her.

Just leave it,I think, knowing it won’t lead anywhere good. I focus instead on removing all the bones from the sconces secured to the rocky walls. I don’t want to take any chances with the kaligorven, or my father.

He enters the house and chucks his cloak at me, knocking a glowing talisman out of my hands. I bite my lip to keep from reacting and stoop to retrieve the carved bone and the fur garment.

“Quiet, Ketur. Your shame is nothing to mine,” he says.

The younger siblings, Shemai and Korvin, burst through the door, arguing about which one of them is hungrier.

“Boys ...” Mother says, a groan dragging out the word. She pinches the bridge of her nose between two manicured fingertips and scowls. The golden embellishments on her face crinkle.

They ignore her and continue shouting. I manage to catch Korvin’s eye and give him a subtle shake of the head as I lay down Father’s folded cloak and resume my pursuit of the sola brossa. He may be a little aloof most of the time, but Korvin can read when I’m serious. Clamping his jaw shut, he grabs Shemai by the collar and drags him into the kitchen despite his flailing limbs and deafening protestations. I have no doubt their appetites and the mountain of food on the dining table will have a quieting effect.

Mother sighs heavily when their banter recedes. She motions for me to bring her a cushion. I have to set down all the sola brossa to fulfill her request.

“The first Sola Vinari in over a decade, and it was an absolute joke.” Mother rests her head on the fluffed pillow and begins the long process of loosening the haggard braids from around her crown.

Father paces the length of the front room, his anger practically a visible cloud around him. He spins on his heels.

“What are you doing with that light?” he bellows.

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