Read Online The Shadow Behind the Stars by Rebecca Hahn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rebecca Hahn
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spent so long in your hovel, and so empty, that their songs have crept in under my skin.â She stopped; she closed her eyes. âI can hear them now, at the edges of my mind, murmuring to me. Are you going to tell me, sisters, that you hear less than I do?â
We had pulled together, Xinot, Serena, and I. We had stepped away from her as she spoke, linking our arms, becoming one. We knew one anotherâs thoughts, and we knew how little we wanted to say this thing. But we deal in truth. Beginning, middle, or end: We could not tell this girl a falsehood any more than we could have given her family different births or lives or deaths.
We know, we said. We know the song of the thread as we know our own fingers, our own palms. We have only to shut our eyes to read any thread we choose.
âYes,â said Aglaia. âI know you can. I know you do.â
How many nights had we sat with this girl around our fire? How many times had she laughed with us, and now it was as though she had never heard our voices, had never kissed our cheeks before she snuggled into her blankets.
She turned from us without saying another word. She took her cloak down from its peg. She stepped through our door out into the rain, and the wind threw it shut behind her.
It stormed all that night and into the next day. We did not go out to the sea; we did not do our work. We sat around our fire and watched the lightningâs shadow sliding along our threads, sparking them orange and red and white. We listened to the thunder; we felt the rain hurling itself along our roof, a loud, messy drumbeat. It raged, this storm, a tearing, howling thing. It did not want to leave the world the way it was. It wanted to bite and thrash. It wanted to destroy.
The fire did little that night to diminish the dark that had trickled in under our walls, through the cracks at the edges of our door. It was a dense darkness, alive and certain. It had come when Serena had taken her spell from the girl, as though it had been waiting, as though Aglaia was a scented flower and it an eager bee.
We knew it. Not only because it was oursâit was our magicâbut we knew this particular darkness, this thing that had shaped her path. We knew it because it was hers . Aglaia had said that when she closed her eyes, she could feel our threads murmuring to her, that she had spent so long in our house that our magic had begun to creep in under her skin. Aglaia had been empty; that had allowed our magic in. But we are also empty, in a way. Itâs why we go out to the waves every nightâto fill ourselves back up. And living with this girl for so many weeks, I think something similar had happened with us and her powerful fate.
I knew my sisters could feel it too. We could hear one another breathing, and we knew the tingle that was inching along every bit of us. I had been right to keep this girl fromthem. One conversation, one look at the true Aglaia, and they could not look away again.
We resisted it, all through that night and half the day, as the storm barked and snarled. We tried to forget the shine of her eyes. We tried to ignore the dark undercurrent swirling around our ankles, singing to us as a siren would, to come, to jump, to dive.
I tried to remember my determination that I would let this girl go.
When the thunder had rolled away, when the lightning had paled and then diminished, the darkness still churned, and our breaths still caught, and we still tingled.
The gulls began to call out to one another, asking how their neighbors had fared through the rain. I left my sisters sitting silent, and I went to our door and pushed at it. It complained, but I snapped a word, and the door flew open, and the world rushed in.
The sea was rolling and rolling, energized from the storm. The air was cool and buoyant. Even through the clouds, the sun reached down pale tendrils, gleaming at the ends of my hair, pulling me toward him, murmuring my name.
I followed; I
We had pulled together, Xinot, Serena, and I. We had stepped away from her as she spoke, linking our arms, becoming one. We knew one anotherâs thoughts, and we knew how little we wanted to say this thing. But we deal in truth. Beginning, middle, or end: We could not tell this girl a falsehood any more than we could have given her family different births or lives or deaths.
We know, we said. We know the song of the thread as we know our own fingers, our own palms. We have only to shut our eyes to read any thread we choose.
âYes,â said Aglaia. âI know you can. I know you do.â
How many nights had we sat with this girl around our fire? How many times had she laughed with us, and now it was as though she had never heard our voices, had never kissed our cheeks before she snuggled into her blankets.
She turned from us without saying another word. She took her cloak down from its peg. She stepped through our door out into the rain, and the wind threw it shut behind her.
It stormed all that night and into the next day. We did not go out to the sea; we did not do our work. We sat around our fire and watched the lightningâs shadow sliding along our threads, sparking them orange and red and white. We listened to the thunder; we felt the rain hurling itself along our roof, a loud, messy drumbeat. It raged, this storm, a tearing, howling thing. It did not want to leave the world the way it was. It wanted to bite and thrash. It wanted to destroy.
The fire did little that night to diminish the dark that had trickled in under our walls, through the cracks at the edges of our door. It was a dense darkness, alive and certain. It had come when Serena had taken her spell from the girl, as though it had been waiting, as though Aglaia was a scented flower and it an eager bee.
We knew it. Not only because it was oursâit was our magicâbut we knew this particular darkness, this thing that had shaped her path. We knew it because it was hers . Aglaia had said that when she closed her eyes, she could feel our threads murmuring to her, that she had spent so long in our house that our magic had begun to creep in under her skin. Aglaia had been empty; that had allowed our magic in. But we are also empty, in a way. Itâs why we go out to the waves every nightâto fill ourselves back up. And living with this girl for so many weeks, I think something similar had happened with us and her powerful fate.
I knew my sisters could feel it too. We could hear one another breathing, and we knew the tingle that was inching along every bit of us. I had been right to keep this girl fromthem. One conversation, one look at the true Aglaia, and they could not look away again.
We resisted it, all through that night and half the day, as the storm barked and snarled. We tried to forget the shine of her eyes. We tried to ignore the dark undercurrent swirling around our ankles, singing to us as a siren would, to come, to jump, to dive.
I tried to remember my determination that I would let this girl go.
When the thunder had rolled away, when the lightning had paled and then diminished, the darkness still churned, and our breaths still caught, and we still tingled.
The gulls began to call out to one another, asking how their neighbors had fared through the rain. I left my sisters sitting silent, and I went to our door and pushed at it. It complained, but I snapped a word, and the door flew open, and the world rushed in.
The sea was rolling and rolling, energized from the storm. The air was cool and buoyant. Even through the clouds, the sun reached down pale tendrils, gleaming at the ends of my hair, pulling me toward him, murmuring my name.
I followed; I
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