Girl of Shadow and Glass: A Portal Fantasy

GIRL OF

SHADOW

AND GLASS

a novel

Tara’s Necklace

Book One

C.K. Beggan

Tidally Press

Girl of Shadow and Glass

C.K. Beggan

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 by C.K. Beggan

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

Third digital Smashwords edition June 2022

Cover designed by MiblArt

Published by Tidally Press on Smashwords

MAP

Sundown, Land of the Golden Fields and Skies

Inhabited by the Seti people, of wisp, part-wisp, part-solid and, most rarely, of solid body. The lattermost of these are known as shade-children.

Sundown is popularly known as the Lost World. Approximately 900 years ago, it disappeared from the System entirely. If sorcery still exists in Sundown, its workings are as unknown as the Gates by which this World can be accessed.

Travel to this World is no longer possible.

- Rossa Corsair's A Traveler's Pocket Guide to the Worlds of the Taran System

Contents

Title pages

Copyright

Map

Epigraph

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Epilogue

A note from the author

Appendix

A Traveler’s Pocket Guide to the Worlds of the Taran System

Character Guide

About the Author

Preview of Girl of Glass and Fury

Prologue

One

Two

Books by C.K. Beggan

Prologue

Kumiel

She’s practically famous.

When I spot her from a distance, between houses, I don’t even think of saying hello. The winding patches of spiny succulents dot the alley between us, a low wall I can't bring myself to cross. I should wave my hand or call out to her. But I don't. 

I'm seven years younger then, and blissfully unaware of pretty much everything. I think I have all the time in the Worlds. 

Kumi! my mum calls from her cousin's window, interrupting and mortifying me with a single word. Don't stay out so late. 

Cringing, I wonder if the girl heard. I hope with all my being that she didn't. 

She's walking with Finchoa—of course—who skims along beside her. I notice how the girl's footfalls make squelching sounds, even though she's on the upper path. The wind tousles her dark hair. She stops, pulling back a curl, and wiggles. 

Irritation flickers across her face, like she expected something would happen that didn't. She bends, reaching into the muck. Something dangles from her hands as she straightens. 

Shoes. She's the only girl in all of Sundown who wears them—the only one who needs to. 

She smiles, face stretching wide and lit up by the joy of it. I think she's wiggling her toes in the mud. I do the same, wondering what it feels like to her, the yellowy muck oozing through her toes and clinging to her hands, every inch of her perfectly opaque and undeniably solid. To me, the mud is cool and unpleasant.

She's literally one of a kind. I marvel at how different she is. 

Kumi? Did you hear me? 

Mum. I try to hide my annoyance, acknowledging her orders with a nod. 

I'll make sure he behaves, Lu says, flashing a ghostly set of teeth. Mum seems to accept that and pops back inside, while I wince at the childish nickname she used. What eleven-year-old goes by their mum and pater's pet name for him? So not cool. So not worthy of her.

Beside me, Luia cracks a mischievous grin and cocks a translucent brow. Lu, as she's gotten everyone to call her. Now that’s a nickname—so kagoi. For all she complains about life as a wisp, I'm certain right then that she's got it easy. Lu sounds so much cooler than Kumi. 

And don't come back covered in mud! Mum adds, head appearing again. Her fingers are wrapped around the windowsill, clutching it as though the World is at stake. 

Sure, I say, noncommittal. I don't know what she's so worried about. Isn't everyone always complaining about the drought? 

Yesterday was our first rain in months. When it came, it ran down the valley's cracked slopes like wind skimming over the rooftops, dodging houses instead of aging spires. Lu claims she skimmed along the flowing water, that it took her all the way home last night. I'm not sure I believe her.

Can we go already? Lu pleads, already slipping from one house's shadow to the next. I can see the chipped masonry through her, tinted pearly by her wisp's glow. We'll be the last ones there.

So we'll make an entrance. I try to shrug it off, even though it bothers me, too. It feels like I'm missing out on something—and not just because I've lost sight of the girl.

"You and your entrances. Lu's snort is nearly too faint to hear. I hope they got a spot by the Spines."

Though I won't say it, I hope that, too. When they're in bloom, the Spines are the best place to be, full of birds as bright as treasure. For just a second, I wish I was going there with her, then silence the thought. Lu's my best friend. I can't throw her over for some girl, even if she is special.

