Shadow by Will Elliott Page B

the worst of the villagers’ problems. For how many generations have they not known hunger or war? She pictured life here in this greedy idyllic peace, and desire for simple wholeness and happiness pulled her strongly.
    There was that image again, once so horrible but now almost cherished: a girl afraid but calm in her hiding space in the wall hollow. Her parents had said, Stay here, we’ll return, hearing the men kick down their neighbours’ doors. The same men kicked down their door, took them outside, knelt them down in a long line with the others of that street. Calmly creeping out of the hiding space, over to the window, listening as a proclamation was read out, full of long words she mostly didn’t understand. They had aided enemies of their Friend and Lord. They had been ungrateful. They were dangerous. The hiss of a drawn blade. Cries of protest. Calm still, peeking through the curtain gap. A sight less comprehensible than the words in the proclamation as a man in castle grey walked down the line, swinging his blade.
    She had finished peeing when a shape loomed right beside her, jagging her back to the present. She gasped and fell sideways, pants still around her knees preventing a quick roll to her feet. She’d fallen away from her bow.
    Looking down at her was Eric. She felt a flare of hot anger for him, embarrassing her this way. ‘What are you doing?’ she snapped.
    Then she saw it wasn’t Eric. It was someone nearly identical to him, aside from his dark garments and long flowing hair. His outline was slightly blurred, its edges wavering. What seemed Eric’s face held eyes that were hollow unblinking things, small dark holes. He spoke in a voice like Eric’s but dead of expression: ‘Interesting. I’ll save you from something. Soon. It’s ahead on the axis. In the future. I can see it.’
    The stranger leaned forward over her until his body tilted at an angle defying gravity. ‘You have a name,’ he said. ‘And you’re alive. Are we the same, or different? I don’t understand.’
    Siel’s hand found her curved knife, while the other pulled up her pants. She rolled backward, was up on her feet, turned to run. But he was there right behind her now. ‘You’re afraid of me,’ he said as though this was interesting in an academic sense.
    Her knife flashed with a gleam of bright steel but it only cut air. He was on the other side of her now. ‘Fast,’ he said. ‘You’re fast. I can be, too. I can do whatever you can do. Even that … that little bit of magic you have, where you see things on the axis. And this! This is interesting.’ He had her bow and quiver in hand. The objects stood out in their solidity against his blurriness. He turned them at different angles, examining with childish curiosity. ‘You shoot well with this. I’ve seen you do it. I can too. Watch.’ He clumsily nocked an arrow in the string and pulled it back, holding the bow completely wrong.
    â€˜Who are you?’ said Siel, her voice far more commanding than she felt.
    He turned his hole-dark eyes to her. ‘Who?’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t know. The question means I’m someone. Like you. Doesn’t it? It means I’m alive. Doesn’t it? Am I alive, like you are?’
    â€˜You’ve followed us. Why?’
    â€˜I went lots of places. There’s a lot to look at. I don’t understand much of it yet.’
    â€˜Put my bow down.’
    â€˜Sure, I can do that. Soon, all right? Watch this. That bird.’ It appeared he’d let loose the string by clumsy accident, but the arrow whizzed from the bow and quivered in the body of a small bird, which landed with a thump in the undergrowth. ‘It’s dead,’ said the stranger. It took Siel a moment to work out this was a question.
    â€˜Yes. Dead,’ she replied, watching nervously to see if he’d nock