The Shadow Behind the Stars Read Online Free
Author: Rebecca Hahn
something in my frown, I managed to send a small smile her way. I donât think it was very convincing, but she brightened anyway. Thatâs all it takes with Serena, usually. A smile, a hug. She lives for our happiness, Xinotâs and mine.
As Aglaia knelt down on the stones next to Serena, putting her head on my sisterâs knee and beginning to hum again, Xinot turned back to the shelf and nudged and shifted the coiled threads into perfect order. There was no need. Aglaia hadnât actually touched them. But Xinot stood there for several minutes, poking and twisting and tucking in glowing strands. When she turned away finally, I caught her eye before she ducked her head.
She knew. Xinot had seen the fear too, and the strength of it bothered her.
Maybe we could have told Serena, hoping to convince her to let the girl go. If our sister had realized the extent of the horror her spell was keeping buried, she might not have thought it a good idea to repress such a powerful thing. But even I didnât want to expose our sister to that pain. Not Serena, for whom a smile, a hug was the bright sun shining on her. Not Serena, who had only recently begun to smile again herself.
And anyway, Xinot and I didnât fully understand it either. We never have, that sort of human nightmare. Weâve never understood the depth of it, the way it lasts and lasts. For us, everything is temporary. Oceans change their currents. Borders shift and blur; even mountains fall. Soon enough, everything returns to the way it was before.
For you mortals, forever is a much more manageable term. One lifetimeâthatâs all forever takes. One death, and forever is achieved. For you, horror and pain and grief really can last forever.
Serena kept on with her sewing. I retreated behind my hair. Xinot watched the girl from the corners of her eyes, and our fire crackled.
Late that night we went out to stand by the sea as we always did, and we left the girl curled up on a pile of Serenaâs knit blankets against one wall. She had tucked herself in cozily, calling out good night to us as if she had known us all her life.
Serena called back to her; Xinot and I said nothing. We left for the waves as soon as we knew she was asleep.
As we stood there, salt on our lips and moonlight tangling our hair, I didnât speak to the others about Aglaia. I wanted to forget her; I wanted to pretend there was nothing on our island but my sisters and the words brought by the wind. I closed my eyes; I breathed; and it should have been easy there.
After all, we are the daughters of the night. Xinot is the eldest, and I am young as a girl, but we all awoke at the same dark moment in the beginning of everything. When we go out to the edge of our rock and watch the stars spin, we remember where we came from, and we become more of who we are.
We need sleep even less than we need to eat. We could keep working with our threads all through the night if we wanted, but thatâs not what keeps us awake. There is always work to do, and the more we work, the more there seems to be. So we donât worry about that. Long ago, we used to fret much more. When even the sun was young, we wore our fingers to the bone trying to keep up with the piles of shining wool that never diminished in my basket. We thought that if we stopped, the wool would overflow, and mortals would not be born or live or die, and we would have destroyed the world.
But my heap of work never grows or shrinks. It is always exactly the same, whether we work on it or not. Weâve never stopped altogether. We take breaks. We garden. We never leave our work for more than several hours at a time.
Still, we do not worry about spending time away from thethreads, and we do not work at night unless our fingers are itching for it.
Instead we go out to the moon and the waves and the wind. We stand or sit along our shore, not next to one another, but we know where the others are.
We
As Aglaia knelt down on the stones next to Serena, putting her head on my sisterâs knee and beginning to hum again, Xinot turned back to the shelf and nudged and shifted the coiled threads into perfect order. There was no need. Aglaia hadnât actually touched them. But Xinot stood there for several minutes, poking and twisting and tucking in glowing strands. When she turned away finally, I caught her eye before she ducked her head.
She knew. Xinot had seen the fear too, and the strength of it bothered her.
Maybe we could have told Serena, hoping to convince her to let the girl go. If our sister had realized the extent of the horror her spell was keeping buried, she might not have thought it a good idea to repress such a powerful thing. But even I didnât want to expose our sister to that pain. Not Serena, for whom a smile, a hug was the bright sun shining on her. Not Serena, who had only recently begun to smile again herself.
And anyway, Xinot and I didnât fully understand it either. We never have, that sort of human nightmare. Weâve never understood the depth of it, the way it lasts and lasts. For us, everything is temporary. Oceans change their currents. Borders shift and blur; even mountains fall. Soon enough, everything returns to the way it was before.
For you mortals, forever is a much more manageable term. One lifetimeâthatâs all forever takes. One death, and forever is achieved. For you, horror and pain and grief really can last forever.
Serena kept on with her sewing. I retreated behind my hair. Xinot watched the girl from the corners of her eyes, and our fire crackled.
Late that night we went out to stand by the sea as we always did, and we left the girl curled up on a pile of Serenaâs knit blankets against one wall. She had tucked herself in cozily, calling out good night to us as if she had known us all her life.
Serena called back to her; Xinot and I said nothing. We left for the waves as soon as we knew she was asleep.
As we stood there, salt on our lips and moonlight tangling our hair, I didnât speak to the others about Aglaia. I wanted to forget her; I wanted to pretend there was nothing on our island but my sisters and the words brought by the wind. I closed my eyes; I breathed; and it should have been easy there.
After all, we are the daughters of the night. Xinot is the eldest, and I am young as a girl, but we all awoke at the same dark moment in the beginning of everything. When we go out to the edge of our rock and watch the stars spin, we remember where we came from, and we become more of who we are.
We need sleep even less than we need to eat. We could keep working with our threads all through the night if we wanted, but thatâs not what keeps us awake. There is always work to do, and the more we work, the more there seems to be. So we donât worry about that. Long ago, we used to fret much more. When even the sun was young, we wore our fingers to the bone trying to keep up with the piles of shining wool that never diminished in my basket. We thought that if we stopped, the wool would overflow, and mortals would not be born or live or die, and we would have destroyed the world.
But my heap of work never grows or shrinks. It is always exactly the same, whether we work on it or not. Weâve never stopped altogether. We take breaks. We garden. We never leave our work for more than several hours at a time.
Still, we do not worry about spending time away from thethreads, and we do not work at night unless our fingers are itching for it.
Instead we go out to the moon and the waves and the wind. We stand or sit along our shore, not next to one another, but we know where the others are.
We
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