Feeling like a traitor, I lag after Luia, and the girl who's so different is soon forgotten. I'm too busy dreaming of the rest of the World, the exotic mountain passes where the birds spend the rest of the year. Up there, the Elders say the soil blooms with emeralds and amethyst after a rain, the ground bursting into endless fields of brilliant succulents.

I've never been to the mountains. Only the Elders have, and the ones who took the Elder’s journey but failed, never completing the circular path back to the valley. It’s such a waste. I think how I'm going to finish the journey properly when I'm older, and become an Elder everybody respects—or I'll be everyone's favorite teacher, I haven't decided which. However it goes, I know that one day I'll be important, too.

I'm only eleven. I still think all of this is up to me.

That afternoon, I remember, is just after a New Season's Day. The days feel long and full of possibility, mainly because there's no school for two weeks. The sky is bright, the lights of the ancestors are dancing, and I have nowhere to go but to the river with friends, to wile the day away. For today, we're on the backside of a heavy rain, and everything I see is wonderful.

Including her.

Our World is still so simple then, and will be for a few more years. In that kind of World, maybe it's easier to fall in love, the way I did with her from afar. In that youthful way, when speaking to the one you love is somehow so much harder than opening your heart.

As we pass a classmate's empty house, I catch sight of movement through the alley. A solid-bodied girl dances around a stone, her specter of a friend swirling by. It's her again. The perfect girl.

Kith Canto.

An odd, uncomfortable pressure builds in my throat. I feel a tugging in my chest, drawing me towards her. But at the last moment, as my feet point in Kith's direction, panic squeezes me.

What's wrong with me? My mind runs wild, dreaming up things I could ask her, and all the bad impressions I'll mistakenly give. One moment, I was confident. In the next, I'm completely sure I'll say the wrong thing.

Which is probably why I've never actually spoken to Kith. But I'm going to—today. She and Finchoa will be going to the river, too. Won't they?

I start to worry they won't. Then they turn by the library, heading right for us.

Suddenly desperate not to meet her, I say, Let's go this way and grasp at Luia's arm. No surprise, I end up swiping at air. Lu frowns back at me.

The footbridge is this way.

I know a shortcut. I've already learned that if you say everything with a shrug, most people will go along with it. They'll think you care so much less than you do.

Except that I care more than I ever have in my life. I can't explain why, but the thought of meeting that perfect girl here, now, terrifies me.

Whatever, Lu says. "Kumi."

She's rewarded with a grimace that only makes her smile. Lu loves nothing better than to prove I'm not as cool as I try to be, in a way only the best of friends can get away with. We've been friends since Kumi felt like the greatest name in the World.

I lead Lu on a zigzag path until I can no longer glimpse the perfect girl and her bossy wisp friend. It must be amazing to have a solid body like Kith. I wonder if she even sees the world the same way I do. I bet colors are more intense for her, that the world has so many textures.

If I were like her, I'd never get bored with this World.

Kith doesn't have to worry about that, though. That's the other reason she's so special: she's one of only a few people in Sundown who can cross through Ginoa's Gate. She hasn't just met the shadows, she has breakfast with them. Every day.

I puff out my cheeks. No wonder she hasn't noticed me.

I've tried, though. I try to be noticeable wherever I go. When you're not great at school, you can't float like a wisp and you're not solid enough to do fascinating things like eat food and get your lessons with shadows the way Kith does, you have to be memorable. That's what I tell myself, anyway.

I hear something then. Familiar voices, shouting.

Lu and I skirt the ravine, drawn to the sounds of so much excitement. It's not until we get closer to the Frontier that we see our friends from class.

Mari is on her back, swimming in mud like it's the river. Telah is covered in it from head to toe. Anaia's mud-printed jumper has pockets bulging with glinting stones, and Gava is holding a stone up to the light. From this angle, it shines in a rainbow of colors.

Lu skims forward in a rush, her feet dangling inches above the ground. What are you all doing? We were supposed to meet at the river!

Change of plans, Gava exclaims, then leans back to crow.

"Dinha kora, Anaia chides him, but wades through to see what he's found. She looks up, her filthy face splitting into a pristine smile. Come join us, Kumiel. The river washed up all kinds of lucky stones."

From the look of her jumper, she's got a pocket full of good luck already.

Kid's stuff, I scoff, even though I'd like to dive in and find a stone or two myself. I bet the mud feels as cold as well water.

