A Whisper of Shadows Part 3
A new fantastical tale full of magic and shadows - what happens when the shadows whisper
If you’re just joining us, jump back to part 1.
Halfway between the puppeteer’s house and her own, Chenna’s stomach grumbled, reminding her that she’d left the house that morning without eating, despite Pa Kier’s questioning gaze. Combined with the adrenaline rush and crash, she was shaking and breaking out in a hunger sweat.
Glancing around, she spotted the familiar sign for one of her favourite noddle bars, its proprietor in the middle of raising its awning.
“Oya, Mah Conti.” She smiled at the noodle vendor, who grinned back.
They waved her over even though she was already sidling up to the wood board that served as the bar. “The usual?”
Chenna hesitated as she hoisted herself up onto a stool. She always got the usual despite the list of delectable dishes on the menu. “You know what….” This was the last chance she’d have to try something different, likely the last time she’d eat here until she finished her schooling. A careening emotion flooded her veins. In the end, she opted for comfort. “Yes, the usual. One more time. I’m heading to the capital in a few days.”
Conti peered back at her from over their shoulder as they started ladling ingredients into the concave pan. “Oh, the capital? Why would you go there?”
“School. I got into the Royal Academy.”
“Our Tal Chenna?” Wrinkles formed around Conti’s eyes as they grinned again. “Good for you.”
They turned back to the pan, and, for half a minute, Chenna watched the vibrant bird tattoo on their back dance with their movements. Then her attention drifted to the still-waking street, and she was struck by a sudden wave of homesickness, even though she hadn’t left yet.
The rising sun cast long shadows, but thankfully she only heard the usual whispers of people going about their business.
The bakery across the street was open and already doing a steady business, even though its wares weren’t as tasty as those of her fathers’. Still the yeasty aroma of fresh baked buns was enticing. The spice shop next to it was just raising its own awning. Nyoti Melasse locked the crank then grabbed the broom while her wife nudged the barrels of chillis forward. Their son darted between them, his school bag over his shoulder. He grabbed a roll from the baker’s display, and the man yelled after him.
“I’ve got it.” Nyoti Claria said as she dug coins from the pocket of her apron and passed them to the baker.
As she turned back to her wares, the baker’s eyes stayed on her.
“He wishes he’d courted her rather than his wife, who was his mother’s choice.”
At first Chenna thought Conti had spoken, since they knew all the secrets of the street, but then something behind the baker shifted, looming towards her. His shadow.
She swallowed. Maybe she’d imagined it — the day was already warm and sweat beaded on her brow. She shook her head, turning her attention back to the street, where Nyoti Melasse watched a gaggle of children tumbled past towards the school.
Then Melasse’s shadow stretched towards her in a way that defied the laws of light. “She wants another child. But they agreed to one.”
Chenna looked at Melasse’s face as the woman’s longing gaze followed the group of children. The spicer sighed then turned back to the shop.
“Oy.” Fingers snapped in front of Chenna’s face.
Her head spun to the left where Conti stood, wiping their hands on a towel.
“Noddles are getting cold.” Conti went back behind the bar as Chenna focused on her noodles. “Mind already in the city?” they said as they chopped more vegetables.
She shook her head, staring at the bowl. “Just not sleeping well.” She waved her free hand. “The heat, you know.” She slurped at the spicy broth, the heat and the vinegary tangy clearing her sinuses.
“Ha, I don’t feel it anymore, cooking all day.” Conti minced some chillis and dumped them into a bowl.
Chenna twirled a nest of tender noodles then shovelled them into her mouth. She swallowed hard against the bolus as a shadow rose behind Conti at a shift in the clouds. But it stayed silent, and she managed to get the noodles down.
“Business is busy then?” She stabbed a few of the vegetables.
“Always, dawn to dusk and beyond.”
“Where’s your husband? I haven’t seen him around lately?” She drank the smaller veggies and broth in a couple of gulps.
Conti smiled, though Chenna noticed their eyes didn’t crinkled. “Festival was mad. He’s just a bit tired.”
“They lie.” The shadow’s head moved.
Chenna coughed, spicy broth burning her nose.
“You okay, child?”
Chenna nodded, her gaze darting between Conti and their shadow. She fumbled in her pocket, pulling out the first bill her fingers found.
“Their husband is very sick,” the shadow whispered. “Doctor says he’s dying.”
Chenna inhaled sharply.
“You sure?”
Her eyes flicked to Mah Conti’s face. She noticed the new wrinkles between their eyebrows and around their mouth.
She nodded quickly and placed the bill on the bar then stumbled off the stool, almost landing in the street for the second time that morning.
“Oh hey, that’s a big bill for first thing but I’ve got the change here somewhere.”
“Don’t worry. Keep the change.” Chenna placed her hand on Conti’s, noticing for the first time the denomination — it was a big bill, one she could really use in the capital. But she expected the noodle vendor would need it more. She smiled at Mah Conti then turned and ran the rest of the way home.
Chenna ran all the way home, blocking out the whispers that chased her. She tumbled through the door and, after closing it behind her, collapsed against it. Her hand came to her chest, and she could feel her heart thumping against her rib cage.
“Chenna?” Her dad stood in the doorway to the storage room. Of course, the father most likely to sense a lie was the one who stood before her. He wiped flour from his hands onto his apron. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Da Toral stepped up to her and ran his thumbs over her cheeks.
“Na, Da.” She shook her head, dislodging his hands as she looked at the floor. “Just running around. So much to do before I go.”
Through the door to the bakery, a cacophony of voices drifted in. She couldn’t see any shadows lurching so she assumed the noise came from the customers asserting their place in line.
