Free A Cast of Shadows: An Araneae Nation Story by Hailey Edwards

“Where is the rest of the pack?”
    “Errol sent the pack to the upper den, on the other side of the river, for their own safety. It’s not Errol’s way to leave them to fend for themselves. With Scipio gone, they’ll know something is wrong when Errol doesn’t arrive at the den tonight. We don’t have much time for him to heal.”
    “While I admire your enthusiasm, why are you concerned—? Oh.” She stroked Jana’s head. “If they find Errol in this condition, one of his dominant pack mates might kill him for his title.”
    “More than status, they’ll see it as a mercy killing.” Perhaps it was. Perhaps Brynmor ought to beg Daraja to end Errol’s life rather than prolong his suffering in the hope that he may survive.
    “I would prefer not to be caught at the center of a dominance fight.” Daraja looped her lariat around Errol’s front paws. “Let’s drag him inside the den.” She tugged. “It’s defensible at least.”
    Once she had the rope tight, she passed the length of braided silk to Brynmor, or she tried to. It fell through his hands to the ground. “Errol is too weak for me to manifest in the flesh. He has no energy for me to consume. I can barely hold this form, and that risks him more than I should.”
    “I knew that,” she said on a sharp exhale, chastising herself for forgetting. “Here goes.”
    After winding the lariat’s rope once around her waist, she gripped the end and walked toward the den, throwing her weight into pulling Errol to safety. Sweat poured down her face. Pained grunts rose when the rope dug into her flesh. Even when Brynmor’s nose caught the scent of fresh blood on her hands, her sides, she continued her slow advance toward the den with fierce determination.
    Watching Daraja’s struggle filled Brynmor with shame. She was attending his duties.
    He was the one who had failed Errol.
    Moments after Brynmor and Daraja first spotted the light in the forest, Errol had summoned him through their bond. Brynmor had appeared behind the hunters, close to the alpha. They were stronger together, so Brynmor let his spirit inhabit Errol’s body for the attack. It happened too fast. Errol charged the hunter before Brynmor had become accustomed to their four-legged form.
    He had been a passenger, and witnessed the sequence of events as if far removed from them.
    By the time Brynmor had gained a small measure of control over Errol, it was too late.
    The hunter’s blade had sheathed itself in their chest.
    “The least you can do—” Daraja grunted, “—is entertain me.”
    Brynmor circled them, willing Errol to rouse. “What would you like me to do?”
    “Tell me why you aren’t in the spiritlands.” She paused, chest heaving. “Well?”
    Though reluctant to distract her with stories she might repeat one day, he cleared his throat. “I died in battle some years ago. I’m not sure how many. Time is fluid in the in-between. It doesn’t move the same way there as it does here among the living.” He rubbed his face again. “It’s true what they say about the light you see at the end. Brighter than the sun, it descended upon me and called me toward its warmth. But I turned my head aside, and when I did, I glimpsed my son and my wife still engaged in the fight that had cost me my life. I couldn’t abandon them, so I stayed.”
    “That’s all?” She sounded incredulous. “You decided to stay and the gods allowed it?”
    He nodded that it was so.
    Seeming to accept such decisions were whims of fate, she asked, “What about your family?”
    “Isolde, my wife, was in the prime of her life when I passed. She was a prideful woman and our marriage had made her bitter. Our son, Vaughn, was consumed with guilt over his role in the death of his brother’s father, though I had killed the male, not him. I feared my son would follow in Isolde’s footsteps.” He admitted, “I wanted better for him. I wanted Vaughn to have with his wife what I lacked with his mother. I