Shadow in the Water

By Erik Kort

Today is the day that the dead come home. 

 

And deep within the harsh Roughlands, Efari knows she will greet them, no matter what.

 

Desperate for answers. Desperate for a path to follow. Desperate for the honor that her parents destroyed to be returned.

 

But when the dead come at last, they bring a challenge that will lead her into a darkness so deep, she may never see the light of day again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tangled Sky Press
• Release date: Feb 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393404965

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Shadow in the Water

Shadow in the Water

A Story of the Roughlands

Erik Kort

Tangled Sky Press

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Shadow in the Water

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Shadow in the Water

Today was the day that the dead came home.

Efari sat on the small stump, clasping her hands in her lap, trying not to squirm. She wore her best clothing, sewn from the deer hide that she’d traded Talune for last winter. It had taken the whole season to make, huddled by her small fire in the hut that was hers now that her parents had gone away. So many times, she’d jabbed herself with the bone needle, or had the sinew that she’d dried snap or curl on her. But all that was worth it, because now she had simple leggings and a shirt made by her own hands out of materials given to her by the earth.

This stump was important, too. She’d dreamed of a beautiful meadow sheltered by the graceful reach of elm trees. It had been dotted with little yellow flowers, their faces pointing toward the sun that peered through the canopy above. Nearby, a little brook trickled, laughing as it splashed over and around rocks no larger than her head. She knew that this was important, the meadow, the brook, the trees, the flowers. When she woke, she had stolen out of camp to find her dream spot.

It was here, on this rock, that she saw everything like she had in the dream, so it was here that Efari waited for the dead. In her mind, she poured over the lessons of her elders that she had gleaned over the years. Never would they just tell her anything—everything must be won, either by effort, or by cleverness, or by sheer force of stubborn will. Little clues dropped here and there that only those watching would notice. Like how, when he knew she was watching, the Stone Dancer had deliberately taken off the stone-and-bone bracelet that his wife had given to him, hinting at the importance to wear only things personally made. Only if she had been paying attention would she know where he’d gotten the bracelet, but Efari did pay attention.

Nothing was more important than today and she would rather tie a stone around her ankle and cast herself off the painted cliffs than ruin it through carelessness.

Even now, she was unsure. There had been no time to spy on another while they waited for the dead and, even if there had been, she lacked the audacity to do so. Never in her fifteen years had she been tempted to violate the sacredness of another for herself. This principle left her exposed to her own ignorance. Should she sit still? Close her eyes, or keep them open? Was she supposed to cross her legs? Her eyes? She had seen the dances, but even she knew that they were different from today.

Today was the day when the dead came home and she’d be damned if she wasn’t there, waiting, to greet them.

Well aware that her fretting wasn’t doing her any good, Efari took a deep breath and pushed away her worries. Letting her eyes lose their focus, she looked ahead and watched the swaying of the grasses in the meadow, listened to the trickling of the brook, watched the shadows lengthen and grow