What's the matter? Telah presses me. Afraid to mess up your hair? He winks at Luia. I don't know why until I realize Mari is trying to sneak up the ravine wall.

Don't, I warn her.

Luia mimes pushing me in, her body too wispy to have any impact. Only a slight pressure comes through, making me waver ever so slightly.

What would someone who doesn't care do? I exaggerate the wobble. Then, with an eyebrow raised, arms folded in a pose, I dive into the muck below.

Luia laughs with delight.

That's more like it, Gava says, slinging mud at me.

Within moments, I'm painted from head to toe and gasping from laughter. Even Lu has managed to pick up a few watery streaks, concealing her as she tries to tackle Gava. Gava's barely more than a semi-wisp. With him as her target, she can cause far more than wobbles. They crash into the mud together, cackling.

We're completely covered, like utter fools—which is, of course, when I see her again. Kith Canto. Even thinking of it, I like the sound of her name.

Ancestors, her superior friend Finchoa exclaims. Aren't you all a year ahead of us?

How can you tell? Kith asks, voice quiet.

I think she's joking and open my mouth to laugh. And then I realize what she really means. She can't tell us apart in all this muck.

She doesn't even know I'm here.

I wish I wasn't like this. I want so badly to talk to Kith—to get to know her. I'm drawn to her in a way I can't fully understand, but that makes me eager all the same. And I just know, in that moment, that I'm going to be something great. Because that girl—the one they call unkind words like fragile and sickly—is special. And I'm the only one who sees it.

If someone told me then that she was magic, I'd have believed it in an instant. I would believe magic still existed in Sundown because of the feeling in my chest, the sparks of warmth I get when I catch a glimpse of her.

The adults say shade-children like Kith don't live very long, but I tell myself that won't be her. Every time word spreads that she's gotten sick, or the older folks complain she's gotten too skinny, she always pulls through. This girl's going to be different. I can feel it. And I want to be part of it when everyone sees—even if it's only to stand in her shadow. To me, she’s perfect.

Perfect, though, isn't real. At eleven, I don't know much. Maybe at nineteen I don't know much better.

But that revelation is years off, so I do what any logical boy, possessed with passion for a girl he longs to talk to, would do. I scoop the biggest handful of muck I can gather. And then I sling it as hard as I can.

Straight at her face.

Kith stumbles backward, shocked. For a long moment, no one says anything, the sound of Telah's gasp still hanging in the air.

Kith raises her hand, mouth open. I think she's going to say something to me, do the hard part for me. Then she shucks the mud away, shaking it off her hand.

Are you daft? Finchoa bellows, then charges toward me. For a moment, I'm actually scared. I've never heard a pure wisp that loud.

But I don't care. I don't care how stupid I am, or how childish. For just a moment, Kith looked at me.

As I slosh through the muck, trying to get away from Finchoa, I laugh genuinely. I'm happy, because someone perfect knows I exist.

I'm so sure I'll talk to her soon. Next time, I tell myself.

Despite my mum's warning, I slog home late that night, totally enveloped in mud. Mum and Pater scold me for it, but it's hard to care. I feel I could float away like a wisp.

It takes me another seven years to feel that way again. It's like I'm always catching a glimpse and not the whole of her, the two of us heading in opposite directions, me surrounded by friends, Kith increasingly alone. When I do run into her, I'll wonder what took me so long. She's so easy to talk to.

Of course she is. She's Kith, and she's everything I knew she'd be.

By then, it's clear our World is dying, the shadows are stirring behind the Gate, and everything I took for granted is turning to dust. When I finally speak to Kith for the first time, it's at the beginning of the end.

Great timing, Kumiel, I berate myself, night after night. Because by then it's almost too late, and there aren't enough lucky stones in the World to change what's coming.

For her, though—for Kith, I know I have to try.

One

Kith

So? Finchoa asks like she's fixing for a fight. Yes or no?

I think I'd rather go home. I shift my gaze just to the left of her eyes, like I can't tell where they are. The shadow of a patchwork spire falls over her. Maybe we could go to your Uncle Hamlich's instead. To check on the sprouts, like.

Finchoa's wisp form shimmers with her temper. Not everything's about food, Kith.

For me, though, that’s never been true. The broken ground at my feet, so dry it can't hold together, is another reminder of how this world—scant on water and sun—is almost completely unable to grow food. It’s not designed for shade-children like me. Even the grass has turned to powder here, leaving the potted succulents around the schoolhouse as the last survivors. They’re the kind with fat, purple-pronged leaves that won't hurt any but the most determined child—if that child can feel pain at all.

