Arti Rathore

There once was an island, floating high above the clouds. The island was littered with unique villages, all living in their own world. The village of Pineall was known for its various plants, all with different healing and magical properties. Coal City was the only industrial village, walled-in to keep outsiders away from their buzzing electricity. Lighthouse valley was currently in the middle of political unrest between the blue and red gnomes and Dreamland was filled with mythical creatures and unruly monarchs. Of all the villages, however, there was none like Moordach. The village of Moordach sat on the island’s biggest cliff, and was home to none other than the Valley of Life. The valley began at the outskirt of Moordach, grass and tangled vines growing down the underbelly of the cliff village and extending into a series of deep hills and a forest-like swamp that sat directly on the clouds under the right side of the island. The floor of the swamp was covered in soft bog and the roots of every tree and plant flowed back into the Willow tree that weeped in the center of the valley. The valley was guarded by its own life, holding mysteries unknown to the island dwellers. Legends of everything from a dragon’s nest to monsters spread across the towns.

But as the villagers told their stories and created their myths, life went on in the valleys. Among the plants and the animals in the swamp and hills lived other creatures. Pixies and fairies and tiny grass creatures roamed the valley’s, and built their homes. Spirits danced barefooted on the bog, sending energy and love back to their families. Trees sang alongside the birds. And a boy played with his shadow.

The boy was perhaps the only human life to live in and survive the swamp, falling in at a young age and thought to be dead. The vines had swallowed him into the ground, allowing him to be raised by the true creatures of the Earth. For years the boy grew up knowing nothing more than the badgers, mole rats, and other underground beasts that raised him. But when he was pushed back up to the surface, he met life. He played with spirits, made friends with pixies, pranked the crazy old witches living deep in the trees, and celebrated festivals in the mushroom grove with the hidden gnomes. He rode dragons and crazy swamp creatures and discovered hybrids of animals he didn’t know existed in their original state. Polardogs, otterfoxes, all kinds of mixed creatures hiding deep in the swamp. And yet, the boy’s favorite to play with was his shadow.

It had happened one night in the land of fireflies, magic in the air and the wind churning with mystery. He was playing hide-and-seek with the bunnies when the ground shook and the rain sparkled as it fell. He was knocked unconscious and when he woke, his shadow had come to life. From that moment onwards the boy and his shadow were best friends, running through the swamp together. The shadow, though new, seemed to know so much more about the Valley of Life. It led him to the cave of giants and helped him ride his first whaleturtle in the swamp waters. The shadow created all new adventures for the boy, ensuring the boy would never bore of the world around them. The shadow never spoke, staying silent and close to the boy, guiding him and protecting him and keeping him. The shadow only detached himself from the boy’s body when they played games or went on adventures that deemed it necessary, and even then never strayed too far.

Despite their closeness, the shadow was still his own entity. And at night, the shadow would leave, detaching itself from the boy and going into the depths of the swamp land. And while this happened every night for a number of years, there was one particular night, the boy decided to follow the shadow. He pulled out his looking glass, a triangular emerald stone with clear glass in the middle given to him by the fairies. He used it whenever him and the shadow played hide and seek. He followed silently behind the shadow, making sure to remain unseen. As they got closer to the elf realm, the torches outside lit up the swamp and placed the shadow on the sides of the cave. The boy hid in the dark edges as the shadow creeped along the wall for a bit before slipping back into the darkness of the swamp.

The shadow moved quickly for miles, the boy never too far behind, until he reached the end of the swamp. As the shadow moved across the communities within the valley, he swallowed up their lights, each time getting closer and closer to the village of Moordach. With every bit of stolen light he grew. He soon grew to a height the boy had never seen before, and swallowed the cliff village into his darkness. The lights went off. The boy reached for his looking glass, searching. But the shadow had gone. Climbing up to the top of the tree the boy searched with curious eyes, looking for an explanation. What happened? Where did the shadow go? How did we get all the way here? He looked out, hoping to see fairy lights or gnome festivals going on in the distant valley. He looked for the fire of the elvish cave or the lights of Moordach. He looked for his shadow…but all he saw was darkness. Until he looked up. The stars and the moon and the dark blue hue of the sky vaguely outlined the shadow’s figure.

The figure, once empty and small and round and nothing more than a shadow, was suddenly large. Larger than the whaleturtle and lionsharks that lived in the swamp waters. Larger than the giants that resided in the valley. Larger than life and light. The shadow no longer looked like the boy, round and small and innocent. His face was no longer empty. A white grin stretched wide across his face, no eyes or ears in sight. Just a cheshire grin that could haunt a kid’s dream for months. The rounded head had spouted to horns pointy and dark. The body, tall and lean, slimmed down into a tail like that of a ghost. The light of the spirits in the swamp went out one by one as the body of the shadow swallowed them up. The shadow’s tail wrapped around both villages and the entirety of the valley and the swamp. Darkness consumed everything but the boy. The plants died, the trees shriveled, and the roots broke. With one final motion, the shadow flew up, grinning wider with every inch he ascended, never releasing the land from the darkness and rocketed downward. The shadow tunneled into the body of the boy, straight into the heart. And as the boy fell down the dead tree, his breath weakening, his soul exhausted, his light extinguished, and unconsciousness slipping into his body, the shadow spoke for the first time. It whispered from within, the grin clear in his voice, “we are finally one”.