“Toral?” Pa Keir came in from the front. “Are you getting the —?” He stopped short on see her. “What’s wrong?”
“No—”
Something heavy banged against the far side of the door she still leaned against, startling them all.
Chenna stayed still and silent.
The knock repeated.
“Tal Chenna, please come out.”
Chenna recognized the voice, and hope fluttered in her chest like a wounded bird.
Her fathers frowned at each other.
“Chenna?” Pa Keir laid a hand on her shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Chenna shook her head and turned, opening the door before Witch Hunter Adept Racha could knock again.
She smiled. “Adept Racha, what are you —” She faltered, seeing that Racha wasn’t alone. “What are you doing here?” Her tone went as flat as her expression.
Racha took a step back. “Tal Chenna, please step outside.”
“Why?” Toral asked.
Adept Racha ignored him and stayed focused on Chenna. “You’ve been accused of witchcraft.”
A pair of heavy hands landed on her shoulders. She smelled the yeasty dough on her da’s hands.
“That’s ridiculous,” Toral said, his low baritone reverberating through his hands. “Our Chenna isn’t a witch. She’s an engineer.”
Chenna squinted, and her head tipped sideways. “There are no more witches. You said so yourself.”
Adept Racha shifted from foot to foot, then stepped closer. “That’s why I have to take you in. We need to investigate properly.”
“Who accused her?” Keir stood beside her.
Chenna glanced around. Their nosy neighbour, Djer Castor, leaned out his window to peer down at them. A customer paused in their transit of the alleyway. She swallowed, and returned her focus to Adept Racha.
Racha’s jaw pulsed. “Tal Chenna, you can come in of your own accord for questioning or I can put the cuffs on you.”
The breath caught in Chenna’s throat.
“You can’t take her.”
She grabbed her da’s hand. “I need to go.” She lifted his hand off her shoulder, and looked between him and her pa. “I’ll answer their questions and be back before you know it. Obviously, I’m not a witch.”
Chenna sighed heavily and wiped the sheen of sweat from her forehead. The interrogation room at the Citadel was stifling and dark. The shade panel on the sole window was closed, admitting only fragments of light and absolutely no breeze. A murmur of voices seeped through the open door, even though the only person she could see was the guard. Mikan. The name came to her like a spark in her brain. The woman came from away, but still Chenna knew her by sight — Mikan lived with her family in the same district as Chenna and shopped at her fathers’ bakery. The guard steadfastly ignored her.
Chenna closed her eyes and tipped her head back, seeking calm in her inner darkness. She inhaled deeply then exhaled slowly, trying to dislodge the heavy, humid heat from her lungs. She failed.
“Tal Chenna.”
Her head snapped up and her eyes opened. Rich brown eyes met hers.
“Racha.”
“That’s Witch Hunter Adept Racha.”
A cold shiver crept like a spider down her spine as she sat under Racha’s closed gaze. The woman’s expression was stony but a wrinkle of tension circled her eyes, and she clutched the papers in her hand like a lifeline. “Certainly, Witch Hunter Adept Racha.”
Adept Racha stepped into the room, and frowned as she scanned the space. Stepping to the window, she drew the shade panel back, and a ruffle of breeze sped in with the sun. Chenna blinked against the sudden onslaught of light.
Racha sat in the chair opposite her, placing the sheaf of papers clutched in her hand onto the table top. “You know why you’re here?”
“Someone accused me of witchcraft.” Chenna was surprised at the calm of her own voice.
“And why would they do that?” Racha pressed her palms to the papers on the table.
Chenna couldn’t think of who would do that let alone … “Why.” Realization hit her in a flash. “Because he knows I know he killed his wife.”
“What?”
“The puppeteer. Kai Renta. He killed his wife. And I know.” Chenna’s statement hung heavy between them.
Racha squinted, causing her nose to wrinkle. Chenna would have thought it was adorable if she weren’t in an interrogation room at the Citadel accused of witchcraft.
“Why do you think he killed his wife?” Disbelief cloaked Racha’s words.
Chenna ran her hands over the worn wood of the table as her mind raced for a safe lie to explain her knowledge. “I overheard him.” She looked up at Racha. “Telling his puppets that he’d done it … and buried her under the jula tree. I’d only gone to tell him how much I loved his show.”
“If that’s true, why didn’t you report this?” Racha frowned at the paper in front of her.
“It was just this morning. And—”
“This morning?” Racha’s eyes met hers. “When I bumped into you near his house?”
Chenna flushed. Something fluttered outside, and bars of sunlight came through the window.
“I—”
“She likes you, you know? Like, a lot.”
Chenna inhaled when Racha’s shadow spoke as it crept along the wall behind the Adept. She struggled to ignore it — knowing that Racha liked her didn’t help right now.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just … didn’t want to believe it.”
“She wants to believe you,” Racha’s shadow said, its voice soft. “But she’s trained to suspect a lie.”
Chenna shook her head, wishing she could tell the shade to shut up. Instead, she said, “It’s too horrible to believe.” She met Racha’s eyes again. “But it must be true, right? For him to accuse me.”
Racha’s lips pressed together and she nodded at Chenna. Standing, she spun on her heels then paused at the door to whisper to the guard. After Racha’s footsteps faded, Mikan stepped into the room to squint at Chenna, the light from the window casting her shadow long into the hallway.
“Her husband has rebel tendencies. She’s trying to decide whether to turn him in or flee with him and their children.”
Chenna’s eyes went wide and she coughed to cover the gasp at hearing the pronouncement from Mikan’s shadow.
Stay tuned for part 4.