I study them, telling myself not to give in, either. What my friend wants is impossible.

Finchoa's convincing, though. Always has been. The absolute last thing I should do is look at her friends, who are an obvious part of her scheme—which means it's impossible not to.

I glance at them. Even when leaning against the schoolhouse, the boy is tall as a man. He looks away when I catch his eye, his near-solid face turning rosy. The girl turns, too, a sort of half-wisp with a translucent touch to her. Though they're both pretending not to listen, anybody could tell they're watching me. Lille is her name, and he's Machel. I know that without knowing them, 'cause sometimes Finchoa prattles about her other friends. She never stops to think how she’s all I’ve got.

What's the matter? Finchoa asks. Her tone is sweet, but the pinched look on her face—what I can see of it—says she's still annoyed rather than concerned. You always say you want to go places.

Yeah, but the mountains? I give her the hardest look I can. You know I can't do that.

Of course you can. It's not so bad.

Then what do you need me for?

"I don't need you, Kith, she says, lifting her chin. We're not kids anymore. Just 'cause I'm a wisp doesn't mean I can't find my own way around. You, either. I just thought you'd like it. Sundown's old cities—well, the one we're trying to get to—who wouldn't want to see that?"

Everyone. That's why nobody goes there.

You're not everyone.

That's what Teacher Gongol calls a gross understatement.

Yes, I say, planning to follow it with a good argument-ender. I open my mouth to say, I'm just not strong enough. Even if I was, Sundown would be the last place I'd explore. There are so many Worlds out there, each with their own fantastic stories about animals as big as houses, and deep oceans and mountains that spit fire. Who wouldn't want to see that?

Sundown doesn't even have an ocean. As mountains go, ours are a plain and hazy brown, distant but visible on all sides of the valley. They aren’t the least bit exciting, dribbling molten rock or rending the earth. If I was going to the trouble of risking life and limb—and everyone's wrath—I'd want it to be for something. Not the same old dangerous nothing.

Finchoa should know this by now—she has to. There's only one Other World I can hope to explore, full of oceans and orchards and who knows what other interesting things. And the shadows won't allow it. So Sundown's all I've got. And in Sundown, there are too many watching eyes.

When I'm just about to answer her, the wind chooses right then to pummel my curls, dancing them across my eyes and dropping one into my mouth. By the time I've gotten them under control, Finchoa's eyes narrow and I can see my chance slipping away. Now it sounds weak when I say, I'll never be able to go.

Don't be daft. You mean you don't want to.

It's too dangerous for a shade-child like me. I laugh, nervous-like. Ask anyone. Or they'll tell you first.

"Anyone can stuff it. The wind's stiff up there, but for you it won't be a problem. You're better suited for it than anyone. You know you can keep your footing on the slopes—"

A snort slips out before I can stop it. Finchoa can't be serious. You shouted at me last week for going into the ravine.

'Cause you know better! You could crack your head. You know there was a shade-child who went that way.

That's not exactly true. Cazar got a nasty scrape on his forehead, the dirt got in, then came an infection, and that was that. Unlike me, he was weak from starvation. If limited to whatever activities no shade-child ever died from, I’d be barred from going anywhere.

Wrapping my arms around myself and my jumper, which is brown like almost everything else, shows me for the bony thing I am. It makes me feel like I could disappear into this world of tawny and copper. I told you I was fine. I only saw a piece of gold ore—

That's for other people to fetch. Finchoa raises her chin in that pose that says she's the older one, not the other way around. Not you.

Oh, Finchoa. Deep down, she knows she's wrong. She ought to, after a lifetime of having each other's backs. Which means she also knows I want my freedom, and that I wish I could use this body for anything.

Wishing doesn't make it true.

Look, we're going to the white city with or without you. Finchoa's feet leave the ground so that she can look down on me, her wisp form lighter than a willow branch. If you'd just come to the foothills, you'd see it. You'd know why it's so important to go.

I shake my head. My shadow-teachers say our World is mostly dead.

Then they're daft. Her fists clench. What do they know?

More than we do.

That's not possible. They can't even cross Ginoa's—

Their knowledge is older—

—Gate. The end of Finchoa's thought brushes past my ear on a breeze, wrapped within it. It sounds too subdued to be hers.

I sigh. It's the same old argument, not only with her but with everyone who questions the treaty. I might as well shout my reasons down the Old Well, for all they're listened to. Look, I say, loosening my shoulders as if that will ease the truth. The shadows don't forget things like Seti do, and their libraries aren't half-dust. They know about all the Worlds, right down to the plants.

We're not talking about plants.

Does she think I'm stupid? I know what this is about. Yeah, I say, my brows lowered. We are.

Finchoa jabs her finger at me. Our ancestors knew things. Not just the Old Sorcery, but all kinds of things we've forgotten. We don't have a library full of faded ink 'cause they had nothing to say. We owe it to them—

Teacher Gongol says those cities are necropolises, I say. Cities of the dead. You won't find anything there.

There would be things left behind—

Nothing valuable. He says it's the same in every World. First comes battle—I tick off my fingers—then come the spoils, and after that comes the looting of whatever’s left. If whoever destroyed the cities left anything behind, our folk would've taken it centuries ago.

Finchoa's face, for all its translucence, is fierce. You don't know that.

I think the winds would've taken it by now. I have to shrug. She doesn't just want the impossible from me, she wants it from our World.

At least it would be a bit of variety, going to the mountains. She jabs her finger at me again. "You do the same thing every day, like the shadows and your meal is all that matters. And if I'm not around, you just go home and do nothing."

It wasn't always this way; we were the best of friends, all but inseparable as kids. Nowadays, she just loves to push me. She's nothing like the sister I thought I had back then.

My anger is swelling to match hers, when out of nowhere the wind changes directions, building so quick I can't warn her. A wicked gust slams her against the schoolhouse wall, locking her against it while it pours out its force.

Finchoa!

It's too strong. Shifting to take the brunt of it on my back does little good. Her mouth moves, the words unable to leave. She looks terrified.

I’m on the verge of panicking for her. The wind tries to steal my breath, curling up my nostrils and clogging my face with my own curls. My chest fights against it. I can breathe well enough, but for a moment, I’m sure Finchoa can’t.

But that's not Finchoa. None of the wisps require breath—even the semi-solid folk can hold their breath in the river for what feels like forever. This is just me, the solid-bodied shade-child, worrying that others will feel like I do. Thinking, maybe, that I’m not all alone.

Even as the gust recedes, I can still hear it howling in my ears.

And then it's gone. Sundown is nearly silent again.

Flakes of plaster lie around Finchoa's feet, matching the new chips in the wall. With just a wisp’s scanty weight, the wind was powerful enough to cause damage. I shouldn’t be surprised. If it had been any stronger, I'd be up against the schoolhouse, too.

Machel's forehead peeks around the corner, a worried line in its middle, before it zips back. This time, he knows I've seen him.

Poor Finchoa remains stunned, her toes touching the ground and her hand tented against the wall. Her eyes are glassy, and a little accusatory—like this is my fault. She's too proud. Like the wind is personal, making her a fool. I mean, she is one sometimes, but only 'cause of the way she acts. She's seen me fall and break bones doing far less than climbing a mountain.

Finchoa flicks her eyes toward a drain spout, unused for more months than I can remember, and edges toward it, grasping it for security. Well? she says, like a gale did not break our conversation. Are you coming or not? Last chance.

Finchoa. You know I'm not.

I won't ask you again. Ever.

That's for the best. My laugh is so bitter I nearly taste it. What does she want? I'm not free like her. It's just not for me. Shade-children get tired too easy. You don't know what it's like. I finish taming my hair, then remind her of the reason I'm up at this silly an hour. I'm going to miss my meal. Are you coming?

Finchoa glowers, but says, Fine.

Nobody's forcing you—

"I said it's fine."

She trails after me on the downward slope, the angle quickening my steps until I'm moving fast enough for a scolding. But I'm not a little girl anymore. I raise my knees higher and higher, letting my stride lengthen until I can pass the twists of roots without altering it—a trick I worked out years ago. The canopy of willows spreads over me, speckles of light whizzing by and twirling on my clothes as I take the turn. No matter how fast I go, the Gate's too close now for me to lose my breath.

Scratch that. It’s almost too close.

I have time and air enough to slip in a farewell to Finchoa—wherever she is. I don't glance back. The spread of willow leaves melds into the plant-like tangle of the Gate, and I pass through its glassy barrier in mid-stumble, tripping into the neighboring World.